Worms and Snakes.

My legs haven't felt this dead for a long time; however, the ascent to the summit of Fansipan was worth all the pain. It's the tallest mountain in Vietnam at 3200m, set high above the nearest town, Sapa, in what can be described as a forest/jungle setting. I always know the different stages of thought during any trek - firstly excitement, which is followed by questioning of my sanity, accomplishment, pondering what’s for dinner, and then relief - and I certainly felt them all during the wet and slippy climb to the summit.

My guide seemed to lack any basic safety knowledge and happily just encouraged me not to slip on steep flat rocks requiring ropes to scramble up; I thought this wasn't the best time to tell him I wasn't the biggest fan of heights. Still, the further we ascended the rainier it got, but all the more silence something reserved for too few places on earth.

Still, the mist covered mountains didn't stop some classic moments for my guide;

Corey: "What exactly is that?"
Guide: "Big worm, let's throw rocks at it!"
Corey: "If I must..."

Or

Corey: "Is that, erm, snake poisonous?"
Guide: "Yes, cobra, very dangerous"

He proceeded to kill the snake, and thought it would make a good source of meat for a 'barbecue' in the evening. Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful.

Other highlights have included:
- Proposals of marriage to local tribeswoman daughter.
- Being made out to be a neo-Nazi. Long story.
- Visiting the DMZ, and trying to be amazed by the 'maternity ward' in the Vinh Moc tunnels. It looks the same as every other room.
- Visiting the DMZ bridge. OOOO A BRIDGE.
- Cycling to a Pagoda. Leaving two minutes later.
- Realising that My Son temples were under 'reconstruction'. Yes, these historic momuments (at least the ones the USA didn't bomb) need a new lick of paint.

Lastly. The scam. My good-hearted nature was exposed, as I was casually playing football on the beach with some Vietnamese people - who asked me to sit with them while they ate lunch. I wasn't hungry and just had water while they shared some squid, which I gave into and shared. Then, suddenly the bill appears and it turns out I’m expected to pay - quickly thinking I asked for the bill in English and followed her to the 'toilet'; which then resulted in me having to walk the three kilometres back to town in the searing heat. Great.

The train back to Hanoi made me realise that the Vietnamese are infinitely cleaner than the Chinese. Last time I was on a Chinese train, the toilet in the morning was stinking in piss and shit and you daren't even stay for longer than a minute for fear of suffocating. Visiting the toilet in the morning on the Vietnamese train - everything was spotless. There was even toilet roll.

Buddah this, Buddah that…

So, when Christians get together they have Jesus, and the boy is on the cross. You don’t see a Christian going off to visit another Jesus; the one in the church is fairly standard. I like that - it's certain, no travel involved and he is keeping you in the know. “Lads, I died on the cross, forgive all sins, yadda yadda, you will be saved” and so on. However, it appears Mr Buddha thought he was a bit of a joker. There’s dancing Buddha, dragon Buddha, Buddah with a 45-degree angle and worst of all sleeping Buddha! (did Jesus or Mohammed sleep? No, they were off saving us. Nice job Buddha.)

So. I've now been in Vietnam for what is approaching 2 weeks, and have so far visited Saigon, Dalat and Nha Trang. Saigon was somewhat interesting - on meeting a habitual user of prostitutes in a bar my first night, who for 3 straight hours tried to chat up the owner, I decided that this bar should become my local. 5 days later, having got no further with the young barmaids I left Saigon. Oh wait, things did happen in between that... ah yes, the prostitute man;

Him: "... and we went out to lunch, you know, boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, holding hands and that..."
Me: "You do realise that it was only because you were buying her lunch?"
Him: "No, seriously, if I was staying in Saigon and not going to Pattaya (prostitution capital of Thailand) we would be together."
Me: "So are you getting the next beer?"

There was also the gay prostitute who tried to attack me and someone from Brighton - but luckily I was able to bang on the guesthouse gate loud enough for them to open up. This being the 4th night in a row I managed to wake the staff up... I could see the hostess's venom behind that vietnamese smile.

A visit to the Cao Daoist temples (who decided they would just merge all religions, like create a super religion - so basically all these people were off to heaven) and to the Chu Chi tunnels where we got to scramble around 'authentic' Viet Cong tunnels was certainly fun - although the smell and dirt made me think these may be more authentic than first thought. Then the souvenier trap;

"The man puts his leg in, and it get stuck with nails and he take it to hospital as souvenier!" - wonderful VC cunning.

Dalat is a small town in the highlands - very cheesy and a place for honeymoons. It predominantly involved an easy rider trip and 2 days trekking up the Langbing mountain and around various valleys. My easy rider decided I was a heartless bastard for not sending postcards home, and that I don't care about my parents. Luckily, we bonded over the disgraceful inclusion of Peter Crouch in the England team.

There were trips to a gay club in Dalat, which I immediatly recognised (seriously, no straight man has that much rhythm, unless he's black) but my friend decided that it was just a 'coincidence' that the dancefloor was all men. Getting 8-balled at pool by a french-canadian and meeting the world's best connect-4 player - all highlights of exciting Dalat.

Nha Trang is a coastal town and I decided to hire a moto driver for the day to see the sites. We reached a waterfall area in the rainforest which was known for swimming - there were about 10 high school kids there (lazy bastards should go to school). On taking my top off (to cheers, which I put down entirely to my amazing physique) I managed to jump, slip, and nearly crack my head open - but it was all deliberate for entertainment... honest.

Nha Trang seems to have a excessive amount of really good looking women, but despite this prostitution exists. But here, it isn't just the casual calls of 'boom boom', but instead full on assault which is only ended by threatening to punch them.

Them: "Massage, very handsome?"
Me: "I'm as handsome as the last guy you fucked. No."
Me: "Oh, and at least I don't have to sell myself."

I'm sure they didn't understand that, but it made me feel better.

Photos: a few have been uploaded to my Yahoo photos account.

Off the rails in Cambodia

His voice was becoming increasingly frantic, as if there was some concept that he couldn't seem to grasp. His name was Thai, and he was speaking in his broken English to us and a group of Israelis;

"In Israel you have war but still rich! In Cambodia, no more war but still poor!"; he motions towards his tattered clothes but there is a smile still on his face, it seems he was trying to make a small joke. Uncomfortably we laugh, it's hard to do anything else except feel sadness in a land that is so full of poverty.

After Siem Reap and the temples of Angkor, I headed south toward the capital Phnom Penh. In a rather optimistic outlook, I was thinking it may have some of the civilisation that exists in Bangkok - unsurprisingly, I was wrong. The town in the backpacker ghetto areas resembled that of a growing economy, but it only took five minutes walk outside that area to realise this is one of the poorest countries in the world. The legacy of Pol Pot and his regime lives on for these people, everyone who I spoke to seemed to have lost family or friends within the genocide - the holocaust and world wars seemed so distant as you rarely heard from real survivors, or the people who were directly affected; this isn't the case here.

The S-21 museum displayed what I can only describe as one of the most harrowing experiences of my life. Buildings were filled with pictures of torture chambers and wall after wall of photos of people who were left to rot in a mass grave. The rules of the S-21 detention centre were left for us to see, one of them read;

"You will not cry when being beaten or electrocuted."

Around the killing fields, it was possible to feel the anger in the guide's voice as he discussed the history of them; his mother had died here. In the middle of them now stands a monument with all the skulls they could find as a testament to what has happened, and should never happen again. One sign read "Mass grave of 480 women and children without heads".

Phnom Penh is a quiet city, but small - after visits to the killing fields, S-21, royal palace and such general tourist attractions were gone. Nightlife was salvaged at a club affectionately known as the 'heart', where the rich young Khmers come to dance the night away, small and grotty it was easy to tell you weren't in England (despite the music) but the main thing that gave it away was some of the best dancing I have ever seen. Feeling rather timid, knowing I lack most ablity in rhythm (along with singing and almost anything creative) I ended on a raised part of the dance floor with numerous others - but it's ok, it's Cambodia.

Stumbling home has become increasingly normal procedure - and walking down the street being offered dope, smack and opium is standard practice.

Having stayed at our guest house for several days, I was on good terms with the owners who on the promise of free beer asked me to come help them tout for guests. Being white allowed me to slip inside the bus area and do some 'inside touting' - with constant smiles and urges of 'get a canadian lady, man' from the tuk tuk driver made it all the more fun. I wonder what his wife thinks?

We were informed by the reliable barman that a party happens every first Friday - the biggest in Phnom Penh. On arrival, it was the sort of scene I expected within a movie. It seems the whole expat / travelling community gathers around a very large back garden including several bars, swimming pool and dance floor. Of course, the real fun was learning about all these people and their different stories - and not the wet t-shirted Cambodians / expats that were getting in and out of the pool...

A final fling involved visits to the war museum and the one legged guide. In order to raise money, a lot of landmine victims work here as tour guides amongst some of the machines and mines used by the Khmer Rouge regime. Although the issue was serious, the machines were pretty damn cool - such as the 'Stalin organ'. The guide in lacklustre English provided entertainment;

"This mine, one leg 2hr bleed and die."
- oh the bluntness
"Once I gave my friend the grenade instead of the pin and he was killed."
- wonderful
"But sir, if you use this howitzer watch out, 200 metre flame and deaf, deaf 4hr!"
- better not take that one home then..

A trip down to the beaches made for some much needed relaxation - important in such a stressful environment. Although the town was once again dead, watching people wave fire around late into the night on the beaches provided much amusement. The seas were crisp, the fishes were happy, the jellyfish were absent, the sun was hot - it doesn't get any better than this. That is of course until you rent a moto, without any form of driving license.

Back in Phnom Penh - a quiet night until the 6.30am bus leaves to take me to Saigon - and the beginnings of Vietnam...