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.