The Kingdom of Wonder aka Cambodia

Phnom Penh

When crossing the border from Vietnam into Cambodia you need to purchase a visa, to acquire this you have a few options. Option A purchase an online “E-Visa” for the sum of $30 plus an $8 processing fee. It’s perhaps the most convenient way to secure a visa but is not accepted at all border crossings. Option B is to do a “visa on arrival”, this costs $30 and may also incur additional “processing fees” depending on the level of corruption from the man behind the desk. This also requires you to find the correct desk and walk yourself from the exit point in Vietnam to the entrance of Cambodia, around 2km or $5 in a tuk-tuk. Option C is the one we went for, upon arriving on the bus the conductor comes round, collects your passport, $30 for the visa and $5 for his trouble. He then fills out your arrivals card, takes you passport to be stamped when you leave Vietnam, sorts your visa when you enter Cambodia and then returns your passport to you. All you do is get off the bus, walk through the building and back on the bus.

There was a group of six travellers who believed this was daylight robbery and that the whole thing should only cost $20 and so refused to hand over their passports and did not pay the $5 either. The conductor, in broken English, tried to explain that the visa cost had recently risen to $30. I knew this to be true as I had done my homework but they were not convinced.

When we arrived at the departure point of Vietnam those who had handed their passports over left the bus, walked through the building, collected their passport and returned to the bus. The small group who had not had to instead decipher a very chaotic “queue”, get repeatedly turned away at the desk for being in the wrong line before eventually being able to be handed the departure form, fill it out, re-join the queue and then get it stamped.

Once back on the bus the conductor, another man (better English) and a lady (even better English) explained to the group that if they wished to sort out their own visa on arrival they would have to make their way to the Cambodia side now as the process would take some twenty minutes and the bus is not permitted to wait. For those of us who had handed our passports over and paid the $5 we had no such concern, our forms were filled out and our passports were all ready on their way to the Cambodia side ready for us to collect, visas included.

The group believed the conductors statement about them only having twenty minutes was a tactic to make them pay up. They reaffirmed each other that the bus had no choice other than to wait for them. They refused to make their own way to the Cambodia side and instead sat firmly in their seats. The bus pulled away, the twenty minute countdown had begun.

We trundled along at a snails pace pulling into the Cambodia entrance about ten or maybe fifteen minutes later, everyone got off the bus, those who were sorted simply repeated the earlier process, walk through the building and back onto the bus. Those who had not ran for their lives and set about fixing their own visa.

I’ll never know what happened to them because as soon as everyone who had paid their $5 to the conductor was on board the bus fired up its engines and wasted no time in setting off. Not only would they have been met by a visa cost of $30, not $20 they may have had to pay additional “tourist charges”. With their luggage travelling to Phnom Penh, more than three hours drive from the border the cost of a tuk-tuk would be astronomical, especially given their circumstances, there is also a ferry crossing and the issue of finding where the bus company is based so you can collect your luggage. But as bad as all this is for them I don’t feel sorry for them, they were honestly given so many warnings but continued to believe they knew best, they were rude and aggressive to the conductor who as far as I’m concerned did a solid job with our visas.

I don’t agree with corruption, and some of the stories of what people get faced with at the border crossings are pretty disgraceful but in our case the guy was simply being paid for his time, as a result the whole process runs very smoothly and efficiently and really what is $5 to someone who has been able to give up their job and travel across the world?

For us “Option C” people the 7 hour journey was a breeze, there was some splendid scenery outside set to the soundtrack of a slightly less splendid Cambodian comedy DVD and before we knew it we were in Phnom Penh.

Arriving at our hostel, the Blue Dog it was time for our dose of bad luck. After stepping over piles of slumped out, half-baked teenagers some of whom were mid-way through being tattooed we got shown to our room. I use the term room very loosely, there was a chipboard panel separating us from the common room, there were two windows which were missing their glass panels, only one of which was actually on the outside of the building and a small fan which was about as effective as a radiator at cooling you down. But with little more than a few nights here and a budget to stick to we convinced ourselves it could be worse and wasted no time in getting out into the city.

Phnom Penh is a spacious city, it’s the largest city in Cambodia and setting out without any clear direction is not advisable. We had asked for a map from the hostel, we were given one but it was for Siem Reap, which although is in the correct country it is over 300km away. We kindly returned this map and went in search of a tourist information place, we found one but the only city map they had was in Japanese. The information man very vaguely circled where we were and we set off to get some exploring done. The circle was inevitably very wrong but what the map did teach us was that the majority of things were located along the river front. We grabbed a tuk-tuk and headed for the centre, our driver was a young guy called “John”, he was really funny and on our drive into the centre we both warmed to him. As a rule all tuk-tuk drivers have laminated A3 size posters behind their seat which they pull out at the end of the journey. The posters display all the touristy places they drive to and offer to be your driver if you wish to visit these places. The rule here is simply if you like the guy and the price isn’t ridiculous then go for it. We arranged to go to both the Killing Fields and the S21 prison with John tomorrow morning.

We got dropped off at the night market which mainly sold Western style clothing, big name brands at very low prices. I purchased a pair of Timberland shorts for $3, I also picked out an Abercrombie & Fitch shirt ($2.50) but the guy wouldn’t let me try it on because I was too sweaty so it went back on the peg- story of my life right there.

We left the market and moved to a bar which Hatty had suggested she liked the look of. Once inside neither of us could have looked more out of place. We were wearing the universal traveller get-up, flip flops, shorts and a t-shirt that by all accounts and purposes should have been burnt a long time ago. I had a less than tidy beard and the less said about the mop of hair on my head the better. The other men were all dressed impeccably with their fitted shirts and designer stubble whilst the women were dolled to the nines, elegant evening dresses, flawless makeup and hair straight off a TV commercial. But having been on the road for over three months now we were used to looking a bit weathered, nobody inside cared much either as they sat around drinking champagne from their ice buckets. We ordered our drinks, a Coke and a beer Cambodia and then headed upstairs to the pool table, the reason Hatty had been drawn in.

A little while later the waitress, a stunning Asian girl who was beautifully dressed tottered up the stairs and bought our drinks over. We continued playing pool in our usual appalling fashion, singing along to the soft rock classics and generally mucking about. We finished the game and went over to grab a drink when we realised that the waitress had been sitting upstairs with us the whole time. No sooner had the balls gone in the pocket had she jumped up and wiggled over to the table and reset the table for us. We felt very awkward but seeing as she had gone to such effort we decided to play again. Realising she was going to sit there and watch us until it was time to spring into action again I asked for another drink not because I wanted one but it would give the poor girl something to do and make the whole experience a lot less creepy.

Looking over the balcony and actually taking in the environment below it quickly became apparent that the waitresses weren’t just there to fetch you drinks. The whole “sexpat” or “sex tourist” thing is fairly prominent in South East Asia, from the purpose built “Patpong” area of Bangkok to the “Heartbreaker” bars of Saigon there were times when you knew what you were going to find but here just looked like a normal bar so the whole situation knocked us both back.

Our waitress bought up our drinks, assisted by another waitress, her low slung top designed to draw your eyes towards her large, inflated breasts but my eyes were drawn to her hands and 5 o’clock shadow. The evening was set to get weirder.

We wrapped up another game, the table was reset and Widow Twankey departed to, I assume search for more profitable clientele downstairs. We played the third game as fast as we could, found a seat and finished our drinks, paid the bill so as to allow the waitress to make up for lost time and got ourselves out of there.

Back on the streets we were greeted by ominous clouds and the imminent chance of rain, we grabbed a tuk-tuk and set off for the room. The skies opened seconds after we pulled away and the driver got absolutely drenched.

By now the downstairs bar was in full swing, “free shots and laughing gas for everyone”, read the board behind the bar. Having felt underdressed in the previous bar quite the opposite could be said for here. I don’t have any issue with people enjoying themselves, letting their hair down and chucking back a few drinks but I am almost a decade too old for this party. Opting not to play the creepy Uncle role we headed upstairs and into our den. The party downstairs paired insignificant to the one nature was putting on outside. The rumbling bass of the thunder and flashing lightning acted as our evening entertainment.

The next morning we met John and made our way to the Killing Fields, much like my experience of the War Museum in Vietnam this was a truly moving experience. From 1975-1979, Pol Pot the leader of the Communist Khmer Rouge regime set about creating what he believed to be the master race, or the  "purification of the populace". Pol Pot set about creating his master race following Agrarian Socialist ideals. He believed that the most important thing was to concentrate on control, ownership and utilisation of land. The basic principle was that everyone would move from the cities to the countryside, begin farming and thus allow Cambodia to have an extensive amount of produce which they could trade with other countries. Unbeknown to those working the land the trading of goods wasn’t so much for money to improve Cambodia but for weapons.

Through heavy propaganda he convinced those who worked the land, mostly peasants that this change was for them, that the city people had had it too good for too long and now was their time. Pol Pot, formally a teacher, decided that anyone who didn’t work the land was against him, against the Khmer Rouge. His army set about rounding up anyone and everyone that he viewed to be against him. This extended to those with an “education”, “soft hands” or who “wore glasses”. His logic for deciding who should be arrested could be narrowed down to anyone who might have the ability to work out that he was a tyrannical dictator.

Once under arrest people were heavily tortured and questioned about their fictitious involvement with other countries or organisations which were ultimately against Pol Pot. The prisoners were forced to admit to their involvement by signing a scripted confession. There was no reality in what they were saying.

Upon their pleading guilty they remained in prison until such a time when they were taken to one of the many sites, now known as the Killing Fields. Here they were once again imprisoned alongside others who had been deemed to be against the regime and those people who had fallen short of expectation in the work camps.

One by one the prisoners were killed by the peasants who had now built up Pol Pots army. To save on expenses such as bullets, Pol Pot armed his forces with weapons such as spades, cart axels and hoes which they used to bludgeon the prisoners to death. Mass graves were dug, filled with bodies, covered with DDT to mask the smell and ensure everyone died then a new grave dug and the process was repeated. For any soldier not willing to do his duty of murdering innocent men and women their fate was death. The most popular way for this to be carried out was for them to be beheaded, cutting the neck with a serrated palm frond.

Perhaps the worst of all the crimes was those carried out on the children and babies of the prisoners. Pol Pot believed that, although they were incapable of physically being against him they did offer the risk of one day seeking revenge and so to were sentenced to death.

One of the hardest parts of the Killing Fields to visit is what is known as the Killing Tree, where soldiers would take the babies, grab them by their ankles and then swing their heads against the trunk of the tree often in the sight of their mothers.

In total, through murder, starvation and disease Pol Pot was responsible for wiping out twenty five percent of the population of Cambodia in under four years.

Somehow the whole thing went unmissed by the rest of the world, with the exception of Sweden, who had a large number of Khmer Rouge sympathises. In fact, Swedish officials visited Cambodia, the work camps and even the prisons and blindly refused to believe anything other than good was taking place. They were instrumental in silencing any doubts the rest of the world had, with the exception of Vietnam but they were hardly going to have any influence on powers such as the US.

I could go on and in much gorier detail but I think you get the point and significance of this site.

As you walk around the Killing Fields you listen to an audio guide, it explores the atrocities which took place here, it informs you of the severity of devastation but never glorifies it for shock value. There are key points around the fields, where the guide includes recordings of survivors of the camps. It uses music and other sounds to paint a very realistic picture of the scenes which took place here but the overriding message is that we must never forget what happened, not just for the memories of those who were killed but so that the world can learn from these events and one day prevent such horrific cases of genocide from ever happening again.

The mass graves have mostly been cleared and all the bones and skulls are on display in a 17 storey monument near the entrance of the site, but due to the high number of people that were killed here some bones and fragments of cloth remain in the ground, every year during the rainy season new bits surface and as we walked around we could clearly see small bones on the paths. It’s a very open reminder of the reality of what happened here.

We both came away stunned by what we had seen and heard, we sat in silence on the journey back into the city and tried to process some of the inhumanity of which we had just learnt. Perhaps optimistically we then visited the S21 prison, which was the site where prisoners were taken to before being moved to the killing fields. The killing fields themselves were set up because they ran out of room to bury people at S21. We only managed about half of the prison grounds as it was too overwhelming, so close to a visit to the killing fields.

We left and headed to the city centre where we were both emotionally drained, the rest of the day was pretty much a write off, we found a bar and watched the Malaysian Grand Prix while our brains digested everything we had seen.

That night Hatty got really ill, lets just say “both ends” and leave it there. So the following morning we took it easy, after spending most of the day in Joma, a café which we first found back in Laos we then decided to go the mall to watch a film. We had some time to kill before it started to ended up in one of the many Karaoke booths, an hour and a lot of Bonnie Tyler later we found our seats and watched the latest Neil Blomkamp film, Chappie. “In the near future, a mechanized police force patrols the streets and deals with lawbreakers -- but now, the people are fighting back. When one police droid is stolen and given new programming, he acquires the ability to feel and think for himself. While the robot, dubbed "Chappie" puzzles out human behaviour, the authorities begin to see him as a danger to mankind and order; they will stop at nothing to ensure that Chappie is the last of his kind.” Chappie was both thought provoking and brilliantly funny, a totally entertaining watch and way better than the synopsis leads you to believe.

Sun, Sea & Sickness (Otres)

We travel to Sihanoukville in the South West and immediately leave the tired, over partied streets and head 15 minutes downhill to Otres, a 3km or so stretch of beach. It is divided into Otres One, Otres Two and Otres Village, tonight we are staying at Papa Pippos on One. Our bungalow is a wooden shack right on the beach front, mere footsteps from the water’s edge. Papa Pippos is Italian run and as so has a truly magnificent menu, from fresh pizza and calzone to homemade ravioli and Italian ice cream. The sun is shining, my shoes are off, the sand between my toes and a pizza in my belly I couldn’t be happier.

 As evening draws in I enter myself into the “Trivia Tuesday” pub quiz, general knowledge is not a strong point so I’m playing for the booby prize. As the quiz begins it is revealed that the winning team of each round will receive a round of beers and the same for the highest scoring team with the least members. As a team of one I was confident, sure enough despite getting a shockingly low score over comes my first free beer of the night. The following three rounds didn’t yield such results thanks to the protest of another team contesting that, as Hatty was next to me we were in fact a team of two. However, my good fortune returned as the final scores were tallied up. For the winning team, of eight people a bottle of house wine was awarded. For the losing team, a wad of free beer tokens for Blame Canada, a near by bar. That “losing” team was of course was me and the tokens totalled seven. Eight free beers for losing a free quiz, I am living on the beach, I have unlimited access to pizza and can spend my days in a hammock. Was I falling in love with Otres, I think so.   

We had planned to stay on Otres for about five or six days then move onto some of the surrounding islands but we didn’t leave for two weeks. Those few weeks were a rollercoaster which have left me in two minds about how I view my time on Otres. I’ll start with the good.

Otres is a place that I had only dreamed of, firstly there was the view. Crystal blue, calm, warm waters- no jagged rocks or spiky sea urchins. Pristine, white sandy beaches- seriously, for two weeks I only walked on sand. In the distance other similar islands all reachable by a short boat ride. Unforgettable sunrises every morning and even better sunsets in the evening.

Next there were the people, likeminded, friendly, happy, welcoming. Everyone was super laid back and up for a good time but without the need to get fucked up.

Then there was the food and the bars, some of my favourite food of the whole trip was eaten here, fish Amok, grilled lemon and pepper shrimps, mango and papaya salad, Khmer “volcano” curries my list goes on. All washed down with ice cold, tangy lime shakes, mojitos and ginger tea. Almost every bar played decent music, some even had live music nights. Otres had the perfect mix of chilled out sleepiness and nightlife. I was seriously considering extending my visa and making more of a base out of Otres.

But then there’s the not so good. On our second night in Otres Hatty’s upset stomach returned and she had one hell of a night on the toilet with the bin between her legs. This wasn’t to be worst of it though, for as she was midway through a “poonado” episode the bathroom got a visit from some long tailed guests. Very few people like inexpediently seeing rats run past their feet, least not when you’re in such a vulnerable state as she was. Credit to her she didn’t actually freak out but did request my assistance. Our relationship reached a new level that night, as she sat emptying herself out into the toilet and bin I stood in the doorway brushing rats away from her with a broom.

We informed the staff, who came in, didn’t see any so told us they (the rats) wouldn’t be back. Back in the bathroom in the early hours of the morning one ran along a ledge at the top of the wall, another across the floor. In the light of day we told the manager who was a bit more understanding than the person last night, she said they would set traps, lay glue boards and do whatever they could. We were both tired from being up all night so had a real lazy day on the beach, in the evening we watched some live music and then went back to the bungalow. That night was less eventful, Hatty was still not feeling right and had developed a bit of anxiety about staying in the room- understandably bought on by her being sick and our new guests. Aside from regular toilet visits on her part and broom wielding on my part the night didn’t bring anymore surprises. I was feeling reassured that whatever had been put in place to get rid of the rodents had worked, my concern now was on getting Hatty back to full health.

We went to the local shop, I bought a hammock and we took a long walk along the beach. Papa Pippos was the last accommodation on Otres One and from there the beach is practically empty for over a kilometre, we set up camp and had an awesome day out on our own stretch of paradise. Later that day we went to Blame Canada and started using up some of my free tokens. Blame Canada was a cool bar, a little hipster but played wicked music, had easily the best view of the sunset on Otres One, a free pool table and a hammock in the sea. As I sat back in my chair, cold beer in hand and sun setting in front of me I felt completely at peace, Bon Iver’s “For Emma, Forever Ago” album was being played in its entirety and perfectly suited my mood.

I was getting a little peckish so suggested we grab a menu and eat here, but as the night drew in Hatty’s anxiety level rose dramatically. She was like a completely different person, she had true fear in her eyes. Her responses were nonsensical and her moods disorientating. At that particular moment I had no idea how to deal with her, I can’t express how content I felt there but there was no ignoring how seriously Hatty needed to get away. There was a part of me that wanted to be selfish and make us stay there but it quickly became apparent that she was not mucking about. The anxiety that had consumed her was making her shake, dry wretch, cry. I’d never seen anyone like this before, least not someone who means so much to me. I didn’t want to take her back to the room as I believed this to be base cause of the problem, I suggested we take a walk along the beach but she then changed her mind again and insisted staying here and getting some food.

There was no way she was going to stay and eat and there was even less chance of it actually being an enjoyable experience. We left and walked along the beach and as we got closer to the bungalow she deteriorated further, being sick and crying uncontrollably. She kept apologising, like I was angry with her. That couldn’t have been further from the truth, I was nothing but concerned, at most I was just confused. We got into the room and I sat her on the bed, tied the bathroom door wide open and put a film on the laptop then went outside. I knew having the bathroom door open would be a horrible experience for her but she needed to understand that whatever is, or isn’t in there isn’t that bad. I had offered to check us out and find a new place to stay on multiple occasions but she didn’t want to do that so I was running out of ideas.

As I sat on the patio outside I could hear her sobbing uncontrollably inside but had nothing constructive to say to calm her down, instead I spent the next few hours researching anxiety online and tips on how to help someone who suffers with it. Everything started to fall into place, I had previously thought anxiety to be the same as nervousness, but nervousness is just one of the symptoms of anxiety. Hatty explains the sensation to being similar to drowning, she has a rational thought telling her to swim but the anxiety prevents her arms from working. But to an outsider it’s hard to not understand why she doesn’t swim. I better understood it when I remembered a student from the College I used to work at. I met him for the first time after he had been involved in a car crash, prior to the accident he had been a very talented footballer, he had led a very active and healthy lifestyle but after the crash the only thing that remained properly active was his brain. He felt continuous frustration as he knew he should be able to walk, run, kick a ball but no matter how much his brain told his legs to move nothing happened. That battle between what you know you can, or should do and the bodies inability to respond is terrifying. When by all intents and purposes you are a healthy person that lack of control is in some ways more debilitating.

We left Papa Pippos the next day and moved off the beach to Otres Village to a French run place called Nice Dreams. The luxury, concrete villas were a long way from the wooden, straw roofed, open sided bathroom of Papa Pippos. They had air conditioning, a bath and a fridge, they were a 15 minute walk from the beach and a further 15 minutes from Papa Pippos. I really thought these factors would allow Hatty to get some peace and bring her anxiety down, and for the first part of the day this was the case. Being closer to Otres Two we could more easily explore the furthest end of the beach, we found an amazing stretch of water, you could clamber over the large rocks and commandeer you own tiny island, the water was so clear we could see schools of fish swimming about and for the first time we were both able to enjoy the moment for what it was.  

On the walk back we stopped and had a drink at a place called Shanti, their accommodation was set inside beach front treehouses. To my surprise Hatty suggested that we should see how much it would be to stay here. I loved the idea, it was like a childhood dream to spend the night in a treehouse and added to the fact it was open fronted so at any given point I could see the beach it sounded perfect. We had a few more nights at Nice Dreams and then planned to visit Koh Rong, a near by island for a few nights, on our return to Otres we would potentially stay at Shanti.

We took the boat over to Koh Rong for a day trip to see if it was actually somewhere we wanted to stay, in short the answer to that was a resounding “no”. By all accounts the waters here were that bit clearer and the sand a little whiter but the island was littered with people, rubbish and sand flies. All the natural beauty of the place had been swallowed up by tourism. It was overcrowded and hard work finding somewhere to enjoy yourself. We laughed at how fortunate we were that we were, by all accounts on one of the worlds most beautiful beaches and able to say, “meh it’s alright, I’ve seen better”.  

After the boat drops you off you have four hours on the island, this wasn’t long enough to go diving or get a boat to the smaller, less populated islands so after having some very average food and being attacked by sand flies we opted to sunbathe on the top desk of the boat. The highlight of the trip was definitely sailing back as the sun set, the cooler evening breeze did little to soothe my over exposure to the sun but we were both happy with our decision to remain on little, old Otres.

Our last night at Nice Dreams saw Hatty’s anxiety level creep up but she convinced me she was happy to go to Shanti, she wanted to test herself for at least one night. All credit to her she saw the night through without any issue. I, on the other hand hated it, I foolishly thought that being that close to the sea, out in the open would make for a cool evening but that night the wind was still and the temperate never dropped. I paced around the upper desk all night searching for the slightest breeze but everything I tried just made me warmer and more awake.

We checked out the following morning and moved to a newly built hotel behind Ostres Two called Golden View. The hotel hadn’t finished being built and as so the rooms were ridiculously cheap, our private double cost £12 a night, once the place is finished I’d expect this price to at least triple. We were a little walk from the beach but instead had stunning views out along the river, more importantly we were somewhere Hatty felt comfortable.

Our time on Otres was coming to an end and despite having not been a completely smooth ride I was sad to be leaving. I’m almost certain this place is now tainted in Hatty’s mind but for me it’s somewhere I would return, time and time again. Beaches, people and food aside there is one thing that ensures my heart remains in Otres, that my friends is the Frozen Flannel. First discovered at a small restaurant on Otres Two, Elephant Paradise, the frozen flannel is the ultimate companion to dining in a tropical environment. Having just eaten the Khmer Volcano curry- not dissimilar to the Thai Green but with more of an emphasis on lemon grass than coriander I was feeling a little warm. This may due to the bowl of fresh red chilies I poured on top of the curry or the fact the outside temperate was higher than I care to remember but regardless I was beading furiously. About half way through the meal the waitress came over with two wicker baskets with a rolled up flannel in each. I assumed this was like one of those warm, lemon towels you get at Indian restaurants so I left it to one side until Hatty revealed its true identity.”IT’S FROZEN” she shrieked in ecstasy. I immediately grabbed mine and put in on my neck, then under my knees, my forehead just about anywhere I could think to cool me down. By now, if you’ve been reading my blog you’ll now that I struggle somewhat with heat, with the frozen flannel I’m finally able to do normal things like sit or eat or walk about outside without my forehead turning into a waterfall. I have seen the light, I have been to the promise land.

Siem Reap

Our journey to Siem Reap was one we had been looking forward to, we had paid a little extra to travel the 13 hours on the Hotel Bus as this would offer us a more luxurious and enjoyable experience. The ticket gets you a double bed, curtained off area, TV, power sockets, WiFi, pillow and blanket. It’s the business class of bus travel but all was not as it seemed. We were travelling to Siem Reap going into the Khmer New Year and as so the bus was at full capacity, in Cambodian terms that means not only that all the beds are full but also the gangways and steps. This resulted in a very strange night basically sharing by bed with upwards of four people. I woke up at multiple times in the journey, the creepiest of which was due to someone holding my toes. The TV didn’t work nor did the WiFi, the plug sockets were covered by a partition wall, one curtain was missing but none of these things were as bad as the discovery we made at the end of the journey.

There had been a faint whiff of fish the whole time we were on the bus, this isn’t unusual as often the buses and trains are also used to transport goods. It’s also not uncommon for the locals to cook something up, the lady opposite us actually had a gas camping stove which she used. I put the smell down to that and forgot about it. When we got off the bus there were four or five large polystrnene containers on the pavement, one was badly damaged and had already become infested with flies. The stench from the box filled the warm air and was enough to turn even the strongest of stomachs. Still I didn’t put two and two together.

I collected our bags, which was sodden, wet right through but assuming that they had just been unfortunate to land in one of the puddles I threw it onto my back and went to get a tuk-tuk. Then it hit me, the fowl smell of rotten fish washed over me, we walked past the baggage hold of the bus and everything fell into place. The boxes which had been full of fish and kept cool with ice had been on the bus, in the hold besides all the bags. The ice had obviously melted during the warm, 13 hour journey and the slushy fishy water had drained away and soaked into our bags. Worse still was the broken box which had spilt not only the icy water but actual fish all over the luggage. Not a single member of staff seemed to acknowledge this as an issue. We got a ride the hotel where, before checking in prioritised finding out if they offered a laundry service.

Every single item in our bags stank of warm, musty fish, from shorts and t-shirts to shoes and the bags themselves. Laundery costs $1 per kg and our bags weighed out at roughly 15kg each. This expense would be damaging to our budget but there was little option other than pay up. We washed the heavier stuff in the shower then took the rest downstairs. I can laugh about it now but at the time I was livid.

We were staying at the V&A Villa, £13 per night got us a private double room with balcony, free use of the swimming pool, breakfast and access to lots of cats. OK, maybe the last one isn’t strictly part of the package but they had a lot of cats and that’s worth something in my book.

Once we’d de-fished we went downstairs to best work out how to tackle the Angkor park over the next few days. Andy, the “A” in V&A was originally from Hertfordshire, he’d come out to Cambodia as a volunteer where he met Voleak, they got married and then had the tough decision of working out whether to move to England or stay in Cambodia, It should be obvious which decision won. Andy was a wealth of information and talked us through the options for doing the park as well as giving us the low down on the New Year celebrations that were happening throughout the city. It was sounding like a very exciting time to be in Siem Reap.

Angkor tickets come in three sizes, one day, three day and seven day and cost $20, $40 and $60 respectively. A nice touch is that if you buy your pass after 5pm you are allowed to go into the site to see Sunset for free and your pass starts the following morning. We took advantage of this and that evening we chose to watch the sun come down over Phnom Bakheng. Set high at the top of a hill looking over the ancient city below you get a stunning view of Angkor Wat and the reflections on the Tonle’ Sap lake. The temple itself is under repair but I liked the collapsed look it gave me a better idea of its age and I felt like it had only just been discovered. It was an awesome place to take photos and the sunset was pretty special up there.

The following morning we made our way to Angkor Wat for sunrise, on the way we made a brief friendship with a Slovakian chap who had hitched a lift with us, but instead of sitting in the tuk-tuk he was on a push bike, holding onto the side of the vehicle. Each time he thought the driver would catch him in his mirrors he would swerve just out of sight or let go, peddle like mad and catch up again. It was an admirable way to save both energy and money. He joked he had come all the way from Europe using this method. In reality he had just spent the best part of the year living in a van, travelling across New Zealand. He was headed for Bayon so at the junction we said goodbye and continued on our way.

Every single person that was at Angkor Wat that morning had the same idea, go through the main gate, get as close to the lake and position their cameras to capture the sun coming up behind the iconic towers of Angkor Wat. I had a different idea, for me the shot of the gates, the towers behind them and the moats either side offered not only a better photo but somewhere to really enjoy the moment away from the crowds. Every single guide that came past us told us that the views inside were better but we stood strong. As the sun came up I was blown away by the view and got great joy from the photos I took. We moved inside and joined the sea of people, who were all crammed into the “perfect spot”, sure enough they were greeted with a more impressive shot of Angkor but the drained lake took away some of the magic, not to mention the amount of heads and cameras that would inevitably be in their shots.

We wandered around the Angkor Wat site, built in the early 12^th Century it is still to this day the world’s largest religious monument. It is extraordinary how much detail has been preserved in the wall carvings and ceiling decorations and with nothing to distract you it’s easy to forget you’re in the 21^st Century. Things get even better when you climb to the top of one of the temples inside the complex. The 360 degree view from up there pulls you further into the belief that you have left the 21^st Century, with nothing but ancient buildings, grass and woodlands in sight you continue to feel further connected with Angkor.

For me, each complex we visited got better and better. Next on our list was Angkor Thom, one of the largest Khmer cities ever built housing, in my opinion the best temples in the park. The first of these was Bayon, the complex of face towers built in the late 12^th Century was an epic place to explore and take photos. Some of the walls have collapsed and sections of it are under repair but I liked the way it had been allowed to age, it made it feel more like a discovery than a tourist experience. The giant faces tower high above you, surrounding you from all directions, its like being in a labyrinth.

The next few places we visited, Suor Prat Towers, Elephant Terrace and the Terrace of the Leper King were all rushed due to the arrival of the Cambodian Prime Minister, who was visiting the Angkor complex and kicking off the new year celebrations. We were ushered along pretty quickly and so didn’t have much time to explore, thankfully though from what I can tell all three of these were considerably smaller than any of the others we had visited and so we didn’t feel we missed too much.

The absolute highlight of the Angkor complex for me was the visit to Ta Phrom and Banteay Kdei. Both sites have been left to allow nature to do what nature does, so as a result you have monumental stone structures dating back to the 11^th or 12^th Century with gargantuan roots twisted around them. The trees both support and destroy the site in equal measures and it looks truly awesome. Both sites received fame on the big screen when they were used as a location for the movie Tomb Raider. Both Ta Phrom and Banteay Kdei are out of this world, it’s hard to believe what you are seeing and with so many hidden corners you can really feel like you are the first person to ever stumble across this lost city. I enjoy taking photos and this was by far one of the best places to do just that. Angkor Wat holds a lot of the glory and fame but for me its these two that stole the show.

Aside from the temples, one of the other cities star attractions is found high in the trees of the Palace gardens. Hundreds of bats hang from the branches all day, occasionally testing out their wings but on the whole they stay fairly motionless. That is until the sun sets and then, like a black cloud they exit on mass into the dark of the night. The noise they produce echoes across the park and people come from far and wide to watch the evening spectacle. We waited for about two hours for their performance and it was worth every second. Thanks to the New Year there was the occasional moment of pre-show premature pyrotechnics which sent the bats into a state of frenzy. After the trees had emptied and our necks were crooked from looking up for too long we moved over the park to the “Leo Concert”. Leo, for those that don’t know is a beer from Thailand, we were both a puzzled why a Thai beer was sponsoring Khmer New Year, especially seeing as they have their own beers, Cambodia and Angkor.  The logic to the event was further lost when I bought the first round, my beer arrived along with a token. I exchanged the token for a dart, which I was instructed to throw at a spinning wheel. Whatever I hit meant that I won a Leo hat, which I kindly donated to Hatty but she wasn’t impressed. Other lucky winners had walked away with pens, fans, t-shirts and motorbike helmets. Her eyes were soley on the helmets. I sank the beer, bought another and tried again. Another Leo hat. On stage was a band playing traditional Cambodia folk music, to my right a large screen playing Leo adverts. Running out of heads to put hats on we finished our drinks and called it night.

Round two of New Year  celebrations were more lively, the infamous Pub Sreet had been taken over and in the middle of the road stood a large stage, a DJ blasted “C-Pop” at the thousands of young people who jumped about, cheering and screaming with joy. The energy was electric, people was rushing about wishing everyone a Happy New Year, laughter and cheers filled the air. Everybody was drunk on happiness, not a bottle of alcohol in sight. Each road had its own theme, its own loud, energetic music, dancing crowds. Traditionally Khmer New Year is the one night men and women can mingle, in fact it is supposed to be on this night that a man finds his wife. Spirits were high and that’s an understatement.

There is one other tradition that we had avoided, that was until we turned down a certain road. We were met by hoards of people covered head to toe in talcum powder. As we shuffled through the crowds we found ourselves being wished a happy new year, receiving a high five or a hug and a good handful of talcum powder to the face, head, body or wherever it landed once it left the bottle. By the end of the street we looked like two ghosts, with baby soft skin. That, however isn’t the end of the tradition, for as we turned the corner we were met by another group armed with water pistols, buckets of water, hose pipes. They lined the streets and the balconies of the building above and without hesitation proceeded to drench us and turn the talcum powder into a kind of cement. There is very little you can other than laugh and embrace it, nobody has the slightest bit of menace in them, the atmosphere is like a carnival, a massive free party across the city. Nobody is even hinting at having a fight, or vandalising anything, there is no need for heavy policing. There are tens of thousands of people on the streets and every last one of them has nothing but love in their heart. There’s no getting around the fact it was surreal walking about drenched and covered in baby powder but who am I to argue with tradition. Happy Khmer New Year.

Our final stop in Cambodia saw us make a brief stop back in Phnom Penh. We caught the bus out of Siem Reap and six hours later were checked into our hotel. With the New Year celebrations winding down and people making the most of being off work the city was basically closed. We spent the night planning our route for the next leg of our journey which will see us travelling through Malaysia, starting with Kuala Lumpur.

Cambodia has well and truly captured my heart, it’s made up of the kindest, friendliest and most genuine people I have ever met. The Cambodians are lively, jolly and full of spirit. They are proud, curious and welcoming. Not one person that I met during my time here gave off anything remotely aggressive or standoffish, it’s impossible to be in their company and not laugh or have a permanent smile across you face.

The food, although it often had a negative effect on us, was delicious and exciting. So many of their dishes are borrowed from neighbouring countries but cooked with  a Cambodian twist, often subtle, always for the better of the dish. Every hour spent either on or near a toilet was worth every bite.

The landscapes, the beaches, the ancient cities and their temples were mind blowing. Impressive doesn't begin to cover it. The more I think about Cambodia the more I love it. To have gone through some of the things I’ve mentioned in this blog, to see the person I love in such a vulnerable, uncontrollable state of fear has had an impact but I don’t hold Cambodia responsible, or if I did, I forgive her.

Next stop, Malaysia.

As always thanks for reading.

Back in 'Nam

Hanoi

It’s been almost 40 days since I left Laos, life was easy, the pace was slow and the sun shone bright all day. I loved every moment in Luang Prabang and it was only that I feared I was becoming too laid back and feared I’d never get anything done if I stayed that I moved on (and my Visa was going to run out…)

So when the plane landed in Hanoi, Vietnam and the pilot informs us that having just flown from a sunny 40 degree Luang Prabang we were to be treated to such delights as 15 degrees and rain you can imagine my joy. The feeling of disappointment was mutual between all passengers.

Walking to the bus stop through the rain and smog I couldn’t help but feel inspired, what with all the grey concrete and fragrant litter. We knew we needed to catch the number 17 bus so plonked ourselves at the stand for number 7 and 17. The number 7 arrived and left, and then another and another but no 17. We were continuously fighting off taxi and tuk-tuk drivers quoting well over the odds for the journey into town, to put it into context the bus is 30p while a taxi was over £10. The stop had by now filled up with backpackers all waiting for the number 17, there was a Vietnamese girl also waiting for the bus, this gave everyone a false hope that this was the right stop and so we just waited. Around 30 minutes had past when the Vietnamese girl walked over to a man sitting on a golf caddy, they exchanged some frantic words then she came over and gestured to all of us that we need to get on the golf caddy. Lots of hand signals and pointing later it was understood that the number 17 no longer stops here and that he was going to take us. It wasn’t clear whether he was going to take us to the number 17 or if he was going to take us to the city centre. Travelling down a motorway style road in Vietnam on the back of a golf caddy is an unnerving experience, bikes and lorries come plowing up to you then swerve around and cut in front. Some ten minutes later we leave the main road and travel down a boggy track into a wasteland, stray dogs skulk around piles of rubble, a gang of tired looking men slouch on a burnt out oil drum, the air filled with cigarette smoke. It feels very much like this is where tourists disappear. The Vietnamese girl sparks up another rapid conversation with the driver and then hurriedly gestures to us to follow her, she walks us down the road where we are met by a bus, the number 17. It’s doors are wide open, the engine is on but there is no driver in sight. We climb on board and take a seat, its almost equally as wet on the bus as it is outside, the damp and smoky smell of outside perfectly compliments the dusty upholstery of the bus. A young man jumps onto the bus and enthusiastically walks up and down the aisle before finding a seat at the front, a second man gets on the bus, they exchange some words before the second man puts the bus into gear and we start moving. As we approach the motorway style road the enthusiastic first man comes round and asks for the bus fair. The smallest note the ATM had issued us had a value of 500,000 Dong, the fair for the bus was 9,600 Dong, it was instantly apparent that the conductor was not going to have the change for this note, even if he did. Thankfully, before leaving the UK at the start of the year Hatty’s dad had given us his Dong (phrasing), at the time we laughed at how minute the value of this bundle of notes was but now we understood why. The smallest of these notes was 20,000 Dong, this covered both fairs but didn’t warrant any change, (800 Dong is equal to 0.02p). The bus trundled through the rain, fighting off traffic with its horn and after an hour of jolting and swerving and heavy breaking we arrived in the centre of the capitol city.

Our Hotel was on a road called Hang Giay, there are two streets called Hang Giay in Hanoi, on opposite ends of the city to one another. They can only be told apart by their pronunciation, the “Giay” either goes high at the end or low. I hadn’t even learnt how to say “hello” yet, least not because there are different expressions for this depending on whether you are talking to a man or a woman (that is a stranger to you), a man or a woman (that you know), a man or a woman that is younger than you or one that is older, or if you are on the phone, with basic communication being such a mind field I wasn’t holding out much hope for getting road names right. The bus stop was very near one of the Hang Giay roads and so we used logic to make this our first attempt.

It worked, within five minutes we had checked in and were shown to our room. The hotel we had picked was tastefully named, Posh Hotel, we chose the hotel because of the irony between its name and its price, £6 for a private double with en-suite, hardly “posh” prices. The gamble of picking somewhere solely on the entertainment value of it being called “posh” but probably being shit is however a risky game to play. Luck was on our side today and as we walked down the marble hallway, its grand double height ceiling supporting massive crystal chandeliers we started to believe its claim. The room was beautiful, a place of luxury with large bed and an even larger TV, an extravagant bathroom complete with bathrobes, not to mention a mini bar stocked with beers, soft drinks and food all for more than reasonable prices (a beer was 60p). I don’t know if it would class as “posh” but it was certainly swanky and an unbelievable steal for £6.

It later became an absolute godsend that this room was an enjoyable place to be as the following days in Hanoi were to be without doubt the most miserable of the trip.

Outside the rain continued to fall and the grey of the sky merged into the grey of the buildings, everything looked tired and miserable, I couldn’t understand why only a few hours ago I was in one of the most beautiful, peaceful places I’ve ever been and now I’m here, damp and disgruntled. We wander the streets to see if there is life beyond the smog but as I walk past a stall selling a delicacy that I had until now avoided I regret coming to Hanoi even more. There were at least 15 dogs stacked on top of each other, they had been skinned and boiled whole- they still had their eyes for fucks sake. I am certainly no vegetarian, I am certainly guilty of buying meat, sometimes from questionable sources and of questionable quality, so have no right to lecture others on their carnivorous choices. I also understand that different cultures have different views of animals and that in this particular culture the dog is both viewed as a cheap source of protein and is readily available but I cant pretend that seeing mans best friend on the meat counter is a sight I enjoyed. I think I struggled with the mass of canine corpses in front of me as I had only recently read about the methods by which the animal is prepared for the table. In order for the dog to produce the most desirable flavours it is believed that the dog, or rather puppy should be hung, alive and then beaten with sticks to break down the fat and spread the blood around the body and left until dead. Now I am fully aware that the methods by which chickens are mass produced for our consumption back home can be less than ethical but this just seems barbaric, what’s worse is that on the whole people don’t actually enjoy the taste of pooch. Regardless of the morality of my own meat habits or whether these dogs were killed the traditional way or not I was becoming rapidly less enthused by Hanoi.

We returned back to the grandeur of our budget palace and ordered some food, I had spicy dog salad, joke, joke, joke. We sat in the rooftop restaurant and watched the world below, from up here all the motorbikes rushing about, over loaded with everything from people to plants looked like worker ants scurrying from place to place. It was entertaining but that only endeared me so far.

The following morning we walked out into the rain, the air was muggy and the roads thick with sludge. The plan for the day was to visit both the Vietnam museum of Revolution and the Vietnam Military History museum, we had been quite late risers and so didn’t arrive at the museum until 11am. It is common place for things to close for lunch, “lunch” can span from 11am until 2.30pm. The museums were not as generous with their breaks as some places and so only closed from 11.30-13.30. We were a little out of the centre and the weather was, for lack of a better phrase, dog shit so we seeked refuge in a near-by café’ and killed a couple of hours.

Both museums were fairly non-descript, the information boards were very rarely in English and as my Vietnamese is non-existent I can’t say I got that much from them. We moved on fairly quickly to the Vietnam Citadel, one of the most recent historic sites opened to the public. The main attraction of the Citadel is the bunker, where North Vietnams military commanders plotted their successful campaign again the US and South Vietnamese forces. Another highlight for me was the parking lot filled with Apache helicopters, tanks, heavy artillery and B52 bombers, those that were intact had steps allowing you look inside, there were also large sculptures made from the scraps of some of the American planes that had been shot down. I didn’t really learn anything new from this but it was cool to look at it in a “boys and their toys” way.

My experience of Hanoi went from bad to worse when I woke up the following morning with a very urgent need to visit the bathroom. The next 24 hours were spent in the room, more specifically the bathroom as I endured the single worst case of the poo’s I have ever known. The phrase; “a costume of a man” springs to mind.

The following day was our last in Hanoi, the evening would see us catching a night train to Hue (pronounced H-way). After checking out as late as possible we still had eight hours to kill, eight hours on the damp streets, eight hours without a toilet fixed to my backside. Thankfully by night fall I was feeling much better and was grateful for that as I boarded the train for the 13 hour journey.

The train was great, it was a sleeper and I had the top bunk, there was a tannoy in the room which played inexplicably loud music, that wonderful volume where everything becomes distorted. It drove itself into your brain and conversation was impossible, it was almost certainly a form of torture. My endearment to Vietnam continued to grow.

As the train pulled away the music died down and was instead replaced by the sound of a softly spoken man who began to tell a story, he talked about Hanoi, about its history and its people. The last thing I remember is the line, “so long Hanoi, farewell Hanoi, we love you Hanoi”. The first two parts I strongly agree with, the latter not so much. With that I was sound asleep and I remained in this slumpber until around 6am when the couple below made their exit from the train. We still had about three hours to go but having slept for almost the first ten I couldn’t believe how easy the ride had been.

An hour on and the train cruised to a standing stop, about ten minutes later the tannoy fired up, this time it was the driver, he explained that there had been an accident ahead that had damaged the track, we were going to travel to the next station and from there either change trains or get a bus. We didn’t move for another hour and then when we did it was at a snails pace, we made regular, unexplained stops for varying lengths of time, 15 minutes here, 50 minutes there. About three hours on from the initial stop we pulled up alongside another train, we sat still on the tracks for about half an hour and then the door of our cabin opened and a family of four came in and sat down on the bed beside us. From the window we could see that the train beside us was off loading its passengers onto our train. At the time we assumed that this was the train involved in the accident, the carriages filled up but still the train just sat there.

An hour passed and then the engines fired up and we began to sluggishly pull away from the now abandoned train and continue on our journey. Another hour on we arrived at a station, I recognised its name from our train schedule and knew that it was two hours (normal speed) away from Hue. The train didn’t stop here for long and actually picked up speed, aside from the five or so hour delay and the brat kid who kept kicking me the journey wasn’t too bad. We made some ground before once again coming to halt. Here the train stood still for half an hour before people began being ushered off the train, out of the station and literally crammed into buses. People and bags filled every inch of space, I was thankful for the lack of vision given the speed the driver was travelling at, swerving and screeching past everything on the road until suddenly the speed dropped and I felt everyone turn to the right. Peeking through a gap in my bag I could see outside, large numbers of men were gathered in the road, beyond them lay a train, some of which was upright on the track some on its side definitely not on the track. The front of the train was basically missing and in its place was a dumper truck that was split into two pieces. No sooner had we passed this grim spectacle the driver once again stepped on the gas and propelled us onwards.

We arrived at the next station, squeezed out of the bus and boarded another train, the conductor told us to go to our original seats, which we did. Opening the door to our cabin we were greeted by six pairs of eyes glaring at us and gesturing like there was no room. We weren’t taking no for an answer and used our ticket as validation that we should be in here, it then became apparent that we all shared the same seat numbers as this train was filling up with those affected by the crash from some three or even four trains. The top bunks almost buckled under the weight of all the bags meanwhile on the bottom bunk the expression, too close for comfort springs to mind. Still the conductor came round and insisted more people come into the cabin, he told us that we must also sit on the top bunk, which was obviously struggling under the weight of the bags. These suggestions angered the German couple and they made it very clear to him that no one would be sitting on the top bunk and no one else would be coming in. The Dutchman had a similar view but instead of using words just slowly closed the door to the cabin. Joining us the room alongside the Germans and the Dutch was a Korean couple and a Vietnamese man. The Vietnamese man spoke excellent English so on the conductors third trip to our cabin we used him to explain to the conductor why having more people in here is just plain dangerous, whatever was exchanged there meant we were no longer bothered. We shared some light hearted conversation, discovered that the Koreans had left Hanoi more than an hour before us and this was their third train of the trip. The Germans were getting annoyed at how inefficient it all was, the Dutchman remained laid back and like us the Koreans just took it all in their stride, adopting that, we’ll get there when we get there attitude.

Another half hour passed and then an announcement came over the tannoy, in Vietnamese. So we all looked over at the Vietnamese man who had already started to translate for us. The message was for all those travelling on a certain number ticket to move over to the other train which had just pulled up. This meant saying goodbye to the Koreans, the Germans became a little envious as they believed the other train was going to leave quicker but the Dutchman quickly changed the subject with a more pressing matter- where can I get hot water for my Pot Noodle? The Koreans left but still both trains remained in the platform.

Another twenty minutes passed and the door to our cabin swung open, the Koreans had returned. For some unknown reason the other train was now being emptied of people and everyone was piling onto our train. Four, full train loads of people now condensed to one train. No sooner had the Koreans sat down the train pulled away from the station and set off, once again for Hue.

HUE

More than 21 hours after leaving Hanoi we arrived in Hue, it was dry, warm and there were no dead dogs on the street these things alone make it substantially better than Hanoi. We check into our room and then head straight out into the city in search of food. Found a nice Italian place, filled our bellies and then took a walk along the river.

The following morning we decided on getting some culture. After fighting off Tuk-Tuk drivers, hawkers and touts we crossed a narrow road and ducked under a stone archway and into the Imperial City. There isn’t a great deal to do here except to wonder the grounds, Hatty was taken back by the flowers and the river that run through one of the gardens. I was more occupied with all the lizards scuttling about the place. The weather was almost unbearable but this place offered us a cool breeze and beautiful views, for the first time I felt properly relaxed in Vietnam.

The remainder of day was spent in Allez Boo, a bar & restaurant complete with Pool table. They have an extensive food menu and even more extensive drinks one, they also run a very generous Happy Hour making cocktails cost about a £1, the pool table was free and the food just kept coming. Our table was steadily filling up with glasses and someone was getting to the “karaoke” stage so we went to settle the bill and head back when all of a sudden the skies opened up and sheets of rain quickly flooded the streets. The waiter looks outside, looks at me and says “Mojito?”, with that the drinks kept coming and we played pool until we couldn’t see the table and then sang along to the absolute classics coming out of the speakers. We settled up our £15 bill and stepped out into the lake.

DENANG

Our next stop was Denang, we travelled there via train. The journey was ok only around 4 or 5 hours, there was no space for bags so we made ourselves a bag fortress and settled in for the ride.

Arriving in Denang was quite literally a breath of fresh air. For the first time since the south of Thailand my feet were on sand and I could hear the sea as its waves crashed onto the shore. The air was cooler, the sun was brighter, I didn’t have to wear shoes. Our accommodation is a bit naff but this is the first place in Vietnam where I have wanted to be outside so I don’t care.

We walk the street looking for something to eat and are met by seafood restaurant after seafood restaurant. They were all empty bar one which has customers spilling out onto the street, the critters were all in tanks along the front of the building from crabs to eels to god knows what, if I said there was a whole shark in there somewhere you’d better believe it. We took a seat just inside the restaurant and waited for a menu, a waitress came over and just said, “he’ll take your order”, pointing over to a young boy near the tanks. We wondered over and were asked to pick what we wanted from the tanks. I’d never done this before and seeing all the crabs clambering over one another, the fish bobbing about complete unaware of their fate I did start to feel a bit mean but then this tanks of monster shrimps came into my field of vision. “I’ll have some shrimp”, “kilo or ½” he said, “kilo, and a crab” I said. We chose how we wanted them cooked, with lemon grass, ginger, chili, the options reeled off, finally we added a side of fried spinach then returned back to the table. 

The bucket of shrimp turned up first, they were steaming hot and fully intact, Hatty’s face was a picture. Seafood wasn’t something she ever entertained as a meal, the eyes looking at her from the plate weren’t making it anymore appetising for her either. I picked one up and began removing the head and tail but was quickly interrupted by the waitress, or was now wearing gloves and wielding an empty bucket. She proceeded to de-shell all the shrimps and then place then on our plates one by one, I wasted no time in devouring these colossal crustaceans, Hatty on the other hand was a little more cautious. “Ah ma ghad dees shrimps is derishus” scoffed a little voice from across the table. I looked over the mound of shells in front of me to see Hatty eagerly working her way through shrimp after shrimp. In her own words she “devoured them like a pug”.

The table tipped up as the waitress lowered the mammoth crab on to it, again I attempted to dissect him but she quickly returned to the crime scene, gloves on hand and armed with all manor of metal implements. She chiselled, cracked and chopped until Mr Crabby was a pile of delicious, fluffy meat. I wasted no time in emptying a claw into my belly. Hatty had a stab at it but decided she was a shrimp girl, I cleaned up the plates and then asked for the bill. The food was undeniably fresh and equally delicious but the final bill almost knocked us off our chairs. We had been quite accustomed to paying 50,000 dong for a meal, so when the bill arrived at a cool 1,000,000 dong I almost joined the pile of carcasses on the table. 1,000,000 dong is around £30, which may seem a fair price for exquisitely fresh seafood, expertly prepared and I agree but in my backpackers mind this was a monumental disaster, a seriously ill calculated waste of money and man was I still hungry.

To add insult to injury, this expenditure had used up all the funds in my wallet. We walked the streets in search of an ATM to very little success. We asked where the nearest one was and people ever laughed or just said “very far, too far”. This didn’t put us off as we had learnt from our time in Vietnam that anywhere is too far if you’re walking. It seems to be beyond their imagination that you would or could do something without being on the seat of a motorbike. We used the trusted Google maps and he assured us that there was an ATM around 2km past our hotel. We set off on this marathon and before long strolled right up to a cash machine, withdraw a couple million, (no big deal) then dragged our withering bodies back towards the hotel.

As luck would have it we wondered past a pizza restaurant, pulled up a table and ordered ourselves a, albeit less delicious but substantially more filling dinner than our seafood escapade. The bill arrived, a more satisfying 65,000 dong (£2) and off we pootled to the room.

The following day we hitched a lift 7km out of town to the Marble Mountains, a series of five mountains, if the legend is to be believed these were formed from a dragons egg, which under the strict supervision of a golden turtle cracked open after a 1,000 days. The egg broke into five pieces, each piece created a separate mountain, one for each of the elements; fire, water, metal, wood and earth. Each mountain also has its own cave, most of which are eerily decorated to resemble Hell itself. The taxi driver asked if we wanted him to wait for us, partly because we didn’t know how long we’d be and partly for the look on his face we said no, it would be ok, we were going to walk back.

Poo-pooing our lift back was instantly regrettable, the steep stairs winding inside the caves and back up to the peaks of the mountains saw me becoming suitably drenched in sweat, short of breathe and not the least bit interested in even attempting the 7km hike home in 30 degree heat.

I had packed a towel in my bag knowing full well that any amount of exercise in this heat would see me ending up a sodden mess. I felt disgusting as I walked around the caves continuously patting my damp forehead, swiping the sweat from my forearms and squinting from all the salt in my eyes all the while everyone else seemed unfazed by the heat. Then I saw him, a man of similar build to me, wearing a black t-shirt like me and clutching an off-white towel, a puddle of perspiration on the floor below him. I raised by towel at him and nodded, he reciprocated the gesture and with the all the energy he could muster exclaimed, “it’s the only way”. I was not alone.

The caves themselves from what I could tell through the burning slits where my eyes once sat were very impressive. The addition of devil beasts, torture scenes and implements of pain were slightly unnerving if not a little entertaining. Entry to the peaks of the mountains were offered in two price brackets, cheap for the treacherous, manual route or slightly less cheap for the elevator. I did option A Hatty option B. She met a very different man at the top, beaming red face, demonic eyes, raspy voice. I wouldn’t have looked out of place back in the caves alongside all the Beelzebub’s.

Again, the views from up here were astonishing, or at least that’s what people were saying. All I could see was a series of foggy outlines thanks to the relentless globules of sweat now permanently residing in my eyes. It was fair to say we didn’t walk back to town.

Back in the room, located under the aircon unit I was still a complete mess. I looked in the mirror and decided that if I cut my curly mop of hair off I would instantly cool down. I took to my head with a pair of clippers which in true fashion cut way too short and inevitably ran out before I’d even finished one side. I looked like I had Alopecia and despite Hatty’s hysterical laughter I was not amused. I had little trust in Hatty’s scissor skills when it came to my hair but I had even less choice, so let her loose on my barnet. We were both surprised with the end result, not only did we consider it a job well done I was also actually starting to feel cool.

HOI AN

The next destination on our tour of Vietnam was the stunning Hoi An. We stayed at a place called Tropical Garden homestay, the room was incredible, large, lots of natural light and astonishing views across the families many gardens. The air was full of wildlife, no motorbikes revving or car horns beeping, it was the very essence of tranquillity. 

Tropical Garden was very family orientated, the restaurant backed onto their house and you could even do tours which included, “farming with the family”, “fishing with the family” or our favourite, “meet the family”. The lady who checked us in was so welcoming and friendly that for probably the first time in the trip a tour actually sounded worthwhile. We said we would potentially be interested in the farming option at a later date but for now just wanted to take a look around Hoi An. “Ok, so you’ll be back at 4pm for fishing and garden tour?” We reiterated our “not today” answer and then set off to see Hoi An, well the beach at least.

The homestay was a little over a kilometre from the beach and the family offer bicycle rental for free but all the bikes were out so we happily made our way on foot, much to the confusion of the family. Like I said before, Vietnamese people really don’t understand why you would want to walk anywhere.

The beach was fantastic, sea and sand as far as the eye could see. The beach was impeccably clean and not at all overcrowded. We set up camp and then jumped in the sea to cool off. The current here is very strong and the waves that crash onto the shore are big enough to dunk you each and every time they roll up and over you. It was endless fun running through the water and then belly flopping over them, taking it in turns to face away from them so they could unsuspectingly engulf you or simply laying on the beach and letting them pull you in and then wash you back up onto the shore. The waves weren’t quite high enough to surf, there were groups of people kite surfing and body boarding but for me belly flopping was arguably more fun.

Along the top of the beach are a number of restaurants with nothing much to distinguish them from one another, we picked one at random and took a seat. A lady took our order and moments later her son, who was no more than five years old. He was pimped out in gold bracelets, necklaces and had a Gucci baseball cap on, he swaggered over with our drinks, pulled a bottle opener from his back pocket, spun it on his finger, popped the lids off our drinks then span round and went back over to his mum. As we sat waiting for the food we witnessed him charm his way around the restaurant floor and his tips kept rolling in, the kid was cool as hell and was packing some serious dollar.

I order a beef salad and Hatty, who is now turning into an addict, keeps up her shrimp habit and goes for a salad with the little crustaceans on top. With clean plates, we go to settle up the bill and then stupidly realise we haven’t bought enough money out with us. Thankfully the waitress is very understanding and we quickly march our way back to the room to grab some more dollar. Being the gent that I am, I volunteer to take the money back as I noticed some bikes had returned and it would be easy enough for me to go on my own. I look around downstairs for a member of the family to ask but can only find the grandma character who is bent double and with even less English than I have Vietnamese. We play a game of charades from which she understands that I would like to borrow a bike and ushers me over to one. I go to get on it but she places her hand on the seat and says 500. I look confused as I’m near positive they are free but hey there might be a deposit. 500,000 is £15 so I shook my head and say “No, too much” and offer her 100 (£3) but she took the 500 and grinned like a salamander. I took it back, getting a little frustrated and went to walk saying “I’ll walk, I’ll walk” when she took her hand off the bike and said “Okay” smiling like her little trick had failed. In less than 10 minutes, I was back in the room and gave Hatty the heads up on the old fraud.

We wake up as spritely as elves, keen for another day on the beach. We grab two bikes (No salamander in sight) and pedal our way to the sand. Push bikes are so popular here that there is a roaring trade for “safe” parking spaces. From the moment you approach the beach, there are old ladies ushering you into their lots. We try to be diplomatic and go for the middle ladies who seem most cheerful. One compliments Hatty on her hair whilst simultaneously pulling my beard whilst imitating cutting it off, oh how we laughed. The price for the day was $1 or 10,000 each which would equate to 60p, we pay up and return to our spot on the beach. Late that afternoon, back at the homestay, a little crisper than we were this morning, the family quiz us about spending all day on the beach. We shrug off our sloth like behaviours with a laugh and freshen up in the room. It’s not long however before we are feeling peckish so go and check out the options down stairs. The family are mid-way through their own dinner so instead of disturbing them we get a taxi into the town.

Old Town Hoi An is picturesque with colonial style shop fronts and cobbled streets lit by low hanging red lanterns. It was like a fairy tale town. The town comprises a well preserved complex of 1107 timber framed buildings, 600 of which house tailors and that’s no exaggeration. There is no shortage of places to eat either and we stumble into a narrow 10 seater restaurant which easily has the best food we have eaten so far in Vietnam. Teamed with their 15p in house brewed beer, it’s a winner. Unfortunately we don’t get much further into Hoi An than this as our sun worshipping earlier has knocked us both for 6.

Having had the price of the farming experience revealed, $25 each we kindly declined as this was out of our budget, furthermore you don’t actually do any farming you just watch the family do it which to me defeats the object of why I would have wanted to it, ie learn a new skill and it’s also a but creepy. Instead I said I’d like to go fishing, you leave early in the morning and set off with the local fishermen in their traditional woven basket boats and catch your breakfast, all for $3. I was told to be ready by 7am the following morning.

Keen to have a go at this I was first down for breakfast, which arrived and got eaten at a rate of knots. I sat waiting for one of the sons of the family who was going to take me to the fishermen. 7.30am came, so did 8am and 8.30am. When he arrived close to 9am he looked surprised that I was still here, I asked what time we were going fishing and he said there was no hurry. First he wanted to take us on a garden tour then I’d go fishing and then we would have a Vietnamese cooking class. He didn’t talk of prices, he made it sound very much like it was all part of the fishing experience but I wasn’t convinced. I asked how much, $32 his reply, that’s each by the way. Hatty had repeatedly made it very clear that she did not have any interest in fishing, and I wasn’t interested in the garden tour or the cooking class but simply just wanted to go fishing. All this fell on deaf ears as he just came back with, first we will do a garden tour then fishing then cooking class. This line appeared time and time again but after a lot of back and forth he changed the deal to us both having a garden tour ($50), me going fishing ($3) and then me and Hatty meeting up again at the cooking class, the cost for which was now tied with the garden tour.

His tireless efforts to force us to pay for something we don’t want to do was having one effect on our decision, that was to not do any at all. The whole thing had gone on too long so I decided to be crystal clear with him, I would go on the fishing tour, it will cost $3 and that is all, or if you insist on adding the garden tour or cooking class in once more I will forget the whole thing, no fishing, no tours. The experience had agitated me and jilted our impression of the homestay, the family were lovely, very welcoming, they had at times tried to drive sales by asking us if we will visit the family tailor and so on but it was never pushy. This was a different level, it was beyond devious it was just plain rude. The atmosphere had changed and I needed a break away from their intensity.

After a more relaxed day on the beach we went back to the room, freshened up and called a taxi to take us into the Old Town. The son was downstairs, he apologised which I gladly accepted, with the peace made we went in search of dinner.

The small restaurant we had eaten in the night before was so remarkable that we said we would go again but only for a small snack as there were so many other options that we also wanted to try. Sometime later we came out of there holding our busting bellies, top buttons definitely undone. We had failed miserably at the whole small portion thing. We put the energy boost to good use and covered much more of the town than the previous night. Once working our through the narrow cobbled streets, down winding alleyways and down some steps and onto a bridge which took you over the river. The water and skies were alight with floating lanterns, the reds and yellows of the paper reflecting on the dark ripples of water, there was live music and a large mechanical dragon which occasional spat out flames. There was a mystical, carnival feel about the place but this was not for a big calendar event this was simply Hoi An. This uniform of colour and life was spread throughout the town, it was an energetic place to be.

Once over the bridge you arrive at a street market, selling everything from food to furniture, second to the Sunday market in Chiang Mai this is the best of the trip. We picked up a couple of little trinkety bits and I squeezed in a Vietnamese doughnut, similar in taste to a normal doughnut except for the size- there it closer resembled a loaf of bread. Hoi An old town is somewhere you could kill a lot of time and money. We found a coffee shop and for the first time in an age I had a proper, espresso coffee. This was our last evening in Hoi An and I wanted to soak as much of it up as possible, ok eat as much…

The following day we were leaving for Nha Trang. We had some breakfast and then we met another member of the family, 3 month old baby, Bing. You haven’t seen cute until you’ve seen a chubby Vietnamese baby.

 Our train wouldn’t be leaving until 22.45 but having checked out at 12 we had some serious time to waste. The family kindly looked after our bags, allowed us free use of the bikes and even said we could use the showers when we came back that evening. As we set off for the beach the son called us over, he explained that once a week the family have a party for all the guests, they cook a Vietnamese banquet and everyone gets to eat, drink and be merry. Although we had already checked out they said we were still very welcome, we just had to be back at 5pm.

With our bodies nicely roasted and sand and salt in every imaginable place we were very grateful for the ability to have a cold shower. We freshened up and then made our way to the restaurant, we were the only one’s there bar the son, who started to tell us a little about himself, the family and the homestay. Away from danger of any more sales pitches cropping up he was a really decent guy, very interesting. We found out that the homestay was only 2 months old and this suddenly made a lot of things make sense.

Slowly more guests joined us, there was a couple from the UK on their honeymoon, a French couple who had been on the road for about six month, two middle aged English women who, having not been granted entry into Laos, Vietnam or Cambodia back in the 80’s were keen to see the countries now the borders were well and truly open. Finally there was a Scottish man who was a teacher back home but had been living in Vietnam for about 4 months, a month of which had been spent at this homestay and he’d paid for a further two. He was seeking a peaceful place away from distraction so he could begin a screenplay. His in depth knowledge of where to buy the strongest, cheapest beer in Vietnam didn’t fill me with confidence that the screenplay would be here anytime soon, but nevertheless the man had travelled so was interesting to talk to.

Aside from the son none of the other family joined us, which everyone thought was a little odd but the conversation and food was excellent, we’d used up all our hours and our taxi pulled up to take us to the train station.

For the first time in the history of Vietnam not only was our train on time, it was early, a whole 25 minutes early. We boarded the train, took our seat and settled in for the ten hour ride to Nha Trang. Aside from the Chinese couple in front who slurped on their food and hocked and spat all night the journey was alright.

NHA TRANG

Nha Trang is also known as Moscow by the Sea, we’d heard this and so obviously expected a dominance of Russian tourists but this was something else. Shop names, menus, road signs all in Russian. From holiday makers to hotel staff everyone was Russian. It’s quite a jump from the picture perfect UNESCO World Heritage site that is Hoi An to the concrete resort that is Nha Trang. It is unashamedly a town for holiday makers or more specifically Russian holiday makers. There was a sign on the beach in Denang that boasted the town had been voted Trip Advisers most up and coming holiday destination in 2015. Denang was a wasteland, sure there was sign of development but no more than anywhere else in SE Asia, however, had that title been awarded to Nha Trang then I would believe it.

Initially Nha Trang did not appeal to us, we had loved the quant lifestyle of Hoi An, the beaches were better, people friendlier and it had personality and character.

A few times on this trip I have had to check myself, I’ve found myself being controlled by the negatives of a place instead of looking for, or even creating a positive. Sat on a white sandy beach looking out across blue waters, the sun high in the sky and with little else to worry about aside from what to eat and is it too early to have a beer, I flashed back to images of rushing about at work, setting an alarm, paying bills... I know this lifestyle wont last for ever and one day I’ll be back at a desk so until then its time to create some solid, happy menories.

Like a message from the almighty, the sky lit up and revealed an outline of an island in the distance. My eyes gazed over to the giant, green mound in the sea in front of me. Large white letters built into its side spell out VINPEARL, to my right cable cars some 40 metres, maybe higher in the air continuously glide from the island to the mainland. Intrigued I search VINPEARL, and learn that the island is owned by Pham Nhat Vuong, Vietnams first Billionaire. His initial dose of wealth came when he sold his first business venture to Nestle for $150, from here he moved into Real Estate and has built everything from luxury holiday resorts and condos to hospitals and shopping malls.

One of his latest developments in Vinpearl land, built on what was Hon Tre island it comprises 5 star luxury hotels, private villas, restaurants and shopping malls. It all sounds very exclusive and not something we are interested in seeing. A little more research reveals that the cable car he had built that takes you from the main land to the island is the biggest in Vietnam, some sights even claim it to be the biggest (over water) one in the world. A more than 2 miles from end to end it’s certainly impressive. The views it offers across the bay sound phenomenal and regardless of what’s on the island I am desperate to take a ride in the cable cars.

A return ticket on the cars costs £15 per person and we both agree this is a little steep for what in essence will be no more than 10 minutes of fun, we convince ourselves that the views from the beach equal those from 40 metres up and that we couldn’t afford to do anything on the island so it’d be a wasted trip. I wasn’t completely content on this, the island had rave reviews so I knew I was missing something.

I convinced Hatty it was a good idea and we grabbed a taxi to the launch site, bought our tickets and waited for the cable car to come round. We had timed our visit with that of a large cruise ship and so the cars were motionless whilst this floating monstrosity docked with the shore. An hour later and the cars were on the move, we jumped in and were propelled out of the landing hut and high above the sea. The views across the bay, over the islands and towns were ridiculously beautiful far beyond what I had imagined.

Alongside or ticket for the cable car we were given a map of the island, the map indicated key areas and information which revealed many new things to us. Our £15 ticket for the cable car also entitles us to free access the large aquarium, which is housed in underwater walkways. There is a waterpark- free, there is a theme park, rollercoasters and dodgems- free, there is a “self-drive” train which takes to the summit of the island- free. There is a carnival performance, tropical gardens, waterfalls and a pristine beach- all free. Aside from the food, which is more reasonable in price than taste it was to be a fun packed, bargain of a day.

The aquarium was insane, I love lizards and the first section housed water monitors, iguanas, bearded dragons and every example between. There was every colour, size and shape of fish and coral. In total there are more than 300 different species of fish on display here. The main attraction is the underwater winding walkway which allows you immerse yourself in the sea life, I look up as two sharks glide over my head, then another to my right, the light in the room dims as a massive Stingray drifts past. It was so enjoyable that I went around a second time.

Next stop was the Waterpark. I hadn’t been to waterpark for a long time but as I climbed the staircase to the entrance of the first ride a shudder of fear swept over my body. I cant place it but each and every time I’ve ridden the flumes I’ve experienced a wave of fear, as much as I love being in the water and as confident a swimmer as I am terrified of drowning and with the flumes there is only ever one outcome, a dunking. Hatty neither knew of this fear or cared as she was screaming with exciting before we even reached the top. Normally she is the hesitant scaredy cat but today she was a thrill seeking maniac. My face was pale, palms sweaty and heartrate through the roof, I clung onto the rail and dragged my heavy legs up each step. I couldn’t do anything to control the fear that was washing over me.

The first ride was a waterslide which comprised of a vertical drop, a brief uphill and then a stomach churning bit of airtime before landing back on the slide and into the water. You do this is on foam mat, face down. I’ve never closed my eyes tighter or gripped something harder, I was petrified from the off and didn’t feel much relief at the bottom. This particular ride allows you race a partner and Ol’ Miss Evil Kinevil bombed down to the bottom, probably on one leg whilst fighting a rattlesnake, I’d never known her so fearless and me so fearful. I crashed into the water, cold and drained and was met by Hatty standing above me, a grin from ear to ear shouting, “AGAIN, AGAIN!”.

Holding back the urge to run or puke, or both I agreed. We dropped off our foam mats and picked up a double seated inflatable ring. The next ride was similar in its setup but instead of face down on a mat you jetted into the water in pairs whilst wedged into the ring. My brain just kept replaying an image of me being flung out of the ring 50 feet into the air off the side. Again I just closed by eyes, gripped the handles and held back the tears. Hatty’s screams did little to encourage me that this was a good idea. At the bottom I was emotionally exhausted but the Duracell Bunny on crack had other ideas.

She had spotted a ride so charmingly called, Kamikaze but thankfully it was closed. We climbed a nearby staircase and I positioned myself and the mouth of my least favourite thing on this earth, the flumes. I laid back, crossed arms and feet and just prayed for the moment to be over, I got twisted and thrown about, light, dark, light, dark, water spray to the face and then the unmistakable sensation of chlorinated water filling up my nostrils and eyes and mouth. I do well not to go into full panic mode and after what feels like an eternity I emerge from under the strong hold of the water. Again, I am met by a grinning lunatic who’s replaced my girlfriend.

“It’s open!!” she cries. Kamikaze is a water slide that comprises a sheer drop of about 30 feet, it could be 300 feet for all I care into a shallow pool or crash mat depending how much speed you pick up. You do this ride without the aid of a foam mat or rubber ring, you just approach the top, sit back and slide down on what god gave you.  It was a disgusting experience, least not for the fact that I would be picking swimming trunks out of me for the rest of the day. But in comparison to the near-death experience I felt after the flumes this was actually kind of fun. I volunteered to ride this again. I was still riddled with fear but I was now getting a real adrenaline rush from the rides and that my friends is one hell of a good feeling. We did a circuit of all the rides but were really getting geared up for the one they call, Tsunami. It wouldn’t be open for another half hour so instead of using up all my endorphins of the flumes we made our way to the beach.

Crystal clear, warm blue water laps against powered white sands. The beach is almost too perfect to be real. Mr Vinpearl actually imports the sand, every grain is filtered and cleaned before being laid onto the space where the original sand once was. Eccentric, no doubt but if it’s advertising itself as a truly luxury place to holiday then its got to deliver and my word this sand does that.

Sat in a rubber ring at the top of the initial drop I feel nauseous; the first time I did it facing outwards. The kind staff member pushes you away and for a moment you are weightless, rocketing down the slide, the bottom of the slide curves up and you travel up the opposite side with some acceleration. My toes almost clipped the edge of the wall before I slid backwards, half way up the other side and then let momentum do its thing before finally bringing me down to the ground, off a small edge and into a pool of water. It was awesome.

We tackled it again by ourselves, then in a double ring which was more horrible as it felt like I was going to fling Hatty out at the top. Our next visit to the top saw me push my boundaries more than I had all day. I put the ring down and went to sit inside but the kind staff member instructed that I needed to turn around. Dropping off an edge, at speed and backwards was disturbingly good fun. My sickness had turned into pleasure and I demanded that we do the double ring again, this time only we would do it backwards. For the first time it was Hatty who was feeling the tingles of fear. I have no idea how many times we did that ride but it would be fair to say I enjoyed it.

The final ride of the park was known as Space Bowl, the ultimate in testing my fear for drowning. It’s a series of water slides and flumes, some open topped some plummeting you into pitch darkness, the end result in a whirlpool which eventually spits you out and into a narrow but deep pool of water. Its disorientation at its finest and I hated every last second of it. That completed the water park experience for me and I was beyond ready for something a little calmer.

I fastened the buckle and sat back in the chair, the motor fired up and we started to lift off the ground, higher then higher still, our seats tilted to the side as we picked up speed. When I said calmer perhaps a theme park wasn’t the first thing that springs to mind. Here, however the tables turn, Hatty is scared witless of theme park rides while I feel completely a peace on them. As the swing chairs lift and spin around the centre pole I have both hands in the air and am trying to swing my chair closer to Hatty’s, on the odd occasion I actually grip on to her with my feet. She on the other hand has both hands tightly gripping the sides, her knuckles white, her eyes shut. She only brakes from screaming to shout at me to get away from her chair. Despite her total fear of these rides she is still eager to get on the next one and go through it all again. From swings to dodgems to rollercoasters we try them all.

The sun is starting to set and there is one thing we haven’t yet tried. There is a “self drive” train that takes you to the top of the hill giving you 360 degree views off of the island. The train is more like a go-cart, each one seats two people and is locked onto a track. On the way up you have no control, instead the cart is mechanically winched up the steep slope. It does so at very steady pace and you get some fantastic panoramas, the hill side is bursting with flowers, there is a waterfall and best of all is the view back across the bay, emphasised by the setting sun. We reach the top and due to time of day aren’t able to get out of the cart so begin our decent. We now have “control”, in so much as we have a brake, the cart rapidly builds up speed as we spiral down the track, wheels lift off when we corner. This is by far the hairiest ride of the whole day. We hit a G of force, our cheeks pulled back to reveal teeth that had never seen light of day, our eyes streamed, everything went silent. “STOPPPPPPPP!!” Hatty shrieks from the front seat, I pull hard on the brake, the cart screeches along the track missing sections at a time. 

Millimetres in front of us sits a sturdy Russian man, smoking a cigarette and taking a photo on his phone, he calmly looks around, sees us and releases his brake. We slowly snake our way back down and exit the cart.

As night falls we get a cable cart back over the mainland, exhausted and surprised by this gem of an island. £15 well spent.

During our time in Nha Trang, a total of 4 nights we ate at “Pita GR”, a Greek restaurant a total of 4 times. The first night I had a Moussaka which was hands down the best Moussaka I had ever eaten, I washed it down with a couple of ice cold Saigon beers. The following day at lunch we went again and I had one of their signature freshly made Pita bread wraps with shrimp. The restaurant is tiny, steps take you off the street and up to the second floor where tables and chairs barely fit in the space. We hadn’t had any issue getting a table so assumed it was another case of best kept secret. But that evening we were met by a lady at the foot of the steps asking if we’d booked. We hadn’t and her face told us the hard truth that tonight was not going to be our lucky night. Just as we went to leave one of the waitresses who had seen us both times called us upstairs, she moved some people about and found us a table. Tonight we discovered the Pita GR Sharing Platter, it costs £8 and includes the following, a base of pitas, chips, giant shrimp, calamari, burgers, lamb shanks, chicken breasts, sausages, a salad and variety of dips from mustard to tzatziki. It comes out on a tray bigger than the table and sees that we are both truly stuffed. We wait for the food to settle by washing down a couple of cocktails, I became pretty fond of their Mojito and Hatty their Tequila Sunrise.

Pita GR not only gives great service and cooks up awesome food it also gives out free dessert, every customer gets a slice of their trademark chocolate pud, a mix of shortbread, cheesecake and brownie at the end of their meal.

Our final trip to Pita GR was our most successful, instantly recognised downstairs we bypass the queue waiting for a space, we are sat at a table ideal for two and without even seeing the menu have two cocktails arrive at the table, one Mojito and one Tequila Sunrise. A window seat becomes available and the waitress asks if we’d like to be moved, we happily oblige. No sooner had we taken the new table, one more suitable for four or even six people does a large group come up the stairs. They are sat at our old table which is vaguely joined by another small table. We sit, spaced out looking out across the street below when our platter turns up. Again we work our way through the delicious hearty food and once again puts ourselves in a state of discomfort. Hatty has reached the “I want to go dancing/ karaoke” stage so we settle the bill and look to head out. As we go to get up the waitress asks, if we aren’t too busy if we’d mind waiting for a moment. We sat there completely unsure of what was happening, we assumed they wanted us to fill in a review card or something, a good few minutes past and still nothing…”two more, how you say, on the house”, she placed another Mojito and another Tequila Sunrise down and smiled. After that we were both pissed as two old farts so skipped the dodgy Russian bars and stumbled back to the room.

Massages had become a bit of a traditional having had one in all the countries so far, Vietnam wasn’t going to be an exception. Vietnam had been the first country where we had actually gained a tan, having spent almost all of our time in the country on a beach. This particular day we may have spent a few too many hours and so were feeling a little raw. The menu at the massage salon offered a “Sunburn Soother” and so without a moment’s hesitation we both opted for that. Granted there was a lot of moisturiser used but it was equally as aggressive as a Thai or Lao massage, we were pulled and clicked and knelt on. It was however the first massage where I experienced a dose of fear. Laying on my front in nothing but my pants everything was going well, then for no apparent reason I had my pants swiped from me, clean off. There is something about having a stranger massage your upper, inner thigh while your face down and butt naked that makes you feel a little vulnerable. She magically dressed me again before moving onto my upper body and I felt much less self conscious… the air conditioning was low, it was cold it there…

Continuing our day of pampering we later visited the “100 Egg Mud Bath”. It is a four part experience which starts with a “Rainforest” shower, this is the first time in months I’ve had a warm shower so I make good use of it. Next we walked up a flight of stairs and along a walkway of egg shaped pods, think the scene in The Matrix when Neo is reborn. The egg is then half filled with warm mud into which you climb, you spend about twenty minutes in the egg until you are suitable coated, it was a bizarre feeling at first but enjoyable nonetheless. Once your twenty minutes are up you make your way to the sun platform, where you stand until all the mud has dried and then return to a series of Rainforest showers and waters jets until you’re clean. The experience in the egg is surreal, you get a strange endorphin rush and everything feels new, I was actually struggling to walk, not through pain or anything just simply felt like I’d never used my legs before, again think Neo in The Matrix.

The grounds surrounding the egg pods were set against rolling hills and fauna of every colour, it was a mini paradise tucked just outside of the town. After the mud experience you are invited to use their pools and jacuzzi, the latter of which was hotter than any bath I’d ever had. Once you are suitably wrinkly your entry fee also entitles you to a meal in the restaurant, it claims to serve eggs, 100 different ways but our menu only offered Egg Fried Rice, so that’s what we had, it was distinctly average even the half bottle of chili sauce didn’t make it exciting but we didn’t come here for the food.

Looking at a map it shows there is even more to this site than just the spa so we get dressed and take a wonder, maybe it is the day or the time but the rest of the site was dead, like it had closed for the season, there were no people, nothing was open the only stimulus was the recorded sounds of birds playing from a distorted speaker dangling from a building. It was creepy but I was intrigued by the view from the hilltop so wanted to keep going. The walk only got stranger when we walked past a family of deer, in a manmade valley above which were empty chalets, opposite them was a row of small cages with monkeys in them and some with exotic birds. There was no sign of any human activity and there was no telling how long the monkeys had been left in the cages. It was pretty disturbing.

The walkway guiding to the hilltop disappeared and fencing started to block the way so we decided to give up on that and make our way out of this odd place. We flagged a taxi and headed back to the town.

It was my mums birthday and later that evening my sisters FaceTimed me, I thought to talk to their big bro for the first time in months but really they just wanted to rub it in that they were having a Roast dinner. They laid me a place at the table, positioned the iPad behind and then proceeded to eat the portion they had made up for me. It was torture but speaking to them, mum and my grandparents was a lovely way to end the day.

MUI NE

We travelled to Mui Ne via bus, an 11 seater minibus picked us up from the hotel and then drove around the town picking people up until the bus had 14 people plus luggage crammed inside. The journey to Mui Ne was six hours and not one person folded into this metal box looked impressed about it. With a sigh of relief the minibus pulled up alongside a normal bus after about ten minutes. Everyone spilled out and onto the sleeper bus. The bus was an awesome way to travel, I was on a top bunk bed, had a load of leg room, air-con and a TV, the six hours flew by. Out of the window the scenery was constantly changing, it was one of the most beautiful landscapes of the trip, certainly through Vietnam.

We picked a gem of a hotel, Mui Ne Hill 2. It was a budget hotel, which resembled a road side Motel in America, there was a small swimming pool which was about six feet deep at both ends and full of plantlife. The room was nice enough, but the perk of the place was that we had full access to all the ameneties of Mui Ne Hill 1, a luxury hotel set higher up in the sand dunes, sweeping vistas of the sea and a monster of a pool, insanely good food and amazing staff. We were paying £12 a night for our room but living the same life as those who were paying £40+ a night. The breakfast, aside from the buffet we had in Rai Leh, Thailand was the best of the trip. They played seriously good music all day long and had a happy hour that started at 11am and continued on into the evening.

We left the soft sun beds, ice cold drinks and clear waters of the pool to see what else Mui Ne had to offer. The first stop was the beach, this was hands down the most disappointing beach, not only of the trip but of my life. All the hotels along the front have made it almost impossible to gain entry to it, despite none of them actually owning the beach they have barriers and guards in place to stop peasants like us wandering through. There is a small alleyway between two hotels which is considered the public walkway, it is piled high with rotting litter and stray animals, from plastic bottles to needles it down here. Dancing over smashed glass, animal waste and overturned bins you arrive onto a beach which isn’t much better. The sand is littered with empty packaging and miscellaneous items of clothing, we watched a dog take a shit on the sand and the owner just kicked some sand over it and walked off. The water wasn’t swimmable because of the high waves so after less than five minutes we vowed never to return.

Mui Ne is apparently known for its Kite Surfing and Wind Surfing and so I thought the town would be full of “surfer dudes”, cool shack restaurants, decent music and generally a laid back atmosphere but it really wasn’t. It was a one horse town, the only thing to do was the beach but that was consistently revolting the whole way so lord knows what you’d do if you had booked this as your holiday. There are a string of restaurants and bars but nothing exciting.

We ate at a seafood restaurant because the shrimp fiend was getting withdrawal symptoms, their menu offered some variations of traditional seafood with delights such as cobra, salamander, turtle and shark. None of these grabbed me instead I asked for the BBQ’d crocodile, they didn’t have any so I just had a fish curry. On our way back to the room we walked past at least four restaurants that were cooking whole crocodiles on their BBQs, the regularity of these dinosaurs on menus was another reason to stay away from the beach.

About an hours drive from the town are a series of sand dunes, known as the white dunes and the red dunes and a third point of interest called The Fairy Stream. With little else to do here aside from lounge by a pool and get steadily more drunk we booked ourselves onto the sunrise tour. We had booked it for two days time to coincide with our bus to Saigon, so the day would go as follows, wake up at 4am, see the three landmarks, have breakfast, catch the bus to Saigon.

The following day, a day earlier than our booking we got a knock on the window of our room, it was just after 4am and the hotel security guard was outside. He told us the tour was waiting for us outside, we explained we hadn’t booked it for today and he left, enough time past to fall asleep again before another round of knock on the glass, this time it was the driver asking why we didn’t want to go, before he himself realised he had the wrong day. He apologised and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

The day morning we were ready for them, up and out and waiting for the jeep. We drove around and picked up two more couples and then started our journey to the White Dunes. About forty minutes in the jeep made a nasty clunking noise, the engine cut out and it veered off the road, onto the sand and stopped. The driver pulled and tugged at things in the engine but the jeep was having none of it. Other jeeps with tourists in them just drove past, some slowed down and took photos but nothing of any use. The driver was constantly on the phone but as the sun started to rise we knew the whole sunrise over the dunes wasn’t going to happen.

A few more jeeps bolted past and then finally one stopped, reversed and offered us a tow. They precariously tied a piece of fraying rope between the two jeeps and off we went. We left the road and started travelling across the rocky path towards the dunes, an empty jeep offered to take us the rest of the way so we jumped in and set off leaving the group in the first jeep who were still tied to our broken jeep.

The sun was moments away from rising, we quickly made our way out across the hot sand, climbing the high dunes looking for a good spot to snap the sunrise. We plonked ourselves down just as the rays started to break out from behind a cloud, reflecting off the shimmering sand and a lake it looked incredible. We enjoyed the sunrise and then had time to muck about on the dunes, sliding down them, struggling to climb back up. The White Dunes were impressive and timing it with the sunrise added a lot to the experience. We moved into our third jeep of the morning and drove on to the Red Dunes. These weren’t half as impressive, much more touristy and there were loads of hawkers trying to sell you stuff, we only spent about twenty minutes here but I’d had my fill after about five.

On our way to the Fairy Stream we detour to a Fishing Village and watch all the boats bringing in the mornings catch, it’s not quite the “million” boats that the tour operator said but still it’s quite energetic and enjoyable to watch. The last stop of the tour is the Fairy Stream, the driver walks us down a narrow woodland path and points down to a murky stream and then points to the right. We step down into the stream which is a deep reddish brown colour about ankle deep, it’s pretty uninspiring and the waft of cow poo coming from the hot water makes everyone look a little puzzled. You follow the stream for about five minutes and then suddenly the landscape opens up, to the left are gigantic red cliffs, it looks like the canyons in Utah, used in 127 hours but when you climb them it quickly becomes apparent these are made from sand. To the right luscious green vegetation, towering trees and bushes, less than ten feet from each other, divided only by a thin stream are two opposing landscapes. I climb the sandy rock faces and get rewarded with magnificent views, the Fairy Stream is certainly the highlight of Mui Ne.

We grab a quick breakfast, check out of the room and head for the bus. The journey to Saigon takes about six hours and is uneventful.

SAIGON

We’d booked two nights in Saigon but walking to the hotel from the bus stop we instantly wished we’d spent less time in Hanoi, Hue or even Denang and instead bumped up our stay here. Saigon or Ho Chi Minh City as it’s also known is a considerably more enjoyable place to visit, it’s more inviting than the capital and we waste no time in exploring it streets.

The main tourist thing we achieved in our brief visit to the city was the War Remnants Museum. It offers a stark reality of the crimes committed during both Indochina wars. It concentrates more heavily on the second war aka The American War or as it’s more commonly known, the Vietnam War. The entrance to the museum houses helicopters, bomber planes, tanks even some unexploded ordinance (with their fuses removed) but the atrocities really unfold once inside the building. It is a heavily graphic documentation of the war, there are a number of exhibitions donated to the museum by families of photo journalists who were in the war. Giving you a real insiders perspective of day to day life. The museum doesn’t have any examples of the North Vietnamese or Viet Congs involvement, instead it concentrates heavily on the devastation caused by Southern Vietnam and their allies, America. Although this makes you suspicious and sense the biased nature of the museum there is no escaping the horror that America caused. Haunting images of entire towns being burnt to the ground, women and children lay dead, often naked on the ground whilst American soldiers pose, smiling. The crimes committed throughout the war are sickening and nowhere displays this more heavily than the Agent Orange section of the museum. Rows of graphic photos of peoples mutated bodies, some as a result of being present at the time of the chemicals being dropped, others are of children born one, two or even three generations on. Long after American pulled out their forces, Vietnam is still feeling the effects of the war. American soldiers who were exposed to the chemicals also fathered children with deformities, the big difference however is that these soldiers sued the chemical company and were compensated heavily, the Vietnamese on the hand were refused any compensation. Beyond the photos are actual foetuses in jars of stillborn children, who died as a result of exposure to the chemicals dropped on the country.

It is, if you can imagine, done tastefully, it’s not designed to deliberately shock but it doesn’t mollycoddle you either. The museum is educational and although enjoyable probably isn’t the ride word it was definitely worth visiting, just don’t expect to get much else done that day.

Our time in Saigon is over before it’s begun but it’s a joy to actually leave somewhere in Vietnam wanting to come back as opposed to wishing the time away to leave. From the negative start in Hanoi it was hard to get going in Vietnam but as we travelled South it delivered some brilliant experiences and although it’s not my favourite country I am definitely glad I’ve travelled through.

We caught an early bus to Phnom Penh in Cambodia but for that story you’ll just have to wait.

As always thanks for reading.