holiday diary – day 21

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Today I awake with a massive headache which doesn’t get me off to the best of starts. It pretty much lasts all day too.

After breakfast we have an emotinal trip to S.21 and the Killing Fields. S.21 is the genocide museum, and the building itself is an old secondary school which Pol Pot converted to a prison during his period in charge before being overthrown. It’s called S.21 because it was security office 21. We learn that before becoming a “mass murdering fuck head” Pol Pot was actually both a teacher and a monk, hard to believe. The prison itself housed over 17,000 people, none of which were ever released, and none of which ever escaped. Classrooms were converted into blocks of 11 cells per room for men and 18 for women, and inside the cell prisoners were shackled at the ankles and given only a US army issue bullet box to go to the toilet in.

Before the visit I had heard of Pol Pot and knew he was a crazy mentalist who killed a lot of his own people, but none of the details. As soon as he took charge he ordered the city of Phnom Penh to be emptied, so people who had come to the city were made to leave. During his reign Phnom Penh was referred to as a ghost town. He also had bizarre distorted views about how communism should be implemented. People who were teachers and doctors, basically anyone who was educated were rounded up. They were told that they would have a role to play in helping to build a new and better society, and then they were taken out and killed. This includes women and children, and if a mother was pregnant it didn’t matter, if she had a young baby, that was killed too. The ideology of communism infers a base level of equality and assumes no differences between the people, but rather than raise the standards and education levels of the lower achieving portion of the population, Pol Pot wanted to lower everyone to the same basic level to build a population of manual workers. It was a kind of social experiment which people now refer to as “year zero” – he was basically trying to start a society from scratch.

People in the prisons were tortured and interrogated, women were raped. A climbing frame which had been used for children to climb ropes was converted into a gallows where people were hung upside down by their feet and dunked into filthy stinking water. Many women, after being tortured and raped, tried to kill themselves by jumping from the upper balconies, so barbed wire was installed around the whole place to prevent anyone else trying the same.

Inside the prison we are shown beds on which some of the more priveleged prisoners slept, though still shackled to it by the ankles. In block B we see the original cells, 2m x 0.8m and no doors – no-one can escape if they are shackled at the ankles and chained to the cell. Prisoners can see each other, but they need permission to do anything – use the toilet, sleep, change from one position to another; there is certainly no talking.

Every prisoner has their picture taken, once from the front, once from the side, as does every soldier. Many of the pictures are displayed throughout the museum, as are photographs of corpses and the bodies of people after they’ve been tortured. Mr Rarn tells us all the different ways people were tortured and interrogated, how the new generation of soldiers try to kill the last, that people have their throats cut or are beaten to death with iron bars. Not all pictures are still available though as before Pol Pot’s people were sent packing after the Vietnamese finally won out, they tried to destroy all evidence of the regime by burning it.

Mr Rarn was born in 1970 and Pol Pot took charge in 1975, when Mr Rarn was just 6. His family were separated, and from what he knows his father died in the jungle, likely from malaria. Some of his siblings died because they starved to death. He himself was sent out into the fields to work, at 6 years old, doing exactly whatever was asked of him. Though thankfully it seems none of his family were murdered by the Khmer Rouge, Pol Pot’s soldiers, the regime clearly had an impact on his family. It was very touching to be there with him as he told us about his family and what happened to them.

All of us very quiet and subdued, we eventually board the bus again and set off for the Killing Fields. This area was where people were brought en mass to be slaughtered and buried. Very often the people themselves would not know the fate that awaited them, because they were being told that they were going to be set free. Once they arrived at the destination though I’m sure there was no disguising what lay ahead. Initially everyone who was brought in one day was killed, but because so many were being brought in the end they had to erect a building to keep them in whilst they waited to be murdered. The building no longer remains. Mr Rarn talks us around the site, and we get to the first mass grave. Many have been excavated to try to understand more about exactly what happened, and also to try to give an accurate figure to the amount of people who were killed under the regime, estimated to be around 3 million. Hundreds of bodies are thrown into the graves, some having their heads removed, mostly the women are naked. If graves are dug to the point where the number of thrown in in one day does not fill it up, someone goes through it to make sure everyone is dead (if the iron bars didn’t do it their throats are cut instead) then the bodies are covered in something (I’ve forgotten what) to surpress the smell and the grave is filled the following day. When a grave is filled, the soldiers are not so fussy as to whether the people in it are completely dead, and many are buried whilst still alive.

Walking from grave to grave Mr Rarn points out fragments of bones and teeth that the rainfall has uncovered, these litter that path that we have to walk from one grave to the next. We are told that the women are mostly buried naked because when they are told they are to be set free they are given a nice new dress to wear. When they arrive at the site of their killing, the dresses are removed to give to other prisoners when they are told the same lies. Scattered around the site are are many remains of clothing of murdered prisoners.

Next to one grave is a huge tree, said to have been used to kill babies by smashing their heads against before tossing them in to their grave where they are buried with their mothers. Another tree is used to hang a loudspeaker from to drown out the noises of wailing, presumably for the benefit of the soldiers. When Mr Rarn tells us these stories he tells us they are relayed by a former Khmer Rouge soldier who has been back to the site to tell tales of what happened as he worked there as a driver. This man apparently tells that he only ever beat 5 people and killed only one, when closely watched by an official. Just one person in 5 years, Mr Rarn doesn’t believe a word, he would have been killed himself. He seemed quite upset that this chap is now a guide freely visiting the killing fields to recount his stories.

Just away from the graves is a huge stupa which contains nothing but piles and piles of skulls, all recovered from graves at the site. They have been cleaned, and the stupa must be 10 metres tall, the skulls stacked on shelves all the way to the top.

The visit knocks us all out a little, and we silently make our way back to the bus where we make our way back to the centre of Phnom Penh.

On the way back Darren, Summer and Steven decide they would like to visit the Russian market, wheras Gaynor, Mrs Tom and myself decide that we would rather visit the National Museum and the Grand Palace, so we drop off the others and head for the riverside part of town. Rafaele suggests a place for lunch called Friends the Restaurant, which is linked to the Makphet restaurant we ate in in Laos. The restaurant employs and trains street children to given them culinary and hospitality skills, as well as the confidence to be part of a better society. Just as before the food is fantastic, very well cooked and beautifully presented. Also the same as Makphet, there is s shop with the restaurant which sells items made by the families of the students, sold to support the foundation.

Once we have finished lunch we head off with Gaynor and Barry over to the National Museum. As I need the loo, Gaynor and Barry head off into the museum with a loose plan that we’ll meet them outside the exit of the palace at 4. We spend an hour checking out the museum exhibits. Before we went, Rafa had told us that it now housed many of the original sculptures and statues from the Angkor Wat temples as many of these had been stolen by thieves to sell. These items date from around the 8th century and it was very cool to see things that old, in many cases still standing in extremely good nick. Other items dated from before the 5th century, referred to as pre-Angkorian. There is also a section of the museum showing a recent excavation of items dating many centuries back which was also exciting.

Once we had finished in the museum tiredness had taken the better of us and so we decided to give the Grand Palace a miss, opting instead to wander over to the bank of the river and sit and rest in the shade, passing the hour to wait for Gaynor and Barry. As we sit we are approached by a girl and what looks like her mother (though I don’t think we ever quite establish their relationship) who tries to sell us water. As we already have some, unlike most of the sellers she is happy to take no for an answer and instead sits to talk to us. Most coversations with locals across the region begin the same way – “where are you from?” – but many also end there. This girl continues in very good English to ask us many more questions and we find out that she is 17, and lives here in Phnom Penh. She goes to school but as English lessons are not free she works to be able to support her English classes. She points to a patch further up from where we sit and tells us that this is where her and her family sleep because they cannot afford a place to stay. As we sit a policeman approaches that I thought was there ensuring we were not being harrassed, but the girl tells us a different story and Mrs Tom tends to agree. She says that the policemen see young pretty girls with no money and assume that they can just have them, so she doesn’t like the police much. All the time he is there she avoids his gaze. It was eye opening to speak to her, but before too long we have to leave to go to meet Barry and Gaynor at the palace exit to share a tuk tuk back to the hotel, so we say goodbye to the girl and move on.

We wait around the exit of the palace for a while but it is difficult to avoid the streams of tuk tuk drivers, beggars and street sellers so we move along. Just after 4 we decide that Barry and Gaynor have maybe gotten held up, so we decide to get one of the many tuk tuks offered to us back to the hotel. This chap was quite sweet and swung his tuk tuk around from the other side of the road across 4 lanes of traffic so that we didn’t have to cross. He didn’t seem hugely convincing when he said he could take us back to our hotel though. As we set of he went winding around some back streets we didn’t really recognise until eventually he pulled up behind another driver, where he stopped to ask for directions. Having gotten what he needed he set off and we were on our way. I got the impression he might have been new to tuk tuk driving, and he wore a helmet but without the chin strap done up. We paid him his fair and a small tip for being jolly nice.

Back at the hotel we had a little time before dinner so we settled down for a nap. It’s tiring you know, all this sunshine. Dinner is at Romdeng, a training restaurant which is part of the same group as the “Friends – the Restaurant” place we had been to for lunch. Rafa tells me this is where the students work before moving onto their final training at the “Friends” restaurant. Though not as slick as the “Friends” place the food and the service is still very good, and I’m again impressed with how well turned out the dishes are and how well the staff cope with things. These projects really are a great thing, great for the kids, and great for the customer who gets great food from students who are trying very hard to impress.

Suitably stuffed we make our way back to the hotel, but we really want something to drink before bedtime. The hotel has a restaurant but no bar, as we find out does the adjacent hotel. There is a club in between the two whose sounds could be heard from outside booming away, but we spot a bar across the street that looks like it might be ok. We are welcomed in and ushered towards some seats near a stage where a girl is singing. It looks to be a karaoke type setup, only I can’t see a screen. Also, I can’t see any non-Cambodian people either, and when we spot that the only page of the menu with English on is the beers page (I was fine) we began to feel a little out of place. After failing to convey “vodka” to the barman Darren settles for a coke and the rest of us have a beer. As we sit we witness a blind man do a bit of singing, then some sort of stag act involving chaps leaping about in masks and body paint like some sort of tribal scene. Perhaps it is a talent show. Although we are well looked after I think our individuality makes us a bit of a novelty so we attract the eyes of the waiting staff a fair bit, so it is just a little uncomfortable. Once we’ve finished our drinks we decide to leave and get back to the hotel across the road. As we cross I notice that there is actually a bar next door, showing football and probably not quite as intimidating as the other one, but then if we’d gone for that we wouldn’t have had the experience, so it’s all good. Another day done.

holiday diary – day 20

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7:30 seems very early to us right now, and that was only the time we had to leave. As the alarm went off at 6 I wished we’d had more time to sleep, but we needed to be up. We just about managed to scrape in breakfast before we jumped on the coach and headed for the Chu Chi tunnels.

It was around an hour or so drive to the tunnels, and we were back with our young guide Dang today. On arrival at the tunnels Rafa bought our tickets for us and we made our way to the first part of the tour, a 10 minute video of the Chu Chi folks using the tunnels and a quick run through of the history. Once the video was over Dang talked us through a mock up of the tunnels beside the tv screen and explained that there were three levels, the first of which was built prior to the American invasion. They were dug using custom made picks and dirt was carried away in handmade baskets. Once the Americans came they were driven out of their overground villages and so went completely underground, digging a further two levels of tunnels. There were meeting rooms, sleeping rooms, kitchen rooms, a whole host of them. All in all the tunnels extend for over 200km, all dug by hand. Once the Americans came the Chu Chi people only moved above ground at night, silently setting traps for the Americans and carrying dirt to places like rice fields or rubber plantations where it would not be noticed.

The traps were really quite neat. As they did not have access to guns the Chu Chi used booby trap style traps, swinging doors covered in leaves where the victim would fall onto sharpened bamboo below, foot traps of various methods used to impale the legs of the victims. There were also traps set in the tunnels themselves in case they were compromised. However, the tunnels were built just about big enough for the average Vietnamese person, and the Americans, despite knowing where many of the tunnel entrances were were just too fat to get into them.

Another way the tunnels were used was to give the Americans the impression that they were fighting far greater numbers than they were, as they would be ambushed from one side before their attackers would scuttle along the tunnels and ambush them from another, with the aericans thinking that there were people on both sides. Very smart.

To avoid detection cookig was only done at night, and everyone wore rubber sandals to avoid leaving trails and making noise. Vents for kitchens also carried the smoke sometimes miles away to help avoid suspiscion, and the area around the vent exit was dampened and covered in leaves to give the impression that the smoke was just mist. Air holes, to avoid the noses of dogs brought in to help detect the presence of Chu Chi people, were smeared with chilli and lime to throw the four legged enemy off the scent.

One little stretch of tunnels has been made big enough for us fat westerners to climb through, so we had a little scuttle and got a feeling for how things were. We also hopped through from one of the meeting rooms to a kitchen room via a tunnel, where I was happy to see the bat that had taken up residence fly in the same direction as we were and not back over our heads. Steven, shit scared of spiders, was a little freaked out by an eight-legged friend he met whilst crawling behind me.

Once our tunnel adventure was over we checked out of the Chu Chi tunnels exhibition area and got back on the bus, our guide Dang coming with us all the way to the Cambodian border, presumably as he needed the bus to take him back. An hour later we were there, and with our bags loaded onto a trolley (pulled by a little chap, not a machine) we said goodbye to Dang and our driver and began our border crossing.

It’s the first border crossing I’ve ever done on foot, not counting our little trips to Calais, which in any case usually involve some ferrying about on a terminal bus. This was literally being dropped off a few hundred yards from the border control, walking up to the offices, getting through immigration, then, security, then visa check, then health check, and finally through to the other side. There is a lot of wasted time during the crossing as you fill in one form, get up, go through a check, fill in another, go through a check, fill in another, and so on. I’m not quite sure why they can’t just give you a bundle of forms (which mostly ask the same questions) and then let you stroll through unimpeded. At the health check station those of us unfortunate to cough have a temperature reader thingy pointed at our heads and zapped. The Cambodian official tries to convince Rafaele that he needs to pay for something but he’s wise to the game and we get through without having to bribe anyone. Although reasonably quick, all in all I think the crossing experience takes a fair while longer than it needs to. No doubt the Cambodians will take my opinions on board.

Lunch today was at a road side place just past the border crossing which looked, quite frankly, shit. No-one really fancies much of what we see on the rather grim looking menu, but somehow a common concensus on the chicken noodle soup arrives and so I add another to the list. Actually it’s not that bad really, though I could have quite happily skipped that meal.

After lunch we have another couple of hours or so on the bus before we reach the hotel. What strikes me as we enter Cambodia and get closer and closer to Phnom Penh is that it is so much dirtier than anywhere we’ve been so far, there is tons of litter everywhere. Then, as we stop for a ferry crossing to get across a river, the poverty. People of all ages immediately bombard the bus to beg for money, tapping on the windows. Some are trying to sell postcards, bangles and other crap no-one really wants whilst some just have their hands out. It’s a horrible experience, the desperation is tough to bear.

On the journey Rafa gives a bit of a history lesson on Cambodia, and eventually I think most of us end up nodding off. In between naps I am again plugging the diary deficit. It is quite a lot of effort to keep this going, but I’ve sort of committed to it now, and I’ve decided that I actually quite like writing for fun. I think when I get home I’ll crack out a hilarious Hollywood blockbuster.

We are again tremendously spoiled with our hotel, though there is no special treatment this time. As we’re arriving late we have about an hour and a half to freshen up before going to dinner. Tonight’s dinner is quite a special affair as we are to be eating at the house of a local Cambodian guide that the intrepid folks have gotten to know through their work in the area. Mr Rarn lives in a house in a more out of centre part of town with his wife and three daughters, and lives with two other families, a total of around 30 people.

Cambodian tradition says that when a couple marry they move in with the parents of the woman, so the other families in the house are essentially Mr Rarn’s in-laws. The family introduce themselves, but they do not eat with us. It turns out we are actually eating in one ofthe rooms where people sleep, and we’re all sat on the floor. For tonight’s dinner we have teamed upcwith another intrepid group as Mr Rarn had already agreed for them to come along, and as he doesn’t invite people every day this was our only opportunity whilst in Phnom Penh.

The food is prepared by the family and is a huge and very tasty spread of Cambodian dishes, including a cracking curry. There’s also spring rolls, a green salad, spare ribs, noodle dishes and of course rice. There is far too much for everyone to eat and so there is a lot left over for which I feel quite guilty for. I wod have loved to have eaten more because it was fantastic, but I just couldn’t squeeze it in.

For desert there is a rather unusual dish served up first – deep fried tarantulas. Whilst these have been marinaded in honey and lime I still don’t fancy a go, and am glad when the pineapple slices arrive as an alternative. One or two of the other group have a go, some try a leg, Rafa and the other tour leader Matt show us how it’s done too, but the main thing I’ll remember is the look of absolute brown knickers terror and disgust that occupied spider hating Steven’s face when the spiders were served up.

We learn that Mr Rarn runs an English class for the people who live near him, but sadly for us because it’s Sunday the class does not run, it would have been nice to be able to help out. He does this just to help out the children nearby because though education is free, English classes are not. For many people in South East Asia learning to speak English is a way to a better life. We begin to get the impression that Mr Rarn is a very good man, and we later find out that he supports the education of all his nieces and nephews that live with him too.

Once dinner is over the family clean up and I play empty tin can skittles with the youngest of Mr Rarn’s children. Shortly afterwards we let the family have some peace and get ready for bed, and head off to Raf’s recommended pub where the other group are also congregated, thanking everyone before we leave.

The pub is quite lively but this is mainly due to the folks from the othe group, larger than ours, that have occupied the pool table area. Not much room for us round there, we situate ourselves down by the bar where there is a tv showing a live premier league game. Once we have our drinks it’s not long before Rafa decides he and I should play pool, so we end up playing doubles against a pair from the other group. This pool table is more like the same width as the ones at hone but is longer, and the balls are still bigger. We win (of course) though I actually play rubbish, and I retake my seat.

A little while later the chap from the bar comes round asking if anyone wants to play killer, for a free “bucket” which is a gravy jug sized, err, jug, of cocktail. I’m not a huge fan of killer normally but I thought I’d have a go, and about 45 minutes later I’m drinking my free cocktail. I rock. A further two rounds of killer ensue, and whilst the other group leader Matt wins the second (with me in the last 3) I clinch the last too. No prizes after the first game though, so sussed.

Overall the night is a good one, a great dinner with the lovely Mr Rarn and a few games of pool after. As the night ends we climb in to our tuk tuks which have been waiting for us for a couple of hours, and head to bed.

holiday diary – day 19

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Today is a free day in Ho Chi Minh City. We had the option of a trip to the Mekong Delta, but this was an 8 hour excursion starting at 8am. Whilst we would have loved to have gone, we weren’t sure if we’d cope in the heat for 8 hours (our sun cream having been confiscated during our last air flight as I forgot to put it in the main bag, that rule is still bullshit), and we wanted to get a bit of a look around the city on our own which we wouldn’t have been able to do if we had gone for the trip. This was our last day in Ho Chi Minh City and our last day in Vietnam.

Having decided against the excursion we got up late, too late for breakfast, and set off to have a bit of a poke around. We found our way back to the area where the opera house lives as we’d been told that was where the main action was shopping-wise. We blundered into a shopping centre which had a sort of Debenhams feel about it (straight into the perfume counters) though it wasn’t Debenhams as that was just up the road. Actually. Upstairs we found a wee supermarket so we picked up some more sun cream and a big bottle of water to take around with us, and set off from the shopping centre without having too much of a look around.

Back on the main streets we found the road with all the posh shops on it, Gucci and what have you. We didn’t bother looking, there really wasn’t much point. Having looked around for a bit we made our way to the riverside hoping to be able to get close and check out the scenery. Unfortunately they’ve built up stuff along the river to the extent that you can no longer get close enough for a butchers, but later Rafa tells us there isn’t actually much to see anyway. After turning down several bike rides, boat trips, motorbike hiring and sunglasses salesfolk (both of us clearly already wearing sunglasses) we had a little sit down in the shade to hide from the sun a little. We sat and relaxed for a bit, and a few boat trip denials later we wandered off back towards the city centre. We again rested in the shadow of a nearby monument (not sure what of, nothing in English) before deciding it was time for lunch.

Being the cultural folk we are we dived into an Italian cafe for lunch. Think Costa (ish) with a touch of “upstairs in Miles bar” (pretty much just a Ramsgate reference that one, sorry) up on the third floor where the loos where. We had a couple of iced coffees and I, trying to reclaim some local credibiliy, had a won ton soup, Mrs Tom having a more culturally damning burger and chips. It was a very comfortable lunch and it was great to be out of the heat for a while. Tired from the heat and feeling a little drained we retired back to our hotel for a smashing little afternoon nap.

Having been blessed with our fancy bath (dolphin tap and jacuzzi bubbles) we took a nice long soak before meeting Gaynor, Barry and Rafaele for dinner, Steven and Darren having gone out on their own, and Summer opting for room service. As we’d not seen a note left for us earlier we were actually planning on going for a dinner on or own, but Rafaele gave us a call to le us know we were late so we toddled off to join the others.

We ate dinner beside the market stalls at a street food place Rafa recommended, and though I was a little aprehensive at first (it didn’t look massively clean and I was a tadge concerned about rats if I’m honest) we ended up having a good meal, and a bit of a lesson in politics to boot. Though it was street food we ordered from a menu and Rafaele insisted that it was all freshly cooked to order. It was certainly very tasty, and I’m not dead so it’s probably fine.

No after dinner drinking action for us tonight as an early start beckoned with us needing to be packed and ready to leave at 7:30, and we still needed to pack. So, it was pack the cases and get to bed.

holiday diary – day 18

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This morning we would be leaving Hoi An for Ho Chi Minh City (formerly known, and still mostly referred to, as Saigon). Following a yummy breakfast of banana pancakes we packed up our stuff ready to set off at 10:30. The airport is about an hour’s ride away – we will be flying from Danang airport, Danang being the city that has stolen Hoi An’s importance as the major port of Vietnam.

Once at the airport our bags are checked in by Rafaele and we take our seats in the departure lounge. To pass the time Darren has given me a gadget magazine to flick through and I find dozens of things that I would love to own but could never afford. I also spend quite a bit of time diary writing as I’ve left myself a bit behind of late, and the hour’s wait soon disappears.

The flight passes without incident and I finish the magazine and do some more writing, and after no more than an hour in the air we touch down at Ho Chi Minh city airport. As we approach the airfield you can already sense that this is a very differet place from anywhere we’ve seen so far. Hanoi, whilst being the capital and very busy, noisey and dirty, still very much has the feel of a different culture about it. Ho Chi Minh City is full of high-rise buildings and digital advertising visible from the air for miles around and somehow feels a little more recognisable.

We board the bus headed for the hotel, around a 45 minute journey, and the city jumps to life in front of you. Cars. For the first time anywhere in Vietnam there are lots and lots of cars. Most of the hotel and banking buildings are huge towering monsters just as in the west, and everything looks a lot more similar to our western idea of how a city should look. Perhaps a slight feeling of London about it even.

The hotel is pretty nice and yet again we’ve been afforded the luxury of one of the best rooms. As it turns out everyone except Summer did actually, so telling people about the dolphin tap on the side of our massive jacuzzi bath lost its edge pretty quickly. With little time to do much at all we await our bags in our room, and no more than 45 minutes after our arrival at the hotel we’re off on a cyclo tour of the city.

I hate riding cyclos. Fact. One poor coughing and spluttering aged man ferrying around one comfortably (ish) seated “rich” western person so that they can see the sights. The whole experience makes me feel really quite uncomfortable. Plus they are slow as shit anyway, though these are at least a bit faster than the chaps in Hanoi. You get some odd stares from people as you are carted about and I am yet to see anyone other than the tourists use them. At least the tuc tucs in Thailand and Laos are also used by locals so you don’t feel like a twat riding one, and they actually save you time getting places.

Anyway, we ride the cyclos around the city and our local guide, a very young, very happy and smiley you man called Dang tells us the history of the Reunification Palace, the Notre Dam cathedral (obviously not the one in Paris), the post office (the ceiling of which was designed by Gustav Eifel who built something in Paris apparently), the opera house, the Caravelle hotel (watering hole for western journalists during the war), the Rex hotel (where during the 60s US officers would host press briefings), the People’s Palace, all in great English and plenty of detail, coupled with a lot of humour. It amazes me how proud the Vietnamese people are of their beautiful French buildings given how they came to be in position.

We also had a look around the War Remnants museum, which our guide book says “contains a graphic pictorial history of the American war”. It certainly does, it’s an incredibly touching place to visit with an enormous amount to see. Our 45 minutes there wasn’t nearly enough time to take it all in. Pictures of American atrocities being commitied, pictures of people suffering the after effects of agent orange (known as containing the most destructive and lethal chemical as yet discovered – a few ml being enough to kill a population of 8 million, and millions of litres of the stuff were strewn across Vietnam). It was tough but necessary to yet further understand the impact of the war on the Vietnamese. All of us went in and all of us were touched by the huge significance of what we had seen in there. Of course you have to have an eye on the fact that this is the Vietnamese story being told, but pictures don’t lie, and American soldiers sitting proud and pleased in front of the severed heads of Vietnamese people, posing for a photograph, is not a story that can be taken in too many ways.

Once the cyclo tour is done with it’s back to the hotel for an hour or two until we meet downstairs to go to dinner. Rafaele gave us a choice between eating at the market or at a place where you grill your own food on a barbecue plate in the centre of the table. The group opted for the barbecue place, with a few of us eyeing the street food idea for tomorrow.

The restaurant looks really good and quite large, and full of Vietnamese people which is an excellent sign. Just as described there are tables everywhere with hot plates in the middle for cooking your own food on. The hot plates themselves are very similar to one I have at home, a cooking plate sitting on a collecting ring with the plate heated by a gas flame. We order a couple of combo dishes and a couple of extra skewers to add to the variety and it is all absolutely delicious, and very very cheap. Dinner for two including drinks being around £8, or 250,000 dong.

After dinner we set off in search of somewhere to grab a drink. As we walk the streets there are hundreds and hundreds of people on motorbikes waving flags, setting off claxons, cheering and shouting and generally looking very pleased and excited. We find out that they won 6-1 against Cambodia in a football match that had taken place that day, part of the SEA (South East Asia) Games for this year, so naturally the folks were rather pleased with themselves. What was great to see was that there was no hint of trouble, agression or violence, and walking amongst these folks (including people riding motorbikes on the pavement) we never once felt even slightly threatened. Everybody was just really very happy.

We decided to go to the Rex hotel for our drink as there was a chance of live music and as we climbed to the 9th floor we found an old chap crooning away, so we were made up. We ordered our drinks (cocktails) which turned out to be expensive, though this was no surprise as this was a 5 star hotel, and expensive here really being only what you would pay at home anyway. Once the old boy had done crooning (typical crooner numbers really) they brought back on a flaminco band who must have been playing earlier, and they were pretty good. They played flamico versions of recognisable tunes, and all in all we had a good time.

Not long before we left we heard the cheering again from over the balcony, and a lot of people went over to take a look. The scene was the same as when we were on the ground, but from up here we had an excellent view of the lights and the people on the bikes. It was incredible to see as the bikes were racing round and round, and then for a few minutes they were still, the bikes not moving but the people still very animated. I got a good 3 or 4 minute video of the action which I’ll try to upload at some point.

Once the action had subsided and the bikers moved on, it wasn’t long before we had finished our drinks and were on our way back to the hotel for a bedtime.

holiday diary – day 17

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Day 17 didn’t exactly start perfectly for us. Feeling quite grubby we both wanted showers, but alas we couldn’t get any hot water out of anywhere. Neither it seemed could the hotel reception lady who came up, or the maintenance man. After a lot of arsing about he told us 5 minutes and left, so we cleared off for breakfast.

When we returned the water was nice and warm. Turned out what he meant was now the hot water switch in the room was set to “on” we just needed to wait 5 minutes and it’d be alright.

After breakfast Summer, Steven, Mrs Tom and myself set off for an orphanage nearby to pay a visit, armed with fruit we had bought from the market which we had been advised they would like. Sadly for us (but in reality better for them) most of the kids were at school so there were just a couple of boys knocking about, and it didn’t seem that the folks there were expecting us. They were good enough to explain the works of the Blue Dragon setup to us anyway and show us around the place, including marks on the wall (around waist height) where the floods had recently been. We were told everyone was trapped upstairs for 3 days with no food or water, not knowing for how long they would be stranded. This place also takes care of children who are not orphans, but their families cannot afford to educate them, or sometimes, children are plucked from poor situations by the foundation and helped back on the right road. An example in the leaflet is of a girl who was not attending school but instead working to pay for medicine for her sick mother. The foundation sent her to school and paid for her mother’s medicine so that she didn’t have to support her any longer.

Sadly, the orphanage here in Hoi An can only support 30 children, though they would like to expand. Every year they receive an increasing number of applications to send children to the centre, but most have to be rejected. At last count over 200.

Despite it not being a brilliantly planned activity and there being almost no kids around to interact with, it was still a worthwhile visit to learn of the works of the organisation and how they are helping the underprivileged children of their area. Because education in Vietnam is not free not all children can have access to it, but a place like this goes some way to being able iron out the inequality.

After our trip to the orphange I had a final suit fitting, followed by a check on my linen trouser copies I had ordered from Mr Xe and Mrs Tom’s new top. The suit fitting all seemed to go to plan ad after a final adjustment it was ready, as was the other shirt which I’d hastily decided to have made the day before (it really is hard not to just have loads of stuf made in there). Mrs Tom’s dresses and skirt were ready for collection too so she grabbed them, whilst my suit would be delivered along with my shirts after they had opened up the cuff button holes for me. We paid up and moved onto Mr Xe, where sadly my trousers were not ready, but Mrs Tom’s top was ready for a try on. Mr Xe wasn’t happy as too much material was gathered at the back, so we would both have to return later to get our stuff from there.

Next on today’s agenda was a 2 hour walking tour of the city with a local guide. Only Gaynor, myself and Mrs Tom were on this one and we set off with our jolly little local guide at 1pm. We took in the Japanese covered bridge, a Chinese centre, a house where folks can pop in to worship ancestors but is actually someone’s house that they let you come into, a silk making place and a couple of museums. All the while our guide was explaining the architecture of the buildings as there is a mixture of French colonial, Vietnamese and Western styles around town. He also filled us in on the history whenever it was relevent, and despite being dragged into a couple of places where we were offered to buy things, it was a ok way to spend a couple of hours.

After the tour we went with Gaynor to meet Barry where he had been enjoying himself sipping beers for the last two hours, and had a drink and a sit down, a nice thing to do after a couple of hours walking around in the hottest part of the day. Following that we popped back to Mr Xe to pick up our neatly fitting (and cheap) clothes, and then headed back to the hotel for an afternoon nap. At Mr Xe we actually didn’t have enough cash to pay for our stuff and he didn’t seem keen on the card payment, so the girl fromthe shop gave me a lift to the ATM on her motorbike.

As we’d been given a room with a massive bath we thought we’d take advantage and sat soaking for an hour or more before meeting the Darren, Steven and Summer for a not so Asian Italian meal, where Mrs Tom and myself had a not so Asian lasagne and ravioli between us. You can only eat so much rice. Rafaele joined us for pudding as he had been sitting downstairs and noticed 5 drinks go upstairs and worked out we were there. I scoffed a tiramisu for pudding which wasn’t too bad, and Mrs Tom had chocolate cake I believe.

Knackered, and with a bus and a plane journey tomorrow we decided to turn in early.

holiday diary – day 16

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After an exciting day being measured for new clothes we had little planned for today other than taking it easy. Our first agenda item was a cooking class we had signed up for that didn’t start until 11. Being the lazy folks we are we laid in until around 10 and skipped breakfast, and then got up and walked down to the class. Once there we were met by Barry, Gaynor and Summer who had also signed up for the class. Soon after our tutor arrived, Vina, a tiny Vietnamese lady who told us her nickname was Passionfruit, and that’s what we should call her. She asked us all our names, and informed me that Tom was Vietnamese for shrimp. That was very nearly the last time she called me Tom, opting for Shrimp thereafter.

Our first job was to go to the market so that Vina (it’s shorter to write than passionfruit) could show us how to select vegetables and fish correctly, how to tell if things are still fresh or if they will be sweet or sour etc. Pretty much all of it I didn’t know before so hopefully I’ll be able to call on that next time we’re picking up stuff from tesco. Vina picked up a few items and had Strong Man Shrimp carry her bag for her as we trundled back to the restaurant. I don’t think she used any of the things we bought at the market, so I’m assuming it’s just a method for her to get someone to carry her shopping for her. Her catchprase seemed to be “you geddit?” whenever she explained something to us, to which she later insisted we always reply, “yes Passionfruit!” to indicate our agreement. She was very good fun.

Our lesson had us cooking four courses, all of which we would be eating which sounded like the best part to me. There was sweet and sour chicken soup, fried spring rolls, green papaya salad and fish in banana leaf. We started by creating a marinade for the chicken soup, mixing some stock powder, sugar and sesame oil and coating the chicken, an setting it aside for later. That was the soup dealt with for the time being so we moved onto the fried spring rolls. Our first job was to chop up the veggies, onion, carrot and turnip (actually we grated the turnip and carrot), mash the peas, and then squeeze the juice out if them. This is done by putting the veggies into a cloth and squeezing the heck out of it until no more juice comes out. We then add this mixture to stock powder, pepper and the pork and mix it all up, before dolloping it into some soft rice paper to roll the spring rolls. Again, we set these aside to be fried later.

We finished of the soup so we could get stuck into our first course. This involved cooking the marinaded chicken, piling in the pineapple, onion, lemon juice, fish sauce, chilli paste, pepper and boiling water and bringing the whole lot to the boil, adding tomato and okra later. It was very tasty, and at the table we could add more lemon juice, chilli paste or fish sauce to change to our tastes accordingly.

The only thing left to do with the spring rolls was deep fry them, so they were plunged into medium hot oil and fried for 3 minutes on each side. The secret of a non-oily spring roll – stand on its end to drain, not lie flat.

The green papaya salad was easy enough. Once you’ve stripped your papaya, grated the carrot, mixed them together and squeezed out the juice, it’s just a case of frying them together for 30 seconds with a few other bits and coating with a dressing sauce we’d just made. It was a similar story with the fish in banana leaf, having marinaded the fish in a quick to prepare sauce, it’s simply placed inside a banana leaf (or tin foil if you have to – it’s only for presentation) add the marinade sauce, wrap it up and BBQ it for 5 minutes on each side.

All of us thoroughly enjoyed Passionfruit’s class and had a great time making our 4 course lunch, and learned quite a bit in the process. At the end we could buy some bits and bobs as momentos, so we got some cooking chopsticks, and apron and a couple of the magic cloths for squeezing juice out of stuff. When we get home we’ll no doubt have a crack at recreating our class menu too.

After the class we had to attend fittings for our clothes we were having made, so we headed off to do that. Mrs Tom’s skirt and one of her dresses fitted perfectly, the other dress just needing a slight adjustmet to make it ready. My trousers were fine but the legs were unfinished (and over-length by maybe close to half a metre) and the jacket currently had no sleeves on. Apparently they do it that way because I’m difficult to make for being so tall. Gets in the way of a lot of stuff does my stoopid size. It all seemed to be going well, but I couldn’t really tell as the three people stood around me rattling on at each other were all speaking Vietnamese. After a short while we left and took a bit of a wander around the city.

In contrast to Laos where things ran much more slowly, Vietnam, even in a slower place like Hoi An, just seems to run at a higher pace. The people selling stuff are also quite forward and it’s impossible to walk anywhere without beig offered a motorbike tour, cyclo, bicycle or taxi, or being asked if you want any fruit, drinks, snacks, clothes, jewellery, bags or a million other things. It’s still a nice place though, and now being a world heritage site is at least subject to preservation, so that look should continue unspoiled.

With a bit of time to kill before our afternoon fitting we head back to the hotel for a nap. The fitting also goes well and Mrs Tom’s stuff is all done now, apart from one last slight adjustment to what has turned out to be a great looking dress. My shirts are spot on and my jacket now has sleeves, but I want a few tweaks made. The flap on the ticket pocket is a little bigger than I’d like and the trouser legs are a little long (for the first time ever in my life) so we mark things up and leave them to it.

We had been told that you can take items into the tailor shops and ask them to copy them. I have a pair of linen trousers that have seen better days (though that doesn’t stop me wearing them now) so I took them into Yaly to see how much that would be. After being told $45 I thought better of it, and so decided to try Mr Xe, just down the road, and recommended by our guide book. Mr Xe said he would do them for $17. I was so chuffed I asked for two pairs, and so impressed were we with Mr Xe’s tariff that Mrs Tom got a new top made for the princely sum of $14. Well pleased.

Having eaten substantially at lunch those of us that attended the class had agreed that we wouldn’t want a huge dinner, and Darren and Steven said they would stock up at lunchtime so they could join us in a small tea. We had arranged to meet Summer, Steven and Darren in the wine bar where we would have a few classes and a plate of cheese instead of a proper dinner. What we hadn’t known having been out all day was that Raf had left a note for us in reception at the hotel about meeting for dinner in the wine bar at 7:30, so at 7:30 Barry, Gaynor and Rafa turned up too. Rafa had organised a place for us to eat dinner, but none of us had been initially keen. Secretly I was pleased as the cheese plate was a bit on the meager side, and though I didn’t want a huge meal I would be glad of the opportunity for grub.

The restaurant was small and quiet and had a special menu of street food type dishes, so rather than having anything huge I had some cau lau (a pork, noodles and veggies dish) and some fried won tons, and bloody delicious they were too. Mrs Tom had a white rose (a sort of seafood dumpling affair) and some kind of pancake.

After what was a relatively quick tea we went for after dinner drinks at another of Rafaele’s recommendations, Tam Tam bar. This was a bit more our style as it was not as loud but still played ok music, and we could chill out and chat and even play some pool on the massive pool table (I think at least 8 feet). We met a stereotypically lesbian Australian called Amy who was rather interesting, and managed to get the usually restrained Darren to have a mock wheelchair race from one side of the bar to the other (the chairs rolled forwards slightly making this motion almost natural). The staff were not too happy about that one. I had a few games of pool, losing on my own but winning in a doubles game with Summer. I then played alongside a chap who refuses to play with both hands because it’s not fair on the opponents, so he plays with one hand behind his back. He was called An, and he was genuinely bloody good. I tried to encourage him to use both hands so I could see what all the fuss was about but he didn’t want to.

On the previous night in the Before and After bar we were hassled by some chap trying to get us to go to a beach party a few km away. On consulation with Rafa we had decided it sounded ok (he had been before), so tonight we thought we’d give it a go. After a little bit of arsing about it turned out we’d missed the last bus. Ho hum.

To compensate for the lack of beach partying we decided to use our massive balcony to full effect and have everyone to our room for a drink or two, having aquired some whisky and lau lau for the earlier train journey that we hadn’t finished. I had a good old chat with Rafa and everyone else seemed chatty, but at around 2am we knocked it on the head as folks were beginning to tire.

Another satisfactory day completed.

holiday diary – day 15

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This morning we take the three hour bus journey from Hue to Hoi An. The bus seems a little better this time so we have a lot less of the erratic bouncing about in the seats, which pleased me a lot. Around half way there we stop for a drink and a toilet break at a gorgeous beach-side place where we sip an iced tea and take in the views. It’s very windy there but a lovely clear, sunny day so we can benefit a little from the breeze.

Once back on the road we stop to take in the views at Hoi Van pass, a place high up the mountain with stunning views of the places below, and famed for being the only crossing point between north and south Vietnam during the division of the country. There are military forts there and you can see the bullet marks in the sides of a couple of them very clearly, as well as the different styles of builiding thrown up by the French, Americans and Vietnamese.

Still not arrived at our destination we stop for lunch beside the beautiful China Beach. As it’s not an included meal we choose our own things to eat, those things being crab, calamari and a special rice dish, a right good nosh up. Having polished that off, against all the advice you get at home, we plunge straight into the warm ocean where the waves are pretty big and the power of the water is incredible. You could feel yourself being thrown at the beach by the tide, and then suddenly, after about 20 minutes of arsing about and having a jolly good time, the tide turned and we could feel ourselves being pulled out into the ocean. At that point we tipped out and dried off ready for the final leg of the journey to Hoi An.

We arrive at our rather nice looking hotel (this backpacking lark is a piece of cake) and check in to our room. To our delight, Rafa has asked that we have a nice room and we open the door to a place with a sitting area with a table and four chairs, a huge bed, a bathroom with an enormous bath and a huge balcony overlooking a lake. Good work Raf.

Once we’ve had a good look around it’s straight downstairs to meet with everyone else to have a brief orientation walk around the city. As Rafaele shows us around I got a feeling that this was a little like Luang Prabang in Laos, only a bit busier and dirtier, though still very nice. After pointing out a few landmarks and leaving us with maps so that we could find our way home, Rafa left us to our own devices with a view to meeting up later for dinner.

Everyone had their mind on pretty much the same thing, as there is one thing in particular that Hoi An is famous for. For a place that’s not to dissimilar in size to Canterbury, there are over 300 tailors. We were all going to get some made to measure clothes made, most of us choosing the most famous and reputable shop Yaly. Though all of the tailors can turn things around in 24 hours, I didn’t want anything rushed, and most others seemed to feel the same so we all bowled in.

What strikes you as soon as you walk into Yaly is that the place is mental. There are what feels like dozens of staff running about all over the place, and many many more customers all looking at fabrics, browsing catalogues, trying on stuff etc. After a short time sifting through catalogues I find a suit that catches my eye and set off to find the right material, which given my male status wasn’t easy. The suit I had found was blue, that’s about as good as I can manage description wise. I picked out what I thought what was the right material in their best quality cashmere wool fabric, having sought dozens of opinions from Mrs Tom, then we set about discussing the details. Basically I wanted it exactly like the picture, but with a ticket pocket. I toyed with slanting pockets, but the staff in the shop seemed keen to talk me away from it. The bloke in the picture didn’t have slant pockets so I decided if it was cool enough for him them I could probably manage. The ticket pocket was a cert though. Oh, and once I’d been offered it I had to go for silk lining. The price for all this custom made beauty, $215, at today’s rates around £132. It was diffiult not to get a shed load made.

Having picked a suit I thought I’d move on to a shirt. We are on holiday, what the heck. Initially I was put off by the $35 price until I rembered that this shirt would be made to fit me and me only. I thought I’d go for a nice new work style shirt with double cuffs, and also a casual number, which turned out to be only $20. Mrs Tom was fathoming out whether to have a dress or a skirt, and if a dress which one. I settled the debate by telling her to get the lot, given the prices and the occasion of our holiday we might as well go for it.

All measured up and excited we popped over to the rather nice looking wine bar across the street where we had planned to meet everyone before dinner. We swapped stories of our experences and were soon off to Cargo, where Rafa had booked us a table for dinner. The food was good and it was fun to continue talking about our different shopping experiences.

To round off a fun day we went to the Before and After bar which Rafaele had recommended. For my deaf and cold ridden self it was a touch too loud for me and kept us from having a decent conversation. It was quite a decent looking bar though and the first pub type place we’d seen for a while. We stayed for a couple and then slowly wound or way back to the hotel via what turned out to be the extended route.

holiday diary – day 14

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Bastards. At 6:45 horrid wailing music begins to boom through the speakers in the train carriage, and everybody wakes up. After a few minutes the wailing stops and a lady’s voice takes over rattling on about something in Vietnamese for another few minutes. Around 10 minutes this goes on and by the end of it everyone is up, convinced that it was never going to end. So, having been told to be up and ready around 8:15 as the train will arrive at Hue at 8:30, we are all up and about before 7, not fun. Also, all through the night the door of our carriage was banging which kept waking me up. The train actually pulls in to Hue station a little early and we clear out and head for the bus to the hotel.

Day 14 is essentially a free day, but Rafaele has given us the option to take a motorbike tour of Hue which sounds like a fantastic way to see the city. Hue used to be the capital of Vietnam at one stage so there is a lot of history to be seen, and with only one day to see everything the tour sounds like it packs it all in nicely.

I’m disappointed to learn that we won’t be riding the bikes ourselves, but it’s probably for the best given the mentalness of the roads. Our guide for the tour is Gnoc, a very jolly and smiley man who keeps us amused all day with his little jokes and giggling. As we mount the bikes I learn my pilot’s name is Benjamin (so he says) and I tell him my name and where I’m from. Mrs Tom gets to ride with the tour guide who obviously speaks very good English so they chat a lot more than myself and Benjamin.

I’ve never ridden on a motorbike before, so certainly never ridden on the back of one, so at first it’s a bit of an experience, and I think most of us are holding on to the little handle bit behind your bum very tightly. Soon though it becomes much easier, especially as the drivers rarely exceed 40kmph, and occasionally I feel brave enough to rest my hands on my knees rather than gripping on to the rails.

Our first stop takes a while to get to, a village where we get to learn about rice cultivation through a museum they have there. Before we go to the main part of the village though Gnoc shows us a huge man-man stone protruding from the earth by the side of the river, which we learn shows flooding levels. As we are stood sort of level with the base of the stone I can say that in 1995 the flooding was around waist height, but on another occasion (the date of which escapes me now, last 20 years though) was way above my head, perhaps 3 metres high. These flood levels are marked by year labels on the stone. Just above 1995 a line is scratched, which Gnoc tells us was the level of the flooding just one month ago. Pretty much everything around us would be around a metre deep in water just one month ago, yet here we were on a gorgeous sunny day with no signs anything had ever been any different.

We leave the stone behind and enter a barn where Gnoc calls over an old lady (he introduces her as this too). We learn she is 78, has 7 children and 41 grandchildren. She used to work in the fields cultivating rice hut today she shows visitors to the museum how it’s all done. From gathering, to a sort of winding machine which produces rice grains mixed with chaff, which is then separated by tossing it all in the air, the rice grains remaining whilst the chaff is floated into another tray. There is also a milling machine for turning the rice to powder for making noodles. The old lady also shows us methods for pumping water and fishing used, as well as an instrument used to call meetings in the village, during the demonstration of which she has a little jig about. You cannot help but notice that the old lady’s teeth are entirely black, which we finally learn comes from eating a very lime rich (though not fruit lime apparently) diet. Throughout, the old lady is great value, smiling and messing about making us all laugh, she was kind of worth the trip on her own.

Across from the museum is the market where we take a look round at the offerings. We’re told it’s not very busy because we are a little late. The locals visit the market twice a day to ensure that their produce is as fresh as possible in the absence of refrigeration. We’ve sort of come between the morning and afternoon session when the folks would be at home eating the fruits of their morning visit. After the market we sit and drink with the locals, each of us buying drinks from different but equally pesterous (a new word for the OED?) ladies who want us to buy a drink. They settle down once we agree to buy a drink so we sit there for a while to relax. Our lady had a baby in a pen next to us which she is trying to feed, but clearly doesn’t want to eat. We play and amuse the baby for a bit, and then Mrs Tom goes to visit a fortune teller. She is told that she will marry in two years, that nine men love her, and that she drinks too much. One out of three ain’t bad.

The next stop on our tour is the palace built and used when Vietnam still had a monarchy. The palace lives within a citadel comprising three sets of walls inside one another. Overall the grounds stretch for a few kilometers and there are houses for all different parts of the family, a theatre, library and lots of other buildings. Even separate areas for the concubines. Sadly, like much of Vietnam, a lot of the buildings were damaged or destroyed during the American war, and are no longer in their original state having been restored or in some cases completely rebuilt. Near the front you can see bullet holes in some of the walls from ground combat. Gnoc is again very thorough with his history lessons and we learn a lot about some of the kings and the ceremonies which took place at the palace.

Lunch today is given to us by Buddhist Nuns, so after driving to the nunnery we find our lunch already waiting for us. One of the nuns pops in to say hello, and she then comes back with a friend to bring us our soup. Apart from that and saying goodbye after lunch, we saw no nuns. I had thought that we would see a bit more of where they lived and worked but perhaps that’s just not the done thing. Here the buddhists don’t eat meat so we have some tofu things instead which largely go uneaten, but apart from that the meal is good.

After lunch we visit the King’s mausolleum, where King Tu Duc is buried somewhere (though no-one knows exactly where as they didn’t want him being dug up as he was buried with a lot of gold). He lived from 1848 to 1883 and became king when he was 18 years old. Unlike many kings he was still alive whilst his mausolleum was created and finished so he pretty much designed it himself. It was constructed between 1864 and 1867 and occupies a huge area with lakes and rock formations and gardens. Gnoc tells us that Tu Duc would go there to write poetry or to hunt, and also that he is said to have had 103 concubines, but never any children so that he must have been firing blanks, and then laughs in a really giggly way.

A short ride away from the mausolleum is Military Bunker Hill. This is a gorgeous spot overlooking the Perfume River, which gets its name because there are perfumed flowers near the source of the river which give it a bit if a scent. They now call it Love Hill as its military bunker usage is no more, and it is a popular spot for young couples to come to to be all lovey with each other.

We next stop at a place where they make incense sticks, and the process is explained to us. We watch a girl effortlessly making them, perfumed with various things, and then a few of us have a go at it. I didn’t do too bad I thought. You basically scoop some of the goo and roll it around the stick using a trowel, pressing against a workbench. Though we have a bit of fun and have a play at making them, none of us buys any, which is a bit of a shame. Really though, I just don’t want any, and we only went there because our tour guide took us there.

Speaking of the tour guide, I can’t remember exactly when it started happening but at some stage he and Mrs Tom were a little behind everyone else, so they put a bit of a squirt on to catch up, which had him proclaiming for the rest of the trip that they were the champions. Apparently he was also goading other drivings into trying to have a bit of a race with them.

Our last sightseeing stop of the day is at a pagoda, famed now because one of the monks from the pagoda drove himself to Saigon, got out of his car, sat on the floor in the lotus position and burned himself to death in protest at the American war. Martyrdom is not common in Buddhism so this was a big deal. Gnoc says that though his body was destroyed his heart remained, though I have my doubts. We see the car he drove down to Saigon in and a few photos of his around it, as well as one at what appears to be the burning in progress. It was an old Austin in case you’re interested in. The model? Blue.

Our very final stop on the tour is to see the place of work of a lady who makes conical hats, which a number of us didn’t actually think were worn anymore. They are worn by farmers to protect them and their heads and necks from the sun. The hats for ordinary folks are made on a frame of 16 rings, whereas the hats of monks and nuns are made on a fram of 17 rings. It is said that they need to be shielded from seeing too much suffering. The lady making the hats is actually Christian, so I’m not sure she’s too bothered by the whole monk/nun bit. What is more astounding about this lady though is that she does makes these hats with one of her arms stopped at the elbow, with only a tiny little finger-like protrusion from the arm for dexterity. She makes two hats per day. Between us we buy more than that so hopefully she was pleased with our visit. Apparently her mother was on medication when she was pregnant with her which led to her arm being that way from birth. It was great to see that she had had the determination to be a valuable member of the community able to earn her own living.

Back at the hotel we have a couple of hours to kick back and relax before dinner. Mrs Tom has a kip whilst I catch up on three days of diary writing. I probably should have had a kip too as I’m knackered after the restless train journey, but I wanted to keep the diary going. I’ve literally got some readers who might be a bit interested in what I’m writing, so it’s important to keep going.

By the time dinner arrives we are all eyeing up an early night as I think few of us slept brilliantly on the train and the motorbike trip was tiring. We have a meal in a French influenced Vietnamese place, where an obscene number of us order the fillet steak with a variety of sauces. I think as we were all quite zapped we wanted some comfort food which we knew we would like, so steak and chips fitted the bill.

Shortly after dinner Rafa and Summer retired as they were not feeling so good, and Gaynor and Barry wanted to get in as much sleep as they could. Steven, Darren, Mrs Tom and myself moved on for a couple of drinks at the DMZ bar which seems to be a highly westernised bar playing music a bit too loudly, especially considering we were sitting outside. Nonetheless we had a good chat and a couple of beers, and found our way back for bed at just about midnight.

holiday diary – day 13

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Following our early night we’re up bright and early and pack our things into the day room, for tonight we board the train to Hue. After breakfast we set off for Ho Chi Minh’s mausolleum.

On the bus on the way there I begin to wonder what lay in wait. I’ve never seen the dead body of a real person before, and I don’t quite know what to expect. As we approach the area in which the mausolleum lives there is an air of seriousness about the place, guards everywhere, people in orderly queues being shhhshed. As we get closer we are ordered into two queues and asked to be silent. As we get towards the entrance of the building the guards now have bayonets. Clearly security is taken very seriously here. I later discover that the guards here, much like the ones who adorn Buckingham Palace, are the elite. Odd how the best of the best are chosen to do jobs where essentially they will never have to do anything, whereas the rest are sent off to fight. As we weave around some corners and up some stairs I am told off for having my hands behind my back.

All of a sudden we’re in. Ho Chi Minh’s body, despite his wishes to be cremated, is shown in a sealed glass display case in the centre of the room as people, in their pairs, walk around him to take a look. No photos are permitted understandably. His skin is pale, but lit with an orange coloured light giving him a warm look. It is amazing how well preserved he is, still in a condition which cannot be far away from how he looked at the time of his death. Like a waxwork amost.

Apparently there are only three bodies preserved in this way in the world, and all of them are communist leaders – Ho Chi Minh, Lenin and Mau Tse Tung. The body is kept cool during the day and into freeze overnight, and for one month a year restorative works are made to ensure that he continues to look in peak condition.

The emotions which it evoked are hard to describe. Being so orderly marched in silence in and out of the mausolleum added to the experience, the cool air in the room where the body rests, the body itself. There is certaiy an eeriness about it all, but not an unpleasant one. A man who did so much good for his people and was so humble and kind, it is certainly a privilege to be able to see him, but I feel bad that his wishes were not honoured. For the Vietnamese people, they decided that it would be better to give the people the opportunity to pay their respects to Uncle Ho and to be able to see him for themselves. He’s certainly a popular attraction – there were hundreds and hundreds of people in line to see him during the time we were there, there must be thousands a day who visit.

After seeing the man himself we are given a tour of the presidntial palaces where he lived. He was offered to live in a huge palace which the French built, but this was a little too grand. He lived and worked for a short time is a smaller house which you can see into the windows of, his tables, chairs, books, crockery, radio, all of it still in place. Just across the lake is his house on stilts which the government built for him as the palace was too grand. He lived a very simple life with basic amenities, and again his house on stilts still has everything in place just as it would have been: telephones, his hat, his bed, tables, chairs etc. Again it is very much a privilege to be able to see.

As we are leaving the complex something of a lighter note happens, my celebrity grows yet further as people are taking pictures, more pointing, staring, giggling etc. Steven, also a tall lad, is asked to pose for a photo as am I, which we oblige with suitable amounts of embarrassment. Climbing down from our new status we go for lunch at KOTO.

KOTO finds disadvantaged young people and trains them, helping them to find careers in the hospitality trade, much like Makphet in Laos helps people there. The lunch is great and we fill up nicely ahead of our train journey in the evening. During the lunch Darren is presented with a birthday cake made by the folks of KOTO, which all agree is bloody delicious, and better than the seasonal fruit salad that the set menu offered. Darren is suitably impressed and embarrassed which is the perfect reaction. He also had no idea anything at all had been planned.

Following our slap up lunch we stop by the Fine Arts Museum which is close by. Here there are lots of ceramics, paintings, carvings, sculptures and more which are displayed. Some items are 1000s of years old and others date from the 20th century. Some of the work is incredibly intricate, my favourite stuff being the carvings and woven artworks.

We move on from the museum to the old prison in what is turning out to be an afternoon of culture. Most of the prison has been demolished to make way for other new buildings, but a small part remains which has been turned into an exhibit for the public. Originally built by the French to house polictical prisoners during the French occupation of Vietnam in the early 20th century, the Vietnamese themsves later used it to house American prisoners of war during the American war. The most recognisable (currently at least) name seen is that of recent republican candidate John McCain who was a pilot captured during the war. His clothes that he was captured in are displayed and there is an image of him having wounds treated by Vietnamese medics. It is clear from everythng we saw that the Vietnamese treated their American prisoners far better than they themselves were treated in their own country by the French. The Americans are shown playing basketball, pool, music, writing home, cooking Christmas dinner. The Vietnamese however are depicted in chains tied to hard areas, starved of food and clean living conditions. There is a guillotine still in good working order which was used to behead those that broke the rules during the french occupation. It is an incredibly touching experience and there remains much for me to learn about the history of Vietnam, but visiting that prison certainly gave me an awful lot more than I ever knew before.

We leave the prison a little tired, perhaps from the walking or perhaps from the holiday itself, but we go for a coffee in a place which if it said Costa outside wouldn’t have looked out of place. It’s nice to be able to sit in a comfy chair for half an hour and relax, even if all you are relaxing from is seeing stuff. I think mentally this trip has a lot to take in, so the mind can tire easily.

Having hitched a cab back to the hotel we collect our luggage and sandwiches (ordered just before lunch and delivered to the hotel), avoid the lady selling hats for one last time (though Steven has already fallen foul of her persistence) and board the bus for the train station for our overnight trip to Hue.

This train is much smarter just from the outside than the last. Thankfully we are also in the best rooms in the train which ought to equal comfort. Once we’ve rammed our bags under the bunks it’s not long before the train gets going.

Rafa tells us that the bar carriage is right down the other end of the train – we are in carriage 12. We’ve also bought a shit load of booze with us to drink away the journey as it’s Darren’s birthday, so we’re not sure how we can play it in the bar. We bowl down to the front carriage to see what it’s all about, wading through the various different classes of cabins, past the area of the train where folks will be sleeping in no more than reclining chairs, some even on the floor as there don’t appear to be enough seats. Finally we reach the bar carriage, which is not as wild west as the Bangkok train, but still a bit rough. The beers are also only coke can sized and the selection not fantastic, but I grab a local beer anyway.

Before long Darren and Rafa are engaged in a heavy but not too serious discussion about governments and war, and the ladies and Barry and chatting over the other side. Pretty soon the ladies decide it’s a little too loud for them and retire back to the cabins, and Barry is left a little isolated over the other side of the train. The carriage is so loud that I have trouble hearing the conversation next to me (though of course that’s not that unusual) so it’s impossible for Barry to join in and I feel a little bad for him. It’s then not too long before he retires too. Note to self, next time try harder to engage.

A strange concept, the bar on the train has a last orders and closing time, I can’t quite fathom why they are not happy to stay open all night if folks wants them to. Anyhow, we’re ejected and we go back to our cabin where we find Gaynor, Mrs Tom and Summer all deep I conversation. Gaynor pops off to bed (and I think Barry has already gone to bed too) so the rest of us pile in and get the after hours drinking going, and we teach Rafaele how to play chase the lady. Beieng the way he is he immediately tries to go for the perfect hand but we quickly snuff out his plans.

After a few rounds of cards we all begin to tire, and with Summer actually managing to pull the perfect hand none of us have any chance of catching up, so we sack it off and go to bed.

Message ends.