The town itself is pretty scrappy, although admittedly our sum experience of it was driving to and from the bus station from our hotel by the beach. The beach is great – sand, sea, touts – and also contains a number of great restaurants and bars which come alive as the sun sets. Most nights we would have a bbq down on the beach, watching the waves, the sun set, and random Asians shoot fireworks at each other.

Warning: If you have a tendency to disapprove of drinking activities whilst on a ‘Gap Yah’ I would recommend you cease reading now, and leave with the impression Sihanoukville is a lovely place where all A and I did was lie on the beach and tan, whilst enjoying the occasional beer over supper.

After food we’d head off to our local. It became our local after we realised we were on first name terms with all the staff, and us turning up there every night wasn’t a question of if, but when. JJ’s is a bar, which plays music until 12 o’clock (then the locals get pissy – fair enough really), and dispenses free alcohol like Father Christmas on Prozac. Although you’d hope Father Christmas wouldn’t rate your arse as he pours a shot down your throat. An average night at JJs appeared to follow this formula: arrive drunk, get drunker, get on the bar, get still drunker as you are rewarded for behaving like a low-rent stripper by having yet more alcohol poured down your throat, start flirting with either the bar owner/barstaff, have some more drinks … etc.

The reason we reckon we had so much fun was not because of the bar itself, but the oddities who worked behind it, here is a run down of our favourites:

Johnny: co-owner of JJs, seemingly sweet, and always available to give A free drinks.

Nashville: 31 year old American whose sole purpose in life appears to be hooking up with women – sorry I mean girls – as apparently he never sleeps with anyone over the age of 25. Despite his almost pathological pervertedness, seriously funny to hang out with.

Scarecrow: Shockingly tall and skinny Irish guy, who charmed both A and me by saying film as ‘filum’. Slightly kelpto where lighters/cigarettes are concerned. Also shockingly bad at sand pictionary.

Welsh: Too-cool-for-school lad from the Valleys, with a deep loathing for Nick Clegg, and middle class twats. (His words.) Repeat offender as we ran into him in Hue in our travels down Vietnam.

Fit-beardy: see name + Irish accent = nothing else to say.

Best Mate: Used to have long hair then shaved it off (we toyed with the idea of calling him shaved head but it didn’t stick) can do puppy eyes like a pro, and was always up for giving us free drinks, after making us say stupid things to get them.

Some highlights from one of our nights there:

• The rival bar next door announces free drinks all night, presenting a serious moral dilemma of whether to stay with our original choice or abandon ship for free drinks. Fortunately solved by us collecting our free drinks, and then taking them back to JJs. This marks the start of The Night of Free Drinks.
• We go over the barstaff, in particular questioning Welsh’s appeal to girls, and deciding the Fit-Beardy is definitely the hottest. Shortly after this conversation we discover Fit-Beardy’s actual name, which is a plus.
• We run into a gay guy called Jeff – who already knew from Siem Reap – who insists on dancing with us before attempting to convert a straight guy, (Poor man – don’t think confusion and terror has ever been so evenly mixed on a face.) and then disappearing off with one of the Khmer guys.
• I get talking to a Khmer girl at the bar, who makes us all laugh by declaring I am 14, and then grabbing my face and kneading it whilst shouting ‘LOOK! NO LINES, NO LINES!’ to the entire bar. After manhandling my face we get talking about men, whereupon she whips out her arm which is covered in scars. Slight downer. To say the least.
• Nashville gets us to dance on the bar, and then uses us shamelessly in an attempt to make his ‘number 2′ (his number 1 having already left) jealous. Unfortunately for Nashville we’re useless wingmen.
• I get into an intense discussion with Welsh over vintages, as an upper-middle class twat who lives in Bath (home of said twats) I therefore only drink certain very refined booze. I in no way loose my temper and remain calm and collected whilst yelling myself blue at his idiocy.
• We get talking to a girl so blonde I have difficulty understanding how she actually managed to get herself to Sihanoukville. Soon after our conversation she loses her friend (less funny) but who reappears hours later totally fine after Vacuous (ak.a. as Blonde) has pretty much gone round and round in circles, all the while tossing her cute blonde hair (much funnier.)
• A becomes so drunk I have difficulty standing up I am laughing so hard. Some choice phrases: ”I haven’t been this drunk since I fell out of a bus ontop of my BEST FRIEND Fi, in LONDON … Isn’t everyone here nice? … I am drunk … BREEDING RATS… Where’s Johnny gone?! … ” and so on.

Our other great night was brilliant owing to the introduction of Kate, friend from Bristol, and her friend Rosie (also from Bristol), as well as an old school friend of A and mine, Hannah. That night included the following events:

• A attacked by Best Friend and Nashville on the way to bar, both converge on her demanding a kiss. There is a hand on crotch ”incident”  precipitated (big surprise here) by Nashville.
• Rosie and Kate arrive. Rosie immediately kicks off into top form by declaring: ‘I need the loo, and the men’ before disappearing off in the direction of neither. Kate mentions she may have drunk almost the entire contents of a bottle of whiskey, we all nod, and Rosie then reappears to recite our names and tell us how much she loves us. It is only around 10 o’clock.
• Rosie finds local drunk and strikes up and friendship. A recruited to shoot VOGUE style photo shoot with ‘Carnival’ Theme. Local drunk looks happy in every photo – Rosie’s expression varies. Ish.
• Nashville attempts to teach us American. I refuse to partake. A very excited. Although less excited when Nashville declares her shorts are abhorrent, and that I should always face backwards. He loudly vocalises above sentiments.
• Vacuous arrives with friend who again disappears, Vacuous seemingly unperturbed tonight. A and me get talking to her, although A has to leave after Vacuous makes the immortal comment ”I just think, like, as long as you are truly happy in yourself, then you will always be in a good place”. Yes she is one of those. I quickly lose all respect for her as she fails to see through the utter crap I am spouting. (I genuinely think she believes my father is an Evangelical pastor. Two words: Oh.Dear.)
• A goes to talk to Johnny. As he is talking to the police. Fortunately Johnny is entirely unconcerned, although he’s not helped by two drunk Brits screaming into the sea just as he is assuring the officer no one is swimming drunk. Whoops.
• We finally come through as Nashville’s wing men and he scores with his Cameron Diaz lookalike. That man owes us one.
• I suffer serious bodily harm as Best Friend hurls himself on top of me, as A snaps away and does nothing to help. Unless you count laughing as ‘helping’. Best Friend proceeds to give us lots of free shots, but keeps making inappropriate comments, about certain members of the bar.
• Over the course of the nights we both lost our shoes … so we both went to the loo shoe-less. I have OCD. Do you know how much alcohol there must have been swilling round my stystem for me to even consider the idea? Not.Cool.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was Shmoke-and-a-pancake.

What we were really there for was (of course) the temples of Angkor. Deciding on a 3-day pass (at a whopping $40) we started our first day off at 6 a.m (check out our temple dedication) with A having to put up with a Rose who was almost bouncing out of the tuk-tuk in anticipation and excitement. Our first day consisted of a number of the smaller ones from the earliest period, and then the famous ‘Tomb Raider’ Temple (Ta Prohm), which Angelina Jolie stands outside before falling through some hole. Unsurprisingly, it was heaving with tourists, all desperate to have their picture taken by ‘the tree’, nonetheless once you’d found a quiet spot, (A achieved this through getting lost) the place could work it’s charm on you. By far my favourite temple of the day though, was this little tiny one called Ta Som, which sees relatively small numbers of tourists and was nearly empty when we were there. Crumbling in places, but intact enough to allow a perspective of when it functioned, the place had a serene calm, and fecund beauty (thanks to the ever encroaching jungle), which was denied to the over-populated Ta Prohm.

Our second day began far more leisurely, although unfortunately owing to our late start we ran out of time and were hustled unceremoniously into our tuk-tuk by the driver who warned of ‘night-time big snakes, no safe’. No cool. Anyway, we saw most of Angkor Thom, which is one of the biggest complexes in Angkor, and was built by the prolific (and revered) Jayavarman VII, a man who clearly felt he had something to prove, and did so by building on an unparalleled and unrivaled scale. Whilst wandering round Preah Khan (also one of Jay’s) the skies opened and we were trapped inside one of the halls as water sluiced down around us. Although incredibly evocative and beautiful, my sense of wonder soon faded as the humidity and general wet pervaded through my clothes, and the jungle around us made it’s presence felt with a barrage of mosquitos. Not cool.

Our final day began at dawn as we watched the sun rise over Angkor Wat, an experience not to be missed, despite the multitude of tourists also enjoying the sights. There is nothing to describe the sense of wonder that reverberates through you as you walk up the causeway and see the structure so omnipresent in Cambodian life and culture, rearing up before you. The inside bas-reliefs were so enjoyable (despite us being stuck with a very loud American tour group whose questions were so inane it made you wonder how they actually got themselves here in the first place) depicting various battles, Gods, Demons, and stories. Most of the reliefs were incredibly well preserved (as is most of Angkor Wat thanks to it being occupied continuously unlike many of the other temples) and had even been buffed to a polish over the centuries by the thousands of people touching them. After Angkor we had a much needed breakfast, lost our tuk-tuk - thankfully he then found us wandering around – and headed off to Bayon. Bayon was maybe my favourite temple, even though it was full to the brimload with people and especially children. Bayon was Jayavarman’s biggest piece of narcissism, with 216 Jayavarman lookalike stone heads staring down on you from every conceivable angle. From a distance the place looks deceptively boring, but up close it’s a cacophony of carved stone, symmetry, and a still identifiable impression of civilization, sometimes lacking in the more over-grown temples. Our last temple done we headed back to Siem Reap, and the aptly-named ”Bar Street”.

Bar Street is exactly what it sounds like, with the most successful, and longest running, being ”Angkor What?” and which is packed most nights. After meeting two lovely girls also staying at our guesthouse, we met up with them in town to celebrate Sarah’s (one of the girls) last night. In the course of the evening we met a number of hilarious Australian/American (who knows?!) who insisted on singing ‘Happy Go Home Sarah’ to the entire bar, and whose gay ringleader then critiqued everyone’s outfit. Our most hilarious night however was when we decided to venture forth from ”Angkor..” (Big step I know) and headed into the Temple Bar which looked fun.

Big mistake. No sooner had we stepped through the door, than we realised that most of the clientelle consisted of old men, and a number of young looking, very scantily dressed, Cambodian girls. The ‘dance’ area was a raised round platform, around which various girls lounged. By this point though we were a little too, how shall I say? - Happy? to really care. Leaping onto the stage we were quickly joined by a very friendly girl, who was soon laughing along with us, as we watched a Western guy at least 50 in the shade, gyrate with a Cambodian girl. Our laughter quickly died though as our new friend suddenly excused herself and went over to ‘drink’, with another Westerner. The next morning I couldn’t stop thinking about the girls in there, and what their lives must be like to force them into something like that. At the time though we suddenly had more pressing worries on our minds – Amy the girl we were with – was approached by two Cambodian guys who calmly informed her they would like her as wife, ‘Now please’. Not bothering to discover what the subtext of the ‘Now please’ (at least they were polite) we headed back to the guesthouse.

Leaving Siem Reap with our livers suffering yet again, we are now in Battambang, after a mammoth 8 hour boat journey, which was as beautiful as it was very very cramped.

Catching a bus to Sen Monorom was deceptively easy – we turned up the day before managed to find someone who seemed to understand where we wanted to go, and then the next day were placed aboard a bus. The problems began about nine hours into a ten hour journey, when we started pointing at a map and asking where we were. After much confusion (big surprise no-one spoke English) they started jabbing at the North-Eastern corner of Cambodia.

Sen Monorom is in the bottom Southern corner of Cambodia.

Slight panic ensued whilst we tried to reassure ourselves we hadn’t actually got on the wrong bus. We had. Where did we end up? At the top of Cambodia, in one of the most Northern towns called Ban Lung. Whoops does not really begin to cover it, especially after you’ve just stepped off a ten hour bus, which has traveled over some of the worst roads in Cambodia (and by road I mean dirt track.)

Fortunately it actually turned out better than ok. Beyond weirdly Ban Lung is one of the few other places in Cambodia offering elephant trekking, as well as a range of other cool stuff. We made friends with a guy called Stephen (our mate Steve by the end of the day) who found us an ok hotel, and then organised our trekking.

The elephant trek itself was amazing, although seriously uncomfortable by the end. You sit on a wooden platform just big enough for both me and A (despair if you’re a fat American), whilst the mahout (elephant trainer) sits on the neck of the elephant kind of just above his skull. Our (slightly grumpy and seriously hungry) elephant was called Kampucha, and his mahout was Bon, but this is slightly a guess as neither the elephant nor Bon spoke any English. We went on a massive tour of the surrounding countryside taking in the rubber plantations, various different forest/jungle areas (not so fun as we got attacked by ants and spiders from overhanging plants), and then finally a river for Kampucha’s wash and then the most amazing waterfall. The whole thing was amazing, although it got slightly too exciting when Kampucha saw a friend elephant and went (literally) charging off through the jungle to see him, despite Bon’s best efforts at controlling him! We were on Kampucha for most of the morning and stepping off at the end it was difficult to fathom how small we were in comparison.

Afterwards we were taken to two other waterfalls (goes without saying they were beautiful, but unfortunately the elephant ride really tired me out and I fell asleep at the second one, much to Steve’s chagrin as he wanted to get off for his lunch.) After feeding we were taken to the most amazing crater lake right in the middle of the jungle. Formed around 700 000 years ago, the lake is an almost perfect circle leading the local minority tribes to worship it and attribute various Gods to the area. This hasn’t stopped them building a wooden pontoon out over the water, from which you, (and the local kids), can jump off into the very very deep cool green water. All in all we reckon we were exceedingly lucky in getting on the wrong bus, and as it’s the first time in FIVE MONTHS of travel we’ve got on the wrong bus, we feel fairly proud of ourselves. Ish.

We are now in a place called Kratie, on the shore of the Mekong, and have spent today on a boat looking at the rare Irrewaddy dolphins which are diminishing in numbers annually. The dolphins were actually really easy to find (or maybe we just had a particularly good guide?) but they’re not that pretty – they’ve got this big bulbus heads, and small dorsal fins so they are not the most elegant of dolphins. Still, it was brilliant seeing them, and the Mekong itself was mesmerizing.

One of the first sites we visited was the War Remnants Museum – a sobering visit. Created in 1975 in what was previously the US Information Center, (ironic or what) the exhibition focuses much of it’s attention on the atrocities perpetrated against the Vietnamese people by the invading US soldiers. There are horrifically graphic photos displaying the hideous effects of the masses of napalm, and Agent Orange, dropped often indiscriminately by the US. Alongside are photos taken by American G.I.s proudly posing with their ‘souvenirs’ from battlefields – their clear smiles are somehow more disturbing than their grisly mementos. A temporary exhibition one the top floor had iconic photographs from the myriad numbers of correspondents covering the conflict.

The Reunification palace – formally the Independence Palace – became a powerful image of the Vietnamese victory, but unfortunately being an iconic building did not prevent it from being completely hideous. Bringing together the worst of 1960s design, the entire place was a lesson in depression, with the only positives the beautiful garden which surround it (complete with the tanks that first stormed the Palace in 1975) and the fascinating control/operations bunkers under the complex. I’m not really a fan of encloses spaces, and wandering through the, often creepy, bunkers was interesting if not entirely enjoyable.

After coming back from Phu Quoc we went to see the Ho Chin Minh City Museum the next day. A completely beautiful building (built during the Indochina) there were a number of slight eclectic exhibitions ranging from a history of ceramics (not interesting, and personally I found them all pretty ugly); an insight into Vietnamese marriage (did you know it is expected to give the bride’s family two chicken legs as part of the dowry?!); and a history of their currency (man this country has a serious problem with inflation.) Whist there a couple were having their wedding photos done, although neither of them seemed particularly thrilled about it, so we semi-stalked them round the building commenting on the bride and bridegrooms outfit changes.

We’ve got back into the ‘Gap Yar’ circuit here, and what with there being a usually busy bar just down the road from our hotel … what are we supposed to do?! We keep bumping into people we’ve met either from Vietnam, or Laos, or even from A’s Prep school if you can believe it. There is a definite nightlife here, more so probably than any other city we’ve visited, and the streets are brilliant for people watching – with a drink in hand of course. Of course where ever you are the wandering vendors will find you, offering to sell you anything from cigarettes, to watches, to weed, to books. (The book one is particularly great – literally a shelf will walk up to you and from behind it a voice will start screaming ‘YOU! YOU! You want BOOK!’ the Asian sales pitch – coming to a bar near you, soon.) In one bar there is always this little kid (and by little I mean no older than seven max) selling the usual stuff, usually until around 11 at night, every night. He’s become a kind of bar mascot though, to the extent he plays pool better than most of the posturing guys, (you want to see amazement on a face? – try watching a 26 year old guy letting a kid take a shot and then watching stupefied as the ‘kid’ pockets all the balls, despite barely being able to see over the table.) All the people in the bar treat this kid well, everyone plays with him, all the bar staff clearly keep an eye out for him,  and yet all I could think about watching him dancing around, (oh yeah – he does a wicked Micheal Jackson moonwalk) was why wasn’t this kid back at home? Is he even going to school? You can kind of see it on the faces of the other drinkers – people are laughing, but there is an edge of hysteria, as in: ‘Is it OK to like this? Is this OK at all?’ Who knows if it is fine or not, he seems healthy and happy, and what right have we got to judge his parents, after all for all my talk of ‘is this alright?’, I don’t even know the boy’s name.

From Hue we traveled down all the way to Ho Chin Minh City (but everyone still calls it Saigon) which took 25 hours, and two separate buses. By the time we were on the outskirts of Saigon I had suffered a major sense of humour failure, and really was not a pleasant person to be stuck in a small confined space with. Poor A. We spent a couple of days in Saigon before heading down to Phu Quoc, and now we are back in Saigon for a few days before busing it over to Cambodia.

Phu Quoc is an island off the Southern coast of Vietnam, and is generally advertised as the beautiful place with all the white sand and palm trees and generally turquoise waters … you get the picture, right? As traveling is so stressful, and we feel we’ve had a particularly hard past 5 months (can you believe we’ve nearly been away for five whole months? Crazzzy.) so as the guide books say we needed a ‘vacation from our vacation’.

We arrived on the 29th May and didn’t manage to dig ourselves out of the place until 9th June. On our arrival we were told there were English people staying next door, and the ‘English people’ turned out to be my cousin Phoebe and her two friends. One of the most surreal things ever to bump into a cousin you haven’t seen in a year on a tiny island off Vietnam, but was awesome fun to see her and generally have friends to hang out with.

Phu Quoc doesn’t really have that much to do on it, aside from the obligatory sunbathing and swimming, as there really are not any sights. There is a particularly nasty prison there which was used by the French to torture and imprison suspected Vietminh, and is still in use today ergo not really a photo opportunity spot. Fortunately we’d brought loads of books; I was in seventh heaven just reading and generally eating in the sun, when there was a slight hitch in the whole plan.

There are definite seasons down in Phu Quoc, as from June onwards its low season and they halve all their prices (great!) as hardly anyone is down there (not so great.) The reason for this became apparent a couple of days after Phoebe left. Getting up one morning we discovered the cafe attached to the hotel, and usually open to the spectacular view, had overnight become a tarpaulin covered hideout. Coming back to our room, battling through the now screaming wind, our ‘daily’ was frantically trying to batten all the windows shut in our room, and put anything not nailed down inside. Shrugging our shoulders we proceeded to go into the local town and stock up on ‘necessities’ (fags, crisps, booze, biscuits … the usual), when we got back I went for a ‘interesting’ walk along the beach.

The normally placid sea was roaring up the beach, making walking to the next hotel and restaurant a bit difficult. After arriving (wet) I found the staff there also frantically tidying away, and moving anything out of the reach of the sea. Feeling a little more apprehensive I asked what exactly was happening (they spoke much better English than our people) and got ‘Big storm’, and ‘days 2 and 3′ (ok, so their English was better I didn’t say it was good) in quick repetition. Great. We then spent the next two days confined to our bungalow (and F.Y.I. palm leaf roofs leak) whilst the storm raged past.

After the ending of the storm everything returned to normal, and more people arrived, which was a relief as we were beginning to feel like the only people still on ‘the island’ (as we’d christened it by this time). Making friends with a French-Vietnamese guy we were taken to a festival on the island, held every year, which celebrates a virtuous noble lady who disappeared suddenly hundreds of years ago leaving just a shadow on a rock. We were told (repeatedly) we were the only white people to come to the event, and we certainly got enough attention. Screw the centuries old religious ceremony, lets go gawk at the white people, seemed to be the prevalent view, at the event. Still, the ceremony itself was fascinating, with both male and female monks taking part, and then a troop of traditional dancers (made somewhat incongruous by the flashes of reboks and converse below their robes) performed to the deity.

However, the real highlight was the food. As far as we could make out, although the religious connotations of the ceremony were clearly important, most people seemed to treat the thing as a chance to gossip, eat, and laugh. There were hordes of children climbing around, (A made friends and ended up with so many flowers as presents, we had to braid them into her hair, which actually looked pretty cool,) and as the guest we were treated to an incredibly delicious meal, all vegetarian, and then some less delicious pudding. The pudding was a collection of rice-ball-things in lurid day-glo shades of pink, green, and yellow, which tasted faintly like soap and damp sponge cake. And every time we forced one down, another would appear from our generous cooks. Joy. Our only slight faux pas was leaving too early and missing our host’s dance, so we had to endure a few black looks for a couple of days, but by the time we left all had been forgiven. We think.

Born in 1890, Minh led the Viet Minh Independence movement against the French, achieving a decisive victory against them in 1954. In 1941 he was appointed Prime Minister of Northern Vietnam, and in 1945 it’s President. He lost the majority of power during the 1950s, but remained as an influential figurehead until his death in 1969 at 79. Although clearly specified in his will the desire to be cremated, the Vietnamese decided to ignore his wishes and have instead stuffed him and put him in a glass case.

The mausoleum is open only in the mornings, so we turned up pretty early (8ish) expecting it to be almost empty. We had to que for close on an hour. The variety of people visiting him were more interesting than him, ranging from parties of loudly boisterous schoolchildren, to tiny old men wizened and bent, who shuffled past and refused to make eye contact. There were couples holding hands (what could be a more romantic date than to visit the dead embalmed corpse of the once leader of your country?) and groups of serious-looking business men. After waiting around we eventually shuffled into the building itself, and into the room where four very young and serious guards stared fixatedly ahead. 

The body itself was actually pretty underwhelming. He looks much like a wax figure (if I’d been to Madame Tusauds I’d compare him to them) and I guess after all these years he is probably more fake than anything real. His hands are the only really creepy part of him – so curled and creased they are a startling reminder he was once alive. The other really bizarre thing was the raised platform around him; built exactly so that children could easily examine his revered body. Why are the Communists so hellbent on deifying their leaders? It has always struck me as odd an organisation so bent on separating (and destroying) religion from the state seems to revel in lifting it’s leaders up to the heights once occupied by their childhood Gods. Odd and more than a little creepy when you see it in action. Still, as we say about everything now, it was an ‘experience’.

On to Hue, which is where we are now. Some people (i.e. people on booze cruises down the length of Vietnam - and you’d be amazed at how many there are of them) choose to detour Hue as apparently ‘there’s, like, nothing to do there man, it’s utter shit.’ Charming eh? In reality Hue is pretty cool, nowhere near Hanoi for enjoyment, but there’s a really interesting Citadel containing the Emperor’s palace and all of his outbuildings, the dynasty’s Royal Tombs, and the De-Militarised Zone (DMZ).

The Citadel was very interesting, although oddly lonely and sad. Hue is almost smack in the middle of Vietnam and as a result has been the centre of decades of fighting, and the buildings   in the area have suffered. Most of the old Citadel has been destroyed courtesy of American products, although there are still some examples of its previous splendour. The Royal Tombs are in much better condition, although sheer age has taken its toll, yet this only adds to the sense of sedate loveliness which pervades the gardens and lakes around the tombs.

The real attraction of Hue lies in the tours around the DMZ. You have to become a tour animal as it is simply not safe to go wandering around by yourself – there are massive signs warning kids of the dangers of UXOs (Un-exploded ordinances) which have killed around 10 000 civilians. Our guide was a very upbeat guy, who provided us with a fascinating insight into the Vietnamese mindset – although you had to take what he was saying with a pinch of salt. driving through the area you begin to get a sense of the devastation caused; there are no old buildings or fully established trees; the ground still bears crater marks; and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere there are tombs. In the DMZ alone there are 72 cemeteries (and most Vietnamese bury their dead on their own land …) The average age of a Vietnamese combatant was between 15 and 18.

Vietnam was only reunified in 1975, and they have been fighting someone on and off for the past 1000 years, this has led to their extraordinary resilience and determination. Our guide explained it thus: “40% of weapons came from the Russia, 60% came from the minds. We fight for our freedom, our villages, our families, our everything.” We were taken to various battle-sites and then onto an interesting museum located in the much fought Khe Sanh village, which remains a sore spot even today. The village became one of the focus spots of the US conflict, with President Johnson forcing the military leaders, in an unprecedented move, to sign a contract stating Khe Sanh would not, could not, be lost.  

The museum was fascinating, if only for it’s incredibly slanted view of events. Every display and photo showed victorious (and virtuous) Viet Cong troops overcoming cowering US troops, who were either depicted fleeing or dead. There were also segments devoted to vilifying American troops and some of the atrocities committed, but no mention of the Viet Cong less laudable exploits. Unsettling isn’t the right word. Of course some of the images were correct, and of course much of what the US did was shocking and ultimately reprehensible, but the Viet Cong were not the saints portrayed. The heavy handedness of the bias was the real shocker for me. The parallels with the Afghan conflict were almost too much at times, and overall the whole museum was decidedly uncomfortable. 

We also visited one of the many tunnel networks which form a vast network across the DMZ. Going down into the tunnels has got to rank as one of the least enjoyable things I’ve ever done. The tunnels descended over three levels, and were never wider than your outstretched hands (actually that was the widest point where apparently they would cram around 50 people in for meetings. Quite how I’ve got no idea.) The sense of claustrophobia was palpable, and the deeper we went the more I began to imagine being lost down there. Not a fun thought. Along with our guide we had a guy who had actually been born down in the tunnel complex – apparently not that unusual – and who had clearly been a victim of agent orange (again not that unusual, it is estimated around 5000 children today are affected) and who disappeared and reappeared throughout the tour disappearing off darkened tunnels and stairs and then coming up and joining our group again. Slightly creepy to say the least. Coming back out onto the beach and bright clear daylight was unbelievably enjoyable, and a good way to end an unsettling, if informative, tour.

After checking in and doing all the usual stuff we headed off up into the mountains to check out the Hospital Caves. Essentially during the American invasion the Vietnamese created this hospital in the extensive cave system the island is riddled with. We made slight fools of ourselves initially as the very sweet guide attempted to introduce himself, and us being us, we thought we were about to be scammed so walked off rudely and ignored him. The joke was on us though, as after climbing up to the entrance we discovered we actually couldn’t get in without him. Whoops. Once inside the place was eerily cool, and had a swimming pool, cinema, operations room, officers wards and offices, planning/control room, escape routes, administration rooms, everything you could think of. And it was all inside the rock. It took them three years to build, and during the peak it housed at least 150 patients with 20 (max) doctors and nurses caring for them. Vietnamese ingenuity was – is – astounding. Although it was fascinating we were both kind of glad to get back into the open air, and I couldn’t think of anything worse than being stuck in the caves for too long, also by this point our guide had decided we were good for a laugh and demonstrated this by turning the lights off while we were walking down some rock-cut stairs. Smart, and you can imagine what happened … we aren’t the most coordinated people at the best of times. We are however both pretty loud and voices tend to echo in caves. Think it’s safe to say he was surprised at the reaction.

The next day we had booked a boat tour around all the islands, which included swimming, ‘snorkeling’ (this one never happened), kayaking, and a cave tour. The islands themselves were amazing: huge jagged shelves of rock kind of sliding out of the clean green water, and completely bereft of human life. The weather wasn’t great, which bummed A out, but in a weird way I found the island even more beautiful in the grey light we had. The water went this slate green-blue colour, the clouds above reflected their shapes and with the islands semi-obscured in the light, it felt unreal and untouched.

The people sharing our trip were great. We had a very very very cool London couple (maaaaaate) who were our age, and who clearly felt they couldn’t talk to us once they’d established we came from somewhere other than London. Then there was a 34 year old guy who was actually mad, example: he caught a taxi all the way from Hanoi thinking it was the only option, it cost him $50 whereas everyone else came by bus costing around $9 … people are strange. He spent the day making private jokes with himself and then laughing loads while everyone else kind of looked away awkwardly. The other couple we had (seriously what is with the sodding couples? Enough already – go home) were on their honeymoon. With their parents. Yup. With their parents. Anyway their presence didn’t seem to hold them back too much, and A was soon roped into a VOGUE style photo shoot which lasted a good 20 minutes and was only the first of many. We even had a slow-mo run along a beach filmed while they held hands. They were also great as during the kayaking they got lost and we left them behind, and not ‘accidentally’ – genuinely. Initially no-one realised, then someone clocked the lack of flashing so we cruised around the bays for an extra hour looking for them, before they eventually materialised. It worked out great though as we got an extra hour on the boat – for free!

We are now back in Hanoi, and are catching the bus this evening all the way down to Hue, next post from there!

Hanoi is the capital and far more beautiful than either A or I expected. A collision of French and Asian architecture, the city has a relaxed look which contrasts sharply with the frenetic pace set by it’s inhabitents. Fortunately after India anything is pretty chilled out in comparison.

The main sights are Ho Chin Minh’s mausoleum, as despite his request to be cremated he was stuffed and mounted up inside a rather ugly mock classical tomb. Unfortunately we haven’t actually been to see him yet as the place closes at 11 and we’ve been finding it a bit difficult to get out of bed before then. Still, it is on our list of things to do. And we did go to the museum explaining his life and how Vietnam has moved forward into the unified country it is today, which was completely fascinating and very well done.

We visited the Temple of Literature, whose message as a seat of learning and study is slightly damaged by the presence of an ATM inside the Temple. Only in Vietnam (speaking of only in Vietnam – today we passed a Paris Hilton Clothes shop … I kid you not … the public menace a.k.a. Hilton has reached Asia – nowhere is safe.) The Temple is a series of five courtyards, beautifully decorated, and all geared towards honouring Confucius and his teachings. Fascinating stuff, but unfortunately on the day we went it was literally so hot we felt like we were melting, so we did the Temple fairly quickly and then went and had a drink – we’re teenagers what can we say?! (Although we’re better than some teenagers we met who when asked what they had done for the day replied: ‘Playstationed’. No points for guessing they were all boys.)

Visiting the Vietnam Fine Arts Museum was lovely. So peaceful, and again very well laid out and designed. The museum takes you through Vietnamese art right from prehistoric to present day, and gives a broad overview of how their art has evolved and changed. What was especially interesting was the period when the Vietnamese started having frequent contact with Europeans – you can see it from the changing use of materials, and from the changing compositions. (At least that’s what A the Art Historian tells me.) The only downer of the museum was some taxi driver attempting to make us pay 200 000 Dong for a journey worth literally 20 000D. We just threw a 20 000 at him and walked away – can’t believe people actually fall for that kind of extortion. Fools.

My favourite part of Hanoi has been Hoan Kiem Lake, marketed by the tourist people as ‘the liquid heart of Hanoi’. For once they completely fulfill their hype. Various cafes liter the shore, where you can watch the water and the tower built in the center, whilst eating delicious ice cream or pastries, or just read a book. A slight problem with going there is you have to cross at least 3 roads, and while that sounds easy believe me it really really really isn’t.

The majority of transport in Hanoi is on two wheels, and these two wheels seem uncaring of their own safety. Speed is the name of the game, and if you are a particularly cocky guy you’ll add some weaving into the mix. Cars are relatively rare, and much easy to deal with. Waiting for a clearing of the traffic to cross is like waiting for Amy Winehouse to give up the drugs … i.e. pointless and never going to happen. You have to take a massive breath and then slowly slowly edge out in front of the traffic hoping to God the wall of motorbikes will swerve around you (they usually do). What makes the whole experience even more fun is when the male motorbikes shout out obscenities as they wizz past; so far A has had two marriage proposals, and we’ve both lost count of the number of ‘you want meeeeeee?’ we’ve had screamed at us.

Finally we visited the prison where American pilots, including the defeated Presidential candidate John McCain, were detained during the war. The place devoted much of the space to the prisons use during the colonial period, when the French had control and brought back their fave form of execution the gullitine. The conditions that these Vietnamese fighters were kept in, on occaison defied belief. I also had a very nasty moment when a guide (as a joke – ha ha ha) locked me in one of the cells. With a tiny slit of a window at the top, a sloping floor, and a space so tiny I could touch the opposite walls with either outstretched hand, there was a moment when I was not a happy bunny. Fortunately this is what travel buddys are for and A broke me free. Phew. The weirdest thing of the place was how they have built a massive new office block almost on top of the prison, standing in one of the courtyards under the shade of the building you can look up and see children playing in the company’s day care. Not sure if it was a sign of acceptance, or of a profound desire to forget, either way it was disorientating.

Nevertheless we think Hanoi might be one of our all time favourite cities … although do we say that every time we go somewhere?!

First problem: arriving to get the boat to the next village we were told no boats went from there up to our next stop. Cue slight panic, until we found this Laos guy who was going all the way up – that day. Fine. We managed to persuade him to take two white girls up with him (not hard) and settled abroad a very sweet, if tiny, kind of tug boat. The trip up river was magnificent, we were pretty much the only boat on the river for the entire duration, and we passed through stretches of jungle so uninhabited it gave you a chill as you contemplated just what exactly would happen were you to break down or get lost. The jungle was so dense it gave the appearance of this solid phalanx, deep black and entirely impenetrable. The journey lasted upwards of six hours, and another highlight was when we randomly stopped (roughly halfway through) and our boatman calmly tied the boat up and then proceeded to have a bath and do some laundry in the river. No sweat.

We arrived at the our next jumping point late evening, and were so exhausted we fell straight into bed. Not before realising that we had to get up at three to catch another boat across the river, to get the bus to take us to the border. Three o’clock in the morning rolls round and being the punctual (not to mention shit-scared that we’ll get left behind) people we are, we arrived on the dot. Where we then waited for about two hours whilst the Laos boatman slowly got up and got himself together. Fortunately there were other travelers so we weren’t too stressed.

Arriving at the ‘bus’ we were in for a somewhat unpleasant shock. The bus consisted of a very rickety old 12 seat kind of van, currently full to the brim with sacks of garlic, onion, and something else that does not smell pleasant. This was not a problem though for our driver who then proceeded to pack about twenty people in. Finally, after much shouting about whether or not he could squeeze a few more in – he could and did – we left.

The road to Vietnam looks fairly major on my map. I figured that as a road to a border it would be in an okay state, and anyway maps are aways right, right? WRONG. NEVER TRUST MAPS EVER. After about an hour in the bus we became aware that the dirt track we initially thought was just coming out of the village was our road for the entire journey. Which makes progress a little slow. To say the least. At one point the bus stopped and our driver got out, intrigued we followed to find the ‘road’ almost entirely blocked by fallen rocks and mud. Waving a hand airily at the site coordinator (how the guy got that job I’ll never know) the driver then squatted down and proceeded to join him in having a smoke. Great. After a bit of shouting we managed to ascertain a digger would be arriving soon, and we’d be on our way soon.

A few hours later we were (amaze of amaze) on our way, but apparently the stop had been unplanned (no way eh?) and so we were now in danger of not making it to the border before it closed. The driver’s driving became crazy. And not in a good way. We were winding through the mountains, and for most of the journey there was a drops of hundreds of feet spinning away to our right. And the bus was going at stupid speeds, and every time we hit a bump (frequently on a dirt track road) the whole vehicle lurched towards the cliff. Poor A (who isn’t great with heights at the best of times) was sitting by the window and so had a scarf wrapped round her eyes for most of the journey. Which was a shame as the scenery was spectacular. The final thing to say about this leg of the journey is owing to all the dirt on the road (dry and red and very dusty) and the crap nature of the windows (windows?!) of the bus, by the time we arrived at the border we looked like we had just completed a eight-day trek. And felt about as exhausted.

We got to the Vietnamese border in one piece, and the joy of being back on concrete roads was enough to send me to sleep for the first part of the journey. After a quick stopover (including food, and a delicious shower) we caught another bus and headed off to Hanoi. The Hanoi journey was far easier as we were on an air-conditioned bus, and the roads were tarmac. It was less easy because we were the only girls there, and the bus driver decided to play on the tv a mixture of Victoria’s Secret Catwalk Videos and shots of blonde girls taking their tops off. The guy turned to me as it was playing and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up. Great. Our first taste of Vietnam consisted of soft porn and idiotic men. Still it was totally fine and after being chucked out on the outskirts of Hanoi at 4 we managed to find our way to a hotel and the first bed we’d seen in twenty four hours.

Nong Khiaw is spelt differently in nearly every sign I’ve seen, which is hardly surprising as the place consists of no more than a handful of homes and a couple of guesthouses, and that’s about it. It is spilt almost down the middle by the Nam Ou river, with the odd effect that all the tourists (and by all I mean the two dozen distributed in the three guesthouses) on one bank, and everyone else on the other.

We’re staying in a tiny bungalow perched above the rivers banks, affording us the most spectacular view along the river and of the mountains surrounding us. Watching the sun set each evening, you feel as if what you are seeing cannot possibly be real, it is too divorced from anything I’ve ever come across before. The bungalow has also earned undying affection from us by producing the first hot water shower we’ve had in weeks.

Activities around here seem to be of the energetic variety, and after nearly signing ourselves up for a 2 day trek up some mountains to see a waterfall (we thought we would just be visiting the waterfall in a boat and then coming back – far more relaxing) we managed to extricate ourselves from that little ‘misunderstanding’ and have spent the last couple of days catching up on our reading, drawing, and journal-ing.

The people here are so friendly (almost too friendly – there is a little girl down our guesthouse lane who takes great delight in pinching our bums every time we walk past – quite why we’re not sure.) watching the kids playing has become one of my favourite pastimes. They treat the river as their own personal pond, quite a feat as the current is too strong for us to even consider dipping a toe in, and spend all day paddling up and down on their alarmingly tiny raft boats (most of which seem to have more river in them than around them) racing each other and generally screaming in delight. They never fall in (unless pushed – and then they all tend to go in), they never falter in the currents, and they seem inexhaustible.

Alas, tomorrow we leave: traveling up river to another village, before heading on to the Vietnamese border.