The temperature had certainly been steadily building during my time in Saigon.  Today was without doubt the hottest day since I'd been in Vietnam.  I had a lazy morning, semi-packed my stuff ready for my flight, and in lieu of any other plans, went out for an aimless stroll.

Everywhere I went - every main street, every side street, every alleyway - there was food everywhere.  I'd tried a dish or two the previous day.  The name of one I instantly forgot, and when it arrived it was hard to work out what it was.  It was as chewy as leather, but it was fried and did have some flavour - though what that was I just do not know.  The "shrimps" (which in UK parlance would translate to a miniscule shellfish) were more akin to small lobsters.  Pops would have loved them.

  One memorable instance was when I stopped at a stall to buy a beer.  The stall owner smiled at me.  "Thirty," she said.  I duly gave her 30 dong, but she seemed very confused.  She handed me back 10 and held up two fingers.  "Thirty!" she repeated.

It was absolutely sweltering. The sweat was running down my back and into my shorts. I decided to head back to the War Remnants museum. It was pennies to get in, and I wanted to see the rest of the photos in the Requiem room - I’d been saturated with images/info the day before. It was nice just to sit down in the shade to be honest.  The return visit was no less poignant than the first, and I spent over and hour looking at the rest of the war photographer’s images. 

Once I'd reviewed just about every image in this room I headed back to the ground floor.  There was a a fascinating (albeit still very much a propaganda) video on loop telling all about the number of GIs going AWOL and starting anti war movements during the war. Figures quoted included an incredible 17% AWOL rate.

Whilst I was at the museum, Kelly sent a message saying he and Lisa were also there. We’d not arranged to meet up, but as they were also on site we met up for a quick beer at the café.  It was my final day, and Kelly asked me if I would I come back to Vietnam?  It was an interesting question, and one I could not really answer at the time.  My answer now is, probably - but not to repeat anything I’d already done. There is a famous hike in a place called Sapa that I'd like to do. I'd certainly go off the beaten track more - Combine it with a trip to Cambodia, maybe.… but I guess it would really morph into a trip somewhere else, like just Cambodia or maybe even Laos.

The day passed all too quickly.  Before I knew it, I had to go back to the apartment to have a quick shower, ready for the water puppet theatre.  One thing I instantly noticed in the theatre was that the seats were offset, so that my seat, number nine, looked between seats eight and nine in front.  This must have been great for the (generally quite small) locals, who would then have less chance of their view being totally obscured by a huge tourist.

The show was short (as I knew beforehand), and only lasted 45 minutes.  It was formed of a series of small "sketches".  The voices (and there weren't many) were in Vietnamese, but it was generally quite easy to work out/guess what was going on.  It was the puppetry that people were mainly there to see though, and that was genuinely fascinating.  One of the musicians (a lady) was playing a genuinely intriguing instrument.  It was flat and horizontal, like a piano might be, but was stringed, with some kind of knobs/dials.  It made a very "oriental" sound, and her fingers flew over it.  It was very interesting in itself to watch.

Possibly my worst experience of Vietnam (the drinks thing the night before was really just mildly disturbing) happened at the airport.  It was more annoying than anything else.  I had checked in on the Vietnam Airlines app.  I had my seat booked and an electronic copy of my boarding pass, so I joined the queue for passport checks.  I was a LOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGG, and SLLLLOOOOWWWWW queue.  When I finally arrived at the front, the officer asked for my boarding pass.  I showed him my phone, and he all-but laughed at me.  I cannot remember his exact words (my subsequent ones were choice, to say the least) but he told me I needed a paper copy.  I had to go back, find the check-in desk, then queue up all over again.  I was not happy.

Once I'd eventually gone through passport control and security, I grabbed a final beer.  It was at this point that I discovered my one and only mosquito bite.  I had no idea when the blighter had got me.  It could have been a lot worse.  As it was, it did not keep me awake on the flight.  A beer (or two) helped me sleep for most of the 14 hour flight.  Nice way to end an adventure.  

After a lazy morning which included a luxurious lie-in, I ventured out into the sweltering heat around 09:00.  I'm not sure when, where or how it started, but if I'm visiting somewhere new that happens to have a Hard Rock Café, I buy a t-shirt for Lewis (and now also for Will).  I'd read that the one in Saigon was closed, but for the cost of a Grab bike (around £1.20) I went to see for myself.  I could not even locate where it used to be.  Possibly a massive hotel had since replaced it.

One of the must-do things in Saigon is the War Remnants Museum.  It's ridiculously cheap to enter, and the main courtyard comprises a selection of captured tanks, guns (as in modern artillery, not rifles), a chinook helicopter, and even a jet.  Close inspection of the chinook revealed quite extensive battle damage repairs, no doubt covering up multiple bullet strikes.

It's important to note that no aspect of the museum was intended (even to attempt to) glorify war in general, or gloat over the outcome of this one.  There were multiple messages of hope, including bell of peace that a monk had created, crafted out of the shell of an unexploded bomb.

When we read about bombs of certain weights, (1000lb for example) it's often not possible to visualise exactly what these would look like, or understand just how bit (in terms of physical size) they would be.  The War Remnants museum had a collection of bombs to give exactly such perspective.

I ventured inside to see the various displays, including one of simple, everyday objects that belonged to a host of "heroes".  The information did often need to be taken with an open mind.  It was often very easy to read the blatant propaganda in the various descriptions, but reading between the lines it was also easy to see that much of what was reported must also have been true.  This was particularly true within the room dedicated to war crimes, which was particularly hard hitting.  Some “confessions” came from US soldiers retrospective to events, including a senator Bob Kerrey, PFC Charles Gruver and Sgt Mag Charles West. Other names included Pfc Paul Meadlo and William Laws Calley.  Even a brief Internet search upon my return confirmed (albeit in often much-watered-down versions) the basis of some unbelievably shocking crimes. 

I read just about everything in the war crimes room. And whilst some of the images were horrific, they were absolutely nothing compared to those in the agent orange room. I only lasted a few moments in that room, and left.

On the second floor there was a display called “Requiem” - a collection of hundreds of photographs taken by war correspondents at the time - most (if not all) of whom were killed during the war.  The images are stunning. A lot were awarded to photography prizes, or adorned the front of the likes of Times magazine.  Some of the images were developed posthumously,  from the very last role of film the photographer was using when they were killed.

Saturated with images and information, I had to leave before I could complete my tour of the Requiem room, just to give my eyes and brain a rest.

Downstairs, I was stopped by Vietnamese war veteran with two stumps for arms, one eye, and an artificial leg. Thinking he was begging (something I had admittedly not witnessed at all up until this point), I tried to hand him some casg.  He didn’t just want to be given money though -  he wanted to earn his living by selling me a book. In fact, he wanted to sell me three books, each of which looked fascinating, but: I only had a little cash on me; and I couldn’t physically fit three books in my luggage home. I bought one, The Tunnels of Chu Chi. It left me very low in cash for the day.

There are references to, and reminders of the war everywhere in Vietnam. In one way, that’s hardly surprising - the war itself lasted 20 years, though the American involvement in it was only (at least physically) for the last eight. But then it did end in 1975. That’s 48 years ago. The Second World War is only 30 years older, and thought it’s far from forgotten, we don’t (generally) have daily reminders of it.

Close to the museum was the "Water Puppet" theatre.  Water puppetry apparently dates back hundreds of years, and this too was mentioned as one of the "must do" activities in Saigon.  Unfortunately they were sold out for 26th.  I did, however, realise that I would have time to squeeze in a showing for the following day, followed by a quick dash to the airport to catch my flight home, so I bought some advanced tickets.

To clear my head, I made my way to Tao Dan Park, which apparently comprises 10 hectares.  Like many parks located in the centre of huge cities, this was an absolute sanctuary of peace and beauty.  The trees towered overhead, and there were a host of paths that meandered and criss-crossed through the lawns.  There were a few people running around the park, but given the heat and humidity, it was unsurprising that they were all going very slowly. 

My next stop was a brief shopping spree in the market.  There was a sign which stated that prices were fixed.  This fact seemed to apply to the very outside stalls, but the further I ventured into the centre, the less true this appeared to be.  "Yes, prices are fixed.  But you can haggle," I was told.

The very centre was basically a food court, with a jumble of stalls and small shops selling a wide selection of food.  I grabbed a Bánh Mì and a beer, and then set off to buy a few souvenirs as presents for the family.

If "fixed prices" that you can haggle over was not confusing enough, I found nearby "Walking Street" to be an even bigger oxymoron.  Cars might be "banned", but every moped in Saigon still seems to pass through.  Also, taxis don't apparently qualify as "cars".  I think the closest I came to being run over in Vietnam was in walking street, a motorcyclist even saying “Even-ning” as he missed me by centimetres.

I was heading back to my apartment fairly early in the evening when I realised that tonight would be my last full night.  I'd not had "a night out", and though I didn't venture out with that specific intention, I did decided to have another beer or two before going to bed.  Some of the bars along this street cater to the real party-goer, and were only  just beginning to warm up.  Others were more aimed at the locals (and were hence half [or even less] the price for a beer).  I tried a local place or two before I stopped at a place with a live band.  They were on a break, so I didn't realise it was a rock band until they started up again.  Connagh would have loved to have been there.  The band wasn't fantastic, but live music is always a bit more fun.

After a short while a couple asked if they could sit at my table.  There were four seats, and I was only occupying one of them, so of course I had no objection.  The man soon introduced himself (with the loud music, it took me ages to catch his name) as Kelly.  His wife was Lisa, and they were from Bristol.  We quickly got on, and ended up buying a few rounds.  They had just arrived in the country, so I gave them some recommendations, including the War Museum.

There were lots of traders doing business at night, selling lighters, fridge magnets, caps, as well as eating fire and other bizarre activities.  Many of these traders had children, so they had little choice but to bring their kids with them whilst they worked.  One little guy was round our table pretending to be a soldier (much like Vincent's boy, Roy, in Hoi An).  I asked him to pose for a photo, and I paid him a few loose Dong (he was not at all slow to grab it and hand it to his mum).  I turned the phone round and showed him how he looked, and after that he sat on my lap and spent five minutes flicking through the photos I'd taken whilst in his country.

I'm not sure how it started, but suddenly some drinks arrived on our table.  I thanked Kelly and Lisa, but they thought I'd ordered them.  When a second round arrived shortly afterwards, we told the waiter there had been a mistake.  He told us that the guy on a nearby table had bought them (and that he'd also bought the previous round).  If I had been a film producer, and I'd said to a scout "find me the most suspicious-looking Vietnamese actor you can find", this guy would have undoubtedly been cast.  I told Kelly and Lisa that I'd had enough to drink already, and that I was not comfortable with the situation.  They agreed.  We spoke to the guy and said a polite, "no thanks", and then we all went our own way.  I have no idea why he was buying us drinks.  Equally, I have no idea why he didn't explain why he was buying us drinks.  I'll never know. 

During my entire trip, this was the only time anything "possibly" dodgy had occurred. Overall, I felt incredibly safe throughout my time in Vietnam.  Maybe my years in the military taught me to be a bit over-suspicious (and I had been drinking!).  I just know I was far more comfortable once I'd left and arrived back safely into the apartment. ​

Christmas day was without doubt the longest/busiest day I spent in Vietnam.  That's not to say it was not thoroughly enjoyable - it's just that it was far from a relaxing Christmas day on holiday.  I knew there was some travel involved in this trip (I didn't realise until later just how much travel!) so I was up at 06:00 ensuring I was ready to be cooped up inside a minibus for a while.

It was already very warm and very sunny by 07:10.  By 07:30 my phone was ringing (ten minutes ahead of the allocated pickup time), and our guide for the day, "T. Y." was ushering me to the bus.  There were already two families on board, each made up of two parents and two "children" (most of them young adults), and we had one further stop to pick up the last family of three, making 12 of us in total.

The irony of now spending hours in an airconditioned bus, whilst the sun blazed outside on my first full day of warmth, was not lost on me.

Our first stop en route to the tunnels was at an art studio.  We were shown how the stunningly beautiful lacquered pictures were created from scratch, by hand.  Egg shells were used to create a textured profile, along with mother of pearl from shells.  The work was all done by craftsmen and women who were surviving victims (or second-generation victims of victims) of the "agent orange" dropped during the war.  The stop was hugely interesting, seeing the skill of the workers - but it was a huge tourist trap, and the prices were ridiculous.  

The Chu Chi tunnels (Củ Chi in Vietnamese) tunnel visiting area was packed with tourists.  Maybe, like me, everyone else had thought that Christmas day would be a good, quiet day to go.  My neighbour at home told me she visited this area very soon after the country opened up to allow tourists (following sanctions by the Americans), and at that time it bore only the most basic of facilities.  Now, it was a fully-fledged, commercialised business, with row upon row of coaches and minibuses parked alongside two huge restaurants.

T. Y. began to navigate us around the grounds that comprised the tunnel area, regaling us with an astonishing amount of facts.  For example:  The Viet Cong create literally hundreds of various traps around the area.  Each soldier was responsible for remembering hundreds of these that s/he had set.  But often those soldiers were killed or captured, which obviously created problems for the survivors.  One solution to this was the spring-release bamboo trap.  Because the Viet Cong tended to be very small and slight, due mainly to the hugely limited diet.  So they set the bamboo traps to only spring for weights over 70kg.  As the Viet Cong tended be lighter than this, and as most of the (primarily, but not exclusively American) enemy exceeded this weight, it was a practical solution.

Another example was the continuous, escallating battle by the Viet Cong in the tunnels for air.  They created hidden "chimneys" and airholes, but of course the enemy were continually on the lookout for these. If the holes were not very carefully camouflaged, they invited gas or grenades to be inserted into them.  So the Viet Cong began to set booby traps around the vents.  The next step was for the Americans to use dogs, as these were too light to spring the traps.  The dogs would smell the outlets and bark.  To discourage the dogs, the Viet Cong began to use spices.  But this only ended up in the dogs sneezing, which was in itself a good indication that something was up.  Finally, the Viet Cong began to steal the clothing off dead American troops.  They placed the clothing inside the vents, close to the outlet.  The dogs could smell the vents, but as they all they could detect was the scent of their masters, the dogs ignored them and moved along without barking.

T.Y. employed a trick I often use in my own classes:  He picked up on one easy-to-remember name, and used that unfortunate victim for all of his jokes or tricky questions.  His victim was me.  He asked me to climb aboard an old, captured U.S. army tanks.  "Lean forward to hold on.  I don't want you falling off."  I fell for it.  (See image below).

The tunnels themselves were tiny.  Some of them had almost undoubtedly been dug recently, solely for photo opportunities (as in the image above) because they were much larger than the ones you could crawl through.  The latter were painful for someone even my size to navigate through.  It was necessary to "duck walk" (that's if you didn't just crawl, which would have made it impossible to use a weapon).  Five minutes of this for a westerner not used to squatting, was more than enough.

At the end of the tour was a large gift shop, adjacent to which (far, far too close, due to the noise) were firing ranges.  I'd made friends with an Australian family.  I found a spend bullet shell on the ground and gave it to the young boy - he was absolutely over the moon.  "That is *exactly* what he wanted," his dad, Bobby, told me.  I told him not to flash it around, and he dug it into his pocket to take home.  

The noise at the range was incredible.  There was a host of weapons to fire, from M16s to AK47s.  It had been many years since I'd spent a day at the ranges, and then we'd always worn ear defenders.  Without them, it was uncomfortable, even walking around the gift shop.  The Aussie family and I moved away another 50 meters to await the others.

After a quite unpalatable (and only lukewarm) lunch at the restaurant, it was back onto the minibuses for a two hour trip to the Mekong Delta.  Along the way we passed large rubber tree plantations (large plantations, not large trees), as well as banana plantations.

The trip, though long, was worth it.  We all jumped on a boat and headed across to a small island, T. Y. telling us facts about the incredible length of the Mekong river which is comprised of literally thousands of tributaries.  He claimed it was possible to get to Holland via the river - if you had several months.  The locals drank from the river, bathed in it, and fed themselves from it.  He also told us that crocodiles could be found in the waters. 

One of the first things we did on the island was see how the coconuts were crushed and ground to create coconut milk.  This was then used to create absolutely gorgeous sweets, which were (strangely enough) best eaten when combined with some plain biscuits/crackers.  The  combination was great.

Next, we were all encouraged to sample some "snake whiskey".  All of the adults were handed a glass, but some blanched at the prospect... resulting in me having a few.

As well as a tour of the island via a golf buggy, seeing various fruit trees including Durian (famous for being unbelievably stinky), we got to handle a snake and see bee hives.  

​We made our way back to the boat via canoe, ably paddled and navigated by local women, fore and aft of the vessel.

Back at the boat we were presented with a whole fresh coconut to drink, and after some group photos it was back to the minibus for the final 90 minute journey to the city center.  Overall, there was a lot of time (almost 50% in fact) spent on the bus, but for the opportunity to spend some time on the Mekong and visit the island, I felt it was worth it. It was late when we got back, so after a quick meal and a beer or two, I just headed back to my apartment.

The bloody rooster woke me up at 06:00. I dozed off a few more times, but he seemed to know when I was just about to slip back into a proper sleep, and he crowed again.

Today was the last internal leg of my trip, flying from Da Nang to Saigon. Vincent had pre-arranged a taxi for me, so I had a couple of hours to relax, leisurely pack my rucksack (I’d gathered a few extra items since my arrival) and have some breakfast. My one slight worry was that my rucksack might now be too bulky to take on the internal flight as hand luggage. I doubted that this would be the case for the international leg home, but the internal flights had tighter limits. I pulled the straps as tight as they’d in order go to minimise the bulk as much as possible.

By and large, the Vietnamese seem an incredibly polite people. One thing they never say thank you for, however, is if you give way to them on the streets.  Several times, when negotiating a narrow alleyway. I’ve pulled to one side to let a person or a motorbike pass me. They do not so much as glance at you, let alone say thank you. I think it’s an act that they total fail to notice. I may as well be stopping to tie my shoelace for all they care.

Breakfast was another quick egg and cheese sandwich, then I went for a final 30 minute walk. I was going to miss Hoi An - certainly the beautiful (and traffic - free) old town. I had no idea what to expect of Saigon. I’d soon find out.

When I want to check out, Vincent was sitting at reception with his son, who must have been around five or six. The boy had a military cap sitting on the desk, so I perched it precariously on my head, which he found hilarious.

"He wants to be a soldier," Vincent told me. I found this impressive, mostly because he was so young.  I’m 55 and I still don’t know what I want to be

The boy showed me his two drawings. “What is this?” he asked.
“Oh, you speak English?”
“What is this?” He repeated.
One of the pictures I could clearly make out. I pointed to each part. “These are clouds. This is the sun.”  I paused, and then realised what else I was looking at. It was so good that I’d been trying to over-complicate my perception of it. "Wow. This is the Vietnam flag, blowing in the wind!"   It wasn’t just a rigid rectangle - the boy had made it look like a stiff breeze was moving it. The star was whole, but the material was rippling.

I settled the bill with Vincent and went to sit in a comfy chair to await my taxi. The boy came over with a book and presented it to me. I opened it, and I guess we’d describe it (at least historically) as a "primer". I pointed to the first picture. "What is this?" I asked him.
"Apple," came the prompt reply.
I flicked to another random page and pointed.
"Four," he said.
Another page.
"Hippo."
"It’s his first year of learning English," Vincent explained, almost apologetically.
I asked the boy his name.
"Roy."
I raised my eyebrows at Vincent, the football fanatic.  "Like Roy Keane," he beamed at me.

Da Nang domestic airport was every bit as good as Hanoi’s.  During the taxi ride I checked in on the Vietnam Airlines app, which also helped with ensuring there was no issue getting my rucksack through as carry on luggage. Security was quick and painless.

The inbound flight was late, which had a knock on affect to my flight. But I reflected that ground transportation would have taken at least 20 hours, so if I wanted to get to the warmth of south Vietnam (not to mention the location of my return flight home) I had no choice but to wait.

When we boarded I had a window seat, and could see that outside it had started raining once again.
As the plane climbed into the sky I took a last look at rain-soaked Da Nang, but any hopes of seeing beautiful Hoi An from the sky were soon dashed as we were quickly engulfed in cloud.

Within 15 minutes the cloud had largely dispersed, and I was finally treated to my first view of Vietnam from the air.

As we approached Saigon, I had a view of the sprawling Mekong Delta.  On my upcoming trip, I was to learn some interesting facts about this river.

It was over 30 degrees C when I landed.  I didn't have to wait around to collect any luggage, as it was all in my hand. I made my way out to the pre-arranged pickup point, and grabbed a quick can of beer whilst I awaited the driver.  With it being so hot, I could finally lose my hoody, and I was glad to take it off.  When the car arrived and I jumped in, the driver had the air-con pumped up so high I was soon reaching for my bloody hoody again!

I was greeted at my accommodation by the host.  She proceeded to introduce me to all of the tech that the flat boasted, from touch keypads for getting into the building and then into the flat, to a (yes, seriously) "smart toilet".  This device baffled me.  It read the temperature of the room and warmed the seat and would auto-flush, but (without being too descriptive) if a man went to the loo, it was unable to detect it, and I had to wave my foot around a sensor to get it to flush.   There was also an Apple mirror.  All this seemed to do was have a light.

The entry and exit was the most annoying.  I needed a code to get out of the building, and the touchpad would just not recognise my touch.  I was trapped in the building for five minutes until the host came back to let me out.  There was also a different code for my apartment compared with that to enter the building, and after coming back from getting some supplies, I could not get into the flat.  Eventually the host set up fingerprint recognition for the main entrance (both in and out), and got me a card for the flat.  Technology!!

The main problem with internal travel is that it did eat a lot into my available time.  With check-in only being after 14:00, I was tending to spend the middle 3-4 hours of each travel day in transit.  So by the time we had finally sorted out my access into and out of the building, there was not much of the day left.  I went for a long walk, roaming the streets getting acquainted with the layout of Saigon, but there was insufficient time to really go and see any of the major sites.  I had three full days left (my flight was after midnight on 27th, so it technically gave me all day on 27th), so there was no huge rush.

Until this point I had not had what might arguably be called Vietnam's most famous dish - namely Pho.  My wandering brought me to a place that said it specialised in Pho, so this was a perfect opportunity. As it turned out, the broth arrived "deconstructed".  Well, certainly the option I chose did.  This was great in my opinion, as I could add as much or as little fragrance, and the beef could "cook" for just a few seconds.  It was lovely!

The next day was Christmas day.  I'd planned a trip to the Chu Chi tunnels, and to the Mekong Delta.  It was due to be a full-day trip, with me being picked up at 07:00, so in preparation, I had an early night.

I was awoken by a cockerel. By way of revenge I lay in bed contemplating eating nothing but chicken for the rest of the day. It was actually not raining when I opened the curtains, but by the time I’d done some Spanish and had a shower, sure enough it had started again. I set my mind to the fact that my hike up the Marble Mountains was going to be a wet adventure.

Vincent had leant me one of several house golf umbrellas, which were fantastic.  It was a real game-changer in as much as I left the house without the certain knowledge that I was going to get wet and spend the rest of the day that way.  I went back to Phi Bánh Mì (the sandwich place) for breakfast. I found out from their excellent English menu that the pâté they seem to eat everywhere is made from goose liver and pork meat. They served 11 different types of this sandwich at this place, so I tried an egg and cheese one, spicy.  It was great. I think a hungry person could eat four or more of these Bánh Mìs, but to me, one took the edge off without me feeling full.

The Marble mountains tour was great. There were far too many facts and events to recall them all here, so I’ll just give highlights. I quickly got talking to the guy sitting next to me on the mini bus, Suneel from Pakistan (but who now lived in Germany). He was travelling alone, but was heading in the reverse direction to me, south to north.

The bus took an hour to collect everyone, which was just about the only downside to the trip.  Our guide was great, and began bombarding us with facts and information, a lot of which had to do with the Americans and the war, which was proving to be an inescapable historical fact.

We first headed to “Monkey Mountain” (so named by the Americans), where there was a beautiful pagoda and a statue of a female Buddha standing 67 meters tall.  (Apparently there are two main "branches" of Buddhism - one believes in the female Buddha.  The other does not).  The statue was built out of concrete and comprised 17 "floors" (not open to tourists).  There was also a beautiful pagoda here, surrounded by sculptures and bonsai trees that were allegedly hundreds of years old.

It was still raining a bit, so the monkeys stayed hidden away.

The day before, when I’d been in the supermarket buying my lovely raincoat, I’d seen a young couple buying pot noodles. They had so many they kept dropping one, and when they bent down to get it, they dropped another.  There were two pot noodles in my hotel room, so I thought I’d give one a try for breakfast. There was a kettle and bottled water, so I saw no excuse not to.

There’s no dignified way to eat pot noodle. The noodles themselves do no act the same way as pasta, as they’re all scrunched up and knotted together. If you try and suck them us it just makes a horrendous mess. So you have to try and shovel them in, your head bent as close to the pot as possible, glasses misting up, whilst looking like you haven’t eaten in weeks. Anyway, it was quite pleasant. I can’t describe the flavour. Maybe there was a faint background of seafood, but it was tasty, if indescribable.

It looked lighter outside, so I went downstairs for a quick walk. I had around 90 minutes before my lift to Hoi An arrived, and I wanted to see the beach in daylight. It turned out it was still raining, so the lovely raincoat was needed again.

The beach looked lovely. The sand stretched a long way in either direction, but the sea was very rough. The waves were breaking quite a long way out - maybe 50 meters or more - which lead me to believe the sand sloped gently. But there were signs up with accompanying red flags, all saying no swimming. The waves were amongst the biggest if ever seen, somewhere between 2-3 meters perhaps (hard to judge without any scale, like a human, especially as they were breaking so far away). Whether any swimming is ever permitted, I’m not sure.

When I went down to check out, waiting for my lift to Hoi An, they had a huge, immaculate fish tank. It must have been two meters long, one meter high. The lady on reception dashed up to my room, returning to tell me I’d eaten a Pot noodle.  It turned out it wasn’t free/included, and cost 20,000 Dong (78p).

On the journey, we passed the Marble Mountains, where I was due to go the next day. I hoped the weather would be at least a tiny bit better, as it looked like a pretty miserable trek up those steps in the torrential rain. There were also, for around two km, shop after shop after shop selling sculptures.  Calling them "shops" is a bit misleading.  Think of garden centres in the UK, and imagine around 20 or more of these in a row - that what these were, all selling nothing but sculptures.  These sculptures ranged from something you could get in your car to vast things more than four meters tall. Gods, deities, figures such as Mary - there were hundreds of them.

Given the weather it was appropriate that we also passed (flooded) Rice paddies - complete with a water buffalo!

In Hoi An I was staying at a place called "Vincent's house".  Vincent himself greeted me, and he gave me an incredible introduction to his town, including providing me with a map and recommendations of where to see and where to eat.  It was at this point that Vincent told me about Bánh mì, which up until now was a term I had not heard (though I'd probably seen it, subliminally).  There was a place he insisted I go, so there I went. It was cheap, tasty, and not over-filling. Whilst I ate it I saw that across the road was a transport company. They offered four hour “limousine bus” trips to Hà Nội, and 20hr ones to Ho Chi Minh City. They looked really comfortable, with fully reclining beds. This is great if you’re here in a budget but with weeks at your disposal. I was happy with my flight options.

The first place a came across was an old historic house, free to enter, which offered a view into the past

I felt I’d had enough of Hanoi (which is actually two words by the way - Hà Nội) by Thursday, so my planning had worked out well. I was Looking forward to changing my clothes, which I’d not done for a few days - not because I don’t bring enough, but because it had been so much colder than I’d expected, and I was hoping that warmer weather down south would allow me to ditch my hoody and also put on a pair of shorts.

​My flight was just after 13:00, so I had a few hours in the morning for one more meander around the maze of streets.  That said, I felt I’d done all of the main tourist streets this side of the river, so I randomly dropped a pin in the map on the other side and ordered a Grab bike, as it’s simply not possible to cross that bridge by foot.

The experience was largely uneventful, save for witnessing the result of the first accident I’d seen so far. It seemed to cause a lot of commotion, but it was no more than a slightly dented bumper.

By 11:30 I was back at the hotel, ready to order a car to the airport.  It was a domestic flight, going from their domestic airport. I wondered if it would be anything like the small terminal in Kathmandu.

The Grab car drove me through a street I could only describe as Christmas street!  There was stall after stall selling baubles, Santa outfits, fake trees, etc. The amount of them was insane. Goodness knows what they’ll be selling in one week’s time once Christmas is over.

​The domestic airport was absolutely nothing like Kathmandu’s. In fact, it was more comparable with Birmingham or Bristol. I joined a very long queue to check in for my flight with Vietjet Air.  There were however around 9-10 check in desks, all working pretty quickly.   After clearing security, I only had a few minutes before boarding, but what a beautiful, clean airport it was!

The aircraft down to Da Nang was around the same size as one we might get to the Canaries, so much bigger than I’d expected.  This expectation was again based on Nepal, where the flight from Kathmandu to Pokhara had about 15-20 seats. It was amusing to see all of the flight attendants wearing Christmas hats whilst we boarded, but they all quickly removed them as soon as the doors closed.

Typically, the temperature in Hanoi appeared to have improved slightly as I was leaving.

It was a nice, short flight. The aircrew did this strange thing whereby, as we were beginning our descent, they stood in the aisle and saluted the passengers in thanks for travelling with Vietjet.

It was raining when we landed, and it was a few degrees warmer, but at 21 degrees it was still a long way off the 34 I could expect in Saigon.

The hotel was less than impressive. I’d chosen it because it was very close to the beach yet cheap. As can be expected, the ones actually on the beachfront were extortionate. However, the rain ruined my plans. Even a five minute walk had my hoodie wet.  I needed to buy a raincoat, so in the end I had no choice but to locate a shopping centre via Google, then get a Grab car there (no bike in this rain for me - though the locals all seemed to still use them).  

The journey showed me that whilst Hanoi was pretty third world, Da Nang most certainly was not. Everything was much bigger, grander, and in better repair.

The shopping centre was spread over four floors. On the ground floor there were designer shops - Crocs, Sketchers footwear, Casio and G-Shock watches. Floors 2 and 3 each had different supermarkets, and there was a cinema at the top.

At first, I couldn’t find any raincoats at all. I was on my way down when I overheard a staff member at a stall speaking excellent English, and when I spoke to him he assured me the bigger of the two stores would have one.  It was a bit of hassle (and would be boring to read here) but I finally got something.  I can only describe it as "functional".  I'll label it "my lovely raincoat".  I had poppers down the side, which un-popped far too easily, leaving the whole thing flapping around if I was not careful.  It took me a while to work out a workable, if ridiculous-looking solution to this.  More about that later.

As well as the beach, which was right out, I’d read about a couple of good bars that were supposed ot be worth visiting, so I got a Grab to the address of the first one.

Nothing. Not a trace.  It was completely gone!

Another Grab (these were only costing £1-2 per trip) took me to the seafront to try out the other one, a bar called Apocalypse Now. It turned out this one had also now changed its name, but at least there was something there - and it was open.  However, aside from around 10 or more staff, the place was utterly deserted. I was the sole customer, with all 10 members of staff watching and waiting for me to order another drink.  Da Nang was turning out to be a bit of a disappointment. Had it not been raining I could have just strolled up and down the beach.  But it was chucking it down, it was not particularly warm, and it was already getting dark.  Luckily I had plenty to read on my Kindle reader, so I just settled down with a beer or two, and read.

The rain didn’t stop, but it did finally ease off, so clad in my new lovely raincoat, I decided to walk back the two or so kilometers to the hotel.

The trouble with many of the little local-shack restaurants is that you sometimes really have no idea what the food is. That can fun, sometimes. Other times you want something familiar. I walked past a wood-fired pizza place, and it looked and smelled too good to ignore.  These establishments knock out your food in minutes, and mine was super tasty. The only downside was that it only sold Budweiser - which is better than absolutely nothing… but by the barest of margins. 

It had not been a particularly exciting day, and the rain was due to continue.  Beachside towns are not a lot of fun in the pouring rain, and I was already looking forward to leaving Da Nang and heading down to Hoi An the next day.  I had high expectations of my next location.  It remained to be seen what I would actually make of it.

My evening meal the day before had been Indian.  It had been a long day, I was tired, and I just wanted something I knew I would eat.  I had pretty low expectations of the food, given the strange choice of sign that the restaurant had chosen to hang outside, but in the end it was passable.  I only had a chicken curry (I cannot remember what kind) and a naan bread, and though I would not have rushed back there, neither was there anything to really complain about.

I turned up promptly for my tattoo so that they could prepare me, for they’d offered some free numbing cream, and they also needed to clean and shave the area which was to be tattooed. (The numbing cream lasts a few hours, which is generally enough to finish the outline, which needs a thicker needle and hence hurts more.  But it makes the skin "rubbery" and the artists don't generally like to work on the skin in this condition, so most of the time the cream will only be applied once per sitting).

A lot of studios can appear a little seedy, unprofessional even.  This place was nothing if not impressive, and visitors were greeted by an imposing samurai costume at the entrance. Once the preparation was complete, I went to a small café to let the cream soaked in. I had a "pâté roll" which I’d seen available everywhere (and which I later understood to be another kind of Bánh Mì). It contained a sort of mushed meat. I have no idea what it was, and I wondered if it was probably best not to know. Like our own sausages, I guess.  Anyway, a beer, some fries and the pâté roll cost around £4.

Spending a day under the needle doesn't leave a whole lot to talk about, but I'll add some of the points I was reflecting on whilst I was being "inked".

When we were on the tour, some of the others were surprised how easily I managed to cross the road. I told them that Vietnam roads were but the country comparison to those in India!  And on reflection, I realised just how different the two countries are. I love India.  I've been there a few times, from Mumbai and Pune, to Dehli, and across on the east coast to Chennai and Bangalore.  But India is a total assault on all five senses, from the moment you land until the moment you leave. Even the Indians go to Goa for some downtime. Some streets in Hanoi are hectic, but there are plenty of places to find tranquility too. And, biggest of all, there’s no hassle. There are no beggars. Stop for a second on any street in India (certainly as a white-faced tourist), and you have a small crowd with hands out, tugging at your clothing. The only equivalent in Vietnam is a shop owner asking if you want to come in. But it’s very low key. Not "in your face" or intimidating - and if you say a polite "no", they generally just back off.

Technology has revolutionised travel, and possibly in no way more than communication. One or two of the staff in the tattoo studio spoke really good English, but my artist only spoke a few words. However, if he did want to talk with me, he’d pull up an app, speak into it in fluent Vietnamese, and then show me the English translation. If I needed to reply, he tapped a button, and I repeated the process back to him. Magic!  

When he’d finished the outline of my tattoo, which took around 90 minutes, he went off for lunch. A bowl of noodles arrived for me, along with some iced lemon tea. It didn’t seem long since I’d had breakfast, so I wasn’t particularly hungry. My artist needed to keep his food intake up though - lots of concentration needed on his part.

At lunchtime the sun actually came out, or at least its rays could be felt through the clouds. It was mildly warm for the first time since being in Vietnam.

It was late by the time I’d left the tattoo parlour, and the sun had gone down.  But it was noticeably warmer than previous nights, and I wondered if perhaps it was going to warm up - especially now that it was almost time for me to leave?  

Wandering around I came across a couple of tiny stalls (next to each other, of course) selling octopus legs to BBQ.   I had to try it, or course, and it came with some (optional) chilli sauce. It was without doubt the most spicy thing I’d had since arriving here - way beyond the Indian meal. Having said that, without the chilli sauce I think it would have been like little chopped up pieces of rubber.  Still, at least I tried it.

I slept terribly. I tossed and turned from 02:00-03:00, and then eventually got up and grabbed my phone. I spent an hour or more listening to Ishiguro on Audible before I eventually felt tired enough to sleep again. When I woke up at 09:30 I still didn’t want to get up, but I’d booked a motorbike tour at 12:30, and I already felt guilty about so much of my day.

It was still quite cold when I left the hotel. I received a few texts from my "tour guide" telling me to ensure I was hungry for the trip, as they had lots of food experiences planned.

Given how hectic and chaotic the traffic is, with few rules whatsoever apart from the occasional traffic light - the locals actually drive around whilst using their phones. Some are just glancing at a map, but yesterday I actually saw a guy on a motorbike watching a show. I don’t think it was a full film, but neither was it YouTube. I’m pretty sure he’d downloaded something to watch on his bike!  Others, because it’s cold, drive with their left hand in their pockets. Having said all of that, I didn’t see a near miss, let alone an accident. It’s like watching fish swim in a busy tank, gliding by, but somehow managing to avoid one another.

Incidentally, as I mentioned earlier, the Grab bike drivers all have a spare crash helmet. They remind you they need it back, because twice I’ve handed over cash and then gone to walk away with their crash helmet still on my head.

There is so much going on in these streets, so many shops, I swear you could walk down one a hundred times and still see something new each time. Some of the wares - I’m not even sure if they were fruits or vegetables - could have been straight out of Star Wars!

The office for the motorbike tour was called “Hidden Gem Café”, and like Leo’s Tavern the day before, you could easily miss it.  It was down a narrow alleyway, up a set of metal stairs.  There was a kind of open quadrangle, decorated with hanging vines, old bicycles and lanterns. There was a rooftop bar, but from here there’s not much of a view. They did seem to have a thing for old bicycles and motorbike parts. It was very eco, and a lot of the decoration comprised reused bits of almost anything. There was also a large mural on the wall of the famous “Train Street”, which we were due to visit.

ur group of six was herded together into a little room.  One of the group, a lady called Trish, took it upon herself to ensure everyone introduced themselves.  She was with her husband, John, and their 17 year-old son, Harrison.  There was an American lady called Linda, and I did not catch (or remember) the name of the lady from Denmark.  The introductions really, really worked, as we all felt like a group immediately, and I swear it made the trip so much better than it could have been with a bunch of individuals not talking to each other.

We were issued with breakfast, which was an assortment of Vietnamese dishes to try including noodles, a bread roll that I later understood to be called bánh mì, and spring rolls.  We were then asked if we would like to try egg coffee!  Originally this was created because a waiter had once seen or heard of cappuccino, but he had no fresh milk.  So he tried egg white, lots of sugar, and "happy water" (rice wine). It tastes a million times better than it sounds.  You give it a good stir, and it's a bit like a tiramisu​.

The final part of the tour took us down some impossibly narrow alleyways.  Our feet, and sometimes even the handlebars of the bike, were scraping the walls as we went down.  After negotiating these alleyways for a while, we eventually popped out at the "black market".  Apparently, this is run by the mafia.  If your moped (or anything else) goes missing, you can come here.  A nice man will quickly find it for you, and you can buy it back.  Make of that what you will.

​We finished off with a tour of a the "wet market".  This is not something for the squeamish, or indeed for vegetarians at all.  Like the Chinese, the Vietnamese do not seem to waste any part of an animal.  There were cages stuffed with live chickens, ducks and pigeons. Tables with raw meat - pigs trotters and noses, slabs of unidentifiable meat. Like many Asian countries, the Vietnamese know where the food comes from... and that doesn't mean Tesco.  In the cafes you see dishes such as spicy pickled chicken feet.  But there are also an abundance of vegetarian and vegan restaurants to be found.

After a final stop outside the Opera house for a quick photo, the tour was over and we all said goodbye before going our own way.  It was still cold, and there was no prospect of it getting any warmer for my final day in Hanoi.  I had planned to get a new tattoo in Saigon (the locals still prefer this name), but it was due to be lovely weather down south, and it seemed a shame to spend a day in the tattooist when I could be in the sun.  When it was cold up north however....

As with many of the shops (like the buttons), many of the tattooists seemed to be grouped together.  I only had one full day left, and it was currently evening time.  I needed to find somewhere who had a vacancy for the next day, and could get finished what I wanted done.  (Incidentally, tattoos are like climbing mountains, apparently:  If you have to ask someone why they do it, you will not understand the answer.  If you can understand the answer, you would have no need of asking the question).

The first place I tried did not have any artists available at such short notice.  I was not surprised, but I thought I may as well ask at a few other studios.  But the staff in the second place were fantastic, and after quite a lengthy consultation I booked an appointment for the next morning.

When I got up and ventured out, the first thing I noticed was how cold it was in Hanoi! In the build up to coming I'd been checking the weather, and though I knew the north to be much colder that it would be when I got south to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), it had still looked to be around 24 degrees C.  That had all seemed to changed the day I touched down, and it was now around 16-17.  I had only bought a thin hoody, intended mostly for the flight out, but now I was going to have to wear it for the duration of my stay in Hanoi, as I only had short-sleeved shirts.

The second thing I noticed, which was admittedly less unexpected, was the chaotic traffic. Rules in the road, if there are any, seem to be drive on the right. Mainly.  But even this rule was regularly ignored by the many, many motorcycles.  I'd text my friend Billy to tell him where I was, and his reply was, "Land of the Vespa!"  Crossroads were just insane - they have to be seen to be believed.

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I'll get on to talk about the shops in a minute, but something I quickly noticed was that some enterprising locals don’t own shops at all - they laden their scooters with an absolutely insane amount of goods, and drive around with loud speakers announcing their wares.

I remember thinking that Esta would hate her first impressions of this place, because when navigating the streets there is no room to walk on the pavements, as it's either full of shop stock or parked scooters!  There’s no choice but to walk in the road. You have to boss it - own your space. Or you’ll either just be crowded out, or you simply won't get anywhere at all.  I quickly worked out that you just don’t stop walking. At least not when you’re on the road. If you need to stop, you find somewhere to "pull over" - otherwise you just keep on walking, however slowly. Crossing the road, no matter how busy it is, and this rule applies even more than ever.  Stopping just confuses everyone around you. It’s probably people stopping that causes any accidents. Luckily I didn’t see any of those.

Dinner in the evening was at a BBQ stall on the corner of a busy road. I’d seen an Indian restaurant which tempted me, but the smell of the BBQ, along with how busy it was, just tempted me too much. I was still struggling with the currency, because it’s insane. Each skewer cost 10,000VND… which worked out at just 38p each!  Next to me, as I ate, there was a stall churning out fried banana fritters. It was a constant cycle of cooking.

The backpacker’s mode of transport here is called Grab. You install the app, and like Uber you can hail a ride within minutes. This could be a 7 seater car, or just a moped.  

I tried out a motorbike to get back to the hotel. You just have to trust the driver. It’s fun, and it costs pennies! They all carry spare crash helmets for the passengers they pick up.

Discovering the Grab transport was excellent. It meant that after going back to the hotel to lather myself with mosquito lotion, I could just completely and utterly wander at random. “Lost” was a concept that applied itself 100meters from the hotel anyway, so after that it was irrelevant. I took random lefts and rights, going down whatever street looked busy and interesting. It was very dark by 18:00, so the lights of the shops and restaurants just lead me on.  Had it not been for some loud Americans, I would have completely missed Leo’s tavern. But as I had to stop and try and find a way around them, the rep outside tempted me down a tiny alleyway and upstairs to a hidden gem with a balcony overlooking the street.  Little escapes from the chaos like these were a wonderful way to step away from the mayhem and view it from a safe distance.

Sitting in Leo's, I reflected that Hanoi reminded me a lot of Kathmandu - which doesn’t help if you’ve not been there either, but both a chaotic, yet somehow also feel safe. Everyone’s on a hustle, just trying to make a buck (or in this case, a few hundred thousand Vietnamese Dong).

The BBQ didn’t fill me up much, so after another hour or two of wandering I found myself in a really busy area, full of tourists and bars playing loud music. Somehow, out of all the Vietnamese places, I ended up sitting outside a Mexican bar, chowing down on smoked buffalo! At least the beer was Vietnamese.  By the time I'd chewed on the meat (I needed the beer to help wash it down), I'd had enough for day one.