To The Land of Fried Tarantulas!

We decided to wave goodbye to Vietnman and usher in Cambodia via the Mekong Delta which winds its way through the continent and in many places acts as an concrete border for an area that has spent much of its time disputing the more malleable ones. Not only was this a more scenic route but having endured buses for the last three weeks we were keen to avoid another one and were glad to see our little chugger pull up in the dirty brown water.

Two days, three boats, one ferry and three taxis later we eventually arrived in Phnom Penh. It was a somewhat gruelling journey but included several interesting stop-offs at a local Cham village (that tricks tourists with the perception of its riverside shacks and shanty town image but several metres walk through reveals a bustling town!), rice-paper and fish plantations, a coconut production chain that turns coconuts into everything imaginable and a rather limited bike ride around rural Vietnam - all designed to provide toilet stop-offs that aren't a hole in the boat and an opportunity for the locals to sell us their wares. It was a budget package and we got what we paid for which included a free hotel stay-over on the first night which required a three hour taxi journey (including a brief ferry ride) with a driver who spoke no English and drove off while Liz and Kristy were going to the toilet while I frantically tried to explain to him the absence in the back seat. We were looking forward to the free dinner being laid on at the hotel but when we discovered this amounted to one bowl of soup or one bowl of rice or one bowl of vegetables we ended up dining at a local cafe over the road and gorging ourselves on spring rolls.

The second day was a long and complicated way of getting through Vietnamese and Cambodian visa officials which required multiple stop-offs at different agencies who all did different things rather than one collective office which added to the intensity of the cushionless seven hour boat ride meant we were well and truly exhausted by the time we arrived late in the evening in Phnom Penh. However, we did share the final taxi ride with a brilliant American family who kept us entertained as they regaled us with their stories of being present in Tiananmen Square during the massacre and their work as geo-physicists which had taken them around the world.

We took the easy option of staying at the hotel advertised by the package that we had bought as it included a free pick-up from our random drop-off point on the other side of the river and ended up with the most gigantic room at The King Guest House which had four beds in it and meant that I had to shout from the west wing in order for Kristy to hear me in the east wing! We had been hanging out with two guys we met in Saigon (Kev and Luke) and escaped to Lorenzos, a fabulous Philippino restaurant to celebrate our arrival and then topped it off with a bakery stop in what has become almost a tradition of our travels!

Phnom Penh is famous predominantly as a reminder of the horrific genocide incurred under Pol Pot's reign which massacred nearly 2 million people, a quarter of the population. I had read a couple of books prior to our arrival in Cambodia and so was somewhat prepared for the atrocities but even as we walked the streets it was almost unimaginable to conceive how only thirty odd years ago the Khmer Rouge had managed to evacuate the whole city after their takeover, sending everyone into the countryside to form their perfect classless, moneyless agrarian society.

What remained in Phnom Penh was Tuel Sleng, the prison where suspected enemies of the regime were incarcerated, tortured and killed. Horrifically, before the Khmer Rouge took over it was the city's high school and so the classrooms were turned into torture chambers and the playground into an execution pit. Inevitably it draws parallels with the Nazi crimes at Auschwitz but whereas the sheer size and remoteness of the gas chambers brings you to tears in Phnom Penh it is the incredulity of stumbling upon the Prison known as S-21 in a small sidestreet surrounded by houses and walking around the innocent foundations of a school that has been contorted into a death camp.

After a couple of hours in this haunted building we escaped to The Boddhi Tree, a small cafe almost next to S-21 but which in the spirit of Cambodian eateries offers outreach and charitable programmes, where not only do some of the profits go to those less off but they also offer free schemes to train young people to become chefs. I think we had several of the new recruits while we were there as none of our orders arrived as planned but we were more than happy to let this go just to sit in the leafy garden and feel that in the tiniest way we were giving something to a country that has been so badly mutilated.

With the history, logistics and purpose of S-21 spelled out by our visit to the museum we proceeded to Cheeung Ek, or The Killing Fields, which are exactly as they sound, an out of town set of fields where those who were not killed in S-21 were murdered: ordinary, every day people who had been or were suspected to be former Lol Non supporters and/or enemies of the Communist regime, dragged from their villages, trussed up and marched out to the Killing Fields where they were brutally executed. Driving to the site in a roaring tuk-tuk it is a churning sensataion to follow the road signs marked simply Killing Fields.

The site is commemorated by a gigantic white stupa with transparent walls that reveal the thousands of skulls recovered and housed inside. It is both a macabre and heart-breaking testament to the people whose lives were lost but serves the purpose of drilling home the scale of the massacre. it also offers relief to the Cambodian people who believe that if you are not ceremoniously buried then your spirit cannot locate its former body in the afterlife and therefore those killed in the fields are doomed to an eternal limbo until their bodies are recovered. Walking around the fields is a queasy task. Huts have been erected over excavated pits to mark where mass graves were but even the very paths linking these huts that you hav to tread reveal protruding bones and clothes of people still buried under the ground. The huge trees that stand in the Fields all have labels detailing who was killed against them so that even the most innocent of things are tarnished by the bloodshed.

After such a brutal day we hooked up with Kevin and Luke and took a tuk-tuk to the riverside, the prominent bar and restaurant area and managed to get a table at the reputed Khmer Borane where we tucked into a feast of traditional Cambodian dishes including Lok Lak beef, Amok, Cambodian sausages and crispy rice washed down with the local beer.

There was just time in the morning before our bus to Siem Reap arrived to get to the bakery and stock up for the six hour ride which remarkably, given the Vietnamese adventures, passed extremely smoothly. The bus driver warned us all as we approached Siem Reap that when we got off we would be hassled by the locals so we had to follow him straight into the office and wait for our pick-ups. As hardened travellers used to the demanding touts we sniffed at this suggestion but as soon as we stepped off the bus it was like being viciously mobbed. About eight small children grabbed one of my bags and tried to tear it open and it required all my strength to drag it into the safety of the office where there seemed to be an invisible line that prevented them from barging in and properly pilfering us. We were also faced with another problem in that on the journey we had decided that we did not want to stay at the sister hotel of King's where we had a pick-up already pre-arranged and so spent our time in the cafe pretending we did not know who this Kristy was that all the drivers were looking for before we could safely escape.

Given it was late in the evening and we didn't have a prior booking we couldn't settle for any of our first choices and ended up at the Siem Reap Riverside which seemed a great idea as we sat in the lofty first floor of The Soup Dragon having dinner but turned out to be a complete disaster. Seeing we were tired and not having much luck in finding a place the hotelier lured us in with the promise of free breakfast and internet only for us to find in the morning that they were not only charging us an extra $5 to stay but were also charging us each $5 for breakfast, limiting us to 30 minutes of the slowest internet connection and had given us a room without a working shower. Fuming we left and managed to check in to the much better Garden Village although by then we were really late for our trip to the Angkor Temples.

Doing our bit for ethical tourism we eschewed the formal trips and instead hired our tuk-tuk driver. Savouen, to give us a guided tour of the temples and ended with him inviting us to his cousin's party! This required two full days though the amount of temples there are you could easily take a week. Our first day was spent jigging around in the tuk-tuk on the bumpy 65km ride to Beng Mealea, a huge abandoned temple sunk in the middle of the jungle that not many people go to visit because of the distance but which was worth every numb bumcheek as an introduction to these magical lost worlds. On the way back we stopped off at Bakong, a five-tiered sandstone pyramid dedicated to Shiva, which we weren't allowed in until after 5.30pm when the guards had gone so that our guide could sneak us in without paying an entrance fee....

The second day began with the famous Angkor Wat which is a colossus. How they built such a gigantic temple, so intricately carved and which has withstood thousands of years without the technology available to us today is mind-blowing. It was built by Suryavarman II to honour Vishnu and also become his funerary temple but also represents the spatial universe with the long bridge over the moat representing the crossing of the mortal world and the huge tower reaching up to the heavens. My favourite part of the Temple however was the exquisite bas-reliefs etched into the wall celebrating the Churning of the Ocean Milk, a mythical scene whereby the gods are pulling on a cord against the devil-serpents and the friction produced churns the waters to produce the elixir of immortality.

We then proceeded on to Bayon which was my favourite Temple because of its 216 gargantuan faces built into the many towers rising from the building so that you feel as if you are being continually watched, an apt represenation of godly omniscience.

We drove through the rest of Angkor Thom without stopping off, passing the Terrace of Elephants and feeding the pot-bellied monkeys that gorge on the tourists' weaknesses before heading to Preah Khan, Banteay Srei and Ta Prohm. The latter was the setting of Tomb Raider and is marked by enormous trees whose tentacle-like roots strangle what is left of the Temple.

We celebrated our last night together with a feast of street food which was so cheap and tasty it makes you wonder why you would ever want to eat at any of the restaurants before visiting the the Night Market and seeing out the day in the fantastic roof-top terrace of the Garden Village which not only has dirt-cheap beer and a brilliant soundtrack but also streams Wimbledon so that I was able to watch Djokovic's horror exit!

It was sad to part with the girls. Liz and I travelled for a month together and managed to accomplish so much in that time and then teaming up with Kristy (a fellow pastry-addict) we formed a great little threesome with an incredible pool of books and ipods!! But they had to head to Ko Chang and I wanted to go to Battambang before I met back up with Hiren and the boys so we said our goodbyes and I endured the most bumpy journey of my travels so far as we crashed along the cratered road from Siem Reap whose singular trunk reveals the horrors of the landmine-potted countryside which is still yet to be cleared and restricts the Cambodians to such little safe land space.

Battambang ( translated as the town where you leave behind your bamboo!) is the second biggest city in Cambodia though you would never guess. It has a sleepy French riviera feel to it and in my first day I managed to explore the complete width and breadth of its perimeters taking in the brilliant fresh food market, earmarking the best cafe for cookies and brownies and finding the tiny Catholic church.

My main purpose for visiting Battambang was to do the legendary Smokin' Pot cookery course. Cambodian delicacies include embryo eggs, fried tarantulas and grasshoppers so I was a little apprehensive as to what to expect but ended up being delighted as I saw my two favourite dishes, Amok (a fish curry wrapped in banana leaf) and Lok Lak beef on the menu. The course is run by a fantastic Khmer chef who took us to the market to show us what we need to buy, what to look out for in our ingredients and most importantly how to haggle! We then headed back to the restaurant and sat outside under the awning grinding our pastes and frying our meats under his careful eye. The amok I made was delicious and though my Lok Lak was a bit too peppery for my liking this I at least know how to make it. The only disappointment was the mango salad as there is no amount of convincing me that adding smoked fish meat to mango shards, shallots, onions and chilis is going to taste eatable! We graduated and were presented with a great little cook book to use when we get back home - so be prepared!

Cambodia has unfortunately owing to the tightness of my schedule been all too fleeting. While I have not missed out anything I wanted to see (with perhaps the acception of lounging on Serendipity Beach in Siankhouville) I could easily have spent much more time in each place; Phnom Penh, Siem Reap and Battambang could all take a week, but I have to meet the boys and so once again, it is back on the bus!

FAVOURITE PLACE: Garden Village - bargain price for a delightful, homely hostel with a great communal area and fantastic vibe.

FAVOURITE FOOD: I am officially a Lok Lak fan - obviously the one I cooked! Siem Reap street food! Sunrise Coffee House cookies!

WHAT I'M GOING TO MISS: The Cambodian children are the most friendly people I have met yet; everywhere they greet you with beaming smiles, stubby fingers waved in the air and complete delight on their faces when you say hello back and offer a generation of hope for the brutalities suffered by their parents and grandparents. The philanthrophy of Cambodian organisations determined to make up for the past.

WORST PLACE: Siem Reap Riverside - first time I've encountered unfriendly staff...

WORST FOOD: Mango salad with fish?!?!!? The Cambodian penchant for peanuts...in everything!

WHAT I'M NOT GOING TO MISS: Bumpy roads; the visible signs of the Khmer Rouge's legacy etched into the scars and deformations of a generation of Cambodians....

BOOKS I'VE READ: 'My Sister's Keeper' and 'Change of Heart', Jodi Picoult (As Kristy is a big fan she lent me a book and persuaded me to buy another. I think I've now got the Picoult formula! She explores interesting ethical themes and is perfect for a good holiday read!; 'War on Asia', Noam Chomsky (Startling how prophetic a book this is considering it was written during the Vietnamese war and lambasts American foreign policy and stands fast as a representation of and argument against the war in Iraq forty years later. Sadly, has anything changed?)

QUOTES: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is though nothing is a miracle. The other is though everything is a miracle." (Albert Einstein); "Humans are tuned for relationship. The eyes, the skin, the tongue, ears and nostril are all gates where our body receives the nourishment of otherness. This landscape of shadowed voices, these feathered bodies and antlers and tumbling streams - these breathing shapes are our familyu, the beings with whom we are engaged, with whom we struggle and suffer and celebrate" (http://www.boddhitree.com/ - on the back of their menu); Kristy - "The only person I have ever met who spells their name the same way as me was a huge black guy from France" Liz - "oh, that must be Linford then!"

Scar Tissue

We were sad to leave the comparative luxuries of Hoi An behind us and throw the bags back on our bags to continue our travels but made the most of our last day of being able to veg out guilt-free. While Liz went off to do a Vietnamese cookery course on the other side of the river, Kristy and I took it upon ourselves to sample the rest of Tam Tam's patisserie shelves and lazily sauntered into town and set up camp in the bohemian cafe room of Tam Tam and worked our way through the rest of the pastries we hadn't tried which came accompanied with actual pots of tea:) Kristy and Liz then went to pick up all the tailor-made items they had ordered (which included breaking into a shoe shop after discovering the guy had done a runner with their money and help themselves to the shoes they were owed!) while I lounged by the pool engrossed in my Anthony Keidis autobiography. We all met up for a brilliant farewell meal at Tu Do, a small cafe run by the highly eccentric Mr Dong who insisted upon us trying the local beer before we left which we accompanied with a shared set menu of Hoi An delights including White Rose dumplings, special wonton noodles and a dish known as Cao La which is some kind of fried vegetable and meat parcel. After the ordeal of the previous bus journey we were hoping for something less traumatic but I should have known better. This was a different type of bus that was half seated and half double-bed sleeper berths so while Kristy and Liz snuggled up in their temporary boudoir I found to my horror that I was sharing with an eighty year old Vietnamese woman who was already changed into her silk pyjamas and lying down with a dirty toothless grin when I boarded. The rest of the bus found it hilarious as struggling with my bags I had to straddle the Old Woman to get to my half of the bed. Trying to make the best of a bad situation I ended up on the phone back home to wish Dad a happy Father's Day when all of a sudden the Old Woman sits up and starts smoking a cigarette! The girls behind complained to the bus driver who stopped the bus and wandered up towards the back to investigate at which point the Old Woman hid the cigarette under her hand as if she had no idea what the commotion is all about until the bus driver pulled the cigarette from its hiding place and angrily threw it out of the window forcing her to lie back down and start up a mock coughing fit in protest. When the lights were turned off and everyone settled down for sleep I plugged my ipod in and turned to face the window out of decency. Several minutes later when I decided to turn back over to avoid the dazzle of the street lights burning through the thin curtains I found the Old Woman had comandeered 75% of our double bed and ended up choking on her outstretched elbow. No amount of polite aheming or gentle prods would move her and so I spent most of the rest of the night wide awake trying to avoid suffocating on her elbows and clawing back whatever space I could when the bus hurtled round the corner sending us both flying towards the aisle only to lose it back again every time the bus hurtled in the opposite direction causing the highly unpleasant situation of finding myself squashed between the window and the smoky breath of my aged bed companion... Suffice to say not much sleep was had that night so we checked in at the first hotel we came to in Nha Trang and then went to explore the town. Nha Trang is one of the best beaches in Vietnam and a welcome stop off point on the arduous journey between Hoi An and Saigon but is not a common tourist destination and consequently not really set up to accomodate the backpacker which suited us perfectly fine as we were more than happy to settle into a bit of "real" Vietnam. Our first experience was locating a patisserie for a spot of brunch which was housed shelf after shelf of fresh pastries at dirt cheap prices but with no English menu anywhere, so there was nothing left to do but buy as many as we could between us and sit down to work out which ones were worth buying again! After gorging ourselves we headed straight for the beach, a golden-white sandy shore that stretches around the whole bay, and spent the afternoon sunbathing, swimming and reading, eradicating the memories of the Old Woman on the bus amidst a blur of Frou Frou and Regina Spektor. Our first day ended up being quite food-orientated as later on we stumbled upon the first supermarket I have seen on my travels (excluding the ubiquity of the corner shop style Seven Elevens in Thailand) and our joy was uncontained as we strolled up and down the aisles able to purchase products we had only come to dream of. Having packed three huge baskets we had a fantastic homemade dinner of fresh bread, butter, jam and cheese washed down with a couple of bottles of red wine and finished off with yoghurt and chocolate - hardly an Emperor's feast I know but having not been able to find most of the said products in the last couple of months it was fit for three travellers! Our second day in Nha Trang saw us hit the Hot Mineral Springs and Mud Baths which was hilarious. Traveling with two girls has opened my eyes to a whole new world, not least one in which there is a product that will soothe and solve every situation, and so a day of pampering was obviously the next logical step. In an attempt to justify this indulgence we decided to walk the 5km from our hotel to the Springs which offered a completely different perspective to the chilled, beachy facade that had been revealed to us on the first day. Leaving the beach and its patisseries behind we ended up in the local market and bought a breakfast of fresh fruit before stumbling upon the meat section which was quite horrific as the birds were being plucked live by the market vendors for their customers. After escaping that barbaric scene we had to trek through the slums and less well off parts of the town; huge shanty villages built on stilts on the river beds and streets of houses that bared open their fronts onto the dusty pavements revealing lounges doubling up as hairdressers or motorbike garages while the naked children ran about the streets with the stray dogs. It was a bit of a shock as up until then Vietnam had seemed quite a progressive country, especially in comparison to where we had already visited, but on further reflection made sense as to why the Vietnamese government were not pushing the beautiful beaches of Nha Trang onto the tourists as we had expected but were instead trying to conceal this aspect from the boasts that they will achieve the status of a developed country by 2020. It was a relief to finally reach the Springs having lathered up a nice sticky sweat from our walk and we plunged straight into the mud bath. The stench was somewhat nauseating but the feel of the warm mud was strangely relaxing and with the aid of the coconut bucket we ended up covering ourselves from head to toe in the dark greeny-grey clay which you have to rub into your skin to receive all the benefits of its exfoliation. After a good half an hour in the "tub" we progressed to the sunbeds where you have to sun yourself until the mud is nearly caked on your skin. I was a bit dubious about this as I recalled the painful waxing of the caked mud on the hairs of my legs from Glastonbury so I was the first to dive into the hot Mineral Spring showers to wash it off. Having extracted the gloop from seeming every pore and stitch of my trunks we had to walk through a piston jet water spray which was like being sliced open with razors before we could relax in the hot tubs which was like stepping into a bath of valium. When we emerged we could barely speak; it felt like we were floating through the complex having been purged inside and outside of every conceivable stain. We had just enough energy to grab some dinner at the poolside cafe before collapsing on the loungers into a stupor that lasted the rest of the most relaxing afternoon of my trip so far!
Unfortunately the bus saga continued as it materialised we had been conned out of a sleeper bus to Saigon and had to waste a precious day aboard a bus traveling there from Nha Trang, arriving in the pouring rain which leaked through the air conditioning vents...Arriving late in the evening we were fortunate to get a room at MyMy Art Hostel (with its manical manager!) and had only energy enough to explore the local area which was almost metropolis-like with its heaving neon streets and international restaurants and bars and a huge shock from even the smaller, less developed Hanoi.

In our couple of days there we managed to fit in a tour of the Reunification Palacae (an awful Catz-esque concrete building that conversely offered a much more interesting tour inside), a Cadoist Temple (a religion set up by three prophets including Victor Hugo that incorporates elements from Buddhism, Christianity and Taoism and defined by a huge Temple in which we were permitted to enter to witness a ceremony that involved monks of different coloured robes representing the different religions and a host of white tunic clad nuns) and the War Remnants museum which is quite possibly the most horrific museum I have ever been to with its photographic archive of disasters wreaked by the Vietnam war with America. I was ashamed by my complete ignorance of the Agent Orange dioxin horrors which have mutilated a whole generation of Vietnamese and the barbaric massacres of whole villages by the Americans who suspected women and children of harbouring Viet Cong. In the light of the war against Iraq it was eerie how many parallels could be drawn between the two events and makes you wonder what kind of atrocities have and are being committed in the name of pre-emptive justification...

It was a sentiment that was reinforced by visiting the Cu Chi Tunnels just outside of Saigon on our last day. This incredible network of tunnels spanning 250km housed 16 000 Viet Cong forces during the war. The simplicity of this tactic confounded all the technology of the Americans who were bayoneted every time they tried to attack the Vietnamese forces in their tunnel and is a tribute to the persistence of these forces and the sheer difficulty of their lives underground. Many of the tunnels remain open and I was allowed to slide down one particular entrance and cover myself while hovering in the bunker below it and it was absolutely terrifying. What was also striking was the minute dimensions and claustrophobia of these tunnels which I could barely even sit in...they had a special tourist tunnel network which was twice the size but petrifying to crawl under as we descended 10 metres underground - there was no room to turn around and two of the girls in our group had a panic attack though the mad 60 year old Malaysian grandmother was having a whale of a time!

It was a sobering end to an absolutely fascinating country that has offered mountains, remote hill tribes, a gorgeous archipelago, amazing food, beaches, long stretches of paddy fields and the hustle and bustle of motorcycle-inhabited cities. Having experienced the friendliness and hospitality of all the other countries I have visited so far the Vietnamese in comparison were cold, perhaps a legacy of distrust towards foreigners still lingers? Their relationship towards tourists is completely functional: they want the money and the industry but do not share the passion of the Indians, Neplaese or Thais who want you to fall in love with their country and never leave, but instead want to take your money and push you over their border.

They seem to be a country that is determined to become a developed power that will never allow them to have such atrocities as the American war visited upon them again but at the same time have had their psyche moulded by such traumas to the extent that they seem, rightly or wrongly, unable to let go of them.

FAVOURITE PLACE: MyMy Art Hostel

FAVOURITE FOOD: Fresh pineapple and rambutan

WORST PLACE: Bus to Nha Trang....

WORST FOOD: Now the lunar moon has come to fruition dog is back on the menu as a luxury for the second half of the month....

WHAT I'M GOING TO MISS: Patisseries, mud baths!!

WHAT I'M NOT GOING TO MISS: Sleeper buses and the non-stop motorbike traffic...

MOST BIZARRE: The Vietnamese womens' penchant for covering every bit of their skin from the sun with face masks, scarves and gloves even in the blistering heat and then hiding themselves under brollies and opened newspapers while we walk about trying to expose every bit of skin and soak up every last ray!; Kristy ordering a "freshly squeezed orange juice"from Romy's homemade ice-cream only to pass the time while Liz and I tucked into their goodies to discover she had accidentally ordered a full continental breakfast, at 9.30pm....

BOOKS I'VE READ: 'Scar Tissue,' Anthony Kiedi (how he is still alive I have no idea? A tortured soul who has reached salvation:)) 'First They Killed My Father'' Loung Ung ( a heartbreaking first person narrative of a little girl who lived through the Pol Pot massacre bringing to life the atrocities the Cambodian people suffered and will bring the most hardened person to tears); 'Cambodia Year Zero' (an historical account of the formation and workings of S-21 that reveals the horrific tortures suffered by all those who entered the prison)

Back in the 'Nam

It's strange how traveling for a year does not actually leave enough time to visit everywhere you want. Having emerged from the birthday celebrations in Halong Bay we spent half a day traveling back to Hanoi only to stop long enough to grab a baguette, book our ongoing bus tickets to Hue and then jump on an overnight sleeper train to Sapa in north-west Vietnam, the mountainous centre of trekking. Again because of time constraints our initial plan to sort the trek ourselves was abandoned in favour of booking a three day package as recommended by a brilliant couple from Brighton we met on our way back from Halong Bay who told us of a really good company that offered cheap deals. Given that the package included trains and pick ups there and back as well as two different treks all our accomodation and food for the three days it seemed a no-brainer not to take it as to organise all those things individually would have taken an additional day not to mention the added cost. The sleeper train was like stepping into an Agatha Christie carriage with its old-fashioned lamps and provided a remarkably comfortable night's sleep despite having to share it with a rude Vietnamese couple who turned off the shared lights at 9.30pm in spite of the fact that I was still visibly reading. The arrival at 5.30am was slightly less comfortable but reassured us that we had made the right decision as trying to find a taxi and then negotiate a hotel at that time of the morning with our huge packs would not have been fun. We were booked into the Sapa Summit Hotel which true to its name sat in the hilltop overlooking the valley dreamily fogged with low clouds and more importantly served five-course meals for lunch AND dinner. We had a morning to settle in and then began our day-trek to the village tribe of Cat Cat situated at the foot of the valley's waterfall. It was a long winding road that led us from the hotel down into the bowels of the valley and through the heart of the village where locals in traditional dress were carrying out their daily routines: men and women (with babies strapped to their backs) in the innummerable paddy fields while the mischievous youngsters ran in and out of our group with their many puppies. We stopped off at a local shop for our Thai companions to buy a tiger's claw. I have never seen three people so excited by such an awful object. They had been looking for somewhere that would allow them to take one back into their country for ages and it was as much as I could do to bite my tongue and hold back from telling them that they should not be supporting the illegal trade that was running tigers into extinction. The outing wasn't so much a trek as a light amble that lasted only as long as it did because we had to keep stopping to take pictures of the villagers who were dressed in traditional attire. We had wanted something a bit more demanding and so on the return uphill to the hotel Liz and I marched on at a pace that rather worryingly our wisp of a guide was unable to keep up with and so were forced to wait for her to catch us up. After a long couple of days of travelling it was in retrospect nice to have a more gentle introduction as it gave us a chance to wander around the Sunday market when we got back and then grab a five course meal before finally having time to start uploading the vast number of photos we had accrued. The following day we left at 9.30am and fortunately had managed to switch groups (leaving behind our Thai photography fanatics and ailing tour guide) so that we teamed up with a group of snowboard instructors, two Americans called Lacey and Laura and one Aussie girl, Mirjiana, to commence the two-day overnight trek to Lao Chai, another, more remote, tribal village. We were led by the indomitable Khu, an irrepressibly cheeky girl from Lao Chai who thoroughly enjoyed the fact she was leading a group of all girls and one guy...She was dressed in the traditional garments which included velvet leg warmers (even in the heat of the day) and a long shirt with stitched patterns that buttoned up over her day clothes. She also brought along many of the women from her tribe, ranging from old ladies with hands stained purple from the hemp of the indigo that grows in abundance in the hills, to the younger, more timid girls who looked up with shy smiles and weaved us wreathes of bracken as they accompanied us on our trek. The walk wound its way through the paddy fields that dominate the landscape and into the heart of the village where we stopped off for lunch by the river. We then followed the river along through Lao Chai to another village, Ta Van, where we were staying overnight. There are many homestays in these villages to accomodate the trekkers and the five of us along with two other Aussies shared the upstairs loft of what looked to be a converted barn. We had made good time and so were allowed to spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around the village and speaking to the locals who were all keen to chat to us (and attempt to sell us embroidered knitwear!) before regrouping for dinner at our homestay. It was a lovely traditional homemade meal of rice and stirfrys and steamed vegetables but the main course was saved for after eating... Having sated more than our fill we were prepared to see the night out genially chatting and playing cards when our host brought out a bottle of rice wine. Earlier in the day at lunchtime I had again been accosted by a group of Vietnamese guys who wanted to speak to me about soccer and insisted upon rewarding my knowledge with a shot of rice wine so I was well aware of the potency of the drink. Given we were nicely exhausted from our trek and still had another day to go we accepted the round of shots thinking it would be rude to decline little knowing that our host had three bottles of the stuff that she would demand we finish before the night went out. This was easily instilled by a strict penalty of drinking if you did not perform certain dares, the first being to sing a song to the group. For some reason I opted for God Save The Queen (!) and Liz opted for Postman Pat! Suffice to say we flouted virtually every village rule from having to be asleep before 10pm to not exposing certain body parts...Given the layout of the beds which were all in one long line in the loft with me, the sole guy, being at the end, the night, almost inevitably, culminated in me, as the only guy, being what the girls hilariously describe as "steamrolled" ie, being ambushed and rolled up and down over in the pitch black. A few hours later and with rice-wine fugged heads we were faced with the prospect of another day's walk with the sun deciding to unleash its full potency. We were saved only by the arrival of a mountain of stacked pancakes complete with bananas, local honey and sugar for breakfast that provided enough temporary energy to navigate our way back up to the hotel through the bamboo forests with a fantastic break for sunbathing at the top of the waterfall where I, being the only one in trunks, was able to paddle around in the pool overlooking the sudden drop:) We had just enough time at the hotel to have our first shower for forty-eight hours and pop down to the local French patisserie and pick up a box of cakes to share on the journey back to Hanoi before catching the overnight train.

Sadly the promised pick-up from the bus station in Hanoi back to our hotel did not materialise which meant being ripped off by a taxi that then proceeded to drop us off in the middle of nowhere at 5.30am, exhausted from our trek and travels and carrying our huge sweaty bags. The upshot of this was that we did get to see the bizarre sight of sunrise inducing aged Vietnamese out of their houses and onto the street pavements to perform their daily exercises on the spot; they were still all clad in their pyjamas and remained completely oblivious to us as we wound our way in and out of them not daring to break their concentration to try and ask where we might be.

Fortuitously we bumped into a rep from the Central Stars Hotel who escorted us back to the hotel where we managed to wangle a free room for the morning in order to shower and clean up and then we embarked on our one-day mission around Hanoi.

This started off with a trip to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum and surrounding complex of museums dedicated towards his memory which is probably, to date, the strangest thing I have been to on these travels. For a start the mausoleum is only open from 8-11 am which suited our early rise but then you have to queue up along the perimeter of this stark communist building rising out of the barren concrete grounds surrounding the whole complex and wait to be escorted along a red carpet into the mausoleum by a fully armed, white uniformed military soldier. Every five metres along the red carpet is another armoured soldier but you continue to be escorted by the initial soldier as you are hushed into the gloomy heart of the mausoleum never given even a second's respite to pause as you are marched around in complete silence. The room in which HCM resides is as you would expect stark and devoid of everything except a single glass prison in which HCM lies with his head eerily propped up on a pillow as if looking up at you. Apparently the body goes on a little three month holiday every year for maintenance, this fact only serving to compound to the whole grotesque atmosphere surrounding the mausoleum with its persistent air conditioning seeming to drain any warmth from inside its folds. Sadly, escaping into the museums which maintain his former house, garage and workplace did little to ameliorate this disquiet. Again, we were marched around the buildings in almost military style with whistle-blowing and gun-clad soldiers ready to chase us back into line lest we linger to take any photographs. There isn't much to see as all the interiors remain as stark as the Communist values they propound and even the peaceful, well-manicured gardens lose some of their value due to the sterile aridity of their empty environment, the red flag with its yellow star being the only drop of colour. The complex is a huge attraction for schoolgroups on propagandist trips to pay homage to the country's saviour and we were glad to finally escape the whole area and return to the bustling, vibrancy of the heart of the city where life is celebrated in all its noisy, dirty, haphazard glory.

After a quick walk past Lenin Park (another horrible empty concrete ground with a solitary statue of the Russian in its midst) we stopped at a refreshingly Capitalist coffee house to revive our flagging spirits and then hailed a cyclo to take us to the Temple of Literature. (There is a marked difference to Vietnamese cyclos though: the carriage is strapped onto the front of the bike and looks like a big digger in which you are scooped up into the paddle of its arm and sit precariously balanced until you are ungainly spooned out at the end of your trip. A novel way to travel though no hope of retaining any grace or dignity!)

The Temple of Literature couldn't have been any more contrasting from our early morning activity if we had chosen it. A thousand year old university, the crumbling ruins are in debt to the Chinese influence of Confuscius, and I felt I had landed in my spiritual home:) From the moment you walk through the entrance gates, which kindly ask you to step down from your horse, before continuing to the exam hall where the King would have been the invigilator orally quizzing the best students in the royal exam for acceptance to the court, it is gloriously quirky, homely and meditative and obligingly we grabbed a crumbled seat and sat down to write our postcards and read our books as we soaked up a millennium of cultivated learning:)

A quick detour to pick up our bus tickets and we were back in the Old Quarter to have lunch at our favourite lakeside patisserie before catching the afternoon's first Water Puppet show at the grand colonial theatre. The show is unique to Vietnam, and Hanoi the host of the queen of performances, and we were treated to (or horrified by in Liz's case) twenty-one scenes enacting important legends and stories of Vietnam's history.

The whirlwind day ended as it had begun with overnight transport, exchanging the luxuries of the train for the basics of the bus...
Vietnam has a brilliant open-ticket bus service which allows you to travel from tip to tip stopping off wherever you want for seventeen pounds (the same amount it costs me for one single from Hythe to London...) and so we thought that we had cracked a brilliant way of combining travel with overnight sleeping that would save us the cost of accomodation and time wasted in spending days traveling...Ha! As the last passengers to board we had no choice of beds and had to make do with the two top-tiered berths. I nobly took the centre bed which had no supporting side walls and stowed myself away in a bunker that does not leave enough room even for my miniscule pins to turn your legs in the night so that every time I tried I would crack my knees on the inside of the bunker and wake myself up which in addition to being slammed against the railings every time you turn a corner leaves you somewhat black and blue after thirteen hours...However, the climax of this journey occured just after I had managed to wiggle myself into a position that offered maximum security from being bumped out of or against certain parts of the bed, had snuggled up under my blanket and closed my eyes to listen to my ipod. At this point the bus driver decided to take an "off-road" short cut at exactly the same moment the woman behind me chose to open her 1.5 litre bottle of water resulting in the surreal combination of being awoken to what felt like an earthquake tremoring below us (and which had shaken some people out of their beds) and a torrent of water drowning me from on high. My startled face was apparently a picture, so much so that the woman behind me instead of being mortified by the combination of events collapsed into hysteria before offering to exchange bedding and Liz, who was clinging to the rails on her bed was offered a moment of light relief from a situation in which she later admitted she thought she was going to die in...

With such a full day (and night!) when we arrived at our next destination our plans to see the city in a day disappeared as we headed to the first cafe to feed our faces and dry off!

Hue is the former capital of Vietnam, its significance stretching back through the grandeur of the Emperors' rule and culminating in it having become the heartlands of the civil war in which by virtue of lying in the centre of the country caused it to mark the border between communist North and American sanctioned south during the last century's war: a place unflatteringly now known as the DMZ, Demilitarised Zone and famous for its warfare rather than grandiose history. We decided to eschew its more recent fame and headed to the ancient citadel on the north side of the river. Sadly there's not much left of its crumbling ruins (though the impressive gatehouse offers a formidable sight and it contains the alluring Forbidden Purple Palace in which only eunuchs were allowed to enter as they were designated the only non-threat to the Emperor and his wife!) but it once was a huge palace and the grounds still provide an enormous site to wander around though the Asian distaste for curating museums prevailed making it almost impossible to navigate as there is little signage or explanation of any of the paths or ruins that leave you to guess romantically at what these bombed shells of crumbling stacks or haunting black and white photographs once were.

There was much more we could have done in Hue but owing to the strictness of our schedule we had to depart that afternoon for another four hour bus journey to Hoi An. The bus company always drops you off at the hotel belonging to their franchise and we had become accustomed to fending off the advances of their employees upon arrival but most fortunately this time the hotel on offer was the best accomodation we have seen (it even has a swimming pool!) and at a snippet of the price of the one we were preparing to hike to we gladly accepted the welcome of the An Phu Hotel.

Since arriving in Vietnam we have been on the go constantly taking in a three day tour of Halong Bay, three days trekking in Sapa, sightseeing days in Hanoi and Hue and three overnight sleeper journeys so there was no qualms in settling into the big duvets of our spacious room after a refreshing swim in the pool and settling down to watch a film on HBO. When Liz's friend, Kristy, arrived the following day the theme continued as we strolled around the river, visiting the fresh markets and hundreds of tailors' shops which are the mainstay of the city's attrations, treating ourselves to the Hoi An delicacies of White Rose dumplings and crashing by the pool with our collective of books and ipods. In a trip that doesn't offer many moments to catch your breath it has been necessary, and welcome break, to rejuvenate our batteries before hitting the party islands of Nha Trang and the much-hyped mania of Saigon!

FAVOURITE PLACE: An Phu Hotel, Hoi An

FAVOURITE FOOD: Lemon Meringue tarts at Tam Tam in Hoi An; chocolate orange eclairs from Sapa patisserie; five-course "free" meals at Sapa Summit, just because they were five courses:)

WHAT I'M GOING TO MISS: Bathing in the waterfalls in the gorgeous mountains of Sapa; the bizarre combination of modern Vietnam's Chinese and French fusion exemplified best in architecture and food (what could be better than a crispy beef noodle main washed down by a creamy, chocolate pastry?!)

WORST PLACE: The bus from Hanoi to Hue...

WORST FOOD: Rice wine (or at least the quantities of it drunk in Ta Van...)

WHAT I'M NOT GOING TO MISS: Riding double in a one-man cyclo round the citadel, when the second seat is a plank of wood strapped across the top of the seat...Karaoke sessions in Ta Van - the only time I have ever opted to sing over drink thanks to the fear of the rice wine! Angry vendors in Sapa who tear open packets to show you their contents and then try and charge you for having made them open the packets! The Thai insistency of taking self-shot photos of themselves against every possible background...

MOST BIZARRE: The boys riding buffalos that chased Liz down the mountain in Sapa!; being steamrolled in the middle of the night by a Croat-Australian; the velvet leg-warmers worn by the Lao Chai residents in the heat of the day; the influence of communism in Vietnam's shops so that evey vendor sells the same items for the same price so there is no variation or healthy competition...

FAVOURITE QUOTES: "It's worse for tall people to get drunk as they have longer chicken legs that make them fall" (Khu our guide to Mirjiana the tall whilst drinking rice wine!) "Back in the 'Nam!" (Lacey, Laura and Mirjiana)

Marking the monumental increment of wisdom...or turning the ripe old age of 24!

As with all important ceremonies, and deciding that the embarking upon my 25th year merited such gravitas, a five day celebration was required to justify the significance of this date. As mum reminded me when she turned 24 she was already some way into a respectable vocation as a physiotherapist, had been married for over a year and was giving birth to her firstborn. So it seemed somewhat appropriate that I should spend mine unmarried, jobless, certainly nowhere near having children and spending the few pennies I own on a shamelessly self-indulgent trip around the world loosely veiled as providing me with more life experience and perhaps finding myself under a full moon in Thailand. The festivities began with a suitably debauched celebration on the Khao San Road that was in no way elegant or pretty but oodles of fun. Having met up with two Danes called Beavs (short for Beaver because that's what we thought his surname sounded when he first told us, I blame the Danish accent) and Rass (an infinitely preferable alternative to Erasmus in both length and snootiness!) the four of us decided to mark our last night in Thailand and beginning of my birthday with a couple of quiet drinks in the Bangkok Bar, a favourite haunt of ours that combines good food and drinks with the amusement of street side entertainment such as the zebra-clad Mr Thailand selling enchiladas! Several buckets of whiskey and coke from a cheap street bar on the Khao San Road that unfortunately happened to be frequented by two northern guys that give Brits Abroad their bad name and a rather portly man who was unable to place all his weight upon the tiny plastic stools and overspilled into many of our photos and the night had taken an unseemly turn that culminated in a club appropriately entitled Gulliver's Travels which was less about literary or expeditionary forays than cheap drinks, awful music and bars that turned into dancing podiums.... It perhaps wasn't the best idea given we had an early flight to Hanoi the following morning and awoke the morning after only when the bus that had come to pick us up from the hostel had departed which brought about a mighty scramble to find a taxi we could afford with the meagre remnants of our bruised wallets to race us to the airport just in time to catch our flight. We touched down in Hanoi two hours later and then had to take another taxi to cover the 29km from the out of town airport to the city centre. I had thought that the conical wicker hats associated with Vietnam were merely a touristy stereotype but everywhere we looked out of the windows people were wearing them. It was a convenient distraction to the flatness of a landscape that lends very little else to the imagination. In contrast Hanoi City was like reaching the oasis in the desert. It is a grand old French colonial style town with a huge cafe culture influenced greatly by the patisserie tradition, hurrah! We had no trouble in locating a superb lakeside cafe called Thuyts where we revived ourselves with a veritable feast of baguettes, pineapple caramel cakes (which I had been telling Liz how much I missed in the taxi journey) and tea, and I mean proper tea of the hot, unsickly variety WITH milk:) Hiren failed to meet us and so we checked into the Stars Hotel. This was the second big surprise thrown up by Vietnam. Having become accustomed to accomodation amounting to little more than a plank for a bed with a sheet for a cover it was a complete shock to be shown to a room with two grand beds, a city-facing balcony, an en-suite with shower, bath AND hot water that never ran out, not to mention a TV and kettle!!! It was certainly a joy to spend my birthday in such comfort and difficult to prise ourselves from the blankets (actual thick duvets you can nestle and hide away in!) but we went for a night time walk to familiarise ourselves with the city. We were staying in the quaint Old Quarter which is just north of the Lake, the liquid heart of the city, and home to a sprawling network of boutiques and food stalls. After the success of the Thai street food we were keen to sample the Vietnamese equivalent but where the Thais might charge one and a half times the price to a tourist (which is still dirt cheap by our standards and so you don't mind paying above) the Vietnamese are extortionate scammers usually quoting you a price 5-10 times its value so when we were quoted $10 for a bowl of soup each for a meal that probably costs 10cents to make we realised we would have to retreat to one of the numerous cafes and settle for crab soup and fresh spring rolls that you have to 'make' yourself. The following morning (my actual birthday!) we had an early start to leave our wonderful hotel room to take a two hour mini-bus ride to Halong Bay port where Liz bought me a Vietnamese hat with a most fetching pink ribbon chin strap that I was forced to wear for the duration of the day...Our boat, the Congnchia, was an old colonial junker with three decks and looked like something that had sailed right out of the Pirates of the Caribbean. The bottom deck housed our berths, the middle deck was the restaurant and 'living' area while the top deck was basically a glorified sun lounger! We trundled out of the Bay in what seemed to be a combination between dodgems and battleships as the junkers literally barged their way through each other and into the open water. The archipelago of 1900 islands is an incredible sight; everywhere you look are miniature Lost-esque islands rising up out of the green water. How you ever navigate your way around the islands is a complete mystery as if you were to drop us off in the middle I doubt we would ever be able to find our way back! Just sitting on the top of the boat soaking up the sun and the sights of this incredible archipelago which is being listed as one of the UNESCO Natural Wonders of the World could easily have taken us all day without getting bored but instead we had a couple of stop-offs to keep us busy. The first was to a gigantic cave hollowed out in what from the outside looks like an extremely large rock and which was the general consensus until 1993 when a fisherman took refuge in it from a storm and loved it so much took his girlfriend back there for a romantic frisson! It's quite impossible with words or the photos I've taken to convey the size of the cave and the extraordinary variety of stalagmites and stalagtites which have been illuminated by clever lighting to cast shadows of the most improbable things; those that spring to mind quickest are the married couple and the gigantic nipple which our guide took great delight in spotlighting to us with his torch! Unfortunately when we emerged from the depths of the caves the clouds had moved in and we got soaked making our way back to the junker, but when you get wet you can't get any wetter and so it was the pefect excuse to jump off the top deck into the sea! It was also ideal for our second stop-off which was to go kayaking around the islands. Liz and I had a two-man boat and much to her irritation the guide insisted the man take the back to steer, though my smugness was soon short-lived by the discovery that Liz assumed navigational control with directions as specific as "turn this way" without any indication as to what this way might be...Still, once we got the hang of it we were able to weave our way in and out of the islands, sailing up close to cave entrances and circling the stacks. It was amazing to get away from the big boat and feel as if you are just another tiny drop in the ocean of this labyrinthical archipelago and certainly helped us work up an appetite for dinner. Given it was my actual birthday we decided to go all out on a big celebratory meal, stopping off at a boathouse sea-fish farm where we were able to wander amongst the nets and pick our food fresh! The Vietnamese on our boat were able to help us with local tips and haggling the price (thanks Johnny and Qui!) so together with an American called Ninh we opted for: four conches, ten rock shrimps, three crabs and a kilogram of clams! The Congnchia's chef then let us into his kitchen and allow us to direct him as to how we liked the food to be prepared and a couple of hours later our feast was served as the sun dipped into the water leaving only the stars above to light us up anchored amidst the islands. The fish were also served with a variety of sides so that by the time we managed to clear the deck it was an effort to climb up to the top deck to star-gaze until my birthday faded away. The following day, after another gigantic breakfast in the sun, we had to say good bye to our junker and trade water for land as we moved into the only inhabitable island in the archipelago, Cat Ba where we began our trek into the National Park. Given that there was a seventy-year old lady in flipflops amongst our numbers we naively assumed that we would be ok to continue in our flipflops, which might have been true had the heavens not decided to open on the descent (somehow I seem to have accrued an incredible knack of choosing to trek in torrential rain...) The climb up was steep and involved plenty of rock-hugging and ladders across ravines and the peak itself was marked by an ugly, rusting watch tower designed by the navy to keep a lookout for invaders. Climbing the tower was way more terrifying than any other part of the trek but well worth the hike as it offered a beautiful panorama from the heart of the archipelago. Having safely negotiated our way back down in buffeting winds that seemed destined to whip the tower off the peak and begun our descent the rain came lashing down, washing away any footsteps and turning the path into a slide that our flipflopped feet stood no chance of gripping. At this point I would just like to state that the misleading figure of the seventy year old woman had left the trek as soon as it started to ascend to continue the gentler forest walk that would lead her to meeting us back at the starting point....We eventually emerged into a shelter covered from head to toe in mud where we waited out the storm before heading back to the bus to take us to our hotel. We had lunch provided in the hotel restaurant...next to a 30-strong group of Vietnamese who were clearly celebrating something which involved multiple shots of rice wine and much chanting while occasionally casting us bemused looks as to why we were amongst them. Later on when we returned for the night meal at the hotel and when the party had suitably quenched their thirst we became ingratiated into their group by the simple virtue of originating from a country that had, in their mind, produced the best football teams in the world. Every time I said the word Lampard or Ronaldo they would all cheer and toast me with rice wine!? We had a brief siesta before setting sail again to go to "Monkey Island" named funnily enough after its overpopulation of monkeys, who far from being cute and photographic are vicious and highly territorial. The island was small and we eschewed the golden sandy beach and green waters to opt for the rock climb to the highest point of the island. Having scaled the Cat Ba peak earlier in the day this hike looked like a doddle, the tor was barely a couple of hundred metres high and so we set off into the jungle enjoying the novelty of abseiling up the rocks and having to carry a monkey-beating stick, just in case...However our adventurous spirit seemed to get the better of us and instead of taking the languid, winding route we decided to forge our own way, directly up! Suddenly the rocks turned into jagged spikes that sliced open our hands as we held onto them and required the most acrobatic of contortions in order just to cling onto their faces and scrape our way around. Having ascended the peak which did provide incredible vistas the mountain claimed the life of one of Liz's flipflops making the descent almost impossible for her given the viciousness of the rocks. With the aid of two shoed Germans who stumbled upon us in our hour of need we did manage the de-scale with only the bare minimum of injuries.

When we finally got back to the beach with our lesson well and truly learned we gave in to our true tourist desires and flopped on the white sand and swam in the green sea before climbing back aboard our boat and being taken to the hotel. The birthday bonanza was rounded off with another ginormous seafood platter and a leisurely stroll around the illuminated harbour. It was the perfect birthday celebration combinig the party atmosphere of Bangkok with the beauty of one of the world's most incredible natural sights that hopefully marks the beginning of an eventful 25th year!

FAVOURITE PLACE: Congnchia boat!

FAVOURITE FOOD: The seafood extravangaza birthday meal that caused us to nearly sink the boat...Thuyt's pineapple caramel cake:)

WORST PLACE: Green House, with it's flooding showers and non-working ac....especially as Thai's don't believe in recompense or discounts...

WORST FOOD: Soup for breakfast...what?

WHAT I'M GOING TO MISS: Feeling like you're in the middle of nowhere when sitting on top of a junker in Halong Bay as the sun goes down and all you can see is the dusty islands fading into the gloom. Picking your dinner, fresh!

WHAT I'M NOT GOING TO MISS: Brits abroad on the Khao San Road - no wonder everyone hates us abroad! Whiskey buckets, enough said...Managing to trek in torrential rain, EVERY time...

MOST BIZARRE: The giant nipple stalagmite! The legend behind Hoam Kiem Lake in which the sword used by the 15th century Emperor to drive out the Chinese was swallowed by a giant gold tortoise that disappeared with it into the lake giving the water the name of Lake of the Restored Sword and leading to many people believing the waters still hold giant tortoises - the Vietmanese Nessy!

FAVOURITE QUOTES: Sam: "Liz, get up, we've missed the bus and our flight leaves in an hour", Liz: "Sorry, I can't, I've got to go to a museum."; "Mi scuzi!"; "He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past." (Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez); "...human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves" (Love in the Time of Cholera)

BOOKS I'VE READ: The Quiet American, Graham Greene (Fell asleep during the film - remember ML?! - but when we arrived in Vietnam thought I should at least attempt to read it. Fortunately it was much better than the film but not quite the glimpse into the country I was hoping for; Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez (slightly odd reading a book about South America in Vietnam but a classic Marquez novel about an elegaic forbidden love story that only reaches fruition in the fingertips of death)

Up Close and Personal: From Massage to Tigers!

So last time I wrote was just about to go for my massage course in Chiang Mai and it's taken me all this time to recover in order to be able to write again! Give me a three pair men's tennis match over Jangira massage any day, I swear it could make grown men cry. Was somewhat dubious about what I had booked myself into when I arrived at the centre and was shown to a dark room with a solitary mat in the middle and Jane (she later told me that was the name she gave herself to make it easier for students to pronounce) closed the door behind us and began stripping off with her colleague, Nin! I was slightly reassured when they both started bowing prostrate on the floor towards a small buddha shrine I hadn't yet noticed in the corner and something which I imagined wasn't entirely compatible with the more downtown "massage" parlours. Jangira, the particular form of massage I was learning, is a holisitic combination of massage techniques, meditation and breathing - in short it is mainly practised by Buddhists as a way of communing between masseur and massagee that identifies with the central principles of enlightenment. It was at this moment that I realised I should have perhaps read more seriously the introductory book on Karma I had been given when I booked my course in order to understand what I had let myself in for rather than flicking through it during the changeovers of the French Open first round. I proceeded to spend the next seven hours being contorted and contorting Jane and Nin. One of them would lie on the mat while the other demonstrated, then it would be my turn to lie on the mat and have it done to me (so that I was able to gauge strength of pressure and where the energy lines were) and then finally I would try it out on one of the women. We worked our way right through the body from feet to head. It was difficult not to be self-conscious, especially when some of the positions required of you to perform certain parts of the massage involve all sorts of combinations of bodily contortions I would never have thought possible with various limbs pressed up and wrapped around other limbs leading to the frequent comments by Jane that "I should relax" - something easier said than done when she is pinned between my straddled legs while I "palm circled" her chest! Bizarrely I found that I really enjoyed giving the foot massages - a lot of what was said really made sense with my innumerable experiences of foot injuries through tennis and I could feel how the stimulation of the blood and tendons was actively working on those parts of my feet that have been through the wars and I apparently had a natural aptitude for finding those parts on the foot - one of my more peculiar talents it has to be said! Conversely, I hated giving the head massages and was hopeless at finding the pressure points; about the only part I was any good at was the finger dotting whereby you randomly poke the person's face all over!! (And yes, it is actually quite relaxing!) It was surprisingly extremely hard work. Not only did some of the positions involve me hauling the person about and performing physically exerting positions but having inherited Dad's sublime suppleness I struggled even to sit myself on the mat with my legs folded under my bottom (the traditional position to best apply pressure - through the straight of your back rather than your arms should you be wondering!) without deadening my leg much to the amusement of my yoga-fiend instructors who kept urging me to bend them as far as I could despite my fears that I was about to snap them in half. It was also a bit like being at school as I had my workbook with all the diagrams that I had to annotate with extra notes as I went along and was continually spot-checked throughout the day, being tested on leg massages while simultaneously performing an abdominal massage! The girls did look after me though, making me lunch and letting me play with their house-rabbit who hopped about the sessions the whole time, while slipping in and out of playful teases and serious Buddhist philosophies so that I was frequently confused as to whether they were joking with me or telling me something I should be listening to with my most earnest face.... I was, suffice to say, thoroughly exhausted by the end of the day but it was worth every drop of sweat. They told me I had very good hands and a great instinct - perfect qualities for the job - and I did feel that with every instruction I was beginning to become attuned to how different bodies, and indeed body parts, respond to different actions - must have inherited some of those physiotherapy genes! It's all about the practise-makes-perfect application now, though I don't imagine Hiren will be willing to let me hurl him about a Thai beach while I pour over my little annotated book wondering if I'm applying the right pressure on the right line! Still, it gave me something to practise on myself as I took the nightbus from Chiang Mai back to Bangkok and ease my own weary muscles. I arrived back in Bangkok the following morning and met up with Liz who was bronzed and full of outrageous tales from her couple of weeks in the southern part of the country full-mooning it and hanging out on the shore where they filmed The Beach...Hiren had left unexpectedly for Hanoi and so Liz and I decided to see the sights of Bangkok for a couple of days before heading to Vietnam. Knowing what to expect from the city this time I wasn't so taken aback by the brashness of its touristy side and we actually managed to sidestep this scene and explore the more cultural parts. First off this required an afternoon in Chinatown (culinary forays are perhaps the most important aspect of being a culture vulture and definitely the most rewarding!) where we pottered about the various food stalls and street markets watching hapless little fish being barbecued into the most extraordinary dishes and needless to say gorging ourselves in the essential task of trying to sample from every conceivable vendor! The following day we decided to walk off our Chinese expedition and take in the Temple of the Emerald Buddha and the Royal Palace, abandoning the ubiquitous tuk-tuks for our trusty map and inbuilt compasses accompanied by the immortal line "we just need to follow the river"...Having tried to find the palace the previous day and been directed around the whole building, so large that by the time we reached the gates it had closed for the day, we weren't about to make the same mistake and got up bright and early to try and avoid the midday sun. Having been somewhat sated of temples it's a testament to the Emerald Buddha and Royal Palace that I was mightily impressed by these particular buildings which share the same grounds. They have the decadence and ornateness of medieval Europe combined with the meditative relaxation that seems to emanate from eastern architecture. The murals that told the story of the birth of the royal family (we think) were incredible in their pictorial mythologisation and the sheer grandeur of the golden bejewelled pagodas were as breathtaking as the prayerful scene inside the temple where you can simultaneously listen to the monks chant and watch the Buddhist tourists come in to offer their blessings was moving (unless that is you point your feet towards the Buddha - my inherited lack of suppleness stalling me for the second time in three days - whereby you are hauled up by the security guards for your blasphemy... - feet are the dirtiest part of the body and an offence therefore to direct at the Buddha icons) The Royal Palace was unfortunately closed as there was a state ceremony being performed; given that the King (to whom there are effigies everywhere in Bangkok: next to road signals, in the cinemas, on billboards) spends only a couple of weeks a year there we were extremely unlucky, but were consoled by being allowed to walk around the gardens and try to peek inside when the armed soldiers weren't looking:) On leaving the Palace and trying to negotiate a boat ride down the river we accidentally stumbled across the craziest flea market selling everything from (presumably) stolen trinkets to old postcards and dentures - I kid you not, there were at least two stalls devoted to secondhand dentures...It was a market for Thai people and we caused much amusement to the locals who didn't speak a word of English as we tried to outbarter each other for the most ridiculous item. Liz won with a collection of semi-nude postcards (apparently she bought them for artistic reasons though the grins of the market sellers seemed to beg to differ!) On our final day we booked into a day tour to get round all the sights we wanted to see that lie beyond the city edges in one fell swoop. A rude 7am start saw us herded into a minibus and driven to the Floating Market - a remarkable spectacle that seems to cross the food of Borough Market with the waterways of Venice in which you have to hire a punt and be navigated down the water alleys. Should you emerge with all your fingers intact you would have done well given the bumper-cars style of progression adopted by the punters (all for some reason middle aged women with Vietnamese hats) and the long hooked poles used by the vendors to literally haul you alongside their boat.

After the floating market we headed to the Death Railway, the track built by the WW2 POWs. The Japanese wanted a railway that would link Thailand to Burma and provide them with potential access to India and used their POWs to construct it. Not only was the process of building the track and bridge dangerous but the POWs suffered the additional threat of being bombed by the Allies who were trying to destroy the track. There were some heartbreaking stories of incidents where the Japanese knowing the Allies were approaching sent the POWs out onto the track and bridge in an attempt to stop the Allies dropping their bombs but under strict instructions to bomb regardless of the cirucumstances many POWs were killed by their own countrymen. These stories, told in their strange didatic Thai-English with overt moralistic conculusions, were far more moving than the museum itself which is a haphazard collection of artefacts from the war with little narrative and randomly lumped together in a building that doubled up as a worksman's yard! The bridge across the river was far more impressive: a wraught black iron construction that sticks out against the greenery of the countryside. Empty and barren it seems almost haunting in its legacy much like the hollowed out death camps at Auschwitz.

After that sobering experience and a quick lunch it was on towards the Tiger Temple. Liz's friends had recommended we visit the sanctuary whereby you can frolic with the tiggers and we were sold by their photos of hugging adorable cubs. The Temple is a monastic place of meditation but several years ago local villagers brought an injured boar to the monks who having no knowledge of animal care nursed it back to health and released it into the wild only for it to return to their temple with ten of its family the following day! Seen as a sign the villagers have continued to bring a variety of injured wild animals to the Temple's grounds so that boar mix with buffalo and peacocks with goats. Most recently some poorly tiger cubs were brought to the Temple and since these could not be released back into the jungle they remained with the monks who have seen their collection added to so that it totals nearly fifteen tigers and has become a major tourist attraction.

I confess I have a Life of Pi attitude towards tigers, verging between total fear and an almost hypnotic awe and respect and so found myself drawn to the Temple with a mix of trepidation and excitement. Although the tigers are chained in the grounds they have enough leeway to turn around and bite your head off should they choose so being escorted into their complex I was filled with visions of being mauled to death by the animals while the monks sat by insisting they were just playing with me. You are taken around the complex by a guide who positions you next to each tiger so that you can stroke and play with them while having your picture taken. While we were queuing up the guide told us that the tigers are pretty lethargic in the heat but tend to wake up and become more aggressive in the rain when it is cooler. As we got to about ten people from the front of the queue it began to rain....

No matter how many times we were assured that it was perfectly safe the first time you crouch down next to a half-ton beast and see the paws the size of your head and the rows of teeth as it yawns lazily there is no amount of reasoning to convince you and so it's down to a quick prayer to emerge unscathed with the promise you will never do something so reckless again!

There is something completely majestic and mesmerising about tigers and to be able to sit and lie with them is such a surreal experience. The older ones command such poise and grace combining immense strength with a dangerous charm while the younger playful cubs that grab your arms between their paws as they lie on their backs or snap at your ankles once your back are turned are completely adorable.

Having started out with so much apprehension I was dismayed to leave the complex, it felt like it had all passed in the blink of an eye when I could have easily passed the whole day with these incredible beasts. Fortunately this wasn't the end of the experience as because we were amongst the last visitors of the day we were given the privilege of "walking" one of the tigers back to their cage. Given that it took four burly guides to unchain the said tiger and marshall it into position with the instruction that the tiger will do what it wants regardless of your behaviour when they hand you the lead to patrol her up the hill towards its cage it's hard to imagine that the fragile chain of metal that separates you and the tiger will allow you to do much leading! It's even more alarming when the guides back away from you so that you can have your picture taken walking the animal and you're left trying to smile for a once-in-a-lifetime picture without revealing your innate terror.

Somehow Liz and I managed to arrive about 45 minutes late for our bus having dawdled far too long with our new striped friends and so were not the most popular people on the way back to Bangkok but given the experience of being allowed such intimate proximity with these animals it was well worth the glares and cold shoulderings!

FAVOURITE PLACE: Green House hostel - although we had to change rooms because our shower flooded and then the ac didn't work it had a great airy restaurant and a superb travel agency who sorted everything out for us.

FAVOURITE FOOD: The street markets are incredible. You can eat homemade, authentic Thai food for 50p, with huge portions cooked fresh before your eyes. We gorged ourselves on these every night usually followed by a banana roti for dessert:)

WHAT I'M GOING TO MISS: Street stalls and tiger cuddling!

WORST PLACE: The overnight bus from Chiang Mai to Bangkok where I made the fatal error of taking the back seat thinking I could lie across the seats only to have those seats taken by a Japanese couple midway through the night forcing me to sit up for the duration of the rest of the journey and rue not having taken one of the normal recliners where everyone else was happily snoozing....

WORST FOOD: Liz's bizarre addiction to dried peas....The revolting Guava juice in Chinatown

WHAT I'M NOT GOING TO MISS: Palace sentries that send you in the wrong direction to their own entrance gates, boozy Brits abroad on the Khao San Road...

MOST BIZARRE: Cuddling a tiger?!?! Second-hand denture markets!

FAVOURITE QUOTES: "I'm just going to have to sit it out" (Liz), "it" being her hunger! "Read not only books but man also" (Buddhist proverb in one of the Chiang Mai temples)