the long return

I got up at 9.30am on Friday - quite an achievement on this holiday, I can assure you.

Went for my first breakfast of the three week trip (it feels embarrassing to type that) in the hotel restaurant. I had sweetcorn cakes with crispy bacon and sweet chilli sauce. It was lovely, if a little bit rich.

I then had a couple of hours spare to spend in the sun before heading off. As I laid in the pool and looked up at the sun, I felt sad that it would be ages before I saw weather like this again - but vindicated in deciding to take this holiday in February. I had missed almost all of the most miserable month of the year, and it makes sense to break up the winter if you are not reliant on going away during school holidays.

My car was due to take me to Saigon at noon, so I started to pack around 11.30am. I hadn't taken much stuff. As I was doing so, I started to feel more and more unwell - similar to how I had felt after the chundering trip to the cu chi tunnels. I drank a bottle of water, but that didn't help, and then just as I was about to leave, I threw up in the toilet. Just the preparation I wanted for a gruelling journey across the planet.

I was picked up in a nice air conditioned people carrier and thanked the Lord that I wasn't travelling by bus. With me was a big cool bottle of water and packets of mints to try and keep down the vomit. As we set off, I noticed it had become really cloudy, and I suppose it was fortunate that I was travelling on a day like this rather than hoping for clear blue skies.

The journey to Saigon was pretty horrible. I felt lousy, although sat in the front of the car I was never in danger of being sick. The landscape of this part of Vietnam is also depressing and uninviting. There are endless unattractive buildings lining the road south, the occasional dreary little town and a shocking amount of litter everywhere. It was as far removed from the beauty of other parts of the country as is possible to describe.

After about five hours, the mental scenes of swarms of motorbikes indicated we were in Saigon. I said in an earlier blog that this is not a city you want to be in when ill, and that is how I felt again. We got to the airport, and I pulled out from my backpack some imodium I had ironically bought in Bangkok last year to stop me being ill, took a couple and then checked in for the 19.05 Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong.

I spent the remainder of my Vietnamese money on two cans of Tiger beer, which actually made me feel a lot better, and looked out over the darkening Saigon skyline. It was now tipping it down with rain, and I started to wonder if I was attempting too much travel at once. Drive to Saigon, wait at airport, flight to Hong Kong, wait at airport, flight to London etc. Perhaps I should have broken it up with a night in a hotel close to Hong Kong airport, but that would have been yet another expense.

The flight to Hong Kong was awful. It only took two and a half hours, but it was packed full of some of the most annoying people I have ever come across. Annoying because of their selfish inability to see or care about how their behaviour affects others. The guy sat next to me on this plane insisted on invading my personal space by putting his legs and elbow well into my side of the chairs, and just ignored my repeated attempts to subtly let him know that I was rather pissed off about this. In the end I kicked him. And then there was the fat Russian sat in front of me, who just ignored the stewards and sat with his chair fully back and his ipod on as we started our descent into Hong Kong. Now I've always been sceptical that listening to music crashes planes, but what really fucked me off about this guy was that whatever it was he was listening to was total crap, and was so loud that half the plane could hear it. And he couldn't care less. I eventually punched the back of his headrest in sheer fury at the selfishness of this turd of an individual.

When we landed, I told myself to calm down and relax. Trouble was, if a two and a bit hour flight could get me this wound up, what would the 12 hour epic journey to London be like?

Hong Kong Airport. A huge, stunning example of modern architecture. And one of the easiest places to part with your cash. I had quite a long wait until my flight, and so I withdrew £20 worth of Hong Kong dollars to buy some drinks. It got me three pints of Heineken and a bit of change. Even the duty free is expensive, with some drinks costing more than they do in supermarkets in the UK.

We left Hong Kong at 1am, which is easily the latest I have ever caught a flight. Fortunately I had an aisle seat with no chairs in front of me, which was a real bonus on the leg room front. We were served a meal, a stewardess served me two gins when I asked for one, and then I settled down to watch a Bond film. This was more like it. After a few more drinks, I dozed off just after noting we had almost eight hours to go before reaching Heathrow. The next thing I knew the same screen was telling me it was two hours. I couldn't believe it - six hours' kip on a plane. This has never happened to me before and made the journey so much more tolerable.

We landed at around 6am GMT, back where it all began at Terminal 5. Say what you will about airport and runway expansion, this is a very impressive building in which to welcome people to London. Got the tube home to save money and it took forever - partly because most of the lines were suspended. This is not an impressive way to welcome people to London.

I've stayed awake all day today (Saturday) to get myself back into the groove body clock wise. Tomorrow I will post my reflections on Vietnam as a country, and then it's back to work...

thoughts on mui ne

Mui Ne has been a great place to bring this trip to an end.

The beach is lovely, the sand dunes are incredible and this part of Vietnam gets more sunshine than any other. My hotel has also been the perfect chill out resort - lovely rooms, a great pool by the beach and a restaurant serving amazing food. It's on the pricey side for this country (around 50 quid a night) but when you consider that in England that wouldn't buy a room in a fucking Travelodge, it puts it into perspective.

Having a really nice place to stay has helped in Mui Ne as I have not been that impressed with the nightlife. There are plenty of decent bars and restaurants, but it is more the geography of the area that is a problem. Mui Ne isn't really a place - it's more a long road of resorts by the beach, and everything is very spread out. At night it all appears uninviting and rather desolate, so I've prefered to eat in the hotel's restaurant by the beach and then read books in the garden outside my room. And chug back a few beers, obviously.

I have never been on holiday anywhere in the world where there are so few British holidaymakers. I came across one group at the yellow sand dunes on Tuesday, but that's it. Everyone else is overwhelmingly German. There are lots of Germans here, but the mildly amusing thing is that the locals can only communicate in English with them. I wonder why there are so few Brits here compared to the hordes that descend on Thailand. Strange...

I've tried to avoid the news while I've been away, but there were two events yesterday that it was impossible to ignore. David Cameron's son died and a plane crashed in Amsterdam. The coverage I then watched on CNN and the BBC World News Channel intrigued me. Firstly, neither mentioned Cameron at all. This is unsurprising in a way given that hardly anyone outside of the UK will have heard of him, but then again English football gets saturation coverage across the news networks over here. What also intrigued me was the CNN coverage of the Amsterdam crash. They hadn't got a fucking clue what was going on, how many people were affected or anything. Their coverage was totally reliant on following people on Twitter who were close to the scene. What this says about the state and future of the news industry is a moot point.

Tomorrow, and indeed Saturday, are going to be gruelling days. I'm determined to get up in time to have my first breakfast of the holiday and spend a couple of hours by the pool before my car picks me up at noon to take me to Saigon. Then it's a four to five hour drive, and a couple of hours' wait at the airport. I then have a three hour flight to Hong Kong, a two hour wait at the airport and a 12 hour flight back to London. Oh and then there is the worst bit - travelling across London...

sand dunes

On Tuesday I decided to go and visit the sand dunes of Mui Ne, which are apparently one of the more photographed parts of the tourist trail in Vietnam.

You need to hire a driver and a jeep to get to them, which costs around $40 for an afternoon. At least this tour started at a civilsed time. We set off at 2pm in a jeep that must have been about 30 years old at least, and may well have been used in the Vietnam War. I sat back and felt relieved there was no 8am starts, buses and puking on this tour.

Our first stop was the Fairy Spring, which is basically a stream that flows down from the dunes and to the sea. You can walk through it and there are even a few people doing a nice little trade of selling cans of Tiger beer by the side of the water. It was very nice, although I did misjudge the depth of the water at one stage and almost end up arse over tit.

We then drove past a fishing village with a gorgeous fleet of boats and to our next destination, which was a valley of bright red rock and sandstone. I would tell you what it's called but there is no reference to it at all in Lonely Planet, which I find bizarre. It felt more like I was in the centre of Australia than Vietnam.

After half an hour of taking photos and wandering about, we then set off for the yellow sand dunes. Upon arrival I was left literally open mouthed at the sheer beauty of them. If I felt like I was in Australia earlier, now it felt like the Sahara desert. Words cannot describe what an incredibly beautiful part of the world this is. As I climbed my way up the dunes, I felt so grateful that I had the opportunity to see these dunes. I'm not sure who I felt grateful to, but I did feel grateful. At the summit, I cracked open a beer and noticed a group of English travellers had decided to mark getting to the top in similar fashion. Well it is hard work climbing up sand dunes, you know...

I spent an hour at the yellow dunes before we then headed off to the red dunes to see the sun set. Again, the scenery was stunning as the sun fell behind the vast hills of red sand with the sea behind us. And again, I cracked open a beer.

What a magical afternoon, and what an amazing country this is.

mui ne beach

If only every Monday could be like this. I have spent the day just laying by the gorgeous Mui Ne beach, reading and getting a tad sun burnt.

I can never normally summon the attention span to be by a beach for too long, if that makes sense. I can walk along one and drink by one, but just sitting still and doing nothing has never really been my bag. Today was the exception.

Mui Ne beach, on the south eastern coast of Vietnam, is stunning. Its only down side, from my perspective, is the wind and choppy waters. These conditions make it a prime haven for surfers and thrill seekers, while I prefer utter tranqulity and for the sea to be as clear and calm as posssible.

I waited until a respectable 2.30pm to have my first beer of the day, and then spent the afternoon engrossed in Tony Benn's diaries from 2001 to 2007. This is my third book of the holiday (I've just finished reading Fatherland by Robert Harris, an excellent thriller set in 1960s Germany as if the Nazis had won the war) and I've been very lucky with my choices so far. I would say that having a good book is the most essential element of travelling alone. Provided you can lose yourself in whatever you're reading, you can forget whatever else pops into your mind when alone. Last year in this part of the world I didn't like two of the books I had taken with me and was reduced to buying copies of The Sun that had been imported.

I've not been reading the news from home while away, but I have been looking at the sport every day. You can't escape English football here even if you wanted to. Norwich only drew with Burnley at home on Saturday, a game they really needed to win. It looks bad - we really could end up being relegated to the third tier for the first time in 50 years. Yet further proof that when I get back there will not be many Mondays like the one I've had today...

on the buses...

I fucking hate buses. They make me feel unwell, they are unreliable, boring, claustrophobic, smelly and just generally fucking shite. When I come to power, I shall abolish them.

Unfortunately, bus is the only way you can get from Nha Trang to Mui Ne (my next destination) so I had no choice. I also had no choice over what time the bastard thing would depart. It was either 8am or 8pm for a supposed four hour journey - no in between, no civilised late morning departure, just the crack of dawn or the arse end of the day.

The bus was at least on time as it picked me up from my hotel at 8am on Sunday morning. This was as good as it was going to get. We then spent half an hour waiting for one person to get on board at another hotel. We then spent another half an hour at a petrol station - not to get petrol, but to allow the driver to speak to what seemed to be one of his mates.

As we made our way out of Nha Trang, I noticed the landscape was different to other parts of Vietnam I had seen so far. Gone were the lush green paddie fields. This was barren and rocky - more akin to the American mid west than anything I had seen in Asia before. It was still very attractive.

After a couple of hours, we stopped at a roadside restaurant/shop of sorts. I felt queasy as I got off the bus, and then felt even worse as we were greeted by this establishment choosing to belt out at full volume what can only be described as a load of shit Euro pop. I didn't know what was making me feel more ill, the bus or the music...

When we were back on the road, the driver then proceeded to go the wrong way and miss a stop where people were waiting to get on the bus. By the time we got to Mui Ne it was almost 2pm and we had been on the road for six hours - two longer than scheduled. When I have to return to Saigon from here, I'll be getting a taxi. I don't care how much it costs. Fucking buses...

Anyway, I shall stop whining now. Mui Ne has a terrific beach and I am looking forward to this leg of the trip. However I am typing this from a bar which just played a Gary Glitter number. A bit tasteless, wouldn't you say?!

beside the seaside, beside the sea...

It's easy to forget when you're on holiday what day of the week it is. Or indeed whether which day it is actually means anthing. It's not as if any normal person will turn down a beer on the grounds that it is a Monday lunch time. Saturday afternoon in Nha Trang, however, really did feel like a Saturday afternoon. Locals played football on the beach, everyone seemed to walk round with a smile on their face and, of course, the sun was shining.

I had been planning to leave Nha Trang on Friday. Although I do really like the place, there is something a bit too 'nice' about it, too catered for the tourist market, too unlike South East Asia. So on Thursday afternoon I decided to leave the next day for Mui Ne - about a four hour journey down the coast. Then a spanner was thrown in the works - I got pissed. Let me explain. It was my first full day in the place, the weather was lovely and it would have been such a shame to be an internet cafe booking hotels rather than sitting outside enjoying a beer. So, I left it until the sun set just after six, identified a place to stay online, went back to my hotel, cracked open another beer and rang them up to reserve a room. They were fully booked. In no mood to trawl the web for alternatives, I decided to just chill out in Nha Trang a bit longer.

There is nothing to do here apart from sit in the sun and chug beer. I know there is probably more to life than that, but it is good fun...

nha trang

When I walked into the Red Apple backpacker bar late on Wednesday night, it appeared to confirm all the stereotypes I had heard about Nha Trang.

Two young women were dancing on their chairs as the DJ pumped out 'Down Under' by Men at Work into the streets. One English traveller was stumbling all over the place, and looked like he was about to be sick. Every drink at the bar came free with an obligatory free shot of apple schnapps.

Nha Trang has a reputation for being the party town on Vietnam's tourist trail. I was half expecting to find Asia's answer to San Antonio in Ibiza. In truth, it is not as bad as it might sound given what I just described. Although there were drunken travellers in that bar, it was the only venue in the area that had many people in it, so I would not wish to give the impression that this is a vomit drenched place beseiged by boistrous backpackers.

I got chatting to a group of Israeli and Italian travellers in the bar. One of the subjects they brought up was the relative absence of 'Britpackers' in Vietnam - something I had already noticed myself. I was told that a couple of years ago people would be spilling out of the bars late at night in places like Nha Trang. 'Europe is really hurting,' said one Italian, who put the absence of the young travelling hordes at the door of the recession. I'm still not so sure. I wouldn't mind betting there are quite a lot of them puking up on the floor of bars in places like Cairns at the moment.

Anyway, Nha Trang is a pleasant place with a fantastic beach. It is totally geared for mass tourism. The streets are immaculately clean. There are loads of hotels, and to be honest there isn't much about the place to indicate that it is in Vietnam. It's a resort. You really could be anywhere.

That all said, it is without question a beautiful city. Plus if it's sunny, 30 degrees and the beer is flowing, you won't hear too many words of complaint from me...

danang to nha trang

Danang seemed dank and dirty as my taxi drove me from Hoi An to the train station. What a difference the rain had made. Four days ago in the blazing sunshine, it appeared like a bustling city set beneath beautiful surroundings. Now, it looked like a shit hole.

I had to wait a good 45 minutes at the station before being able to board my train to NhaTrang. This was the Hanoi to Saigon service - a journey that takes 39 hours if you complete it in full. Can you imagine what that would be like?! Because of the length of the trip, anyone can book a bed for any leg of the journey in a shared room with three other people. I decided against this option. I didn't see the point given that I was travelling during the day, and also didn't fancy walking into a room that three people had been sharing all night from Hanoi.

As I boarded carriage A of the 13.15 service, it became clear this was to be no ordinary train journey. Most people had been here since the train left last night. The floor was covered in litter. People looked knackered, their feet rested upon anything possible, desperate for sleep but unable to get any. At this point, I didn't wonder so much why I hadn't booked a bed for my journey, but more why anyone would put themselves through this for 39 hours.

The train jurked its way out of Danang, and I opened a beer, put on my ipod and started reading a book. These three things can insulate you against pretty much anything. As we headed south, I hoped the weather would improve, and at times the sun did shine through the very dark clouds, but it was only a brief respite. I suppose, in a way, I was lucky to be travelling on a day when the weather was rubbish, rather than being at a beach resort, but I couldn't help feel cheated of the views I could have got of Vietnam's gorgeous landscape.

After a few hours, I moved to the 'restaurant' car at the front of the train. This carriage didn't look as if it had been cleaned or changed in 50 years. The wooden benches were chipped and cracked, the lamps were covered in ash and the floor was filthy. I sat looking out of the open window at the lush green countryside sipping beer, while Vietnamese men dragged on strong cigarettes and the train staff served up plates of rice from one of the biggest cooking dishes I have ever seen. This was why I had travelled by train.

There was just one stop on our epic journey - the station of Dieu Tri, where people alight for the beach resort of Quy Nhon. The weather was really bad when we got here. Rain battered the windows of the train, mist and darkness loomed outside. The cool air conditioning on the train also meant I felt like I was anywhere but South East Asia. It was as if I had arrived at a remote part of the Scottish Highlands in the middle of winter...

Just before 10pm, and a little under nine hours after we had departed Denang, the train arrived in Nha Trang. As I stumbled off after sinking 12 cans of Tiger beer, I was relieved to see the rain had not affected this part of 'Nam and it was very warm even at 10pm...

a cockroach! a cockroach!

Today (Wednesday 18 February) is probably a good day to be leaving Hoi An given that it is pissing down with rain.

I am getting the train down to Nha Trang, which takes a quite considerable eight hours. You can fly there from nearby Danang and it takes less than an hour, but I don't want to do that. For some, getting to the next place as quickly as possible is more important. I would rather see more of the country than the departures and arrival halls of airports. Whether or not I still feel like that half way through the journey remains to be seen!

I'm armed with lots of booze, books and a fully charged ipod, so everything should be ok. On the subject of books, I've just finished reading my first of the trip - Flat Earth News by Nick Davies. It is an excellent account of how the world of media and PR has become utterly unscrupulous and unreliable, although as it is an account of the industry I work in, I'm not sure if it was exactly the right choice of reading to kick off my holiday...

One final comment on Hoi An before I fuck off. There were far more older, European tourists here than you normally see in this part of the world. This is no bad thing, but it got me thinking. Where are the British and Irish backpackers? Surely they can't all be so classless that the prevelance of culture rather than clubs in Hoi An means it gets missed off their trip? Perhaps they are all in Australia, where it is still summer. Maybe they've been credit crunched. Maybe they're all in Nha Trang...

There was an amusing incident involving a group of older English tourists (late 50s) last night. They were in a splendidly decadent bar on the riverfront (as was I) where the paint is coming off the walls and you can drink red wine for 50p a glass. It quickly became evident this was their first trip to SE Asia when a woman in their group started screaching when she saw a cockroach running up the wall. Not an unusual sight in this part of the world, and judging by her reaction you would have thought it had run up her leg and into her pants. There did then follow something that I must admit I found a little squeamish. A gorgeous little kitten that hangs around in the bar and normally does nothing more than rub against the leg of customers, saw the cockroach, ran for it, got in his mouth and then proceeded to much it to bits all over the floor. Don't they sell Whiskers out here?

hanging out in hoi ain

In Hoi An you don't really have to do very much to enjoy everything it has to offer. There is no real need to go on tours, trips or anything else - you can soak it all up just by hanging around.

For the last two days I've hired a bicycle to get around the town and to the beach, which is roughly a couple of miles away. It's been ages since I've ridden a bike. Part of that is down to my pathological hatred of cyclists in London, and I'd forgotten how much fun it can be - particularly if you're riding round a place as gorgeous as Hoi An.

So the last few days have basically followed this pattern. Get up, get some breakfast. Go for a ride in the lush green countryside, maybe stop for a beer. Ride to the beach, maybe stop for several beers. Ride back to town, maybe stop for a beer by the river. Get back to town, and you, erm, get the picture.

It has been incredibly good fun - helped by perfect weather. The sun has been shining, but there has also been a cool breeze blowing that has made cycling a very comfortable experience. There isn't much traffic around either, so riding a bike is not as stressful an experience as it would be in most of Vietnam.

I really can't fault Hoi An and will be sorry to leave tomorrow (Wednesday), although four days here has been enough for me to see everything. Interestingly, I shared a few drinks the other night with a French girl who is on holiday here, who said she wasn't keen on the place. Her reason is that she is constantly being hassled to buy stuff comapred to other places (there is a plethora of renowned clothes shops here, specialisiung in silk) while I have relatively been left alone. I did try and comfort her with the thought that at least she is having to put up with people trying to sell her stylish clothes. I have had only pimps and dealers hassle me in this country!

Tonight I will get my last chance to eat in one of the many fine restaurants of Hoi An. Then tomorrow it's off to Nha Trang, the main beach party resort further down the south coast, for what is likely to be a very different experience...

hoi an

Several people had said to me before I came to Vietnam that one of the highlights would be the town of Hoi An. They were spot on.

If you were to ask me to write down all the attributes of what constiutues a perfect holiday location, this place would pretty much have the lot. It is a town with incredible culture and charm, and a relaxing antidote to some of this country's more frenetic tourist destinations.

Hoi An is a very small place, but that in itself is part of the attraction. The ancient centre of the town - clusterted around two rivers - is very colonial French in its architecture, but also includes pagodas going back to the 15th century. It is exceptionally well kept, cars are banned from certain streets and if the locals are trying to sell stuff, it's boat trips and paintings rather than hookers and hash.

I cannot speak highly enough about this place. I arrived on Saturday 14 February, with a hotel booked for two nights. By the end of the day I had extended it to three. By Sunday lunch time I had made that four.

My experience of Hoi An didn't get off to the best of starts, but that was my fault. I somehow managed to get lost on my way from the hotel to the town centre - quite an achievement in a place this size. And so I found myself walking out of town instead of into it, and along streets that were not as inviting as the guide books suggested. It was a relief to discover I was walking the wrong way. I had done the equivalent of arriving in London to visit Buckingham Palace, only to find myself walking through an industrial estate in Croydon.

When I did find myself in the centre of Hoi An, I was immediately charmed by the place. There are restaurants serving the most amazing food, really cool bars, heaps of cultural 'stuff' and lots of shops. Handmade clothing is a speciality here, if you like that sort of thing.

My hotel is wicked. For a avery affordable price, I have a large traditionally decorated room with all mod cons and a balcony looking over a paddy field. It's absolutely perfect for what I need. On Saturday night I came back from the bars and had a choice of three live games I could watch from the Premier League and FA Cup on tv. Getting home from the boozer and watching the footy is something I've done many times, but not in tropical heat overlooking a paddy field...

If all that wasn't enough, a few kilometers away is an amazing beach. However it says much about Hoi An's appeal that most people prefer to stay in the town rather than sit on the sand.

If you haven't been here before, make sure you do. If you have already, make sure you do so again.

from hue to hoi an

On Saturday morning I left the pleasant city of Hue to travel 130km south towards the small town of Hoi An.

Hoi An is not accessible by rail, so with a heavy heart I resigned myself to getting there by bus. When I went to book a ticket, I was told I would have to leave at 8 in the morning and that the journey could take five hours - although it would cost only $5. Another option would be to pay for a car to take me there. It would be considerably more expensive ($60) but I could leave when I wanted, stop where and when I wanted to en route and sit in the back of an air conditioned car rather than a packed bus. With memories of my last bus journey in Vietnam and subsequent puking still fresh in my mind, I appiled my usual financial analysis to such issues, thought 'fuck it' and booked the car.

We set off at the civilised time of 10am from Hue. The roads seemed to go from being in good condition in some areas to near unpassable in others, and it made the journey uncomfortable at times. At least they were better than those in Cambodia, I thought. Mind you that isn't much of a gloss to put on things. It's a bit like picking up a minger in a club and then consoling yourself the next day with the thought that at least it wasn't Kenneth Clarke...

About an hour into the journey, we started to drive through some of the most breathtaking natural scenery I have ever come across. When I get the USB cord on my camera sorted out I will upoload some of the pictures I took because nothing I type can do justice to this part of Vietnam. Lush green fields, stunning mountain views and glistening lakes - it was fantastic. Then at the foot of the mountain we came to Lang Co beach, which looked beautiful on what was a perfect sunny day. We stopped to take endless photographs.

Our next stop was close to the city of Danang, where old American pillar boxes overlook the forested side of mountains for miles and miles. Again, the views were incredible. And again, there was the predictable hassle of people trying to sell stuff. I had to tell one woman more than ten times that I didn't want to buy a necklace from her. I bet the Americans didn't have to put up with this crap when they were here. As if a soldier letting loose on a machine gun would be interrupted by someone saying 'please mister you buy necklace for your girlfriend'. So why should I have to!

The stunning scenery did actually get me thinking about the war again. It may have been a terrible, terrible ordeal to have gone through that conflict, but I can think of worse places to be drafted into battle. At least the yanks didn't have to fight communism in somewhere like Belgium...

We then drove through Vietnam's fourth largest city, Danang. It seemed really pleasant, with the tree-lined boulevards and light traffic contrasting sharply with what I had come across in Saigon. Just outside the city is the famous China beach, which is now home to endless spanking new luxury resorts.

Eventually we arrived in Hoi An just before 2pm. It had been a really nice journey, but as I will explain in a later blog, the best part of the trip was to come as I explored this wonderful, quaint and relaxed little town...

citadel

I opened the curtains of my hotel room at around 10.30 this morning to reveal a glorious looking sunny day. Forgetting about my mild hangover at once, I ventured up to the rooftop pool to enjoy the conditions.

It was obviously going to be a very hot day, and I felt relaxed and contented as I looked out from the pool across the skyline of Hue. It was at this rooftop location that I had also spent much of last night. The great views and pool side location bettered all of this small city's bars - although that is not to say there is anything wrong with them.

Remaining within the confines of this excellent hotel - not something I would normally do - also had the advantages of avoiding the pests, pushers and pimps that line the streets of the main tourist area. These 'touts' are a lot more aggressive than those in Saigon - probably because they have fewer people to pick on - and can be quite annoying. As always, the script is to first ask if you want a motorbike. Then marijuana. And then a prostitute. I wonder if they do a special discount if you use all three at the same time? One of them did make me literally laugh out loud when he asked if I wanted to hire a motorbike to race him. Obviously on streets containing thousands of bikes and where nobody pays any regard for traffic law or basic common sense, what I really wanted to do was race someone...

Anyway, after a spot of light brunch and having booked my next leg of travel and accommodation, I ventured off towards The Citadel in Hue. This is the main attraction of the place - a vast array of old imperial buildings and temples. I nearly fried in the heat while walking along the beautifully named Perfume River to get there, but it was worth it. The buildings are very impressive, and you can see why this has named a World Heritage site. What is more difficult to understand is that for many years the buildings were left dilapidated, and at one stage seemed destined for demolition. Definitely worth a visit.

By mid afternoon I'd done enough walking, and set about finding a bar to enjoy the sunshine from. Lots of other travellers seemed to have the same idea. Many were sat outside with a glass of local beer (average cost 35p) in front of them, reading a book and with a smile on their faces. Sounds corny, I know, but it was a great atmosphere in which to just watch the world go by.

Ok, time for some more beer and dinner...

hue are ya

I got to Ho Chi Minh Airport a good hour before my flight up the coast to Hue - and still came within the skin of my teeth of missing it.

There was a huge queue of people waiting to check in for all the internal flights, but only a handful of staff from Vietnam Airways actually dealing with anyone. Most were sat a nearby desk, where they catered exclusively for those passengers travelling business class. You would have thought a bit of common sense would have prevailed here so that people didn't miss their flights, or that they were not delayed, but no. Although to be fair most airlines, train companies or whoever will invariably adopt a similar approach. Money talks, wherever you are in the world.

The queue to check in also wouldn't have been quite so long were it not for the obscene amounts of baggage some people had with them. I stood behind one western couple who, between them, were carrying six suitcases and five items of various hand luggage. Why do people need to take most of their wardrobe and half a fucking cosmetics store on holiday with them? I appreciate bundling a few t-shirts in a backpack is not everyone's cup of tea, but the vanity of these individuals - and they are always couples - really winds me up when I'm trying not to miss a flight...

Anyway, the flight up to Hue took just over an hour when we finally got everyone on board. Hue is the capital of the Nguyen emperors, and its complex of monuments is a Unesco designated World Heritage site. Lonely Planet recommends the place 'if art and architecture matter more to you than beaches and beer'. I would be lying if I tried to pretend that was my priority over the course of this holiday, but I'm looking forward to a couple of relaxing days that will be totally different to the intensity of Hong Kong and Saigon.

The hotel that will be my home for the next two nights is a marked improvement on the others I have stayed in so far. It is clean and modern, but in keeping with traditon. My room is large and has a balcony, and there is a rooftop pool and bar (pictured above).

After checking in and dumping my stuff, I went for a stroll. It quickly became evident that Hue attracts a much older tourist crowd than some of the more backpacker orientated destinations. I was also struck by the large number of American couples who appeared to be in their early 60s or so. If you 'do the math', that would make the male roughly around fighting age during the war, and probably coming back to visit - as quite a number have been known to do. I saw one such couple buying a postcard off a young Vietnamese boy earlier, before sitting down on the table next to me in a bar. The man had a scar on his face, and after he had handed over some money and said a warm goodbye to the lad, you could see he had tears in his eyes. I struggled to stop staring and wonder what was going through his head. Maybe he was back here for the first time and felt emotional happiness at the wildly different circumstances of his trip. Maybe he was thinking of seeing children that age dead in Vietnam 40 years ago. I don't know.

thoughts on saigon

Today (Thursday 12 Feb) is my last in Saigon before I fly up to city of Hue on Vietnam's central coast.

I certainly won't be forgetting the four days I've spent here in a hurry. It is without doubt one of the most full-on and frenetic cities you could hope to visit, but at the same time unquestionably welcoming and friendly.

Crossing the road here should be an activity on the Krypton Factor. There is no let up in the sheer number of scooters driving through the streets - and they pay little or no attention to traffic lights or pedestrian crossings - so the only thing you can do is to walk out into the road and dodge them. It actually becomes something you become quite adept at doing, but I must admit to trying wherever possible to cross at the same time as other people and thus use them almost as a human shield!

Saigon is full of great bars and restaurants, and I didn't find the people as pushy as they can be in other cities in this part of the world. The trick is to look as if you know where you're going. As soon as you start looking at bit lost, or glancing at a map, somebody will appear from almost nobody and ask where it is you want to go. When you've told them that actually you're fine, their voice quietens a little and they try to sell you drugs and hookers. To be fair, if that is the right phrase, they do take no for an answer.

For all this city's good points, I wouldn't want to spend any longer here. Its relentless noise can become a bit much after a while, particularly yesterday when I was ill with tummy trouble. In fact, if you're unwell, this is pretty much one of the last places you want to be!

As much as I love the food in South East Asia, I really do go off it if I'm feeling sick. However, one of the advantages of being in a former French colony is that it boasts a significant ex-pat community and lots of restaurants catering for it. So last night I tracked one down in the old colonial district, and swapped my usual diet of noodles for steak in pepper sauce, french fries, warm bread and a large glass of nice red wine. Bloody fantastic it was, too.

cu chi tunnels

There's nothing I dislike more on holiday than having to get up early.

Ideally I don't tend to get up until around noon, so the 8am set off and 7.15am alarm call for today's journey was deeply unwelcome. I was off on a half day tour of the Cu Chi tunnels, an underground network where Viet Cong guerrillas lived and fought during the civil war.

The tunnels are roughly 70km north of Saigon, and it takes a good couple of hours to get there because of the time it takes to crawl through the city's congested streets and sprawling suburbs.

I was really looking forward to this trip - despite the early start. The tunnels are a fascinating detail of the history of the Vietnam war. There was a network of them spanning some 250km at one stage, which allowed Viet Cong forces to mount surprise attacks on American forces. Not surprisingly, the Yanks tried to bomb the fuck out of the tunnels, but to no avail. They were so deep and under such strong rock that the B52s could do nothing about them.

Our tour guide gave us a brief history of the tunnels as we made our way there on the bus. He even explained his own family's role in the conflict, revealing that both his parents and grandparents had fought for the Viet Cong because - and I quote - "they hated the Americans". Not a particularly startling statement, it must be said, but perhaps an unusual one coming from a tour guide speaking to a bus full of international tourists. Actually, it's very easy to forget that it was not just the Americans who fought for the South Vietnamese in the war. Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, South Korea and the Philippines were all here too.

As we approached our destination, I started to feel more and more unwell. I just attributed this to the coach travel and assumed I would feel better as soon as we arrived. Unfortunately, I didn't and over the course of the next half an hour started to feel worse and worse. This culminated in yours truly vomiting quite spectacualrly over the floor as we started our tour through the forest where the tunnels were located. To think that American bombs had once rained down on this soil, and now it was my puke...

I expected chundering to improve my health, but it didn't and I continued to feel unwell throughout the tour. This indicated it was more than travel sickness, and probably a result of the many bugs it is possible to pick up on holiday in South East Asia. An elderly Australian couple took pity on me and gave me water and barley sugar, but I could hardly concentrate as we were shown the entrances to the tunnels and varionus other miliatry parathenalia.

One of the main attractions to a Cu Chi tour is that you can fire an AK47 rifle at a load of empty petrol dumps. I had been up for this, but felt so wretched I decided against it. I did, however, summon up the strength to go underground to crawl through the tunnels. It would have been a hell of a long way to come and not see what I had set out to see, so I braved the intense heat and clambered underground with the rest of the people on the tour. Interesting though it was to see the surreal conditions that people lived and fought in all those years ago, the intense heat and claustrophobic conditions meant it wasn't long before I was climbing back up to daylight.

Fortunately the journey back to Saigon didn't result in any further spewing activity, and I arrived back at my hotel at 3pm, where I took a couple of paracetomol and went to bed for a few hours...

saigon

I arrived in Saigon at around 6pm on Monday night following a pleasant two-and-a-half hour Cathay Pacific from Hong Kong - where I had been charged the equivalent of EIGHT pounds for a pint of fucking Heineken at the airport.

After all the bureaucracy involved with getting a visa to enter Vietnam, it was somewhat surprising and baffling when they didn't even look at it as I handed my passport over upon arrival. I've been held up for longer on domestic flights in the UK.

A car picked me up from the airport to take me to my hotel. The first thing I saw as we journeyed into downtown Saigon was a branch of Pizza Hut, which literally made me sit up straight and do a double take. This wasn't exactly what I anticipated would greet me as I entered a communist state, but I would later realise that this city is full of all kinds of similar, apparent contradictions.

After a frenetic trip down the immensely congested streets of Saigon, I arrived at my extremely basic but conveniently located hotel, dumped my bag and went out to explore. I took an instant liking to the place and felt a great rush of happiness that comes from the balmy heat and familiar smells of being in a city in South East Asia. I found heaps of really good bars - all teeming with travellers from acroos the planet - and guzzled probably a bit too much beer. By the end of the night I may have been shit faced, but the evening had cost me less than that one beer did at Hong Kong airport...

On Tuesday morning I ventured out in search of caffeine to wake me from the slumber of an awful hangover and the lingering effects of jet lag. As I was purchasing a can of red bull from a little shop, a guy came over to me and started to try and flog stuff he had about his person. Not unusual in this part of the world, I grant you, except for what he was trying to sell. I wasn't offered a tour, a guide book, a taxi, or an item of jewellry. This guy was trying to sell me copies of the international editions of British newspapers. In this instance it was the Financial Times and the Daily Mail. Yes, the Daily Mail. Is this really what Ho Chi Minh had in mind when he led the creation of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam? That one day the workers would be able to walk the streets flogging copies of a newspaper ranting on about local councils not emptying the fucking bins on the other side of the world? Somehow, I doubt it.

As I said earlier, Saigon is full of many apparent contradictions. You can walk from the top of one street where there is a statue marking the communist victory to the other end, where there is a Guuci shop. KFC has even got an outlet here.

Having said all of this, I would not for a moment want to give the impression I wasn't enjoying my time here. This is a fantastic city. I just find it interesting that there is a Budweiser advert behind the statue they have erected of Ho Chi Minh...

hong kong

Jet lag is a very strange experience. I went to sleep on Saturday night, woke up at 2am, was wide awake until 5 and then slept until 2pm. I could have stayed in bed all day.

I dragged myself out of bed because, frankly, there ain't much point being abroad if you're just going to sleep. But the fact I even thought about it demonstrated how tired I must have been.

In the afternoon I made my way up to Victoria Peak, which is the principal tourist destination in Hong Kong for its views over the area. You get up the peak by a tram, which is apparently the safest journey in the world - there has never been a single accident on the line. I always find it reassuring to know there has been no human disasters on my chosen mode of transport.

The views from Victoria Peak are breathtaking. You can see across the whole Hong Kong skyline from one side, and then out across the South China Sea from the other. It is noticeably cooler up there too, with a refreshing breeze taking the heat out of the sun.

Unfortunately, this charming location has been raped by just about every chain outlet you could possibly imagine. The first thing you are encountered by upon leaving the tram is a fucking shopping mall. And it just gets worse. I wasn't surprised to find McDonalds, Burger King, Starbucks and all the others up here. I didn't expect that in Hong Kong, of all places, I would find a chill-out tent and a group of hippes taking magic mushrooms. I was, however, a little pissed off with the sheer full-on commercialism. Great views, though...

In the evening I ventured out around Hong Kong's main drinking area in the centre of the island. And for the second evening I retreated back to my hotel room earlier than normal because I just couldn't afford to stay out any longer. A pint of beer can set you back nearly seven quid here - a glass of wine even more. The bars are decent, friendly and lively, but I have never been anywhere so expensive.

I've really enjoyed my time in Hong Kong, but two nights really is all you need -or can afford...

on the shitter

After I had checked into my hotel in Hong Kong, I dumped my stuff and went for a stroll. 'Dumped' would prove to be an operative word.

As I meandered down the streets towards the centre of Hong Kong Island, I was struck by the fact that almost all of the shops seemed to devoted to selling bathroom accessories. I must have walked for about half a mile and all I passed was outlet after outlet flogging toilets. It was utterly bizarre. Is there some kind of cottage industry in selling bogs out here or something? And how do you go about buying one? 'Ah, yes, that one looks like it will give optimum comfort while I'm playing Sudoko. Do you mind if I have a test drive?'

My flight to Hong Kong had been relatively straightforward. We were two hours late taking off while waiting for the plane's wings to be de-iced, but from then onwards it was perfectly relaxing. Fortunately I managed to sleep for roughly half of the flight, which given that I was flying with British Airways was a real relief. I've never liked BA. The planes seem cramped and old, and the staff are stuck up and snooty. It's like a glorified airborne Tory Party conference.

The journey from the airport in Hong Kong to my hotel could not have been more straightforward. Everything in this city is clearly signposted and the public transport is extremely efficient. It's almost difficult to believe the British had anything to do with running the place...

T5

With more Siberian style weather battering Britain on Friday, there was no fucking way I was taking any chances with my journey to Heathrow.

The Piccadilly line could piss off. I set off very early and swallowed the extra cost by taking the Heathrow Express from Paddington. This was no time to be stuck in Hammersmith on a broken down train in a snow storm.

The journey was as uneventful as could be humanly possible and there was not a snowdrop in sight. This meant I arrived at Heathrow absurdly early, but it goes without saying this was preferable to the obvious opposite and thus entirely stress free.

I am now sat in the brand spanking new Terminal 5 waiting for my flight. It's a pretty impressive place, not least because the other four terminals at this airport are so vile. I can't help but think, however, that something better could have been built with the money this place must have cost. For all its comfort and modern facilities, it does feel as if you're sat in the middle of a fuck off great big warehouse.

Snow is falling outside, but it's so wet that there seems to be no chance of it settling until much later. No flights are being cancelled at all. After all the worry this week, it looks like I'll be taking off on time. I think I'll have a beer...

we've gotta get out of this place...

I suppose I shouldn't really be going on holiday.

Such is the bubonic misery the credit crunch has inflicted upon mankind, it would be more appropriate to be seeking mental health counselling, contemplating suicide or - at the very least - using all those 'buy one get one free' vouchers in chain restaurants that just about everyone in the world seems to have e-mailed me over the last few months. That's how desperate things have supposedly become. Thousands and thousands of us are frantically sharing the salvation that is the offer to get a complimentary side dish with every main meal bought at Pizza Express...

In all vague seriousness, I need a break from this misery - even though I really can only barely afford it. February also seems the ideal time to go away for a while. I figured it would make January vaguely tolerable, by the time I'm back it will practically be Spring and everyone will be a little bit cheerier and talking about what festivals they plan to go to in the Summer, instead of the bizarre soul searching that seems to accompany the start of a new year.

For the sixth year in succession my sorry soul will find itself somewhere in Asia, which to my mind is pretty much the best part of the world to go on holiday. Great food, enchanting culture, terrific beaches - and as cheap as Lidl lemonade.

Holidays in Asia never normally pass without incident, either. As I have contemplated this latest jaunt, a whole host of different memories have come flooding back. Nearly crashing a scooter, falling in the sea and ruining a camera, falling in a stream and ruining a phone, having a phone stolen, having a credit card cloned, having a debit card cloned, being virtually held ransom in a slum. I could go on.

The week before my departure has seen the worst weather in the south of England for 18 years. It has dominated everything I have done at work, and nagged incessantly at my mind as I have pondered the possibility of being stranded at Heathrow for days on end. Perhaps I'll be photographed asleep and dribbling on the terminal floor, and then find myself on the front page of the Express beneath a headline that asks IS THIS WHAT BRITAIN HAS COME TO?