Awake with the local rooster. A fiendish little sadist who should be thrown to the nearest pack of jackals. Having a couple of cups of instant coffee with baguette and cheese for breakfast. Strange that a fine establishment such as this serves granulized crystals rather than the local bean. And to add further misery, the speakers scream nauseating versions of hokey Christmas carols. At the very best however, the hotel has catered well to many budget travellers here, mostly Euros heading for Saigon. By far, this has been as close to Hotel Swanketyswank we may find. On a bitter note, my companion was looking forward to a great sleep, but was up and down all night feeling pukey. Although the Dengue Fear has passed, we are questioning what it could be. Fortunately, I have the immune system of a workhorse and have yet to fall into the maelstrom of nausea on a lengthy bus trip. Hopefully, my companion has unclogged the plumbing, as we must embark on another 8-hour journey in about 5 minutes. She is now gently caressing the hotel’s feline I’ve nicknamed Alauwitsches.

On our way to Nha Trang with nostalgic musings of logging roads in Nor western Canada, as we weave through the switchbacks. Several times, the engine has stalled only to be bump started again. We’ve come to another halt beneath a remarkable but well aged shrine of some sort. The cactus growing rampant about make it frankly impossible for inspection and invasion by foreigners with flash cameras. Noi Ouay, I think it’s called although I can’t find it in my "Planet". Better to ask a local. Ahhh, it’s called Po Nagar; one of the Cham Towers built in 784 AD. A site for Hindu worship honouring the Goddess of Dua (Liu) clan. Of course, another monument sacked and burned through the centuries by various invaders including the Khmer and the Javanese. It still astounds me in the midst of my globetrotting, when I discover such precious bits of history obscure to most of us in the wild, wild west. The fact that the oldest man made thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon in Canada, a couple of Haida tribe totem poles in the Queen Charlotte Islands dating a seemingly negligible 300 years old. Across Asia, I’m finding stuff that’s been standing since Christ for Chrissakes. Monumental isn’t even close….back in the days when the Brits were still lawless pagans…

Still 120 clicks to go. We’ve covered all of 100 in about 3 ½ hours. Just what are these sardine cans governored at anyways? I’d give my right arm for dual overhead cams and posse rear end right about now.

We’ve come to a 5-hour layover in Nha Trang. With time to kill, we figured the beach would be the best spot. Indeed, as I sit now in the sand absorbing the panorama that is the South China Sea, I feel nothing but peace as the waves crest before me. I’m short one swimsuit, and the waters are loaded with jellyfish, stingrays and other legionnaires from the underworld all waiting to skewer me with some loathsome prehensile firearm. They know it’s a beautiful day….for justice. Emerald green and tepid waters are their traps, but I won’t take the bait. Instead, I play hide and seek with the little horseshoe crabs popping out of their sandy holes, and search for condemned seashells deemed no longer inhabitable.

Found some pretty gnarly artefacts, some of which I’ll send home for the family. Now I’ve parked myself beneath a palm tree to kick back with my de Beauvoir for an hour or two. Ahhhh, truly this is the first moment of absolute leisure I’ve had in this country. Now to relish the fast moments while I still can. In a couple of hours we have to board the bus all night for Hoi An. My right and left glute capillaries recoil in horror. With hope maybe I’ll actually catch a few z’s through the long, bumpy night. Somehow, I doubt it. Rather, it’ll be a lot of screaming, red hot brake drums locking up for every farm animal actively participating in their own demise. Why wait for the rusty machete, when a 12 ton passing bus, with 12 passive tourists all dreaming of 12 Pina Coladas, comes barrelling by to send you through perilous ends to the netherworld overseen by golden yaks. (I’m having a moment here…)

My Dunhills are long gone. Now I’m reduced to my choice of the "Emergency Pack" of Menthols, or (gag) Marley Lites. Picked up some Viet brands for about a quarter. I’ll brave one eventually. My dear companion, concerned about death from above (falling coconuts), drew me to a beachside cocktail bar complete with wooden slat beach chairs. I bid farewell to the shady coconut grove to suck down a pineapple shake amidst the teeming throngs of solar slaves and the ever-present fat guys in Speedos. This beach borders on tropical paradise, if only Haeundae back home in Pusan would ditch the concrete, the fish vendors and add a garbage can…

Well, to our dismay, the large bus promised never existed and we’re herded like livestock onto another minibus for the next 500 weary kms. I’ve no legroom and a plate glass window is my pillow. Alison is pinioned between about 9 packs, at the back of our mobile penitentiary and myself. We’re due to arrive at 6 AM. It’s 7 pm now. I cogitate a prayer to a number of non descript deities that we arrive after all. Yes, I wanted a taste of brutal adventure, and indeed I have it. May luck be with the livestock tonight, be it our ruminant friends or us. Onward you manmade beast of burden and never forget the words of the great Dr. Thompson-"The thrill of speed will overcome the fear of Death." (And the flora sings..Follow, follow, follow, follow…follow the Ho Chi Minh Trail)

We night owls are perched precariously, wondering if there is an end to the road construction or if it’s indeed the Ministry of Transportation’s way of sticking it in and breaking it off. A single pockmarked lane makes up the entirety of National Highway #1, although we’ve found ourselves 4 wide a few times. Dale Earnhardt would’ve loved it. Our deathtrap passing a comparatively malevolent moving death sentence passing Honda scooters. Riders of which are street crazies plain and simple, with no qualms about carrying plate glass along with their children along the non-existent shoulder. On the other "shoulder", pedestrians, drawn to headlights like apprehensive deer. (Half asleep dream sequence….I’m riding the "Beat" icon "Further". I’m Ken Kesey; Ali is Neal Cassidy. Everyone else is the Merry Pranksters. All we’re missing is The Dead and a sheet of sunshine acid. Nope…open my eyes, nothing has changed….further…)

We’ve now taken a brief beer break at the Viet Hu’ong Quan Com, already infiltrated by other tourists on a bigger, comfier bus, looming behind me with the tease of luxury. We leave again, only to stop 15 minutes later in the pouring rain while our trusty driver changes a flat tyre. After draining a couple of 333’s, I took a leak in the great outdoors. Having been a coastal tree planter for a spell, I’ve no problems hanging my lily-white ass out in pouring rain. The nocturnes unknown creaked and croaked their animalistic laughter all the while. No land mines. Noises and songs unknown to me, but mediocre to the locals, and likely a savage reminder to any number of shell shocked war vets.

Well, after another spine crushing 15 hour bus ride, with zero shuteye, we’ve arrived in Hoi An. We checked into a hotel, showered, dressed and met Mr. Suk and Mr. Mun at their hotel. Already, we’ve decided to fly to Hanoi/Halong Bay rather than endure another 24-hour bus trip. That will cut into my Australia fund, but I figure a hundred bucks or so is worth a day rather than another lost into the restless night.

Now we’ll nibble some nourishment and then head to the markets for silky stuff. I’m tired as hell, as is Alison, but we cannot bring ourselves to willingly lose sunlight hours with the precious few I have left. Ohhhh, coffee…giver of life…I clutch thee like a talisman…

Well, indeed our day didn’t go to waste. We embarked on a serendipitous journey on our own "Silk Road". Alison went completely offside and pack horsed herself under a rainbow of iridescent luxury. Tailor-made suits her well, hell, she dazzles. I even had a black silk shirt made for myself and a couple of cotton ones with funky designs made for the sprogs back home. I finished all my Christmas shopping and picked up a few more trinkets. We lost Alison for a couple of hours so I walked around with our Korean friends. I treated them to a pineapple shake as they treated me earlier to a kickass banana pancake. We finally reunited with Alison. Our Korean comrades of course are carrying their own portable Pusan Delicatessen. Ali and I went back to the hotel to stuff more consumer goods into our packs already stretched to full capacity. I took everything out, re-rolled my clothes and crushed out a few more cubic centimetres of precious cargo space.

We collected more of Ali’s tailor-mades, then met Misters Suk and Mun at their hotel for dinner. Typical Korean camping fare topped off with beer and coffee at a nearby club while discussing Islam and women’s issues. A strange feeling gripped us as soon as we walked in. The locals were not at all friendly (as they usually have been), and the staff seems to have marinated in a perfume of malice. We drank, and then left, quickly. Interestingly, one guy was standing over by the outdoor bar practically doing the funky chicken with a large rubber ban tied around his bicep. The end of the bar was home to a man in the grips of a permagrin while gnashing his canines. The effects seemed to improve my idea of how great heroin must feel, as it doesn’t seem to bother anyone in any given moment to humiliate themselves in public.

We parted ways with our friends to pick up yet again, more tailor-mades. I ordered a green skirt and a purple jaw dropper I’ve nicknamed "Indigo Slinkety Slink". Seems weird to buy something because I want to look pretty. I guess it’s something I’ve not cared much about after years of Doc Martens over sling back pumps. Although yes I hope the little purple number does me justice. I haven’t spent 8 bucks on a beauty enhancement since the last time I bought a tube of lipstick. That was 10 years ago I think.

Well, now I’ve been awake for 40 hours so I’d better try to sleep, although it’s only 10:30. We’ve decided to rent bikes, got to the beach and relax tomorrow. Again, a flight to Hanoi is in the works, rather than braving the 3^rd world back country again. If we did go for the 24-hour ride north, I’m sure if I didn’t die of pure discomfort, I might be crushed by a ton of backseat backpacks.

Managed to snarf a baguette with some Fontina cheese. We went to pick up Ali’s new winter coat, and I’m waiting for an adjustment on Indigo Slinkety Slink. I hope that dress does come to use. Maybe New Year’s. Now we’re going to rent some bicycles and ride around for the day.

After a relatively short and relaxing ride, we’ve come to the beach where we came across a couple of hottie rugby guys from France and England. Unfortunately, we’re ejected from one section in front of a hotel while the hotties continue to bask down there. Alison said we should find out where they’re staying and ride our bikes in their neighbourhood. Actually, I tell her although it’s bordering on stalking, it sounds reasonable enough. We hope we can skulk in the sand and wait for these guys to head back towards us and the beach entrance whereby we can coolly flag them down (while hiding our frantic desperation) and invite them for a drink (and Alison’s hopes of snogging). Ahhhhh…Vive La France and Long Live the Queen….

We decide we must shave our legs as we stare down the shore with come-hither longing. Now I see why this end of the beach is free. Swarms of locals selling their wares and the kind that will not take no for an answer. Hottie alert…here they come…down Ali…down!!!

We left the beach after a beach after a brief talk with the Euro dreamboats whom we may meet later. We left Mr. Suk and Mr. Mun at the beach and rode our bikes around the city for the afternoon. Not exactly a Cannondale, but they do the trick. I’m kickin it in the courtyard now with a much needed bottle of hydrating spring water from Quang Ngai, complete with a menacing best before date. It appears to have expired on Canada Day. I’ve been dipping into the Vietnamese cigarettes, although no more than packets of concentrated death, tastier, and much cheaper than and Yankeedoodlesticks at d4000. Maybe I’ll look into a few cartons of these instead of my usual duty free Dunhills.

Back at the hotel watching Alison frantically crush her mementos into her 80 Litre North Face. Mine, well, I’ll be putting the outward strappy things to good use at some point soon. I have to go back in a ½ hour; I decided where else could I get custom-made silk shoes cobbled in an hour for 5 bucks? Yes, pretty girl shoes at that. As I contemplate my new threads, I realize I’m being sucked back into the world of style albeit using a different kind of sweatshop. Indeed, this is a material world and I (formerly a propagator of disdain for all things superficial), am a material girl. Where have my principles gone???

At the Da Nang Airport after a decent omelette for breakfast. Suckin back the nicotine and mud. Used the toilet, when I returned, Alison asked what the W.C. was like. "Well, it’s a western toilet…" She’ll wait for the cold steel in the airplane head. Cool and cloudy here, I’m wondering on the temperatures in the North. Maybe I’ll actually get use of the sweater I’ve been humping around since Korea.

We’ve boarded the plane. Alison had her pack rifled through. I was afraid they’d confiscate our bricks of heroin, but they were much more interested in her Swiss Army knife. They didn’t take it (?) yet we wonder if we were wearing turbans or bhurka, would it have been any different?

Such a crappy overcast day below as we break the 700-foot ceiling and sail through blue skies above the grey and white quilt below.

Hanoi at 12 Celsius is an arduous wait so far hoping our packs haven’t landed in Phnom Penh. Yes, I need patience, and I need it right NOW! (Another fingernail bites the dust) Ours are the last off. Finally, we’re out the door and Mr. Suk argues over a single greenback in taxi negotiations.

As usual, our taxi drops us in the seediest and most inconvenient locale, but near a train station nonetheless. After a walkabout, we found a bus stop with rides to Hai Phong leaving right away. Hopefully a timely ride will get us in time for the last ferry to Cat Ba Island. Quite a climate contrast here. Chilly as hell. Concrete and brick everywhere…reminds me of somewhere…where oh where could that be?? Ali gives a knowing glance.

Outside of Hanoi, the wide-open space is riddled with vagrant water buffalo and rice paddies. I’m very close to giving icy stares, if not environmental instructions to the young woman in front of me who is chewing tobacco, using little plastic baggies as spittoons, filling them with sludge that couldn’t possibly harbour any bacteria whatsoever, and then throwing the artfully wrapped nicotine bombs out the bus window. I’m likening it to tyres flying of off semis at 110 km/hour.

After reaching Hai Phong, we had all of 10 minutes to get to the ferry. With our packs, we sailed on the backs of motorcycles and just made it. We got on one boat and then had to literally jump onto our ferry, which was in the process of moving away. I’m sure this floating behemoth has been around as long as those Cham Towers I talked about down south. Surely, this heap houses the worst toilet in the Nam. Think Trainspotting with a squat. To top it off, we’re not even 100% sure if this colossal wreck is even heading for Cat Ba. We did say amidst the pandemonium, ticket to Cat Ba. People pushed and pulled us everywhere as we had only seconds to spare. It’s quite possible we’ll end up in Hainan, favourite destination of U.S. spy-planes.

Indeed, if this ship capsizes, I take comfort that I may be rescued by the myriad of ships along the port. Russian, Sino, Philippino goliaths pumping and polluting this Red River tributary. Not exactly picturesque, and the reek of marine diesel is overpowering. I’m afraid to light a smoke.

Heh heh…on the bow for a cigarette. (I’m such a brave girl) I fear alarming my friends, but there seems to be many large rusty holes all over the deck. Somehow I don’t think that’s normal, or uh, safe. Holes and boats don’t mix man. Jeezasss, that one’s big enough to have rescued half of the Titanic passengers!

Back in the "safety" of the cabin. I see the crew has decided to fuel my discomfort with a Vietnamese pop concert video, like a bad memory of Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warrens. (Dream sequence…someone once said that Hell was the impossibility of reason, that’s what this is Grandma, Hell)

We’ve arrived (surprise) at Cat Ba only to be harangued by teeming maitre d’hotels. A brief walkabout, and now we dine at the hotel restaurant. A beautiful view from our room of the fishing harbour and surrounding islands. Interestingly, we’ve discovered that pirates frequently rob boat tourists. Electricity was hooked up here in 1998, but they still do regular power cuts everyday until 6 pm.

We did find an Internet spot, but the power was running on a generator. Since dial up speed is slow, and most computers appear to be cirqua 1987, we thought better of it. I haven’t had much luck accessing my email, except through Hotmail. My other email sites won’t come up, rather a page that says, "This is obscene."

Alison’s nostrils are frigid, but happily she’s generating avante garde designs for the world’s most innovative outdoor invention. Prepare yourself. The Nose Cozy. A multimillion dollar marketing scheme through M.E.C and Trailhead, but I tell her I’ll stick with M.E.C. because I won’t pay $50 at Trailhead for a pair of Patagonia mitts. I tell her I’ll be a prototype tester if I get a spot on the ½ hour infomercial slotted for 2 am, just after Latoya and her Psychic Friends. Or was that Phillip Michael Thomas.

Interesting propaganda tidbit here on the restaurant’s chopstick holder…"work is glory."

To be continued…. (Only one more!)