Shopping and Ho.

In love with Ho.

Back on dry land we hired bikes for a quick tour of the rest of the island that hadn’t been modelled on Bognor Regis. We decided on the kind with engines despite the lure of pedal power and the urge to pack a picnic, make a den and solve a mystery. We spent a few hours pleasantly honing around, looking like we’d escaped from the special needs boat before escaping back to the luxuries of Hanoi.
In Hanoi we spent the next few days not eating fish, which led us to discover that when birds return, frequently they are burnt to a crisp. Hmm bird's face. The mornings and afternoons escaped from us as we ran around markets, shopping delightedly for tat.
Due to probably completely foreseen circumstances Tim and I visited the Ho Chi Minh Complex by ourselves the next day. This was the site of Ho Chi Minh’s last house, his final resting place and the museum dedicated to his memory. As is normal we turned up with limited time when the mausoleum had closed and the museum was shutting in the next half an hour. Not to be deterred we made a whistle stop tour of the strangest museum we’d ever been in. Without the time to study the exhibits explanatory notices we stared in delight and bemusement at the display of large plastic fruit and the large tower of reflective Perspex standing in a dim room, which in my memory was churning out house music but now I’m not sure if this is wishful thinking. Tim and I could only surmise that large fruit and house music was a particular favourite of the man himself and we left the museum with a love of Ho that any communist would be proud of.
Collecting the village boys we charged towards our flight, avoided Katie Foley, and the city of Ho.
The boys left in a ragged formation, leaving everyone involved in dire need of a holiday.

Another day, another boat.

Forcing the more reluctant of us out of bed with heavy sweet pancakes we were transferred onto our second boat of the trip which although lacked some of the charm of the good boat had stairs up to a sunbathing level. After a day on the hard deck of the good boat and 30 hours on uncomfortable prison bunks some nights before our eyes widened at the sight of two blue judo mats laid out for our comfort. We traipsed through caves that looked tragically man-made with stuttering attempts at explanations from our guides limited English. All we managed to gather from the seemingly most important story was that there had been a war and some Chinese hid in trees, which was very sad. Escaping we settled down to more lying, swimming, not finishing plates of spring rolls, trying not to smell the bowl of fish sauce and kayaking and began to wonder where we were going to sleep.
With his strangely Italian influenced ‘Excusa Me’ the captain informed us we would be changing boats once more. Reluctant to leave our judo mats we were apprehensive at more change until the posh French boat came into view. With wary looks from the crew, who were obviously used to a more refined class of customer, we were shown to our separate rooms with full double beds and separate bathrooms. For reasons only known to French designers there was a window between the toilet and shower room, with an ineffective curtain between them should you be too prudish for this bourgeoisie set-up.
We spent a delightful night on the best boat and were unceremoniously thrown back on the bad boat in the morning, after a swift breakfast of eggs, to Tim’s absolute delight. We gleefully plonked ourselves back onto the judo mats and leant back for more sun worship. After picking up some kayaks and heading off for further exploration of the bay Tim’s engine ear heard a distinct plunk and we came to a stuttering halt. As minutes crept into hours everyone crawled into the foetal position as flashbacks of the prison train flickered before our eyes. We solemnly ate lunch as we watched the ‘engineer’ try to fix the engine with different tactics and methods of bashing but unfortunately to no avail. We could almost hear the fanfare as the crew accepted defeat and best boat appeared on the horizon. We were rescued and set off at an insipid pace towards our last kayaking of the trip. The dirty waters of the thoroughfare didn’t inspire us but it was still the first time all of us made the effort to the leave the vicinity of the boat and we headed for the much visited cove we were pointed to. A quick cool swim and my undignified clamber back into the canoe later, where I almost broke Tim’s finger and realised I only have direct motor control over my left leg, we were heading back to shore content that we had seen the best that the boats of Ha Long Bay had to offer.

Good boat, Bad boat and Best Boat

In my memory the days on the boat all meld into one long lazy day of sun soaking with intermittent jaunts of kayaking, fishing, swimming and man-made caves. However the boats did give the trip some structure in my mind. Even though we quickly noticed that the claim of the only sailboat tour on the island was a blatant lie we were excited about the good boat. We had ass cushions to make us more comfortable and finally the village boys could experience some of the Vietnamese sun they had flown all this way to find.
Soon we found ourselves in relative calm away from the crowds to enjoy the amazing scenery. Ha Long Bay consists of small clusters of boat people living amongst the 1969 islands (the number, not the year) that tower out of the water as you drift by. In the afternoon of the first day the crew hoisted the sails on the good boat, with a little help from Adam's super human strength, and we became characters in a sun-drenched episode of Howard’s Way. The evening meal was served on the top of the boat, a spread we would quickly become over familiar with. The main delight was cooked fish that had been caught on the boat, from which we discovered that real freshness tastes overpoweringly of garlic. This was accompanied by a massive bowl of rice, vegetables and more fried spring rolls than would ever be necessary for a group of 10. We watched the lights of bobbing lanterns as they were released for the delight of the passengers from the posh French boat at the other end of the cove.
As night fell to pitch black darkness the bottles of cheap rum that had been carried on board, to raised eyebrows from the crew, were opened and the evening ended in predictable consequences. Luckily no-one ended up overboard in the black, still water but the communal bed with four mattresses meant that some (one) of us may have wished that was otherwise.

Fat heads on Bus boat bus.

Hanoi was literally a ray of sunshine. It is the capital of Vietnam and the second largest city. Our first impression of the city was that its smaller stature lent it a relative air of calm and tranquillity amidst the familiar strain of motorbike horns. Still craving sun and sea we left for our ultimate destination, Ha Long Bay. We were informed that we could get to the gateway to the thousand fold cluster of island on a bus boat bus combo to Cat Ba Island for a very reasonable fee. We jumped into a taxi made for midgets, which caused some passengers to experience feelings of gigantisism that none of us could explain afterwards.
As our tiny little taxi neared the bus station different men started shouted our destination to each other like it was an order in a fish market, and even though we were early we were shepherded onto a bus that we were told was leaving that very minute. The cunning bastards. We quickly realised we were on the wrong bus but settled back to watch the beautiful sights of the industrial outskirts of industrial Hanoi pass us by. On arrival in Hai Phong, possibly the ugliest place in Viet Nam, we were set upon by a bubbling babbling crowd of motorbike taxi drivers. Hearing Tim’s outrage at their prices in Vietnamese they were disgusted at our refusal to be ripped off as we looked for a taxi. Not to be deterred their quick exchange with the taxi driver meant we were taken to a different location, where women began shouting that this was the last bus to the island. Deja vous ringing in our ears. Dazed and confused we were hustled towards the waiting bus that would take us to the boat and the next bus in the dizzying relay of transportation. I was spitting disgusted rage all over them at their price, which dribbled pathetically down the bus windows as we sped away.
Luckily our life’s savings meant that we were treated to the fast boat and we made it to Cat Ba City before night fall. The City is a strip of identikit tourist hotels and restaurants all offering the exclusive offers for boat trips, climbing or kayaking tours. We booked a three night two day boat trip from the man who had been following us all night, an excellent recommendation, and waited to see what we’d let ourselves in for.

30 hours in prison.

We left Saigon for Nha Trang to get the pasty English men some Vietnamese sun. We packed our buckets and spades and boarded the sleeper train, just a short 5 and a half hour train journey until seaside fun, or so we thought... We crowded into our six berth cabin and ignoring the paper thin mattress we settled down to sleep, wanting to be refreshed for our jaunt by the sea.
The alarm woke us five minutes before we were due to arrive and we took our time as we weren’t expecting to be completely punctual. Rubbing our aching joints, which happened to be any part that was in contact with the hard surface called a bed for more than five minutes we all looked expectantly out into the dim light of a drizzly morning. Disappointed by the lack of sun we were still excited to get out of the confined space. We waited patiently as the train continued to trundle on at a speed British Rail would have been ashamed of until we stopped about an hour later. Our slight annoyance at the hour delay was nothing at the shock we got when we saw the station we’d pulled into and consulted a map. Realising we were still two hours from our destination we sat heavily back onto our bunks, changing position every ten minutes or less.
As the hours stretched on and we began to get panicky from the limited space and the flickering lights we began to wonder what we’d done to deserve this imprisonment. To increase the levels of tension the tannoy barked out orders and talked of unknown horrors we couldn’t understand in the voice of an angry dalek. For most of the journey we watched the day progress as we sat for hours on end at different tiny stations, interspersed with short-lived flurries of motion, steadily becoming more depressed wondering how long we had been sentenced for.
As night fell again we were given our 20 minutes of yard exercise on the platform where we enjoyed a warm can of coke in the rain. After ten minutes the guards decided enough was enough and we were hearded urgently back into our cells by shrill whistles and shouts in case we missed the departure five hours later. We slept, twisting and turning, as our Chinese companion shouted endlessly into his mobile phone. Presumably to his lawyer, he was still there when we got off so god knows what he’d done.
Almost exactly 24 hours after we were due to arrive the train trundled into the station and with no notification of our crimes we were finally set free.
The rain that had caused our delay was still falling heavily as we stumbled towards a hotel. In the alternating rain and gloom Nha Trang wasn’t the seaside paradise we’d been hoping for but instead a wet and boozy stop of Wham shorts and cocktails. With memories of the prison train still haunting us we flew to Hanoi the next day.
They don't let us take photos in prison.

Saigon - nothing to report

Our pull across the world is still strong, either that or the next batch of arrivals were a little lost.
The village boys arrived with rucksacks in hand and pressed their faces to the window of the cab, watching as the Vietnamese tried to kill each other on different modes of transport. We spent some quiet evenings in, the boys appreciated their introduction to noodle soup, enjoyed the array of condiments on offer and eventually we left Ho Chi Minh City.
Saigon – nothing to report. Nothing.