Vietnam: No, YOU'RE the Ho...

And so on to another South East Asian country with a violent and depressing recent history!

The taxi ride from the airport into Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC), or Saigon as the locals and most southern Vietnamese still call it, was inauspicious to say the least. All was grime, poverty and noise and for a while we considered heading straight for the train station and getting out of there PDQ. Our hardy traveler spirit prevailed though...

We were given a practical lesson in how to cross the road in HCMC by one of our hotel's playful and smiley staff. This is an artform which requires nerves of steel and a Zen-like philosophy about your place in the traffic mix. First let me explain that there is no such thing as lane discipline in Vietnam, their Highway Code amounting to:

• Every man for himself
• Right of way goes to the biggest vehicle
• Be very, very afraid of buses

As there is a constant fast flow of traffic their is no point waiting for a quiet and safe moment to cross. You take a deep breath, step out and walk very slowly so that the hundreds of motorcyclists can best judge how to avoid you. If this sounds terrifying, it is, but the best thing to do is never look at the buzzing angry traffic bearing down on you, but to keep your eye fixed straight ahead. Otherwise your brain kicks into action and tells you to "F*CKING RUN you idiot!", which would result in bad news for all parties. The closest thing I can compare this process of crossing the road is to the leap of faith required when I stepped off the platform at the Canyon Swing.

I had begun to feel a little travel-weary, and so had a rethink of out plans for Vietnam. To fit in the "must-dos" of the country was going to mean a lot of moving around in a short space of time, and frankly I could no longer be arsed. "Oh, you simply must see the Vietcong tunnels/Ha Long Bay/Sa Pa" Must I? Really?? Is this one of the conditions of my visa? Will the world cease to turn if I don't? Didn't think so...

Refreshed and revived by this decision we went out to dinner, transported by cyclo drivers. These "vehicles" are bicycles with essentially big metal buckets attached to the front that the passenger sits in while an unfeasibly skinny man does the hard pedal work. If being a pedestrian on the streets of HCMC had been scary this was a whole new world of terror.

The story of Saigon cyclo drivers is an interesting but sad one. Before the American War many of them were professionals: doctors, journalists, teachers lawyers, but after the fall of the South to the Communist North they were sent to "re-education camps" to be taught the error of their non-socialist ways. They were further punished on their release (up to 12 years later) by being forbidden to return to their former professions, and not being allowed to even own a house. Most were thus unable to afford to marry and start a family, and remain alone and scratching out a living ferrying around well-fed tourists.

The next day we rode a 7 hour section of the HCMC to Hanoi Reunification Express train to the beach town of Nha Trang. "Express" is, however, a bit of a misnomer as the trains travel at average speeds of 40kph, about the same speed as when the train line opened in 1936. And they say you can't stop progress.

The 6 days in Nha Trang passed in a peaceful haze, punctuated by a few dives and the small matter of turning 30... Although I was dreading this milestone it passed without any major identity crises and was very pleasant, due to calls and messages from lovely friends and the beloved parents, cards and even a couple of gifts! The bottle of breakfast champagne was also a nice treat, but it did cause me to behave in a somewhat unseemly manner on the beach. In my defense it is quite easy to loose control of your volume while "refreshed", but I'm sure the guardians of a group of 8 teenage girls of vacation on the next loungers to me didn't need to hear my comment of "Christ, I wouldn't like to be in charge of that set of jailbait!". You'd think I'd have better manners at my age wouldn't you?

As our guesthouse staff had been fielding my calls and messages all day they soon realized it was my birthday. In a wonderful and touching gesture they bought me a birthday cake and some flowers! I couldn't stop smiling.

And so on to Hanoi. I was expecting a grim, functional and practical city, as befitting a Communist capital, but it was elegant and agreeable, thanks in part to the French colonial architecture and the tree lines streets. Just as much city hubbub and contempt for traffic safety as HCMC, just in a prettier package. However, it was hot and humid to the extent that even my shins were sweating. So after a quick wander around the Old Quarter we sought refuge in Highway 4, a traditional Vietnamese bar and restaurant. After a couple of restorative beers we decided to try a couple of sampler flights of their medicinal liquors with flavours such as sticky rice and bee (honest). Seemingly innocuous when you first swallow, your face soon turns to this when the fire kicks in.

We woke bright and early the next day to see Ho Chi Minh's (translation: "he who enlightens") Mausoleum. It was a little hard to find.

It was a huge disappointment to find out that Uncle Ho's body had been sent off to Moscow for its annual "maintenance" just a couple of days earlier. A bit annoying for the visitor to miss it, but you can't deny him his regular wash and brush up. God knows I need a manicure...

Instead we perused the Ho Chi Minh museum - for 30 cents why not? It was a very impressive museum: very artistic and thoughtful displays. The best part was a photo exhibition which showed Uncle Ho to be a nice smiley bloke who liked a laugh, loved his ciggies, had a good rapport with children and generally someone you wouldn't mind going for a pint with. Ah, the power of the communist propaganda machine!

A very diverting evening was spent at the water Puppet theatre, despite the presence of a rambunctious Italian coach party, for whom I have a special message: learn to queue you ignorant set of pushy loud-mouths. The water puppets were amazing: the movements were so intricate and realistic. The puppeteers are behind a screen waist deep in water, and their skill and dexterity is very impressive. It was also interesting to hear some traditional Vietnamese music and singing. One member of the orchestra appeared to be playing a sewing machine.

When getting out of the taxi at Hanoi airport to catch the flight to Bangkok we had one last amusing Vietnam experience. We were instantly mobbed by a group of teenage girls who all wanted their photos taken with us. I can't imagine who they thought we were, but I rather suspect it was their equivalent of Paul having his photo taken with the Filipino hobbits...