Long. Way. Home.

(Long Way Home is yet another terrible Asian name joke - I'm tired and sat waiting for a ferry so that's my excuse for constantly repeating material). 

Here we are, folks. My last blog from out east. What a fantastic month has been, flying by faster than a scooter in Hanoi, or the phlegm of an elderly Chinese man who just can't help himself. This was my first trip to this side of the world and it hasn't disappointed. I've been reunited with an old friend and made lots of new ones too, so I'll take this opportunity to say thank you to all of them. 

From Sasha and Fanny for having me in their home, to Johnny for his Vietnamese nail girl impersonation and pole skills, to Tim for crossing the (metaphorical) friendship bridge with me, and to all of the cast and crew from The House of Dancing Water - you're all great and have made me feel so welcome. I've got to give a big special thank you to Ben Milot for a great two weeks travelling around Vietnam and Thailand, for being a father figure and for being too drunk to stand in Bangkok. And, last but not least, to my bestest best friend in the whole of Taipa (if not the world)...Sophie "Insert Stage Name Here" Robinson. I am so proud of her wee face for all the amazing work she is doing and the life she is living over here. She deserves all the good things that are coming her way and it has been brilliant just catching up, let alone all the travelling/feasting/drinking. So, in the last bit of Derbyshire I can muster, ta me duck for everything. 

With feasting and drinking in mind, that's exactly how I spent my last day in Macau. Me and Soph met Ben and Johnny for an Italian buffet in the Venetian. The four greatest words in the English language...all you can eat. We had a wander before heading to the Ild Taipa Tavern for some farewell beers and festive port. For some reason a Chinese family sat their infant child next to us and made it pose with a glass of wine. If anyone sees the photograph, I haven't adopted a Chinese baby. Yet. We then gathered my luggage, met Tim for a farewell sherry and I am now just outside of Hong Kong on the ferry. Land, sea and air people. 

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Hong Kong airport is huge. They also gave me about £15 in a tax return. I bought some hideous chopsticks to celebrate. I'm now waiting for my flight to Munich, and then my connection to Manchester. Eighteen hours altogether so I'm banking on more complimentary red wine to ease the pain. 

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Made it to Munich. Seemed to be ahead of schedule so now I'm having to wait here for three hours. Quite a few Man City fans knocking about, seeing as they beat Bayern on Tuesday night. I haven't really got any great plane stories. I drank red wine, watched 'Meet The Millers' (which Soph had weirdly recommend to me earlier in the day), and about three quarters of 'The Hobbit.' I slept. It was really foggy as we landed. Getting off of a German plane is a far more relaxing experience than getting off of a Chinese one. This blog is petering out faster than Robbie Williams' career. I'll put it out of its misery when I land in Manchester. 

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Currently freezing in Chezterfield. I'm back safe and sound. It's afternoon but it's night but I just ate breakfast but...you get the picture. I just drank Vietnamese coffee, think that's my 10th of today (or yesterday, or tomorrow...). I need a beer. Here's a picture of me in a mask. Thanks for reading everyone! I'll be blogging again soon on my next madcap adventure. 

More of Macau/Hong Kong.

Sunday night was spent drinking cocktails in the Lisboa casino. It is strange to be a visitor in these places. What hits you first is the smoke. Even the high-end areas like The Venetian have a distinct working-men's club feel to them. The Lisboa was even more old school. Dancers performed the can-can while I drank Black Russians. It's not a bad life. 

Me and Soph spontaneously decided to try the rather fancy looking Chinese restaraunt next door to her building. The sight of huge fish swimming in the window was apparently tempting, and despite it being nearly empty, it was open until 3am. We ordered crab and shrimp dumplings, a whole chicken (including face) that was beautifully cooked, a strange but incredible mix of pig's intestines, chilli and a lot of cloves, and probably the best rice I've had on this trip. It was a pretty incredible meal, and the first authentically Chinese one. 

Monday involved wandering around Venice. The fake one. It is now completely normal to see Chinese tourists taking scores of photographs of a ceiling painted like the sky, or a gondola drifting along a canal of chlorine. To make things worse there is even a Manchester United shop. I wonder if they watched the Everton game last week. What a corporate mess they are. Me and Soph went for dim sum before this traipse around, making up for lost time on the Chinese cuisine front. 

I watched the show for a final time, moving to a different area and getting a bit wet in the process (from the pool). I managed to do some filming, so I will chuck up some videos on Facebook when I get chance. I sadly missed Soph slipping in one scene though. Afterwards I did some Chinese shopping and cooked a group of the guys from the show some traditional food from my homeland (pizzas). By now you know the drill - I drank the night away and carried on my unbeaten record of every single day in Asia containing alcohol. That's commitment. 

Tuesday was my last full day (sniff), so me, Soph and Ben took our weary heads over the water to Hong Kong. Those guys had some tattoos touched up briefly, I spent a large amout of the day photobombing tourists, and of course drank. We went for a lovely French lunch after another brief ferry - think cheeses, charcuterie and foie gras - and then drank Stella to my heart's content. We pottered around the shops, went to a couple of wine bars and caught a ferry back to Macau around 1. A successful last full day all told. 

And now it is upon me! I'll do a blog at the airport later to try and sum up this Asian Odyssey, but for now I'm off for an Italian lunch that my body needs/deserves.

   

Adam is back in Da House (of Dancing Water).

I had a pretty easy day yesterday. Can definitely feel myself and my trip winding down, just as Sophie and everyone in her show is gearing up for a busy Christmas schedule. With that in mind I went to watch the eight o'clock performance, where I was made aware that I would be seeing the full show. Given that what I had already seen was pretty wild and whacky, I was intrigued. And I wasn't disappointed. 

From the moment a giant hydraulic boat rose from the water, accompanied by music that bore a striking resemblance to 'The Pirates of the Carribean,' I started to understand why everyone had been so apologetic. There were so many elements that I had not seen: besides the boat there were fighting scenes in the water, high dives (and I mean high) and the sheer lunacy of the Russian swing. It looks more dangerous than Duncan Ferguson holding a can of Stella and a dead pigeon. Soph was there swimming in the water one minute, the next up in the rafters, part-fish, part-circus flea. Bonkers is about as good a word as I can find. 

After stumbling out amid a bevy of drunk gamblers fighting around an ambulance and police car or three, I found Soph. After ascertaining that the giraffe with the broken neck was ok (note. not a real giraffe), we headed for beers and cocktails at The Venetian. I could get used to this casino business. If someone can wangle me a Celine Dion style gig in Vegas, I'm there. I would accept blue man group though. 

I'm off into Macau now for a wander and some gift buying, cos I'm just that nice a guy. I'll be seeing the show again tomorrow, then Hong Kong on Tuesdsy and then...homeward bound. 

Coloane.

Thursday night was spent recovering from the sights of hundreds of fish being butchered...by eating sushi. I then helped Soph and her friends put up the Christmas tree in their flat. Listening to Buble and drinking sherry is a little surreal so far from home, it must be said. I have been surprised at the number and scale of the Christmas decorations in Asia, especially in Thailand. I guess over here they just call Father Christmas "Ho". Or Jin Gul Bell. Or something else that isn't funny. 

I actually had a kind of lie in on Friday morning. Well earned I would say. I scuttled off to my last unvisited area of Macau, the old town of Coloane. It was supposed to be a lot quieter and more Portugese in influence, and so far it hasn't disappointed. Soph had time to join me for coffee and croissant before shooting back to work, leaving me to explore. It is a small area - the odd temple or chapel, small back-street cafés, dogs sleeping in shady alleys. It definitely makes a pleasant change from the melee that was Three Lamps yesterday. 

And yet staring across the water from me is mainland China. A little more than a stone's throw but not by much. Technically I am already in China: Macau is classed as an S.A.R (Special Administrative Region), as is Hong Kong. It is controlled by China but has it's own currency and a certain degree of independence. In some ways I am getting a China-lite experience. Yet with the sheer popularity of gambling means that a huge number of mainland Chinese are here. Soph told me before that they are limited to visiting twice a year, so that they don't waste too much money. 

As if to remind me of the fact that I am actually in China, whilst kind of saying that I wasn't, a ridiculous number of fireworks just blew up next to the temple I was sitting by. Nobody batted an eyelid. I assume it was some kind of funeral or wedding tradition. But it certainly killed the solitude. I'm not one for blogging about stereotypes but generally Chinese people are loud. And I mean loud. I'm hoping for a quiet flight home via Munich but it won't happen. Guess I will need to knock back the free wine again. 

A strange old woman with a face like old fruit came up to me while I was sitting, and put her hand out. She said "no tea." I really hope she wasn't a prostitute. I moved further down the water and a man was chattering away to himself. As you can see there is little peace. 

I did explore more of the old village. I tried some of the local food; Lord Stow's bakery is an institution famous for its egg custard tarts, and very nice they were too. After some more wandering I went to Nga Tim's Cafe, recommended by Andy for its salt and pepper squid. Very nice! It certainly prepared me for a bus jammed full of Chinese men. It was so unpleasant I got off early and walked past the casinos lit up at night. They have certainly gone all out for Christmas. 

I decided to be boring and have a beer back at Soph's tonight. I am watching the show again this Saturday night, and will get to see the full spectacle for the first time. Only four nights till I am back to the cool embrace of Manchester. 

Goodbye, Chiang Mai

I'm back in Macau after a mad dash across Vietnam and Thailand. It was tough to leave Chiang Mai - not only was it a cool place that we were just getting a real feel for, but we had such great hosts in Andy and Hilary. 

On Tuesday we decided to forgo another coach trip and instead headed to the Chiang Mai zoo. It was only a short ride and gave us the easiest way of seeing the elephants that this part of Thailand is famous for. It was a surprisingly well-looked after place. We got to feed, hippos, elephants and Soph even gave a jaguar some meat. As you do. It was also really quiet for a zoo. And it cost about £2 to get in. Yep, that cheap. 

We paid a little extra to see the pandas, which did what pandas generally do and just laid there next to some bamboo. We did get the chance to get one of those terrible, photoshopped pictures where it looks like you're holding the pandas though. Well worth it, results to come soon. 

After the zoo we met Andy, Hilary and Molly and went to their favourite Thai place in town. It was far and away the best food I've had in Thailand. I had one of the local specialities, khoa soi kai; chicken, noodles in a creamy broth and topped with crispy noodles. It was delicious, as were all the extras. It was also home to Soph's favourite Thai dish and, as far as I'm aware, the only good Asian pudding - mango with sticky rice. You can't beat it. 

We then proceeded to do the done tourist thing and spend our remaining baht on crap t-shirts, copious amounts of beer and some elephant trousers that the people of Chesterfield are going to be seeing an awful lot more of. They are more comfortable than falling asleep in a fat girl's cleavage. And that was about that for Chiang Mai. A smashing city and a great end to to two weeks on the road. 

I'm now back in Macau for around a week before England welcomes me back into its own ample bosom. I celebrated this fact by watching the Man U-Everton game on Chinese time aka 4am. I was duly rewarded with a 1-0 win. And after some well-earned rest, I spent today wandering around the Three Lamps district. The Red Market was certainly an eye-opener - eels, fish, prawns all still alive and (not quite) swimming...until one of many butchers was there to carve them up. It was carnage. Also turns out that a bearded white person seems to stand out in that environment. Hello again, China! 

Chiang Mai/Traditional Thai Massage.

For those of you readers who want me to do all the depraved, disgusting, Englishman-in-the-Orient sort of deeds...I had a traditional Thai massage. It was my first full day in Chiang Mai, the wind was in my sails - why not? Except by traditional I am not referring to "sucky sucky 50 baht/you big American G.I/happy ending." I mean the biggest woman I have seen in Thailand, hands like dustbin lids, a chip on her shoulder and a knee dug deep into mine as reward. 

She started on the legs. They feel alright now but at the time I thought that I was going to lose them. She told me to relax, clearly picking up on my anguish. If she had offered me a happy ending, I would have rolled over and bit the pillow. It was that kind of massage. She walked on my back. She performed a crippler cross face that Chris Benoit would have shuddered at. Four times. It was a relaxing massage because at the end of that anything will be relaxing. 

I do feel loose now though. That might be the Chang going down smooth as much as anything. It's also a general effect of being in Chiang Mai, which is bustling but feels like Tideswell on a Tuesday night compared to Bangkok. We are staying with Soph's friend Andy, along with his wife Hilary and daughter Molly. They are all great and it has made a nice change to have someone to show us around a little. We spent Sunday night drinking Chang, ending up in a downbeat, Rasta-themed rooftop bar. Taking off your shoes before you go inside a place for a drink is a novelty but one that definitely adds to the easygoing feel. The small snatchings of Thai food I have sampled have all been great too. 

I headed off into town today on the songthaew; it's a cross between a bus and a taxi, where you hop on with others and try to get as close as you can to your destination. Having negotiated it with Andy with ease, I managed to end up in another part of town. I was saved by a girl sat next to me, who I assumed was about twelve owing to her braces but turned out to be a nurse. She pointed me in the right direction and after a wander I met Ben and Soph. 

We had heard good things about a temple on one of the mountains around the city, so took a taxi to Doi Suthep. At first we thought the driver was ripping us off but for about £4 each, including an entry fee, he took us on a winding ride through the trees and high above Chiang Mai, waited for us while we visited the temple and then met us to drive us back. The temple itself was busy but magnificent. Buddhism as always been that religion that even a staunch Atheist like myself can like a little bit. Sitting barefoot and watching the world go by is all good in my eyes. The views were spectacular as well. 

As for now, I am sat in a German sports bar. Purely to charge my phone, because I'm assuming I will end up overpaying for this Chang. It definitely feels like a relaxing way to end a madcap dash across Vietnam and now Thailand. I see a lot of similarities with the north-west of Thailand and the north-west of the U.S. There is general feeling of calm, the mountains surrounding the city, the backpackers aimlessly lolling around in baggy trousers. I like it. It feels a million miles away from Bangkok; the capital is on lock-down as protests spread and anger builds. And then there are the prostitutes. 

P.s special mention to my Buddist bud Tom from San Francisco who kept the flight here interesting. 

Bangkok.

There is a beautiful park in the centre of Bangkok, about a half hour stroll from my hotel, called Lumpini Parl. There is a lake, fountains, a little outdoor gym. It seems popular with locals, expats and tourists alike. But that is not the whole story, and from what I have seen of this city as a whole, it never really is. Because a few yards from me a rather impressive monitor lizard is stalking on the water's edge. Another is swimming around a turtle, who until he came was having sex with another turtle. Even the turtles cannot help themselves in Bangkok. 

If there is ever a way to rock up to a five-star hotel in the middle of the night, it is via a tuk-tuk, ferrying this dishevelled Englishman - in typically-tourist "Bia Hoi" T-Shirt - and his friends, smelling of noodles and beer. The next morning I headed out with Sophie and found this very park, a time when I was less nonchalant about a giant lizard swimming past me like a mallard would back home. A man stopped and gave me a hand massage in the park, a criminal offence in England, and we ate some Thai food. Cue diarrhea. 

After plenty of wandering I did something I truly regret, something I said that I would never do on holiday. I really am ashamed, but I guess I was caught up in the idea of being in Bangkok. Yes, I went to the gym on holiday. Should be noted as well that my travel buddies are professional athletes - two days later and it still hurts to breathe. 

That night we grabbed food in somewhere that was not on the side of a street. Madness! As a result the service was absolutely abysmal, each of our meals separated by about ten minutes. Give me pho in Vietnam any day of the week. After that the night quickly slipped into what can only be described as depraved. We drank. A lot. I even drank Chang, the drink of (enforced) choice at my beloved Goodison and the sort of tasteless fizz that makes me yearn for something tepid and hoppy. 

But a fair few Changs later and all was forgotten. It certainly helped to enjoy the last few songs of the Thai Beatles set in an Irish bar.  We sat in a strip club that seemed rather tame compared to what I had envisaged. I had a chat with a girl called Mona, who had an ample personality. A street tout followed us around to numerous bars, and we finally went to his bar. It was empty, save for about twenty or more expressionless women, like department store mannekins. We made a hasty exit and went into another place where - in part due to Ben's exclamation - we were cheered on arrival. Never have I felt more popular in all my life. It was only inside that we realised some of the girls were not as feminine as the rest. An interesting Russian roulette. 

After ditching a girl who offered to sleep with me for 2,000 baht (an eye-watering £40), we found another bar and let the tequila do the rest. An eventful taxi home in the very wee hours, with Ben managing to vomit out of the window in transit, summed up the utter debauchery. To add to our entrance on our first night, we got a security guard to take Ben to bed on a luggage rail. Bangkok is definitely a place to gain some emotional baggage. Then again, the numerous white, middle-aged men cavorting with ridiculously flamboyant girls would probably disagree. This truly is the capital of the mid-life crisis. Luckily I had mine years ago. 

Friday nights events made Saturday a bit of a write-off, not helped by my inexplicable use of "condiments" in the Thai cafe the previous lunch time. Eventually we surfaced, before I went as English as possible and went to watch Everton destroy Stoke 4-0 in the Irish bar.  I found a fellow blue from Ireland to watch the game with, and the Chang perked me up. I then went out for a few drinks in another area, more upscale than the previous night. I ended up on a rooftop bar with some ridiculously attractive people. My people. But after waking up on the toilet the previous morning

and having not eaten since an ill-judged pastry binge at a drunken breakfast, I took my leave. 

And that, dear reader, is it for the Thai capital. We are taking a plane to Chiang Mai this afternoon for another three nights. Time is creeping up on my return to English shores. And I can say with some pride, tinged with a little disappointment, that the only souvenirs I will be leaving Bangkok with are a couple of Chang vests and a sore head. A monitor lizard might slip through customs though...

Leaving HCMC/BKK.

Thursday, and in two weeks I will be back in England. I will probably be greeted by rain in Manchester, but in HCMC it is really raining. A great wall of it that shook the Museum of War Remnants, though I was already pretty shaken. A friend of Sophie's had told us to leave this place until our last day, so that we didn't slump too much. It was hard not to. 

The museum was originally given the more entertaining title of 'The Museum of Chinese and American War Crimes,' and it tells the story of the American invasion (and to a lesser extent the earlier war with the French) in gruesome detail. There are no effects. No interactivity. No buttons to press, no levers to pull. Just photographs. Some I had seen before: the famous shot of the girl stumbling away from a napalm blast, GI's posing with corpses. But I have never seen the photos of the victims of Agent Orange. So many deformities. Worse was the strange tourist next to me taking a picture of a child born limbless. I called him a twat and he walked off in apparent surrender. Probably French. 

The museum was incredibly interesting but troubling. Also troubling was the kid who tried to steal my phone before I went in, attempting to repair my shoes whilst I was sat down. It's reassuring to meet a few local characters. He said he was hungry, so I offered him my sandwich and  he said no but wanted money. My conscience is clear. 

What was clear was that after a sobering experience such as seeing mutilated bodies and incomprehensible skin conditions, some relaxation and reflection was required. We went on a mini-beer crawl. Sophie is a big fan of Hard Rock Cafe (been there, done that, got a hundred t-shirts), so it was here in HCMC that I lost my Hard Rock virginity. What a truly terrible idea for a place. Then again the staff were lovely and sorted us loud airport taxi so I'm not complaining. Kinda. 

I'm writing this in the air on the way to Bangkok, and we land in a country where a civil uprising is apparently imminent. I wasn't that excited for this part of Thailand. When the best beer in a country is Chang and where the lobster-skinned Englishman roams free, how could I be? But now that there is a little bit of politics in the mix, we've got a good old-fashioned high brow holiday. Hopefully. I'm only in Bangkok for three short nights before a flight to Chiang Mai in the north. And before I know it I'm back in Macau, then Manchester. Talk about quick turnarounds. I'll blog again when I have some Thai stories. Who knows I might end up as the next president?

Ho Chi Minh City.

This city is a step up. Hanoi was bustling, full of life on every corner, scooters and people jostling for your attention. But Ho Chi Minh is a bigger, bolder, brasher version of the north's big city. The temperature is a good few degrees higher, the buildings are taller and although there is more space, there is more to fill it with. It is relentless. 

On our first night - following a surprisingly uneventful flight - we headed in the direction of the main bars. There were certainly some sights. There is no worse introduction to a place than an Essex-boy promoter accosting you and saying that "the top two DJs in Vietnam" are in his bar (I'm the third best, for the record). We did find draught beer for 7,000 dong though. That's 20p to you untravelled brutes. A boy with elephantitis was paraded along while we sat for a drink, his head swollen to a size I didn't think possible, besides John Barnes. It was troubling. I don't know whether he was being used or cared for by the man who carried him, but he was soon away into the night. 

I also got felt up by a prostitute again and yes, she was old and ugly. We noticed a lot more people selling items and begging. One man tried to sell us lighters. We said no and then he simply said "ecstasy?" A bar man with a mullet offered me opium. I felt like Coleridge. Wearing my beard like an albatross around my neck. It was all a fair introduction to the frenetic pace of life in this "liberated" city. 

On Tuesday I wandered around the local market - a sprawling affair full of smells I did not recognise. That is a familiar occurrence here. I bartered for an iPhone charger (as my forefathers did before me) and then met Ben and Sophie. We ended up at the top of the Saigon tower, drinking Chimay and watching the hive of activity below. This is a big city, make no mistake about it. We went for coffee, crepes and ice-cream at a French place, cos it was one of those days, and then me and Sophie found a very cool Belgian beer bar. It was nice to give my taste buds some of the good stuff before hitting the ba ba ba and stuffed pancakes in the evening. 

Thursday morning meant a trip to Cu Chi Tunnels, a big tourist attraction where the Vietcong fought and lived deep below the surface. Compared to the terrible logistics of a Halong Bay, it was actually a really good tour. Those Vietcong were crafty beggars. Tim O'Brien's novels were at the forefront of my mind when we saw various boobie-traps (always loved that term) and saw their means of evasion. I loved the idea of cooking at 5am and having a pipe to redirect the smoke, to disguise it with the fog. Or the sandals made from tyres to make it seem as though troops had walked in the opposite way, by the width of the sole. 

Worth mentioning was our toilet break on the way to the tunnels, where we were taken to what amounted to a sweat shop for disabled people. I have seen other tourist stops like this, such as near Halong, but the difference here was that Agent Orange was used as an excuse. It was a weird place to stop, but luckily some Asian women on our trip spent as much time there as possible to make us feel incredibly awkward. On the plus side, another tour guide at the stop looked like an Asian Jack Sparrow (see Instagram adammcculloch23). 

I managed to meet some more English people on the bus; a girl travelling alone seemed cool but is there anything worse when you're away than a male lifeguard from Eastbourne saying "what happens in Vietnam, stays in Vietnam"? I apologise unreservedly to citizens of the world who think that all English people have the personality of a flannel soaked in warm Carling. 

Nowhere was this more apparent than when we bumped into them again at Independence Palace. From his and his balding, tribal-tattooed comrade it should have been a tedious experience. For 87p we got a guided tour of this bizarre former HQ of the Republican government. I heard one Aussie tourist describe it, accurately it must be said, as like something out of a Bond film. With the helicopter on the roof and the underground war rooms, it certainly could have been. A good find. 

In the evening we headed to a Vietnamese BBQ spot. You can't really going wrong with beer and meat that you sear yourself at the table. Then it was onto a rooftop bar, some Vietnamese jazz (surprisingly good singer) and some more German/Belgian beer. Just as I was saying that there are not many places in the world, especially London, where you could enjoy a Chimay in such elegant surrounds, a cockroach crawled behind Sophie. Cue hysterics. It was quite an apt moment for a city such as this. Behind the luxury, above the droves of people and swarm of scooters, this city can still surprise, shock, remind you of its unremitting vibrancy. There is never a quiet moment.

And now to Bangkok. If it wasn't mad enough, there is talk of revolution in the air...

That Da Nang Thang.

We left Hanoi after a morning coffee (or caphe). I love the stuff here, it's so strong and bitter and tastes great on its own. The Vietnamese then add condensed milk to it and it is perfect. I never normally have milk in my coffee but it works so well over here. 

After buying a couple of obligatory Bia Hoi t-shirts we jumped into our taxi to the airport. It had already been a bit confusing, with two different times listed for our flight. We had been driving for about five minutes when a group of policeman waved us over from the side of the road. Other vehicles were being stopped. Our driver looked like he was going to shit himself. A cop saluted him and what followed was over half an hour of suspense as he moved between the axe and the cops, his head in his hands, speaking no English whatsoever. I think I developed at least one stomach ulcer as I nearly managed to miss yet another flight in Vietnam. 

We cut it fine but made our flight on time and before we knew it we had entered Da Nang. It seemed so much more open than the congested streets of Hanoi. The place where we are staying is right on the beach. There are some signs of the recent typhoon along the shore, and I found a dead pig by the sea in an isolated area. It reminded me of when I am brining a pork shoulder. 

Walking around Da Nang I sensed less of a tourist atmosphere and more of a working city. The fact that it was a Sunday obviously had an effect because it turns out that there is a large Catholic population, and they were all pulling their bikes and scooters in to mass. I had a nice bowl of noodles, peanut-coated chicken and salad, with a beer, for £1, including a 10% tip. Talk about value. There were few real sites to see but I wandered through an indoor market that was so full of different smells - ginger, incense and what seemed to be rotting meat - that I nearly passed out. 

Everyone was very friendly here. People said hello to me in the street and asked me where I was from, not to sell me anything but out of curiosity. Some kids seemed to find my shorts funny (for the record they are tie-dye and too short). I left my sunglasses in a coffee shop (where I annoyingly found a posh English couple trying to speak Vietnamese and playing that stupid logo game on their phone) and when I realised my mistake, the girl behind the counter had them ready for me. Honest town. Though she could probably tell they were fake. 

I am off for a quick visit to Hoi An now, a town that is a Unesco World Heritage site in its own right. I'll let you know how the bia goes down further down the coast, and hopefully my next plane down to Saigon tomorrow is an easier ride than the last two!

  

Boat/Hanoi

I woke up at 6 hoping for a sunset but the weather was still poor. It was good to feel some sea-air that early in the morning though. Luckily, I didn't have to wait long to be disturbed by the staff for breakfast and the news that an engine had broke so we couldn't go to the beach. So far, so good. We managed to find a small boat to pull up and take us to some caves I know nothing about because a) our guide was tight and didn't want to pay to get in and b) it was full of a heady cocktail of French, Chinese and Australian tourists. It was fun consistently ruining their poorly-lit photos by walking non the background though. 

It had all got a bit confusing, as different groups from the previous night on board had been shipped off on excursions, so when we arrived back on board there was only us and the German couple. We had a decent meal of fish, pork and rice, after the bartender had awkwardly tried to sell us pearls. Apparently genuine pearls can be tested by rubbing them together until a dust comes off. Definitely looking that up. 

And then we were finally off the Albatross. It was a good laugh and there's always the novelty of being at sea but it was good to be back on dry land. Except now I'm on the tiniest/slowest bus imaginable, hunched up like a dog waiting to be cooked. I'm looking forward to being back in Hanoi where I can drink beer, avoid motorbikes and get accosted by prostitutes in peace. 

                              * * *

Back in Hanoi it was soon back to the good stuff. We are a Vietnamese version of a pizza - rice paper grilled with meat, egg and vegetables. It was a pretty local place so when Robbo and Ben knocked their beers over in quick succession it was pretty funny. We stopped off in Boob for a goodbye beer. I'll never forget the way he made "peanuts" sound like "penis". We then had a wander around the city, and finally had the pho we had been craving. It was incredible. Silly noodles, a wonderful broth, coriander and fresh chilli with beef as well. It was worth the wait. 

Even better was our trip to some more of the Bia Hoi bars, where we were supping a tast microbrew for just over 40p a pint. I need to get that recipe. We stumbled home ready for another city, another adventure, and another panic-stricken airport escapade. But more on that later. 

Halong...has this been going on?

Halong Bay. Widely regarded as one of the most romantic and picturesque areas of the world. A Unesco World Heritage Site. A stunning array of islands, a world of floating villages and time gone by. What a perfect place to go to with a couple on a rainy day, on a boat run by Hanoi's answer to Basil Fawlty. 

I'm kidding of course, and today has been great. I'm writing this in my cabin, a can of 333 (ba-ba-ba over here) and a view across the bay ahead of me, so I cannot complain. But I guess it hasn't been plain sailing. There are, without exaggeration, about 7 gazillion different trips going to Halong Bay. We booked through the hotel because we wanted to drink all day, and so we headed out of Hanoi and into the backwoods. Along the way there were ever increasing signs for thit cho (dog) and even thit meo (cat). Some even had helpful pictures, like a smiling Labrador. Woof!

Our host Chun was enthusiastic, which was more than could be said for the others on our mini-bus. There was an Englishman with a suspiciously young Thai boy, a couple of groups of Germans, and then to top it off an old French couple got on. Checklist of weird tourists complete, we headed to the bay and eventually boarded a small boat to take us to our vessel (look at me all naughty nautical).

There is nothing I hate more on holiday than being told what to do, so Chun's constant appeals for us to come into the dining room for food got a bit tiresome, but he tried hard. The food was surprisingly tasty as well, especially the squid. The Germans, of course, annexed most of it early on, the French couple meekly surrendering before stealing every last scrap of salad. 

We finally got active though and started heading into the bay and towards a floating village called whatever "three lagoons" is in Vietmanese. It was bizarre to find people living in the middle of the water, gambling away on the deck and trying to scam tourists out of a few dong. I took a kayak with one of the Germans, a guy named Marcus who said he had never done it but was a total pro. He turned out to be a nice bloke though, and laughed when I said "Schnell! Schnell!" which was something. Although brief, it was a great way to explore the area. Then again nothing can destroy tranquility like an Aussie with a moustache asking you whether the lagoon is "worth the three bucks."

Before I sound too negative, this bay is beautiful and we are clearly here at the wrong time of year. Yeah, there are a lot of tourists and yeah, it's a little bit annoying when locals on bamboo boats knock on your window trying to sell you sweets, but it is worth it. What I have seen is beautiful and if there is a way of coming back here for a longer period and completely on your own, I think it would be worth it. I'm glad we saw it, and I think after the sheer madness of Hanoi it was needed. 

The evening got a little weird after the kayaking. We were supposed to go to a beach for a hike but the boat broke (briefly). We went to the sunset party (because we had to) and ate spring rolls, but there was no sunset and Chun told a story about his family dying. We ate and again the food was great but soon karaoke got mentioned. Imagine the combination of reserved French and Germans and enthusiastic but cumbersome staff and you can imagine the scene. We bartered with a bartender for a happy hour if I sang "SOS" by Abba, which I duly did (after murdering "Hey Jude" by singing "Hey Chun"). The big bottle of vodka we snuck in from Hanoi helped. 

But then it got really weird. The plan was that we would get the ball rolling and then others would get up, people would want to drink...a good night ahead. But it didn't. Then Chun came back and sang "How Deep Is Your Love?" and he was actually good. All seemed positive until we asked for a Vietnamese song. What followed was a succession of ever more powerful, nationalistic songs. Nobody knew what to do. It was five to nine. Basil Fawlty had just turned into Pravda: The Musical. The Germans looked uneasy. So we left to drink vodka. I must say it was all really funny and totally odd, but the most rewarding moments on a trip like this are the quiet ones. And having just woken up at 6 a.m and realised I have been sleeping in a bay, I'm glad I came. 

Ahoy, Hanoi!

Vietnam is a tough country to get into. The intense visa arrangements, the military men prowling, the spartan airport that looks so Soviet you can almost taste the borsch. But I also feel like it will be a tough country to get out of my head. From the moment our taxi swung us into Hanoi, the driver/DJ blasting out Usher and the Baha Men (and yes, it was "Who Let The Dogs Out?" and not a rare B-Side), I felt stirred. I also felt true culture-shock, but in the most intense and rewarding of ways - like diving head first into a steaming bowl of pho. 

Our first night involved a great deal of alcohol. We skipped from a bar called "Boob," to cheap bowls of rice and beer with the locals on the street, to the only bar still open, full of the only wealthy people who I've seen so far and who brought us drinks for our dancing. Normally I am the worst dancer in the room. In Hanoi I am like Gene Kelly in speed. On our stumble out, a gang of men our bikes drove towards us, offered us opium and a ride on our bikes, before a woman in a full boiler suit and face mask hopped off, bolted towards me and grabbed my crotch. Needless to say we are now married and in lieu of wedding gifts we are requesting smear tests all round. 

Wednesday in Hanoi was no less dull, though slightly more respectable. We walked all over the city, normally a relaxing experience as a tourist on holiday. Except in Hanoi, where traffic is king. Every time you cross a road is a dance with death. The trick is to walk slowly and deliberately, as the endless stream of bikes and cars will not stop for anyone. It is also unbelievable to watch the locals steering bikes loaded with an array of goods - flowers, fruits, rubbish, cables - through the oncoming traffic. It is a city without an off switch. 

We saw some tourist sights, though not of the usual, cheery type. There was the war museum, for example, which we quickly popped into to see the relics of Vietnam's wars with France and America.  There were many trophies, such as U.S tanks artillery. We also saw the mausoleum of Ho Chi Min, set in vast grounds of Communist proportions. But most rewarding were our walks away from the main streets. One took us past wild dogs, caged chickens and litter piled high. 

We found what I had been searching for: Bia Hoi, the draught beer of Vietnam. We sat on kids plastic dining chairs and table, were brought the cold draught and then sat down with curious locals who seemed to find our presence strange. The food was simple, rustic but delicious; blanched greens smothered in garlic, fragrant, sticky rice and a small chicken, fried to the point where the small bones were edible and served with powerful root ginger. The moment was slightly soured when a group of pissed up Vietnamese men left a giant pool of vomit next to our table as they left. Nobody batted an eye and it was about twenty minutes before a girl half-heartedly swept it up. Having spent many a year drinking in Chesterfield, this was no shock. 

Tomorrow we are sailing on a junk out to Halong Bay and spending a night on the water, before a final night in Hanoi. I'll probably struggle for Internet so expect a blog about it all on Friday or Saturday. 

To Nam

Thankfully, I made it through Hong Kong airport and onto my plane to Vietnam where I'm writing this blog. Because we forgot to put my middle name on my visa form, there was a LONG wait at check-in and it seemed like I might not make it out. Luckily the flight was delayed and that bought me some time, so now me Sophie and Ben are flying over Cambodia (I think), ready to land in Hanoi. 

There seems a lot to do in Nam, besides live out my Deer Hunter fantasies. Hanoi seems a crazy bustling place, full of cheap beer and cool sights. We are planing to go to Halong Bay which sounds beautiful. It's a world heritage site so seeing it by boat should be sweet. Then on Saturday we fly to Da Nang for a couple of nights. There are some pretty beaches there apparently, and I like the idea of going to a gritty kind of city. A working town. And then it's four nights in big old Ho Chi Min city aka Saigon. I'm keen to explore the tunnels, and try and get out somewhere rural if I can. 

It's all very exciting though...at least it will be if they let me sort my visa at the airport in Hanoi. Fingers crossed for me folks!

P.s was great to see the show with the musicians yesterday, especially meeting the musical director Mario. Was nice to round things off with drinks in The Ventian with all the cast as well. Staff serving us must assume that I'm an acrobat who has completely given up. 

The Show

And wow what a show. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it - and I'm told I'm not even seeing it at 100%. If Macau is a crazy, flamboyant bubble of a place then this is certainly the show that fits. It opened with a small Chinese boy being blown off of his boat, taking him into a magical underwater world of giraffes, swans, chandeliers made of gymnasts, evil queens and jesters, human pyramids and - but of course - a team of stunt-pulling motorbike riders. 

The last time I saw Sophie on stage was about two and a half years ago, performing a one-man show on a small London stage. Now here she is performing to a giant arena twice a day, amongst an enourmous cast and crew who are all at the top of their game. I feel like a proud parent. And best of all I got to tour behind the scenes, hearing the military-precision commands being barked into the ears of all those involved as they flirted with danger and death at every turn. All involved should be really proud. 

Away from the lights I've basically been doing what I usually do, whether at home or abroad: eat and drink. I took another trip to the food fair with Jen, experiencing the constant rejection of Chinese families who would not allow us to sit with them. I finally are noodles too, and not a moment too soon. I'm waiting now to see the show a third time, from the musician's pit, before we fly out to Hanoi in the north of Vietnam. It feels good to be heading out and moving around again, and I'm obviously excited about the amazing food, cool places and shockingly cheap beer I'm set to consume. And that's before I go to Thailand...

Before The House of Dancing Water

I am in a cavernous theatre, an indoor lake ahead of me encircled by leaves that fall towards the water's edge, a flute having a grand old time in the pentatonic scale as accompaniment. The reason I am here is the reason I am here: without this show then Sophie would not be in Macau and without that I would probably not be visiting, or not so soon at least. The scale, budget, opulence and spectacle are as epic in proportion as any of the myriad of skyscrapers and towers that surround the theatre. I do not think there is a Cantonese word to express the crowd's anticipation, as one Chinese boy walked past my seat and said "holy shit" when he saw the stage. 

I will do a second blog after I have seen the show this Saturday night, but until then I will quickly recap what I have been up to in the meantime. I spent Friday in the old town of Taipa, the island where I  staying. The Portugese influence on the architecture is definitely apparent here. I managed to be totally English and get a perfect lobster-red sunburn on my arms. Always appreciated. 

In the evening I went to a food fair in Macau. Definitely started to see more of the interesting foods on the Chinese spectrum here. There were definitely highs: mango pancakes were a definite highlight, and chocolate bacon suddenly makes so much sense to me. But durian is beyond my culinary limits. It's a fruit that tastes like wet dog and sweat. I can still taste it in my darker moments. 

I think my overriding memory of the evening would be the sounds of Asian cabaret, dutifully aped by Johnny in the the taxi back to Taipa. If I had an image it would be Sophie spilling a drink in a bar, watching it be wiped across a table into a  glass, and then poured back into a shot glass for her to finish off second time around. Hygiene people! I'll blog about the show when I get chance. Catch y'all later!

Macau.

I'm writing this first blog on my first full day in Asia. I'm stood in Senado Square in the centre of Macau, and a man nearby is eating soup that looks like tar. He doesn't look happy. 

Weird and wonderful is definitely the way to describe things so far. After a fairly disgusting long-haul flight - the highlight an enthusiastic pat-down from a moustachioed Swiss security guard - I landed in Hong Kong to meet my old pal Sophie Robinson (henceforth known as Robbo). I haven't seen her for almost eighteen months, so that was pretty exciting of its own accord. I had a lovely meal in a Vietnamese restaurant with Robbo, her friend Johnny and his sister Jen. Hong Kong seems a really cool place, and it seems strange to see place names like Aberdeen, Wellington and Victoria. Colonialism eh?

Today I've visited the giant casino where Robbo is performing in a circus show of gargantuan proportions. I'll be going to watch that later in the week. We then took a taxi into the centre of Macau, where I've been wandering around taking pictures, grabbing free samples of what I hope is beef jerky and getting stared at. A lot. Lucky that I'm used to being famous. 

I've sadly got no bizarre food encounters of my own to report as of yet. I'm also having to get used to the currency, which is called mop and thus is hilarious. My next change off location is on Tuesday and Vietnam, which seems to have its currency in the millions. That will be fun. Besides that I don't have too much to report, probably because to me it's still breakfast time on Tuesday or something like that. I have, however, got to hear loads of people coughing up phlegm. Always good for the soul. 

Keep checking back on this wee journal: I'm here for another month and as well as Vietnam I'll be heading to Thailand and Hong Kong again as well.