Street Fighting Man

We took an outrageously cramped 12 hour overnight bus ride to our next destination, Hue town.The place itself comes highly recommended, though I wasn’t personally inspired by the semi-impressive architecture and half hearted collection of war memorabilia.

Walking back to the  hotel on the first evening the skies opened up, soaking us within seconds. Rain in England may be regular, but at least it drips feebly down, rather than hurtling its way to the ground monsoon style. We hopped inside the nearest shop, grabbed some cheap liqueur and sat in the entrance, watching the chaos unfold.

 

Ten minutes in the entire road was covered; another ten and the pavement was becoming submerged, people in raincoats were now wading through the street. The rain eventually began to ease, before coming to a complete stop. Locals started to sweep the water away and within the hour everything was back to ‘normal’.

 

After a second night in the town it was definitely time to move on, though not via another mundane bus journey. Motorbiking through the mountains sounded infinitely more exciting – and it most certainly was, albeit not in the way we expected. Jack had never ridden a bike, while my prior experience was limited to an electric scooter for a few hours in china. Still it’s not like you need anything silly like a driving licence or  protection out here. For 20 dollars we rented a small automatic and were handed a pair of ‘helmets’ that looked barely more sturdy than baseball caps. What could possibly go wrong?

 

A quick practice run and we were off, darting in and out of the Vietnamese traffic. Annoyingly road signs aren’t that popular, resulting in a lot of wrong turns and informal international sign language to amused locals. Once out of the  city, jack had a few goes on the bike; something we both found terrifying, and for very good reason. We switched back and embarked into the heart of the forrest, meandering past potholes, fellow bikers, dogs, chickens and the odd water buffalo. As we got more hopelessly lost, driving past flabbergasted villagers, we gave up with the mountain route and headed back for the main road.

 

We still had 100 kilometres (62 miles) to go as the sun began to set. I pushed the bike to its limit, blitzing past fellow bikers and undertaking lorries as we raced full throttle for our destination: 90kmph without a visor the eyes rather bloodshot, while 10 hours on the bike leaves the arse rather sore. After ascending more mountain roads in total darkness we finally made it to Hoi An, miraculously without a single crash.

 

I felt tired, hungry and drained, yet utterly buzzing. Riding a motorbike is glorious. The burst of adrenaline and stupendous feeling of freedom is unrivalled, particularly for a thrill seeking male adolescent. The nanny state in England is all well and good for some, but its not really for me, not yet anyway. Maybe it’s genetic ( my father owns and loves a BMW k1300 – capable of out-accelerating a Lamborghini).

 

The day after was Jack’s 21st; celebrated naturally with a lot of alcohol. Unknown to me he fell asleep/passed out outside the bar and left, leaving me to negotiate the confusing streets map free. I was approached by a young thief, going forcefully for my wallet; I momentarily lost control and lashed out violently, before he returned to whack me on the head with a stick. I woke up hungover, feeling like my skull had been smashed, before remembering it actually had. Bikes are legendary, but Vietnam right now is less so.

Mixed Emotions

Mixed Emotions.

Mixed Emotions

Storytelling is all too regularly glamourised to the extent that positives are largely exaggerated, while negatives are cast awkwardly aside. Travelling recollections normally suffer a similar fate: the breathtaking experiences I had in China sit far more prominently in the mind than the bitter cold, constant commotion and daunting 25 hour train journeys. To be frank, my first few days in Vietnam haven’t been the greatest.

Walking back from a bar on our second night, an approaching prostitute decided to manhandle me rather forcefully. I immediately raised my arms in a polite international gesture of ‘no thank you’ and waited for her to depart. A few seconds later she did and we walked on for a minute or two mildly amused; I then realised my wallet was gone.

An immediate U-turn to the scene of the crime proved fruitless. As I walked dejectedly onward a man on a motorbike zipped past, tossed a moneyless wallet in my general direction and vanished. The whole operation was unnervingly slick, leaving me rather on edge. In need of some cash, I found an ATM the next morning, though I forgot to withdraw my card (after I had received the money). The machine swallowed it, resulting in a hazardous journey to the bank the next morning.

My financial woes were matched by Jack’s physical ones. South East Asia takes the delicate western stomach some getting used to, particularly when cheap alcohol is consumed on a daily basis. We found an unassuming place packed with locals in the centre of Hanoi; draught beer for 30p. A fascinating chat with a Vietnamese economics teacher followed, giving me a bit more understating of a country I know very little about, despite its 80 million inhabitants.

Back in the hostel and surrounded by interesting travellers, the beer continued to flow. The bars and clubs officially shut at 12, however a few friends in the right places and a few bribes ensure there’s always somewhere open (and crowded with foreigners). I arrived back on our final night to the telltale sound of heavy breathing and rhythmic thudding. As me and my fellow dorm mates tried to sleep, Jack was getting to know someone a little better on the balcony – an Essex blonde to be precise. It’s ok for some I guess.

Suitably hungover, we headed for the beauty of Halong Bay: words can’t do the place justice; to be honest neither can my average photography skills, but it was spectacular. Unfortunately Asian techno music blasted out sporadically on our boat, adding a somewhat peculiar dimension to our ocean paradise. Later that night a drunk English guy started shouting at the staff for allegedly stealing his IPhone, having left it on the bar unguarded. He grew steadily angrier, raging aggressively at a couple of petrified looking Vietnamese men, before inevitably finding the thing in his pocket the next morning. His utter vulgarity, justified in his eyes because of intoxication, soured the cruise.

Vietnam so far feels a lot more touristy than China, though relatively similar in many respects. Their very own Communist Party operates in equally shady ways, culminating in a dodgy mixture of authoritarian government and rampant illegal capitalism. It’s been eventful anyway.

Start Me Up

With summer fast approaching the time is right to take my inevitable hibernation from British society. Exeter unversity has the sublime habit of ensuring most students are completely finished by mid May, giving me four months to do somethning useful with my life. Tempting though it is, the idea of working for some Fat Cat in the City, in the hope of one day being the guy himself has been rejected – although in the current dogfight there’s no guarantee I would have been accepted. CV hyper-building is all the rage.

Instead an all encompassing tour of South East Asia; Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, the Philippines and Hong Kong. That’s the plan anyway, assming our wallets and our health lasts that long.

With our bags packed, Jack and I set off for Hong Kong. Owing to our flight from there to Vietnam being cancelled, we arrived late in the evening without anything further booked. Luckily, Hong Kong airport has WiFi of the fast and free variety; something those stingy bastards in Gatwick and Heathrow could learn from. A frantic ticket search culminated in a 4am online purchase. Five hours later we boarded the plane, arriving (via Malaysia) in Hanoi, Vietnam later that day.

After two nights without a mattress the basic ones on offer in the 3 pounds a night youth hostel felt superb. We checked in, rather suitably just in time for happy hour – though instead of paying half price the beer was completely free; very happy indeed. The morning after however was less so: strangely my appetite for alcohol, has over the last few months waned to the extent that nights of utter intoxication have become a rarity. Rapid acclimitisation will be needed if I’m to avoid repeating the embarrassment of vomiting in our dormitory toilet, to the great amusement of fellow travellers.

Jack, suprisingly avoided such shortcomings. It’s fair to say his pale white skin and red hair looks rather exotic over here. The ginger count so far (excluding him) stands at one, despite the constant stream of new faces. Our dream of compiling ‘the 100 gingers of South East Asia’ album hangs in the balance. It’s good to be back in Asia.