Where were we? Ah yes, Nha Trang...
Being a seaside resort, we decided we'd do a spot of sunbathing. And being British, I decided not to apply suncream across all areas of my body equally. Kaori assisted me by missing a couple of key areas of my back, and by the end of the day my skin looked like a photo-negative version of a leopard's skin. A couple of days later these bright red spots peeled and I went from leopard to leper. I thought about buying a vest to show off my new skin but decided against it and bought a t-shirt with a Chinese character on it. Kaori assures me the Chinese character means "wealth" but I'm not convinced. I'm thinking "sunburnt wanker".
The bastards amongst you will be pleased to hear that after talking about it (almost to the point of obsession sometimes) I did eventually have "travellers-diarrhoea" for about 5-days. I also had quite a few stomach cramps and a bit of dizziness, just to add to the enjoyment. It was a bit like Matt when he was hospitalized in Thailand, only no way near as severe and definitely definitely no where near as funny.
After Nha Trang we went to Hoi An, which is a quaint (almost gay) little town/village, famed for it's Japanese bridge (which isn't Japanese) and it's vast array of market stalls selling lampshades and suits. Good combination eh? Lampshades and suits. When I get back to England I'm going to open a shop selling plastic bags and nuclear submarine parts.
From Hoi An to Hue, which is near the DMZ (demilitiarised zone) where some of the fiercest fighting of the war took part. We went on a day trip (my romantic suggestion) to look at some of the sights, and I'm fucking sure they were making most of it up. They'd stop the bus at random intervals and say things like; "this is where the main American airbase was, but the buildings have been destroyed and nature has taken it's course again now" and we'd be sat next to a fucking jungle. When I get back to England (if my shop doesn't take off) I'm going to do tours catering for mainly Asian tourists where I stop at random intervals; "this is where the first Olympics was held in 1254BC, but it's Birmingham City football ground now"; "this is where Jesus was born, it's a dog kennel now"; "this is the famous plastic bag shop".
Kaori did ask me why I was interested in visiting the DMZ, and I replied that I had an keen interest in war and destruction with a particular emphasis on dead people. The dry humour was lost in translation somewhere, and now everytime we pass a cemetery Kaori points it out to me as she thinks it turns me on.
In Hue we also had a couple of interesting meals. The first was run by a deaf-dumb family, which meant pointing at the menu and making strange noises to place an order... nothing new there then. The next was an Indian restaurant, where the waiter & waitress were so keen to talk to us they didn't bring me my beer for 30 minutes, and when they did it was fucking frozen solid. Now I like a laugh and a joke and a sharing of cultures, but don't - DON'T - fuck with my beer. Luckily, I've found somewhere now that serves beer for 10p a glass. It's just opposite this internet cafe actually, which is why I'm typing this so fucking fast there's smoke coming off the keyboard (and I'm fucked if I'm posting any photo's today).
The coach we got from Hue to Hanoi (where we are now) broke down 20km short of the city. After 2-hours talking and pointing at the engine, the drivers (they have two coz they're that shit at driving) decided they couldn't fix it. Luckily they were quick to organise a replacement bus; "ermmmm, bus may come, bus may not, if it does, will be 4 more hours, but may not come at all." Cheers lads. So me, Kaori, two French lads, a Finnish lad and an Israeli girl (there's some strange relationship combinations out there don't you think?) hailed a local bus (for local people), which took us to the city centre bus station that is actually no where near the city centre. We then managed to cram into a minibus (and I mean a fucking MINIbus) with all of our luggage, whilst the highly skilled and knowledgable driver ("do you know where you're going mate?" - "I learn I learn") dodged his way through the mayhem of Hanoi. After a few minutes he suddenly screeched to a halt in the middle of the road, and in an almost-panic started to try and gain access to his glovebox, which was no mean feat with all of the luggage and a Frenchman in the way. He eventually did get in, and what did he pull out? A map? A GPS system? Some cold beer? Nope. A fucking ABBA tape! A fucking ABBA tape!!! So, suddenly, with Dancing Queen blaring out of the stereo, I knew everything was going to be okay. Good job.
Just to update you on the latest travel plans, we have booked a few things now. We booked to go to Halong Bay (a "must see" in Vietnam) on a bus that departed five hours ago with two empty seats (a "must see" we "won't be seeing" then). We've also booked to go to Laos on Sunday. And - AND - after just over two years of avoiding the subject, I've actually booked a ticket home. 25th May. See you then.