On Our Way to Hanoi

Waiting for the train at Hue station to takes us to Hanoi, no idea when it's coming it's 20 minutes late already. There's no obvious signs we can understand, we might end up anywhere. We're sharing a cabin on this over nighter....I hope my shoes don't stink too much or I fart too profusely in the middle of the night; I must say I am feeling a bit gaseous..... Or wake up in the morning with an enormous smiling morning glory or groped in the night by one of our cabin sharers... or raped and pillaged....

On board we're sharing with a Vietnamese couple, I'm caught off guard and the lady motions whether she can take the bottom bunk which is allocated to me and I agree. After nearly breaking my neck getting to the top bunk - there is no ladder just a metal step the size of a fizzy drink ring-pull about 4 foot off the ground - I realise why the lady wanted to swap, the crafty cow she must have done this journey before. The bed is about 3 inches wider than my arse and for someone who's been known to fall out of a king-size this is slightly worrying, further I'm about 18 inches away from the air conditioning unit which is pumping out freezing cold air - so it's looking like I shall either break both my legs or catch hypothermia, or both. Only twelve more hours to go.... Oh dear the fella's on the phone talking really loudly....... Adrian is such a selfish little sod he's eaten all the Pringles within the first hour of the journey - so now I shall arrive in Hanoi not only with broken limbs and frostbite but with sunken eyeballs and distended belly from starvation.

There's not a lot to do on the train....well actually there is nothing to do on the train...once you're in your cabin that's pretty much it. It's already dark outside so no scenery to look at, so after a little read it's time for bed. Contrary to all predictions I actually wake up pretty refreshed, no broken legs or extremities fallen off through frostbite. It's now half past six – we should have arrived in Hanoi at 5am – and we've stopped in the middle of the countryside for some reason...no one seems to know why. We grab a cup of coffee from the trolley lady that is so strong I feel like I've done some illicit drugs...talk about wake you up...delicious though. Hey ho, another hour and a half and we arrive in mad, bad bustling Hanoi.

NEWSFLASH EXTRA: We apologise once again for interrupting your reading pleasure we have just received a report that Camilla is NOT dead, I repeat Camilla is NOT dead. Since our last report we have been able to stitch together some of the tragic events so far. It appears that whilst carrying out her royal duties yesterday she tripped over her high heels and landed head first in a fast flowing river. Her Lady in Waiting, and close confidante, Lady Adrianna Farquharson immediately dived in and pulled her royal drenched carcass to safety on the river bank. Despite administering CPR it was feared that she was a goner. However after a night of intensive care which reportedly included sleeping under a duvet, in between Lady Adrianna and her lesbian lover Dame Colly Wobbles of West Greenwich, Camilla has somewhat recovered. Lady Adrianna, speaking to our correspondent earlier said “ she is not out of the woods yet but she is very much better and at this moment is having some chicken soup and a glass of champagne”. Another exclusive, we have managed to procure the last picture that Camilla was working on just before the near fatal plunge - please see opposite. We will bring further updates when received.

The Citadel of Hue

From one UNESCO world heritage site to the next, Hue about 100km north of Hoi An. We catch a double decker tourist bus which is a little strange as rather than having two floors, has what can only be described as bunk beds, although they are seats that 90% recline, and the bus takes a bit of an indirect route via a temple carved in a mountain and a ceramics shop which consequently means it takes four hours to get to our destination.

NEWSFLASH: We interrupt this broadcast to bring you some breaking news. We are receiving reports that Camilla is dead!! Preliminary reports suggest that Camilla has drowned after plunging head first into a freezing cold river. We can not confirm whether this was a freak accident or whether an act of malice aforethought. Camilla's arch nemesis Great Aunty Colin has denied any involvement or that he is throwing a street party at this very moment. We will bring you further updates as we have them.

Hue is the old capital of Vietnam and as such was the residence of the Emperors. At Hue' centre is a fantastic old citadel where he and his family, courtiers and mandarins lived out their lavish lives. It's a little surprising that none of the structures are actually over 150 years old as its like stepping back to a much more ancient time. Some of the buildings have been or are being restored but many have seen better days and apparently came under severe bombardment during the war – which I suppose is understandable as it is a symbol of privilege, entitlement and donkeys years of practical enslavement and feudal excess. However, the vast expanse of buildings within the site is a little oasis from the madness of traffic outside the walls and whilst very impressive even now, once fully restored could rival Beijing's Forbidden City, of which there are many architectural and design similarities.

Hoi An and Glorious Food

An hour and a half flight and a 30 minute taxi ride we arrive in Hoi An. After the uninspiring architecture of Ho Chi Minh City and Da Lat ( which is unsurprising really given that Vietnam was at war, one way or another, for the best part of the 20th century – France, Britain, China and the US of A should hang our heads under a collective burden of shame for what we have subjected this beautiful and fiercely independent nation to) Hoi An definitely lives up to it's status as a UNESCO world heritage site. Perhaps a little more than a dozen streets have survived the ravages of military conflict and been preserved in a little slice of Vietnam - old styley. Narrow streets with buildings dating back to the 18th century reflect the influence of French and a thousand years of Chinese domination; windy alleyways take you on a journey back through time and the converted shop fronts provide, what seems like thousands of tailor shops all ready and willing to knock you up a frock or a suit for less than a price of a tub of ice cream back home – the good stuff, not Iceland home brand. I'm very tempted to get a brand new bespoke boob tube and some gold lame batty riders, but Ad seems to think that they might be a bit common – what does he know, bloody fashion victim.

Unfortunately, the weather is not in our favour and of our three days here it rains for the best part of those...it's not your normal piss down rain but that sort my mum used to say gets you really wet – I could never figure that one out; is there any other sort of rain, I don't ever remember going out in rain and coming back dry – its what I would call lazy rain, can't make up its bloody mind rain, rain with no effort at all, rain that just makes everything look gloomy, never mind eh. But it's not all bad......

Oh my giddy arm pits..... Vietnam is a foodie alcoholics dream come true. Five star food that shits all over anything Jamie, Gordon or Gary has to offer and all at a price that's cheaper per head than a Waterloo Bridge soup kitchen... £5 per head including cocktail and you can dine like the Sultan of Brunei..... Then off down the rub a dub for beers at 30p a bottle or fancy cocktails at just over a pound. Fuck me all I want to do is eat and drink, once I've finished one meal I'm thinking about the next..... and Hoi An is the bursting with fantastic eateries, ranging from your posh (£2 to £3 for a main) to the more local, fuck-what-the decor-looks-like type place, that all serve deliciously mouth watering fare that leaves you still salivating after its finished and counting the minutes until the next meal. Boy we have eaten well – from spicy seafood and noodle soup, deconstructed spring rolls, caramelised fish to slices of duck breast on a bed of lotus flower salad. I think I'm gonna need to buy some trousers with an elasticated waist band.

Whenever you are in a place that is tourist focused it's inevitable that you are going to get people approaching you trying to sell you something, whether it be postcards, beads, marijuana, cocaine or “girls” (not really sure what I would do with one of those – maybe go shopping?) or even, as in Hoi An, a newspaper that had obviously been read by at least 200 other people, crossword completed and two weeks out of date – you have to give full marks for trying: usually a polite no with a smile is sufficient. On or last day in Hoi An, rain still coming down, we decide to get out of the town and go to the beach about 5 km away. The sands stretch as far as the eye can see, which unfortunately isn't very far due to the misty drizzle, and fringed by palm trees and a ferocious wave crunching South China Sea. Ad gets down to the serious business of photo taking and I'm left to guard Camilla's royal carriage. Like a Genie apparating out of thin air a little old lady is by my side with a basket of old tat. After some polite conversation and her telling me how funny I am - which I'm not quite sure how to take as all I've said is I'm from London, maybe she means funny peculiar – she gets down to the serious business of the hard sell. Whilst politely telling her that I don't want anything thank you, she seems to sense she has a captured audience as I'm guarding the royal throne, and she proceeds to go through every single item in her basket, tell me what it is and ask me to buy it... we had tissues, chopsticks, table setting mats, mints, toothpicks, tiger balm, postcards, Oreos, thimbles, beads, a fridge, an elephant and Ford Escort.

It's a shame about the weather but I've really enjoyed Hoi An.

Dalat and The Easy Riders

Up early this morning to catch the bus to Da Lat which is nestled in the central highlands about 1500m above sea level; no snow peaked mountains but the scenery should be good and the weather a little cooler than sticky sweltering Ho Chi Minh City.

Whilst the distance is only around a couple of hundred miles it takes us nearly 8 hours to get there. The countryside scenery is supposed to be lovely but I can't confirm that as I fell asleep for most of the journey - there's something about buses that sends me to sleep: and trains, cars, aeroplanes, walking, being awake.

Our plan is to take a two day tour of the surrounding countryside, taking in the vistas and minority ethnic groups, and then head to Nha Trang for a bit of beach relaxation ting. However the weather is looking pretty shit both here and in NT We are so bloody indecisive and seem to change our plans every five minutes. Any road up – as Ena might say – we finally decide that we'll spend two nights in Da Lat and then catch a flight to Hoi An, missing out the beach entirely. We book flights – another bargain at 35 squids.

I've seen pictures of Da Lat and read a couple of things and I'm sure it made a comparison with a Swiss or French Alpine village - so I have this image in my mind. However my first impression is that Da Lat is a bit of a grubby town, I feel a bit disappointed and I hate feeling like that - it's that whole expectation thing again. You know there has been a study done by the University of Nothing Better to Do which concluded there are two types of traveller - the Homer Simpson and the Mr Spock. Mr Spock does endless research before going away, knows exactly where he's going, what he wants to see and has it planned out in his head: Homer Simpson does no research and just takes everything as it comes. They reckon the Spocks are often more disappointed when away as things don't live up to their expectation - Homers have no expectation so are rarely disappointed. I think that's very accurate- I'm usually a Homer so I don't know where all this expectation shit is coming from, I must stop it.

I don't think I've ever changed my mind about somewhere so quickly. After finding a hotel room - £10 a night per room: bargain - ( which incidentally is a family run establishment but if the husband is straight then I'm a feather duster, blimey he's camp, think Larry Grayson or an Asian John Ingman) - we take a stroll around the town which whilst at first glance is not particularly pretty once the sun sets is transformed into a neon lit hive of activity. Apparently lots of Vietnamese come here for holidays or retreat here to escape the madness that is Ho Chi Minh City of a weekend. I'm liking it.

So back in Da Lat there are these blokes who take you on the tours on the back of their motorbikes. We ask Larry Grayson if he can recommend any of the 'easy-riders' as the guides are called and he camply fixes us up with some bloke as if he's Graham Norton taking over Blind Date. This all sounds really good until after its booked and I start to think about what I'm letting myself in for – I've only ever been on the back of a moped once – just around the block – and I screamed all the way like some banshee with her tit caught in a mangle. I'm starting to have hot flushes , images of South America come rushing back to me in a nauseous wave of fear.

The next morning the men arrive with their big throbbing bikes, they are very nice, speak good English and settle our minds that they are not going to be doing a Barry Sheen on us for two days. Ad is very gallant and instead of telling them that I'm a complete pussy suggests that we are both a little nervous. That's my man!! I don't know what’s wrong with me though I worry about stupid things ....like how the fuck do you get on and off the bike.

Off we tootles ( I managed to get on ok) and I surprise myself at how not shit scared I am as the driver races down the road at 10 miles per hour – piece of piss. First stop is some rolling hills just outside Da Lat, the guide explains a few things ( don’t ask me, I've forgotten already) and tells us this was the scene of a very ferocious battle during the war. We have a little trek up and around the hill which gives us a fantastic view of the surrounding countryside, hills, forests and a smattering of dwellings. The weather is not particularly good but it gives the vista a misty coating that adds to the drama of the location.

Back on the road and the views are gorgeous – every shade of vibrant green can be seen in this kaleidoscopic patchwork of farm land and forests. Next stop is the Elephant Falls – apparently they were named after the wild elephants that used to come here to drink and bathe, sadly long since gone with the encroachment of man and his dastardly deforestations. We view the waterfall from the top – its quite impressive – especially as its done nothing but bleedin rain for the past month, so we are told. The guide takes us around the side on a descent to the bottom...it's all a little precarious and Great Old Aunty Colin is once again positive I'm gonna break my neck. By the side of the main waterfall is a much smaller one but due to the amount of recent rain and the colour of the soil in the area it flows a deep reddish brown colour – its looks like something out of Willy Wonkas factory. At the bottom the guide takes us through a narrow crevice and we are literally behind the main falls – needless to say we get absolutely drenched - but its all good fun.

Just a few yards up from the fall we visit a Buddhist temple, which has statues outside of both Gothama Buddha and that big fat one commonly known as the laughing Buddha who is much revered for his qualities of kindness, humour and generosity. The guide asks us on our return whether we liked the laughing Buddha then slaps my stomach and says “ not long before you get there” - cheeky fucker.

One of the great things about these types of tours is that they take you to eat at places that a) you wouldn't even know existed and b) mostly probably wouldn't choose to eat at. We have an absolute banquet - fish, pork, chicken, spring rolls, beef meatball type things, cat fish calamari, vegetables, rice, soup and bananas , two cokes and all for £1.50 each – that must be the cheapest meal I've ever eaten and it was delicious.

In the afternoon we are taken to a village of some ethnic minority peoples. They are extremely poor, but we are shown into one of the families cooking hut, the grandmother comes and sits with us as the guide explains a little about their lives. The old lady is lovely, Ad plucks up the courage to ask her for a photo to which she agrees. After he's done Ad prints off one of the photos for her from his polaroid printer thingy – she is over the moon with the photograph. Outside he then takes pictures of the daughter and her child and also the father and the child – again Ad prints these off for them. The mum and dad are absolutely over the moon to have a photo of their baby and them – it gets a little touching. These people are so poor that those polaroid prints will probably be one of very few pictures they ever have of their child and their gratitude and happiness is all a bit overwhelming. We head off home feeling really good about the day.

Day two. The guides have persuaded us that they can drop us off at the airport after today's trip so that we can have more of a full day. We have high hopes after yesterday finished so well. We're hoping to see plenty of countryside, waterfalls and naturey type things. First stop is a museum, which whilst having some disturbing pictures of the Vietnam war and interesting ones of some minority tribes, it's not really that interesting -especially the stuffed animals that look like the taxidermist must have been on acid- and we are done in half an hour, Then the drivers want to take us to some factories which we politely decline. So off we go to see some waterfalls, unfortunately the falls have become a little commercialised, to say the least, and each one is like stepping into a 1970's theme park – think plastic cartoon elephant dustbins and giant religious garden gnomes – the waterfalls are alright but are spoilt by the plastic tat that surrounds them. I quite enjoy them but it's not the natural wonders in spectacular surrounding we were expecting. Time presses on and we are then told we are going to a minority hamlet called Chicken Village – Lonely Planet tells you not to go there cos it shit basically – so our hearts sink a little further. However, our guide is absolutely brilliant at this village and knows loads about their history, way of life and is a mine of information – he also tells us a little about the war from his own perspective; he was in the South Vietnamese army working with the Americans in communications, once the North won, he was imprisoned and underwent a year of “reprogramming” by the Vietnamese Communist Party. He also shares with us his knowledge of the coffee bean industry and how it is all done – Vietnam, is now the second biggest exporter after Brazil apparently. He then takes us to see a family that he knows very well and Ad takes loads of pics of the mother and some of her 14 children and again gives then copies which makes them all whoop with laughter. A nice way to finish.

Ho Chi Minh City = Exhausting

Some cities you encounter and for some reason you want to grab it by the buttocks, slap it about a bit and ravish it til totally satiated; some you simply instantly fall in love with and spend many happy years caressing and romancing each other; and some you just use for a quickie because your there, and got nothing better to do, but even though you swap numbers in the morning you just know that you'll never ring each other again: so it is with Ho Chi Minh City.

I'm not quite sure why me and Uncle Ho's dedicated city didn't quite gel - it wasn't the legendary chaotic traffic - because even though at first glance it seems that the Vietnam Communist Party outsourced traffic regulations to a bunch of anarchists - " there are no rules just do what you like man" - and the constant flow of motorcycles seem to follow no logic - stopping at some lights while blissfully tootling through others, going the wrong way up one way streets, taking short cuts along the pavement when no gap is forthcoming - once you have a chance to observe it properly it all works extremely well albeit in a slightly epilectic dyfunctional fashion - one just has to be in the know - constant slow speeds - whether riding or walking - gives everyone a chance to get out the way.

Neither was it that HCMC is not a particularly attractive place, I've been to plenty of ugly looking places and had a wail of a time. Nor was it anything to do with the fact that after only two hour of arriving in the city sitting having a drink along a road side bar, that Ad after ten minutes of nonchalantly stroking a cute pussy cat under his chair realised that it wasn't a cat at all but a fucking great rat!! The city could definitely do with a visit from that Pied Piper geezer, but they ain't really bothering anyone and playing spot how many rats you can see in five minutes certainly passes the time.

We had some good food, especially at one reataurant thats specailly set up to give street kids, orphans and underprivileged poor kids a chance of learning a trade – either in the kitchens or front of house – that they can then go on to use in the hotel or food industries.

But even so me and this Ho just didn't quite see eye to eye – not that it matters because I'm sure I gave her the wrong phone number anyway.

Angkor Wat and Siem Reap

I dont know why I do it to myself; expectation is the first step on the path to disappointment. When you're enticed by the prospect of having a ride on a big one you can't blame me for getting excited. But alas when the monster was revealed and even once I sat on it, it felt no bigger than a normal sized one....story of my life...big boasts and small delivery. What? No! ...I didn't mean...I'm talking about the new double decker Airbus 380 aeroplane....you smutty people!! The service from Singapore Airlines is brilliant but the plane just looks like a chubby stumpy brother of the more elegant athletic jumbo, never mind eh.

After 20 hours of travelling we arrive in Siem Reap Cambodia, the gateway to the fantastic Angkor Wat temple and a myriad of other beautiful temples that dot the area – some knocking on 1100 years old. I'll let the photos do all the talking here.....I have to say my favourite, was .....Preah Khan.

Siem Reap is a town that has grown to accomodate the hundreds of thousands of tourists from around the world who stopover here to take a gander at the ancient monuments right on its' doorstep. This in itself could be annoying – think Bangkok's backpacker areas or Ibiza's bar-laden streets. But somehow there is a charm to Siem Reap that glosses over the potentiality of backpacker -hell. One has to say that the credit for this must go to the Cambodian people – they are charm itself, full of smiles and welcomes that goes past the obvious need for foreign currency. Whilst you are almost constantly asked to buy postcards or ride in a tuk-tuk, their friendly affable character is inspirational given that this is one of the poorest countries in the world. People are streetwise though, one unpleasant incident occured outside Angkor Wat – opposite the entrance is a huge parking/pickup area where loads of street sellers are gathering offering everything form cold water - “ its hot inside Mister” to bangles, hats, books and maps. Whilst we declined their offers, one young entrepreuner tugged at my sleave asked my name and said “ My name's Spidergirl, buy some water when you come out?” I agreed, she was such a charmer. Unfortunately when we were about to leave we were surrounded by loads of kids all calling themselves Spidergirl – not to be out done one little boy said “ You know Spidergirl, I'm her brother Spiderboy” - Ad and I where separated and unknownst to me bought some water and a coke from another Spidergirl – the mood got a bit ugly - and the girl I was with finished our non-transaction by screaming at me “ fucking men you're all the fucking same” - I felt mean, even though the water was at an extortinate price – I thought about protesting that my reputation on equality issues are impeccable but somehow this didn't seem appropriate – I wish we had handled things differently – we can afford to be ripped off for a bottle of water.

I don't think I have ever tried Cambodian cuisine before, but boy what a surprise!! Absolutely fucking delicious – every meal. We spurned backpacker non-hell restaurants in the main (apart from a couple of lunches one of which had Adrian literally with tears rolling down both cheeks after eating a tiney weeny slither of red chillie- oh how I laughed at his pain!!) and chose to eat at an outdoor food market type place, bang in the centre -we're talking plastic garden furniture tables and chairs and meals prepared on tressle tables...or walls, whichever is convenient. Despite its humble surrondings – restaurant inspectors at home would have a coronary – the food was superb. Lok Lak the first night, pork (or beef or chicken) in a gorgeous slightly peppery and spicey gravy/sauce; Khmer BBQ the second – where you basically cook you're own food on a metal cooking pot that probably the best way to descibe is shaped like a Mexican sombrero heated by burning coals underneath. In the rim of the 'hat' hot water is sploshed where the vegetables are cooked ( carrots, cabbage and a spinach like veg called Morning Glory – wheyhey!!) and on the top of the 'hat' you lay the meat to BBQ. Simple but absolutely mouth wateringly yummy. Needless to say we made a right pigs ear of cooking the meat but it tasted bloody good , even the piece of fish that we took a bite into only to realise it wasn't fish but a lump of pork fat (and two days later dawned us was probably supposed to oil the pan) tasted divine. Then on the last night probably my favourite, a dish of stir fried squid with Thai basil, onion tomato and chillies – burn your mouth off hot but plate lickingly scrumptious.

On our tuk-tuk chaffeured tour around the temples, some quite a distance from the town, we rode through the Cambodian countryside – miles upon miles of vibrant lime green paddy fields stretch for as far as the eye can see in all directions, (it really is humbling to think that the millions of rice seedlings have all been sown individually by hand – I bet they have a big party when thats done each year) interpersed with colosal palm trees and the odd shack. The countryside is beautiful, the peoples' living conditions are extremely poor, but there is something completely enchanting about this country. For a people that have lived through such a horrific recent past to have such a generosity of spirit is truely inspiring. I loved our little slice of Cambodia, it has definitely shot up the list of places to return to and do properly, if Siem Reap is anything to go by it will be a fantastic experience.

Note to oneself : there are so many amputee victims of landmines, on the strrets, that are reduced to begging to survive I must investigate appropriate charities when we get home.

San Blas Islands, Panama