Contemplating the return

Travel is death and rebirth. I opened the door and walked outside - the sky is blue and the trees are green, just as they always have been. Myriad suns have come up and gone down, but for me there is only one, rising and falling, just as breath causes my chest to rise and fall.

What began in Hungary all those months ago is drawing to a close. For the past 9 months, I’ve been trekking across the world, living the life I’ve always dreamed and tasting cultures rich and strange. In the first few weeks of our trip, it began to sink in... this was not a short term holiday, a sneaky 2 weeks of respite received for slavery to the corporate ideal. This was the genuine article.

We left London full of excitement, the promise of an amazing journey mapping out before us. Since landing in Hungary, we’ve travelled through 15 countries, learnt strange languages, and ridden camels, motorbikes, cars, buses, trains, planes and boats. We’ve tasted freezing snows and monsoon rains, and roasted in boiling desert sands.

But the physical locations are merely a part of my journey – I’ve been searching for something deeper, a deeper sense of meaning in my life. In fairy tales, they call this ‘seeking your fortune’. So while travelling around rich and strange countries, I’ve been deliberating: What is in stall for me? What do I want to do with my life? I guess you’d call it a near life experience, and I realised I don’t want to waste time doing things I don’t like - one of my “new” personal goals is to squeeze every last drop out of this life. When I'm behind a computer in an office, I don't feel alive or free, and I'm constantly looking for that precious "thing" - that thing that pushes me to the edge and makes me feel alive and free. There's no one thing that takes me there - I've found 'pieces of gold' in different physical, emotional and mental landscapes around the world. But the thing which most consistently wakes me up is travel.

Altering surroundings, languages and cultures demands my presence, immediately and absolutely. Even the mundane becomes interesting, and the most intense feeling of aliveness results. I catch myself, in an altered moment, awakened, stimulated - just ALIVE. A wise man once said: 'When you feel most alive, find out why, This is one guest you won't greet twice'.

Travel pushes me to consider what's important, what I REALLY want abstracted from the mirage of daily necessity. With a change of culture, society, social norms and the usual parameters of work-eat-sleep, I'm challenged to find meaning without my usual routines, surroundings and demands. In the absence of daily routine, I see what's important to me. Travel inspires me to live.

So what have I learnt? Although the big bright yellow sun beating down appears to be the same as yesterday, it has changed irrevocably as have I. I am older today than I was yesterday, and like all life, I am aware that I will die one day. During my travels, I have attempted to deliberate on this fact - not a morbid contemplation but a practical comparative contemplation. When I view values, thoughts or a particular course of action through the lens of my death, the ultimate umpire, I get a precise sense of value, and understand with clarity what is important and what is not. I ask a question that will define my life, for better or worse: When I inevitably get to the end, what will allow me to look back with satisfaction rather than regret, happiness and fulfilment rather than disappointment?

Tonight, the game shifts for once more time, and we board the big bird bound once more for the land of my birth. It’s been almost three years since the departure, and ‘home’ may have changed though not nearly as much as I have. Old friends and new challenges await, and I’m looking forward to plugging in the new me and answering the questions I posed above with actions. Some big changes are on the horizon...

Jakarta

Considering the melee of other cities in Asia, Jakarta is tame. Sure, there a motorbikes a plenty and pollution, but not on the scale Kuala Lumpur or Bangkok. The travellers ghetto is a quaint little area set around Jalan Jaksa. There’s a smattering of Western food, internet cafe joints and travel agents, but there’s an overwhelming feeling of chill... and the place is so clean. No sweaty puddles of filth or piles of garbage – I’m very impressed. We’ve come to Jakarta on the way to other places – it kind of makes sense to hang out here for a couple of days and see the sights before pushing east.

Since being in Indonesia, I’ve been inundated by curious schoolchildren looking for autographs and photos – anything to prove to their mates that they saw a westerner. Jakarta is no exception. On a visit to the Sukarno Tower, I’m bombed by hundreds of the little buggers and with no escape, I kick up my heels, pull out a few Indonesian words and get photographed, much to our mutual delight. Thankfully one of the teachers ‘saves’ me, and I scamper into the lift to make my escape.

Lake Toba

I’m amazed how BIG this lake is – it takes the boat almost 45 minutes to traverse the lake to Pulau Samosir, the island in the middle. And after the noise of Banda Aceh and Medan, my ears are ringing because this place is so quiet.

Once a popular party island, it now hosts families, groups of schoolchildren and the odd backpacker. Whilst on a Sunday run, I was swamped by a bevy of schoolgirls all intent on practicing their English. I literally had to run away – after 15 minutes, there was an orderly queue with at least 40 youngsters waiting for their turn to ask me my name and where I was from. And this was only the beginning of the fun – after breakfast, marauding tribes of schoolchildren outnumber travellers by at least 100 to 1, and both Steph and I are surrounded by a swarm of children attempting to complete a school project. In hindsight, it’s inspirational to see people so young with such a passion for life, and a cheeky exuberance to go along with it. At the time though, I'd had enough of their crushing enthusiasm.

Northern Sumatra

This is the first place I have travelled to where I have considered not telling people about it. Thus I will not post photos. My guidebook says that this is what everyone is scrambling around Thailand looking for, and I can’t agree more. Mountains rise from the sea, covered in a thick mat of jungle and coconut trees - I’m awed by sweeping bays of deep blue and black basalt outcrops set against deep jungle green. Creaky old bungalows scattered along the thickly wooded slopes overlook a rocky channel of magical aqua-marine water. God was surely in a good mood when she made this place.

It really feels like we are away from civilisation here – there’s a delicious feeling of timelessness and isolation. Coconut trees sway lazily in warm sea breezes, suggesting that the hammock is good place to spend the afternoon, but for me, diving is the preferred pastime. Dangerous currents rip past as the tides change, and the local divers and marine life have adapted to the vicious currents. After a couple of excursions below the water, I’m beginning to get a handle on it. It’s clear that Indonesia’s reputation for world class diving is deserved – I for one will certainly be back.

Banda Aceh

The day dawns bright, the first rays of sunlight tainting the mountains a deep orange. A night bus trip is in its final stages, and I for one am glad – each trip like this weakens my resolve to take another. We’re heading north towards Banda Aceh and Pulau Weh, a small island off the northern tip of Sumatra. As we arrive at the bus station and take a taxi into town, I can’t see any remnants of the tsunami which hit Banda Aceh particularly hard in December of 2004. In the hotel we stay in, photos cover the walls which defy belief – mounds of rubble and bodies by the dozen. In the South East Asia this week, a tsunami decimated parts of Samoa and Tonga, a hurricane brought floodwaters to many areas in the Philippines, and an earthquake destroyed the city of Padang and many villages in North Sumatra, just a few hundred kilometres south from where we are right now.

I’m feeling really down about the whole situation. The news keeps playing the same stories and I’m conscious of the discrepancy of tourism in the midst of turmoil. In Banda Aceh, a lone mosque stood among the handful of buildings which survived the 2004 tsunami, standing in silent testament to the horrors which befell the area almost 5 years ago. The mosque gave inhabitants comfort in their time of tribulation, and now, seeing the mosque and the city of Banda Aceh 5 years on gives me comfort, knowing that human spirit in a million different manifestations rises to the challenges that life presents.

Bukit Lawang

Perched on the edge of a mountain range draped with thick jungle, Bukit Lawang is a sleepy little village three hours from Medan. Another indication that we have changed country – the roads are narrow with crater sized holes and way too much traffic. Although it looks manic, it brings a smile to my face as everything works almost too well - weaving through the cars, bikes, trucks and buses with horn constantly depressed is business as usual. In the jungle near Bukit Laweng there’s an orang-utan sanctuary, and I’m keen to catch a glimpse of these amazing creatures in the wild.

The sanctuary is a sort of half way house for orang-utans – there’s feeding times twice a day for rehabilitated animals. We scramble up the path and sit in silence, anticipation building, waiting for the orang-utans to swing in. The ranger bangs his bucket, and waits. I close my eyes and listen to the silence... just the sounds of nature - wind in the trees, small birds singing and crickets calling. Then there’s a crash, and a female orang-utan appears high in the canopy, along with her offspring. There’s a low murmur, and I watch with expectancy as she assesses the situation and gently swings in. It’s an absolutely amazing spectacle to see this magnificent wild animal approach. The swings are relaxed and precise, as she shifts her weight gently but decisively through the branches.

The ranger carries his bucket over to the crowd, and sits really close to me – before long the beautiful creature swings in to avail itself of a free feed. As I watch her at close range, I can see her eyes brim with knowledge and wisdom – so much like a human’s eyes – and its a powerful experience just to be sitting there in her presence. I think this is one of the moments I will remember for a lifetime, and one thing’s for sure - I have a smile on my face as wide than the Pacific Ocean that nothing can take off.

Medan

It’s a relatively quick trip across the Strait of Mellaca, but it feels like we have stepped back 30 years. We’re shunted through an archaic terminal to immigration, and then marched back to the boat to pick up our luggage.

Old clapped out buses ply the route between the port and the city of Medan, the capital of Sumatra, and we board the waiting machine and sit back as the weak air conditioner tries vainly to cool the damp, hot atmosphere. The bus keeps filling until it is standing room only, and more people pour into the aisle. Medan is hot and dusty, and all forms of car, truck, bus and bike battle for supremacy on the roads.

At dinner, I’m sitting at a travellers cafe and CNN is on the tube... and we see for the first time that a huge earthquake has decimated Pedang, a city a couple of hundred kilometres to the south. There’s an awful sinking feeling in my stomach as I think about the people being dragged from the rubble alive, and those not so fortunate. Our plan was to visit Pedang, but there’s no way I’m going anywhere near it – I feel almost guilty having leisure time in the country where a disaster has occurred.

I cast my mind back to the 2005 tsunami, where images circulated on the internet depicting sunbaking tourists living it up in Phuket while the island was in ruins. That sort of shit is heartless to say the least - my thoughts are with the people of Pedang and surrounding areas, but for this trip we’re adjusting our plans and avoiding the Pedang area altogether.

The Strait of Malacca

Official departure time is 9am, but it’s nearly 10am and we still haven’t started boarding yet... it must be a sign of things to come. I hear that it’s perfectly normal for a boat (or any form of transport) to be a few hours late in Indonesia... welcome back to the rubber time a la Laos.

By 10.30, we’re boarded and on our way, and the sheltered waters give no indication of the rough seas ahead, but they’ve hung up small black plastic vomit bags around the boat. As we round the bottom of the Penang island group, we see the seas, and there’s a collective groan from the passengers.

Within half an hour, people are heaving up their breakfasts left and right. The strain of emptying stomachs can be heard above the sound of the rumbling diesel engines, and the conditions seem to be getting worse. We launch off a particularly large wave, and there’s an almighty gasp, followed by a fresh round of yakking. Some chunder in silence, but most of my fellow passengers were loud chuckers – and some of them deserved an Oscar for their performance.

North by north west Malaysia – the final days

With the Indonesian Visa in hand, we climb aboard a bus and head north, bound for the cool, tea growing area of the Cameron Highlands. As I step of the bus in Tanah Rata, I get an unusual feeling... is that cold? After the past 6 months, where the only coolness has been artificially produced conditioned air, it’s both novel and refreshing to be naturally cold.

After an initial suspicion about a lack of fan in the room, I realise that I’ll need that extra blanket they jokingly brought for me. On the road, I’ve realised the value and importance of simple things – hot showers and comfortable pillows. This place has both in abundant supply, and with the weather a little on the cool side, it’s heavenly to disappear under the blankets with a good book.

The Cameron Highlands is pretty famous (in Malaysia anyway) for tea plantations, so we head out to the biggest in the area, BOC tea. Since living in the UK and travelling in India, my tea appreciation has increased exponentially and the tea they knock out at BOC is pretty much top notch. Scones with jam and cream aren’t too bad either, though I really need the walk back after dominating more than my fair share.

Soon we’re on a bus north again, heading for the north-west Malaysian island of Penang. Stepping out of the air-conditioned bus into the coastal humidity is like being asphyxiated with a warm wet blanket– instantly hot and sticky, and a big shock after the past few days in a cool climate. The boat for Indonesia leaves tomorrow which throws a spanner in our works - we planned to have a couple of days in Penang, but a few is too many... so we’re leaving Penang after spending only one afternoon here.

We scramble for essentials – a good book to read, some pharmaceuticals, and a few odds and ends, and then spend a couple of hours wandering the streets of Little India. I fall in love with India all over again – the mad energy, loud music and genuinely happy faces are inspiring and invigorating. I sense a trip to India on the horizon..

Kuala Lumpur

It's nice to be in a new country, a new mix of culture, language, and religion. It's the end of Ramadan here, the holy Islamic month of fasting, and the streets are heaving with hungry people. Everyone is heading home for the Hari Raya Puasa holidays to see friends and family as is customary in Muslim cultures. We’re just pulling up in KL long enough to organise an Indonesian visa – these holidays mean we need to extend our stay.

Aiming for the cheap (and mostly nasty) Chinatown, in central KL, we find a sweaty little enclave of dank hotel rooms, DVD salesmen and deep fried street food – a thriving hub heaving with energy. Festering puddles line the humid streets, as bags of rubbish steam in the oppressive summer heat. A rat’s dream come true! A new hostel becomes our home away from home for the next 5 days in KL as we wait for the visa shop to open.

After nearly 2 months playing in Thailand, the Thai baht is our term of reference and I'm constantly converting local prices into baht to check thriftiness. KL is somewhat more expensive than Thailand for accommodation, but food is on par. Gonna take me a while to adjust to the new currency, just in time for a new country.

West coast

Once again, I am surprised because my assumptions were not true. I was expecting Phuket to be a seedy hole full of hookers and fat old European tourists. This small slice of the Phuket "community" hang out at Patong, but Phuket is so much more than that little stinky beach.

More ice white sand that Thailand is famous for, amazing mountains dashing into the sea, azure blue water promising amazing diving and swimming and really friendly locals going about their daily business. I can understand how someone would want to head here from western Europe for a couple of weeks to park up on the beach. Phuket gets two thumbs up.

Island hopping

Leaving the ocean side cocoon of Prachup khiri Khan, we head south to Surat Thani for the ferry to Koh Samui. I’ve avoided Koh Samui based on rumours – rumours which were completely unfounded... well sort of. If you head to the main tourist settlement of Chaweng the beach is picture postcard perfect, but expect to find 5 star resorts back to back, and shopping malls by the dozen.

With an international airport, Koh Samui is a top destination for the 2 week holiday makers, and I can see why people come here, but it’s not exactly the scene I’m chasing. Head to the next bay north or south and there’s quiet bays with ice white sand and deep aqua-marine water. Paradise is the reward for persistent searching. We hire a motorbike as old as the hills, who we aptly dub Methuselah – strong as a bull but tired on the long winding ascents – and hit the roads to explore the island.


Looking north across the water from our beach side bungalow, we can see the smaller island of Koh Phagnan, which comes alive once a month for the Full Moon Party (FMP). We’ve purposely planned to arrive after the Full Moon so we miss the crowds and inflated prices. When we arrive three days after the party, locals are still recovering, there’s rubbish lying around the place and the infrastructure is struggling to catch up. Sad that tourists come to Thailand to see beautiful, untouched beaches, and yet contribute to their degradation.

But that's enough of my rant. Being the week post FMP, it’s deliciously quiet and the rain makes it good times for relaxing with a book, and that's exactly what I do.

The unseen coast

So after visiting Thailand half a dozen times, I decided it was time to check out some of the less touristed parts. On the east coast between Bangkok and Chumpon lies around 600kms of untouched and relatively untouristed beaches. Backpackers generally miss this section of the coast in their hurry to visit Full Moon Party beaches and dive sites of the islands of the gulf... and I for one am guilty of this.

We grab a bus from Bangkok, and within 3 hours, we are standing in the central market of Phetchaburi. A dozy cab driver half heartedly asks us where we are going, but as we refuse his services, he retreats to the sanctuary of his tree. The walk to find a hotel takes about an hour, but its such anovelty – the locals are staring at us, inquisitive and interested in the different people walking up the road. Its such a polar opposite to the raging energy of Bangkok, so clean, simple and quiet.

After a few days here, we head south again to Prachuap Khiri Khan, a sleepy seaside town with beautiful beaches, friendly locals and little development. So this is what an untouristed Thai town looks like! We hit the road on a motorbike to explore the area, and amongst the sleepy fiching towns and old air bases, discover a huge science education park complete with oceanic aquarium – and the entrance fee is only 20 baht per person... that’s around 40 pence in Imperial. Can’t even buy a Coke for that! There's sharks and rays, turtles and all sorts of crustaceans, and it's done really well, with a focus on conservation rather than mastication.

Back out ohn the road, I realise how much I’m enjoying the freedom that a motorbike provides – and though the traffic appears crazy at first, once you get a handle on how it works, it's sweet. Thai drivers have an amazing knack of giving way when there is no room and handling the most erratic traffic conditions with the calmness of a Zen monk. I'm sure that I'm not at monastic level yet, and I don't think I'll ever touch the confidence some of these Thais exude - I think they were born on a motorcycle.

Koh Tao

Sunbathing, diving, diving and more diving. That's the plan for Koh Tao. And it's the perfect place for it too - Koh Tao is a paradise seeker's dream, with thin golden sands and luscious green mountains. A massive diving community plies the turquoise waters around the island, and after our recent visits to landlocked countries and polluted beaches, a good dose of diving is just what the doctor ordered.

It's coming into monsoon season is Thailand, which means hot sultry conditions and regular afternoon downpours. Our bungalow sits just on the waterline, smack bang in between the 2 main settlements of Mae Haad and Sairee on the west side of the island. The balcony collects the deliciously cooling sea breeze, and is a perfect vantage point to watch the sunset over a beer. And what a sunset!

A couple of days of settling in later, we take off on our first dive trip. There's been whispers of Whale Sharks in the past few weeks, and I'm fanging to see one. As we head to a dive site, the captain hears on the radio that a Whale Shark is at Chumpon Pinnacle - the opposite way. The captain whips the boat around in a flash, and we're heading for the pinnacle at top speed. We arrive just as other divers are coming up, and drop into an amazing show - one relatively small 10-12 metre long Whale Shark effortlessly cruising between the underwater peaks around Chumpon Pinnacle. There's a whole array of smaller fish tagging along, and we join around 20 other divers watching the amazing creature swim past - simply spectacular.

We slide into a nice relaxed routine of morning dives, afternoon naps and sunset beers, with a few rest days thrown in for sun baking and exploring the island... sounds like a tough life, huh?

Back to the land of smiles

It's like catching up with an old friend after years apart - ah, Bangkok, don't you ever change! The Koh Sahn area has become a decompression chamber for me ever since I started coming to Asia nearly 8 years ago. After nearly a dozen visits, it's second nature so I relax and let my guard down.

A place to tag in, get some stuff we need, and hit the road a few days later. Catch up on cheap internet and tasty street food. Haggle with the same street vendors and visit the same pancake dude. Who says you can't have a routine while travelling the world?

A gritty little town called Battambang

A town like a lot of little towns in Cambodia. A sticky bitumen strip running down the middle, crowded on both sides by shops selling all manner of goods and services. A couple of blocks back is the river, where sweaty seafood restaurants compete for priority along the muddy banks. The smoky smell of charcoal roasted seafood fills the air. Away from the river, the network of bitumen quickly gives way to dusty earth.

The hotel we stay at looks like a scene from a 60's movie - cracked walls and flaking paint, a creaky door and a leaky toilet. The fan sounds like a Cessna on takeoff, and has built up an evil wobble which threatens to detach it from the ceiling. This room could tell some stories, I'll bet.

Battambang was Khmer Rouge heartland during their heyday, and remnants remain if you look hard enough. One of the local tourist sites is a mountain packed to the hilt with Buddha statues and monuments. According to locals, the mountain also boasts a network of caves where Khmer Rouge undertook executions. I can't resist the urge to explore some caves we happen upon, and make a grizzly discovery - a pile of human bones - instantly sending shivers up my spine. I emerge from the cave sweaty and agitated, my mind awash with images of writhing torture and pain. Once again, I find it hard to understand how pure ideas can generate such wicked actions. Can hate ever spawn a positive outcome?

I think my experience in the caves has tipped me over the edge, and I'm glad to see Battambang disappear in the distance. I really enjoyed my time in Cambodia - the people are amazingly friendly and kind, considering their recent history. Nonetheless, as we hurtle towards Poipet and the Thailand border, I'm glad to be heading back in the land of smiles. Next stop, Bangkok.

What Wat is that?

Of all the things that come to mind when you mention Cambodia, it' s hard to imagine the temples of Angkor coming anywhere except number one on the list of amazing sites. And the photos don't do it any justice - this really is an amazing feast for the senses. I would easily put this in a league with the Pyramids of Egypt for sheer scale and magnitude - it demonstrates to me the power of spiritual devotion... really is amazing what people will do in the name of a deity.

The cream of the crop is Angkor Wat, a well preserved 12th century religious monument. This popular Wat is on everyone's itinerary - any moto driver worth his salt takes you to Angkor Wat, and of all the temples in the Angkor period settlement, it's by far the most famous. The crowds and touts are understandably horrendous, and somehow the sunrise is not as spectacular when you share it with thousands of flashing cameras. Still pretty good though - mmm, aren't I a snob?

Because we have an extended stay in Siem Reap, we explore some of the less known temples and we are rewarded by quiet sites, friendly locals and some really well preserved ruins. Some of the temples are dedicated to Hindu gods while others are devoted to Buddhist deities, and the most interesting are a combination of the two.

Although the Khmer Rouge abolished all religion, the temples of Angkor remained largely untouched by their hand. Unfortunately, light fingered treasure hunters helped themselves to a great swathe of priceless Cambodian artifacts evidenced by, among other things, headless statues. The current Cambodian administration are strict with captured opportunists, hopefully keeping the temples in tact for future generations to visit and admire.

Of all the temples, the most interesting one for me was Ta Phrom. Unlike the rest of the temples, Ta Phrom has been 'spared' from a constant preservation and restoration schedule and so the forest is slowly returning to claim the structure. Out of all the temples, it feels the most authentic - I expect a thousand year old temple to have some imperfections. The huge strangler figs stretch their fingers down into the earth, creating a mysterious atmosphere around the ancient walls - it's hard not to sit and soak up the vibes.

Raining on the plains

After the harrowing realities of the Khmer Rouge in Phnom Penh, we head south to the coast with Jamie and Sarah, a couple from Australia and the US respectively. The dust is replaced by mud as the monsoon kicks into high gear, and we scuttle between monsoonal downpours like rock bound crabs between waves.

With a couple of book stores, a few cafes and some quiet bars, Kampot, on the south coast of Cambodia, is a beautiful little town well worth spending a few days exploring. Unfortunately, the weather prevents us getting out of foot, so we commandeer a motorbike with a covered trailer for exploration. We scamper through some caves escorted by some enterprising young Cambodian lads - apparently the Khmer Rouge destroyed some of the Buddhist icons in the cave during their reign and consequently they are in ruins. Cheeky little tour guides ask for 1 US dollar for their services... we oblige. Got to reward enterprise, I reckon.

But after a week lurking around on the south coast, it's time to head north to Siem Reap... apparently there's a few temples up there worth looking at.

A heart of darkness

The Cambodian capital is refreshing different to Vietnam - its grubbier and poorer at first glance, but with open and friendly locals. Cambodia's recent political history looms large over the capital. Although Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge are now long gone, if you listen to the background noise, you can almost hear the voices screaming. The sound of a tortured nation.

An ancient prophecy foretells: A darkness will settle on the people of Cambodia. There will be houses but no people in them, roads but no travellers; the land will be ruled by barbarians with no religion; blood will run so deep as to touch the belly of the elephant. Only the deaf and mute will survive. People will be so hungry that they will run after a dog to fight for a grain of rice that has stuck to its tail.

All across the city are remnants of the oppressive nature of the regime. S21 was a school-cum-prison where the regime interned 20,000 opponents. Seven lived to speak about it. I'm repulsed by the methodical organisation evident during our visit. How humans can embrace and act on such extreme hate for one another is beyond me. The vibe of terror pervades the grounds and buildings, and as we walk around I can feel resonant anguish of thousands of victims. I'm tense and edgy. Each of the prison rooms are adorned with the original beds and torture equipment, giving an overall grizzly, macabre ambiance.

From the prison, we head to the aptly named Killing Fields, where Cambodians in their thousands were slaughtered. My rational mind seeks to attribute some reason to the actions of the Khmer Rouge because I want to believe that there is a reason for what they did. Still, I'm not sure that any reason would come up to scratch. I'm shocked by the cruelty. I can't understand why a quarter of the population, nearly 2 million people, were killed. It's obviously deranged and insane - I can't understand how an idea be so powerful that it severs your connection to your fellow man.

Delta blues

Ten million people and four million motorbikes… It's no surprise that Ho Chi Minh City sees traffic jams of mammoth proportions. HCMC is edgy, energetic and entirely captivating. I've written in previous posts about my attraction to places which do not solely rely on tourism for survival. HCMC is definitely one of those places - at anytime of the day or night, something is happening and there's great food and culture from around the world. An energy bug that's easy to catch...

We cruise up the Cu Chi region, north east of HCMC, where a spider web network of tunnels made the area famous during the ‘Vietnam’ War. At its peak, the tunnel network spread over 250 square kilometres but carpet bombing and post war disrepair have taken their toll on all but a few. The remainder have been developed as a tourist attraction, where fat tourists can struggle through the stinking hot and cramped tunnels and take in the real story of the war ( read vicious anti-American polemic).

With HCMC doing our heads in, we gear up and point south to the Delta, a mass of canals, rivers and mangroves. We catch a boat from Can Tho for a vouryeristic inspection of the floating markets, an interesting and somewhat difficult way to trade goods. The early morning river is heaving with all manner of floating craft filled to the brim with fresh produce.

Most of the traders pay little attention to us, hurrying to complete their bartering in the rain. And as the rain comes pouring down, spirits are dampened and clothes are soaked - time for food and beverages. They say the Mekong rots your feet right off your legs, and with rain and humidity like this, I can't help but agree - my hands and feet and wrinkled like an old man.

Soon we are heading back to the big smoke, ready to head to Cambodia in the morning. Looking back on my one month in Vietnam, I realise I've been really trying hard to like the place. With some notable exceptions aside (Sapa and Ninh Binh), I felt that most Vietnamese are relatively uninterested in me as a tourist - especially in the north of the country. At first, I took this as arrogance - they couldn’t care less if I was there or not. But as I watched the seething rabble, I saw Vietnamese people treating their fellow country men with equal disinterest.

On the roads, motorcycles would fearlessly hurtle around corners without a glance, oftentimes causing serious accidents. I guess with 80 odd million people vying for your attention, it’s overwhelming to pay attention to everyone. I didn’t feel inspired by the passion of the people - unless I was about to spend money I saw glazed eyes. Unlike their Thai cousins, who are friendly and genuinely outgoing, Vietnamese people seriously don’t care. I respect someone who knows what they want- if they make a choice not to interact with me, that’s fine. But when the overwhelming impression is one of nonchalance, I’m curious to understand why. The jury is still out on that one…

South-central Vietnam

The afternoon monsoon, building arrogantly on the horizon, draws air with increasing intensity. Nature in it's pure, unadulterated form, not attributing worth or feeling obligation - it just 'is', wild and free, constantly morphing, never static, ready to release it's collected load. We've finally run into the monsoon in Hoi An, and the rain is refreshing and a great relief all at once - it's actually a novelty to be dodging warm puddles on a steaming, wet street instead of sweltering like a dog.

Hoi An is particularly well known for tailors - at last count there are over 400 tailor shops in the town, and from dawn to dusk, they are on the street corner keen to get your business. The narrow streets are lined with quaint French colonial buildings, and like Hanoi, packed with patisseries and great restaurants. With just one night in Hoi An, it's really just a glorified stopover, so there's no time for tailoring.

South bound in a sleeper bus, before you know it we hit the beach resort town of Nha Trang. I'm keen to do some diving, and head off to check out what's on offer at the various dive establishments. I've heard a few stories about dodgy dive operators here, and my investigations reinforce this rumour. After a few false starts, I choose the largest and oldest company in Nha Trang - sometimes a lower price is just not worth it. Due to dynamite fishing and a building monsoon the diving nowhere near as good as the Red Sea, but I spot some awesome critters including a cool red seahorse and some wicked little nudibranchs. Shit it's good to get back in the water.

Limestone on rice

Strapped to the back of a motorbike is the way to see the sights in the relatively sleepy little town of Ninh Binh. Known colloquially as Halong Bay on rice paddies, it's a great base from which to explore the surrounding rice paddies where limestone karst formations jut out in a surreal fusion of agricultural and geological. At first, it's a bit hairy negotiating the traffic, but vehicle concentration decreases off the main highway and my confidence spikes. Soon we're hurtling up and down various dirt tracks like seasoned locals.

We decide to head up to Coc Phuong National Park, in the mountains behind Ninh Binh, where an endangered Primates Research Centre works to rehabilitate many species of languars and gibbons confiscated from black market traders. Coc Phuong is a world away from the hot, dusty plains - it's cool and quiet and there's so many trees! Clearly, tourists aren't as common up here as in Sapa or Halong Bay - the locals are suprised to see white people, and make a big effort to strike up a conversation. It's a refreshing trend to see National Parks and conservation projects in a developing country like Vietnam, because generally nature is not respected and animals are predominantly seen as food.

Speaking of Vietnamese dietary preferences, check out this menu we spotted. I'm not sure how popular these delicacies are with western travellers - I think even the most seasoned carnivore would have trouble hooking into a dog or a cat. And as for the penis... I've got one and I'm kind of attached to it, so the suggestion of cooking and eating a penis leaves me horrified. There are 2 things I like to use mine for, and putting it into an oven is not one of them!

Sapa dreaming

After the rigours of Vietnamese holiday heaven, I am pining for a cool, laid back atmosphere so I can put up my feet and escape the heat. We catch the night train, aiming for the sleepy mountain oasis of Sapa in the north-west of Vietnam. At Lao Cai, we trade train for mini-van and ascend the windy mountain road towards Sapa.

Each metre we ascend lifts a blanket of heat off, and the moist breeze whipping up the valley brings the promise of cool. The van struggles up the steep road, following an adjacent mountain range draped in white fluffy clouds. The landscape is rich and green; each hillside adorned with a myriad of terraced rice paddies glowing in brilliant apple-lime. Motorcycles weave around us, honking their horns, vying for headway and fearlessly overtaking on blind corners.

The road emerges into a wide valley, with each bend in the road revealing layer upon layer of breathtaking scenery. Eventually Sapa appears, a charming yet ramshackle collection of hotels, eateries and tourism operators. The roadsides in the town are heaving with friendly, multi-lingual hill tribe women in their traditional dress, looking to chat and ply their wares. These enchanting ladies attach themselves to a group of foreigners and follow, and when the time is right, use hard-arm sales tactics to sell their handicrafts. There are so many of them though - I wonder if they make any money at all.

We pull up for breakfast, soaking in the views and enjoying the coffee, before sniffing out a hotel. Our room is nestled around from the main town centre and boasts full 180 degree views of the sweeping valley below. Already, I can tell it's going to be difficult to leave.

Now I've heard about Vietnamese culinary 'delicacies', but on a stroll through the market I came across a particularly grizzly discovery. Along with all the pieces of pig, cow, snake, eel and fish flesh, I saw the face of a friend. That's right, a canine cranium sitting on the bench for sale, along with what looked like Rover ribs. I was horrified, and quickly told Steph to avert her eyes. I have limits, and this is one...

Jewels of the north

Just a hop, skip and a jump up the Highway One on an overnight bus and we're in the heart of it - Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam. Centred around a generously pungent lake, which Hanoins revere with mystical appreciation, Hanoi offers shopping and culinary delights in purpose named streets - each road is named after the commercial venture found there. There are also heaps of fantastic French-style bakeries and patisseries dotted around the central city district, a positive legacy from Vietnam's French colonial past - which means delectable baguettes, croissants and other pastries are on offer. Vietnam is famous for it's mountain grown coffee, a strong earthy brew that the locals can't get enough of. I'm following their lead.

Hanoi is well known for frantic traffic - the public transport is limited to non-existent, and so everyone gets around on motorbikes. Tackling a busy intersection takes some getting used to - the bikes sound like a swarm of angry bees and morph in an organised chaos around cars, buses and pedestrians. The 'green man' appears to guide you across the road, but take his advice at your peril - no one's paying attention to him. It's easier to walk slowly across the road, as motorbikes really do weave around you. Horns rule over traffic lights and you need eyes in the back of your head while you're walking - it's not even safe on the sidewalk.

The monsoon hasn't broken up here yet, and it's almost melting us when the mercury soars to over 40 degrees each day... so we decide to head for the ocean. Out to the north-west of Hanoi is Halong Bay, an amazing group of nearly 1000 limestone karst formations blanketed with jungle thrusting phalically out of the South China Sea. We organise a boat cruise - the perfect way to see the area. As the boat chugs through the calm waters between the pinnacles of limestone, haze in the distance hangs eerily between the rock formations, creating a mysterious air. Included in our trip is kayaking, which turns out badly for some of our group when a kayak sinks... perfect reason why you shouldn't drink and drive. Luckily no one is injured, but the kayak operator is pissed because we can't find the canoe. After some particularly heated words, the kayak proprietor demands an extortionate amount of money, and there are whispers of calling the police. In the end, they agree to pay a lesser amount - still extortionate, but better than the initial amount. Puts an interesting spin on the afternoon though!

Back on the boat, we cruise to a vantage point to enjoy a beautiful sunset across the bay and settle in for a few beverages. In the morning, we head to Cat Ba Island, the largest island in Halong Bay. Due to it's proximity to Hanoi, it's packed to the rafters with predominantly Vietnamese tourists, and population pressure has not treated Cat Ba well. Still, there is some good hiking in the centre of the island with fantastic 360 degree vistas across the entire bay.