A Familiar Face In Shanghai

Against all odds, the sleeper train from Hong Kong to Shanghai, via the unsmiling faces of both the Hong Kong and Chinese Immigration authorities, was completed without delay or disturbance. My only mild dissatisfaction arose from discovering that the meagerly-priced rice meal I bought on board included barbecued rooster's feet and a 'fertilised' boiled egg (you could see the partially developed foetus within the yolk) which I consumed both hungrily and with little hesitation. Both items tasted like chicken. My carriage, holding hostage my backpack and my propensity for rest, was made up of only a sweet elderly Chinese couple who gave me little to threat about. I grew very fond of them during our sign language conversations and I was a little upset as the express train's rusty doors opened and released them from my view for ever.

I was welcomed with a bitterly cold arctic chill and the angry grey clouds spat out their disapproval of my arrival with infrequent bullets of rain. To add to my misery, I had the morning and afternoon to dispose of before meeting with my friend Rob, whom I would be staying with. My knuckles began to bare the white teeth marks of the icy air as I chose to walk a few kilometres to a homestay I had read about online in order to leave my bags and relieve the sinews of muscle (and there's a lot to go round) on my shoulders. As I finally located the entrance, deep inside an ugly concrete tower block, I was welcomed in to the reception area by a half dressed gentleman with questionable intentions. I peered nervously down the corridor to discover only two rooms, one of which was a dank lavatory, the other a large open space with around half a dozen mattresses clumsily laid on the worn carpet like cushioned stepping stones. A pale middle aged lady, her soil brown roots showing from her bleached hair, sat alone on a spring-less chair, with only a suggestive gown to compose her limp modesty. There was the faint musk of incense and dense body odour as a cat sat aloof on top of an open suitcase. It was in my best interest to escape this sodden harem and so I ran away like a coward.


The old girls get warmed up for the 2010 World Expo

Shanghai strains the neck and leaves the feet free to explore. The skyline is littered with the steely muscle of numerous masculine high rise offices. There is little of the subtle beauty found in the architecture of Manhattan or Hong Kong Island. It is the embodiment of the advanced and modern world that the jealous Western world only whisper about. The ancient Terracotta Army of Xi'an paving way for this urgently built cluster of looming and intimidating towers. Shanghai also has a glorious and illustrious recent history. Within the annals, the City's unique legacy can be found rooted in the year 2005, when it hosted the World Toilet Expo and Forum. Jack Sims, the World Toilet Foundation's official, explained to the Shanghai Forum that 'Our happiness cannot be complete without a proper and pleasant toilet environment.' When have so little words encapsulated everything that we cherish so dearly here in the Twenty First Century?

www.worldtoiletevents.com/

Have you seen this man's baseball?

I've spent the first few days here mostly in the womb like warmth of cafes and the impressively decorated and lit Shanghai Museum. On one of my 'afternoon treats' I lunged into a Patisserie and in one hand held a banana muffin (bit stodgy, still ate it all though) and in the other I flicked through the crisp pages of the Shanghai Weekly. On reading, rather thoroughly I may add, the 'Personals' section (it can't help but make you unsure of the sanity of certain individuals in the human race) I came across this wonderful little advert. Ladies, be sure to call our plaster cast friend soon before his little black book becomes nothing but an inky Rorschach of numbers and names.



It had been some five or so years since I had last seen my friend Rob, whom I worked with during my University years and played copious amounts of football with for many tiresomely bleak Sheffield weekday evenings. On finally seeing him emerge from his office building in Hua Hui Lu, we greeted each other in only the way that was appropriate - in fits of laughter at the absurdity of our situation and with our famous urban tinged high-five. He's come a long way since our call centre days. As have I. AS HAVE I. For the first time on this journey through these Continents I wish to explore, I had a local tour guide at my disposal to unfold the weaving mysteries of an area and culture. The most rewarding insider knowledge that Rob and his girlfriend Stacy had kindly informed me of was that you can get a McDonald's meal delivered to your door 24 hours a day. This may or may not have been taken advantage of on Saturday night after a meandering evening bar hopping in the French Concession area.

The weekend here was idyllic in its routine. We enjoyed a delicious Korean meal at a restaurant named Pankoo - "Pankoo very much!" I beamed at my hosts as the bill was taken care of. They wisely decided not to respond to my awkward toast. Prior to that we took Rob's two Beagles; Lucy (sad eyes, protective) and Yuki (hyper-active and attention seeking) for a brisk walk followed by a full oil body massage (Calf muscle....torn. Complimentary banana at the conclusion = forgiven masseuse).


Yuki, the one looking at you, bullied me on our walk

Shanghai Song of the Day: Backstreet Boys - I Want It That Way
I defy anyone who doesn't actually enjoy this song. Kevin, Nick, A.J., Howie and Brian harmonise like fallen angels on this classic. They deserve their own private jet from the video on this form. They've not been the same since bushy-eyebrowed Kevin Richardson left the ranks in 2006.

Get some closure on Kev: http://www.metacafe.com/watch/1229211/goodbye_kevin_richardson/

You know you want to hear the song too: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5DwkMDMUgg8

i-Pod Song of the Day: Vampire Weekend - Holiday
From the new album Contra, which is on the list to upload. This song is pretty cool, summery and not a huge departure from their African-beat inspired debut album.

http://www.vampireweekend.com/

Drifting through Hong Kong: Achieving Little, Spending Dollars

It had been around ten years since I last visited Hong Kong, and that was in the Bengal-schooled protective embrace of my family, The Mondals. There was little that I recalled from that tour, only flashes of Temple Street Night Market, a relaxing boat cruise and vague recollections of the hum of the traffic which came to mind when arousing the fickle backdrop of memory lane. I was hardly expecting such a polar opposite to Vietnam as the neon lights and businessmen surged past and around me in volumes that were at first disorientating. It was interesting to find myself not being harassed by any of the hawkers and tailors, as they opted to hound the middle aged Western folk to feign interest in their tattered cloth empire. I am lying at the lonely summit of the tourist molehill as I watch passers by look convincingly through shimmering glass displays in the possibility of purchasing opulently bejewelled wrist watches and intrusively lensed cameras.


I'd been feeling rather off and so this drink seemed perfect

My weathered maroon taxi threw me out at the infamous Chung King Mansions in Kowloon Island, where I had booked my hostel. I presumed with such an elegant title that these Mansions would accommodate the very wealthy at very reasonable online rates. I of course was mistaken as the concrete block, which would not be found out of place in the dirge lined pits of Stockwell near my old home in Clapham, London, greeted me with a looming menace. The Kowloon Hostel itself is as a whole rather grey bar the threads of fading graffiti on the walls, though the staff are amiable and smiley, if not slightly muted. I've dubbed my room 'The Coffin'. Sleeping in my room is like lying in a seven foot George Foreman Grill. It's certainly lean and also mean. It did cross my mind to host a hostel party to see if I could fit another person in the room, but no one returned the R.S.V.P. slip at the bottom of my colourful invitation. There's a sliver of light that manages to penetrate through a crease on the heavy wooden door in my room. However, this light, not being natural, adds a certain sense of claustrophobia once the key is locked and all you can hear is the stuttering rumble of the water pipes as they bicker to one another throughout the night.


Almost puts me off seafood...almost

With time on my hands, I visited the South of Kowloon Island to venture into the remarkably clean and angular buildings housing the Cultural House, Hong Kong Art Museum and the Space Museum. Ensuring that no one I knew was in close proximity, I bought a ticket to the Space Museum's planetarium to view a wonderful film; Mummies: Secrets of the Pharaohs. I was close to dozing off on numerous occasions due to the reclining soft chair and the low bass sultry narration from a man who sounded distinctly like the late Oliver Reed after a warm brandy. As the credits rolled diligently, the Chinese kids and myself were in awe at how the secret of mummification had still not been unravelled by modern scientists. Afterwards, I visited the Intercontinental Hotel's Lounge Lobby to watch the sun collapse over the harbour and the staff were kind enough to realise that I could not afford even a small tonic water in such palatial surroundings, and so let me be, hidden behind a dusty pillar next to the grotesquely burly piano player.



As Hong Kong is immensely expensive (similar to that of London but I had a job there so it didn't bruise my wallet as much) I have conceded to a mixed diet that would make a hobo blush. I no longer wish to judge a man who finds solace in reading a book (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter S. Thompson, to guarantee distance from any passers by) on the hardy beige seats of a McDonald's whilst sacrificing his athletic build in favour of a hot fudge sundae. The local bakeries have also made a great increase in sales thanks to my purchasing of cheap and crusty pork buns to keep my car running.



Hong Kong Island: Day and Night



A close friend of mine had instructed me to take the Peak Tram, whose route is of a quizzical gradient up to the Victoria Peak, some 1400 metres above sea level, making way for a blustery panoramic view of Hong Kong Island. My friend, who I can only presume had sinister intentions, did not inform me that the tram and scenic Sky View Terrace would trigger my meticulous vertigo. Fortunately my camera has 'SteadyShot' technology, ensuring that the resultant photographs look to have been taken by an able and confident individual.

So long then to Hong Kong, with its grandiose and modernistic architecture. Shanghai awaits, but not after a twenty hour train journey which I am sure will be both smooth and entertaining.

Hong Kong Song of the Day: Ja Rule featuring Ashanti - Always On Time
Whatever happened to the shy and misunderstood Ja Rule? I thought he was going to be the next Jay-Z, but he let us all down. Well, you'll be pleased to hear that he recently ended his long running feud with his former Def Jam label mate DMX, which is progress indeed. Delaney's Irish Pub provided this piece of magic as I nursed a Diet Coke, watching enviously at groups of people enjoying their Friday night, whilst I looked forward to a night in The Coffin.

i-Pod Song of the Day: Muse - Undisclosed Desires
I lost faith in the first single from The Resistance, but the Timbaland / R&B inspired hook of their follow up has reeled me in like a dirty shirt.

http://www.myspace.com/muse

Halong Have You Got?

J-Dizzle, Amanda and I were fairly exhausted after the trip to Sapa. This may have been due to the arduous amounts of hiking that we had completed but more likely to do with the inevitable lull from our pizza comedown. J-Dizzle had also caught a rather nasty fever, possibly from sleeping in close proximity to Tom at the Homestay, which concerned us as our tour to Halong Bay was scheduled in for the following day. Once we had seen the expanding throws of travelers from our Hanoi Hostel shimmying down the stairs from the rooftop bar, complete with rainbow straw sombreros and chanting their excitement for the Halong Bay party cruise, we realised that we may have made a mistake in our initial booking.

We had all journeyed from far corners of the globe to view sites that we would never forget, not just to follow the crowds to the depths of paralytic intoxication and limbo dancing (though I must concede, I'm a mean limboer, next time I see you I'll be sure to demonstrate). A medical student, Sara, from North Carolina / Chicago, overheard our discussions on taking an alternative trip and with her own mind made up on making an independent visit to Cat Ba Island, by Halong Bay, she convinced us that this was the way to go.

We had no preparation whatsoever as to how to overcome the 170 km roads to Cat Ba Island, but with Sara having done her homework, we followed her awkwardly to the public bus station at dawn and plunged into the adventure and excitement of not really knowing what we were doing. The bus was rickety and the horn emitted from it's tinny belly was primal and constant. On arriving at the Island, after a further shuttle bus and low riding ferry, we scanned the main road for accommodation. The first hotel we looked at was unusual and kept a seedy secret from the rest of the resort. The Manageress's name was Bich The (seriously) which should have rung alarm bells already. We were in raptures once we viewed the soft 80's erotica that decorated the corridors and each of the rooms, along with the mirrored ceilings above the tarnished beds. This was a motel of the lowest order. Despite my protestations, the group opted not to lodge there.

Vibe? Out.

J-Dizzle just about recovered from his man-flu the next morning, enabling him to climb aboard our swaying Junk. The cruise over the tranquil bay was exquisite in its serenity and once we hopped on to our kayaks, we were able to fully appreciate the thousands of astonishing silver dagger like limestone karsts, rising impressively out of the turquoise waters. As we floated through caves and low archways to what seemed to be undiscovered lagoons it was difficult not to feel as if we were all in a distant land before civilisation had tied it's withered noose around the environment. It was easy to see why the Vietnamese romanticised about this emerald kingdom, trusting in the myth that the Gods implored a fleet of dragons to defend the land against the Chinese by expelling jade jewels onto the sea, which in time became the islands and islets that we saw heroically before us.

The tour party, joined also by Pepe; fascinating and bearded, from Granada in Spain and two jovial Afghanistan War veterans from Boston, spent the afternoon in the disjointed sunshine diving in the cool fresh waters. My American friends dreamed up a horror movie based on our sailing trip, to amuse the hours on board. Apparently in this film, as a minority individual I would have to be killed off in the early stages to meet the financiers checklist. I was sure I had much to offer in this B-list drama, especially after my subtle turn as the lead in Zorro.

Back in Hanoi, for my last few days before I fly out to Hong Kong. I've spent this time wisely, having made friends with a trouble maker from County Durham. We conducted wonderful pranks on our dorm room-mates which involved fake letters from the Manager of the Hostel, querying their anti-social behaviour and requesting an urgent meeting with all the staff. It worked like a treat, and the look on a young Dutch girls face when she read the letter on top of her pyjamas and teddy bear was a delight. She almost had tears in her eyes before reception told her that it was a joke. How I miss Sixth Form.

As I arrived at Hanoi Airport, I was greeted on board my flight to Hong Kong by none other than my favourite French-Canadian family, who sat on the row behind. I buried my head deep in the advertisement rich in-flight magazine and thanked my lucky stars that this was not an overnight flight.

Hanoi Song of the Day: Vanessa Paradis - Joe Le Taxi
It's not a sin to feast on an ice-cream sundae on your own and my enjoyment of a large 'Thunder' caramel and vanilla explosion at Fanny's in Hanoi was of the highest order. This was the only song I recognised from the dated stereo and is a shout out to Johnny Depp, a firm friend and hero of mine.

i-Pod Song of the Day: Bombay Bicycle Club - Magnet
The name of the band was taken from their favourite Indian take-away in London, and interestingly enough it was also my favourite (and Gordon Ramsey's). This song is taken from the 'I Had the Blues but I Shook Them Loose' album which I've not heard, but I like the two singles from it.

Order a curry: www.thebombaybicycleclub.co.uk

Listen to some music: www.bombaybicycleclubmusic.com

Sapa: Singing 'You Buy Me' And Dodging The Local Noodle Soup

During a fairly low-key hostel dorm party I managed to coax a fun couple from San Francisco (Jordan - J-Dizzle and Amanda - Captain Smock) into joining me for the trip to Sapa that I had already booked earlier that day. We ambled onto the sleeper train the following evening and were joined by the remainder of our tour group, three pretty (they may read this) girls from Australia; Alex Toughenough, Ingrid and Eleni. Everyone seemed to have lucked out on their train carriages, whilst I had to endure the next eight hours in the company of a French-Canadian family. The father of which decided to eliminate any chances of me passing out by snoring violently throughout the journey and exhaling with the sound of wailing banshees. The next morning, deprived of any rest, I trudged my newly bought scarlet Converse trainers through the uneven path to the doorstep of our tour agent in Sapa Town.

The Black H'Mong tribe ladies waited patiently and eerily across the street from the office as soon as we arrived at six in the morning. They didn't appear to sell anything and simply followed us on our short walk to retrieve some water for the upcoming trek. As soon as we had changed into our hiking gear (H&M khaki shorts and Chang top...man I miss Chang) and were led to our starting point, the Black H'Mong ladies were in close pursuit, peppering us with broken English queries, the most popular of which was whether we had any brothers. I don't and they didn't take too kindly to this news.

Our tour guide, a young man named 'Tom' - though I'm fairly certain this was not his given name as he rarely responded to it - was entertaining in many ways. For one, we couldn't understand much of what he was saying, perhaps only the third word in a sentence as his English was so poor and his delivery was so fast paced that we couldn't successfully follow his commentary (only Alex Toughenough had the necessary skill set to understand and she revelled in the role of translator of the translator). He also didn't seem to care much for our welfare, as he regularly paced off in the distance, becoming a silhouette in the landscape as we tried to negotiate the slippery boulders and balanced like trapeze artists across the rice fields and sharp contours of the environment. We decided to take it in turns to fall gracefully into the thick earth and marshy waters. In one memorable occasion we even lost Tom for a short while, in his dismaying preoccupation with consulting his phone rather than engaging with the group.

Once in a while we'd feel comfortable enough with the uneven terrain to look out towards the valley and take in the contrast of the bleak cold mountain range embracing the soft green curves of the rice paddies as we avoided the vacant glare of the passing Buffalo. It was nice to breathe for a little while, especially so soon after the smog riddled metropolis of Hanoi.

It was the turn of the Black H'Mong gang to actually ensure that we arrived at our lunch stop in one piece. At one stage of our route, the clay mud was so slippery that an old tribe lady had to hold my hand so that I didn't fall into a passing stream. I am not ashamed of this. I think I loved that little old lady for delivering me safely to our destination, so much so that I bought an awful 'hand made' purse from her at the end of the day. The same cheaply embroidered black bag was on display at all the stalls in Sapa market and so wasn't genuine at all. It finally dawned on us that the ladies had followed us for the duration of the morning trek so that they could assist in our walk through the difficult surroundings and gain so much trust from us that we would eventually buy a garment from their faded wicker baskets.

Our itinerary stated that we should arrive at our home-stay with our 'host' family at four o'clock in the afternoon. So much was Tom's pace and urgency to finish his day's work, we arrived, caked in earth and exhausted nerves at the house at two thirty, allowing us a generous portion of time to rest our aching bones on a large wooden table by the porch. We eroded the clock that afternoon with games of Cheat, Ring of Fire / Circle of Death (or C.O.D. as one hip member of the party named it) and a Vietnamese card game that Tom introduced us to.

Our dinner was a banquet of traditional dishes which we greedily wolfed down. With every bite, our humble hosts and Tom decided to raise a toast with a warm shot of rice wine, poured with little care from a used Vodka bottle. Unfortunately for Tom, the generous amounts that he poured for himself resulted in a disarming admission to the table of his curiously promiscuous history. He unravelled scattered stories of his young baby that he rarely sees, his older lady in HCMC, his current secret affair in Sapa, as well as his penchant for a taste of what he described as Chicken Noodle Soup. Soon after, our drunken tour guide stumbled on to his motorbike and raced into the twilight of Sapa to remedy his growing appetite for a more filling supper that would be all the more dearer and illegal than the one that we had just enjoyed.

Well, seeing as it's a Tuesday I'll go for the 2-4-1 special

The following morning the horizon was enveloped with a smokey mist, which ensured that the visibility was limited as we were accompanied by a cool Autumnal breeze. After a short ramble we rested at a local Italian Restaurant to dine enthusiastically on pizzas and garlic bread in the warmth of a coal fire. We watched as a local cat quickly abandoned her quest to sleep inside the fireplace in favour of the more favourable surroundings of the tiled floor. The theme of consuming vast amounts of pizza between the six of us would not be reserved for this day only.

The sleeper train back to Hanoi should have been spent in the bliss of slumber, and I was intrigued to see whom I would be sharing a carriage with. To my utter dismay, on peering through my door I was greeted once again by the clumsy French-Canadian family. The melodic wheezing of the train could not drown out the unjust sound of this pot-bellied tyrant and to add to this calamitous situation, my headphones decided to fail me. I spent the rest of the night awake wishing that the elderly hill tribe lady would clasp my hand and sing me a repetitive lullaby of 'You Buy Me'.

We're only happy because we knew that once our eight pizza's arrived we'd be taking it out to our Hostel sitting room to watch The Hangover

Sapa Song of the Day: New Order - Regret
Well, I truthfully heard this tune at the hostel prior to departure to Sapa. The only music I can remember hearing for my time there was at the Italian Restaurant, and that was Abba's Super Trooper, which I refuse to list. However, I must concede that I did enjoy listening contently as the table sang along quietly to the chorus as we waited for our crusty garlic bread.

i-Pod Song of the Day: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Softshock

Highlight from the 'It's Blitz!' album and a close rival to Maps

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqyqHZEDbRI

Like A Rootless Tree

I mentioned in the last chapter that I had a rare talent of being able to sleep through anything, be it an uncomfortable seat on a bus trudging over a rocky and pot hole laced road or even construction work hammering away in close proximity at dawn. I lied. I'm currently located on the bottom bunk of an eight person dorm in Hanoi. Above me, on the top bunk, hides a middle aged man from LA, complete with raspy nasal voice and Japanese features, whose sole contribution to the room is to keep us all petrified when we are all lying under our thin and tattered bed sheets. At around 3am the other night he actually emitted a primal scream as he ascended from the depths of a nightmare. The rest of the dorm, me included, broke out in a collective laugh at this man's confused shrill, the like of which was last witnessed by Bart when he was bound to a wheelchair over the summer holidays.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gqipy2XYUqU.

Although we all sniggered at this high pitched damsel, the playful response hid a nervousness as to what else this man could surprise us with for the rest of our stay.

I arrived in Hanoi, on a fairly breezy and rainy night at 11pm on New Year's Eve. My expectations of hoards of travelers at my hostel, ready to lead a conga line to the stroke of midnight where quashed when I realised that everyone had left the hostel's masquerade party and had all departed for colourful destinations that I was not aware of. I strolled to a nearby enclave, the Polite Pub - owned by a fellow from Nottinghamshire - as it was the nearest venue listed on my Lonely Planet guide within walking distance. As I supped on my lonesome Halida, an Australian and German sat beside me at the bar, took pity on my predicament and asked me to join them in their celebrations. I was not expecting to drown in a deluge of cheap tequila, but that was their weapon of choice, and as they were paying, it would have been rude not to have drifted along in this toxic sea.


New Year's Day Prayer

The following day, it didn't take me too long to locate the infamous Bia Hoi cross street, perched within the Old Quarter of Hanoi. This cluster of little bars brew their own fresh beer every day at 4pm and sell the somewhat tangy and crisp residue for around 15pence a glass. That's a recipe for much frivolity and the invitation to stumble down the loosely cobbled streets of the back alleys of bad decisions. One of these side streets led to a plate of local delicacies in a nearby outdoor restaurant, where battered crickets, meat paste (I was promised pork, but more likely dog) and fried frogs legs with mint were digested with instant regret.


At Le Pub with the Brits whom I've bumped into at every leg up Vietnam

On exiting a popular establishment Le Pub (poor name, jovial atmosphere) myself and my Australian friends were cornered by local moto drivers, requesting us to provide them some late night transport business. On informing them of our collective preference to walk back to the hostel, they asked us whether we wished to participate in a popular wrestling game that they played most nights by the curb of the pavement. We of course agreed to take them on, none of us wishing to bruise our burgeoning masculinity. The wrestling game was very odd, the mechanics of which seemed to be of standing opposite your opponent and making a seesaw motion with your arms until one of you loses balance and thus defeated in the dual. We were half expecting the drivers to pull out some Jean-Claude Van Damme spinning martial arts kicks, but their frail and skinny torsos were no match for our bloated Western stomachs.


Let's Wrestle


Perth Dave: Questionable pose

Hanoi is perfect to walk around and take in the cluttered markets stalls and the pale crumbling colonial buildings. A few of us took a morning out to visit Vietnam's most important historical figure of modern times, Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum. In the style of Lenin and Stalin before him, the Vietnamese have preserved the corpse of this impressive leader in a glass coffin under a golden ceiling. Scattered around us were numerous military honour guards, with speared rifles, who enforced fairly strict rules and regulations that visitors must comply with. On three separate occasions we were asked to address our lamentable behaviour of which included talking, for wearing sunglasses indoors and for having our arms behind our backs. This stringent sense of authority and order certainly added to the atmosphere within the grounds.

Hanoi Song of the Day: TLC - Unpretty
Whilst I was eating yet another bowl of delicious Bun Cha at 69 Restaurant in the Old Quarter this superb 90's classic wired itself around my head. So inspiring, such an important challenge to people's perceptions of appearance. I think we all know what T-Boz, Left Eye and Chilli were feeling when they soulfully sung the following verse. You're not alone girls. You're not alone:

Never insecure until I met you / Now I'm bein' stupid / I used to be so cute to me / Just a little bit skinny


i-Pod Song of the Day: Weezer - Say It Ain't So
I fondly recall wasting away hours of the weekend in London with my boys, playing Rock Band maladroitly whilst my friend's neighbours sighed at the Neanderthal styled clubbing of the plastic drums vibrated on their ceiling. Someday I'll sell our version of Creep by Radiohead. My falsetto towards the climax compares favourably with that of Thom Yorke's.

http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENXvZ9YRjbo

A Wander in the Imperial City

With a name like A Dong Silk, I had no choice but to step in and purchase a suit at this fancy little tailor boutique in Hoi An. I casually flicked through their catalogue of suit cut options, which was in essence a neatly bound collage of the fashion pages of GQ and Esquire magazines from the last year, and decided upon a Hugo Boss style skinny fit grey option. The sole reason this appealed was because Barney from How I Met Your Mother (someone in my old flat used to Sky+ it and got me addicted) was modelling the piece and for those of you who know the show, his suits define 'awesomeness'. A little fact for you, Barney, who plays a razor witted playboy in the series, had a previous incarnation as the star of Doogie Houser when he was a teenager. True story. The ladies at A Dong Silk were not shy in taking all my measurements. I'm sure some of the readings were not necessary at all (why did they need to check my buttocks?) and left me somewhat violated, especially when I had to take my shirt off in the middle of the store whilst the staff and customers watched eagle eyed as I carefully sucked in. Their techniques were as thorough and similar to that of Joey Tribiani's flamboyant tailor.

Following this strutting parade, I grabbed a bicycle and took a tour of the town, over the decorated bridges towards the beach a few kilometres from the centre of the district. There is something very liberating in observing the folk, absorbed in the routine of their daily lives, in this calm and pleasant manner and I felt fully justified in the rental, in spite of the embarrassingly moist harris when I finally jumped off the rusty device. I spent the final day at Hoi An visiting the impressive Cham Temples at My Son, situated in the dense jungle. Unfortunately the majority of these relics were destroyed during the War and only a handful of the original foundations have survived. The short trip up to Hue, the imperial Capital of Vietnam, was also stunning in it's deep scenery of twisting roads within the stooping mountainside, complete with silent waterfalls and inviting pine green shrubbery. It's no wonder that the route through the Great Ocean Road is so highly regarded by those who have had the fortune of passing by.

Hoi An bicycle tour

My first dorm room of the trip welcomed me on my first day at Hue, the distinct smell of athlete's foot blanketing the air. All in all the hostel is surprisingly nice as it's only been open for six months and has yet to lose the shine from its first coat of paint. Being lucky enough to be able to fall asleep in most environments the rhythmic roar of snoring from neighbouring bunks has not impaired my stay either.

With the Aussies at Cafe Clem by the Perfume River

I befriended some travellers from Perth and Tasmania (there appears to be no shortage of Australian students carelessly spending their loaned dollars on their post exam vacations) and on one of our aimless strolls into the City, stumbled upon some children playing football on the side road. They hollered at us to join in, and on viewing my tremendous four kick ups in a row, applauded and chanted to me as if I was a young Nolberto Solano playing his trumpet down the wing. This favour soon turned to boyish resentment as I spooned the flat plastic ball into the murky waters of the nearby river. We briskly pressed on as they desperately tried to retrieve the ball back with the aid of a fallen branch.

Nobby. Not pleased with the comparison

As our walking tour in the midday sun had left us tired and parched, the night was seen to a close at Brown Eyes Bar, hidden behind a small garden a few blocks from the hostel. The chirpy slogan of the bar was enticing enough 'We close when the last person passes out', encouraging me to debut a few new moves on the dance floor, including a wonderfully apt machine gun dance, complete with Platoon-esque knee slide with arms raised defiantly in the air. I imagine the local clientele were pleased with this reference to a bloody chapter in their recent history. This move, along with my classic lassoo, robot and fish tank dive caught on with the tourist pack, who mimicked the motions in what I can only assume was quiet awe and not that of mocking.

The King's Panorama Rooftop Bar at The Imperial Hotel

I fly out to Hanoi tonight, arriving at my hostel for around 10pm, just in time to douse myself in lynx Africa and sing along to The Final Countdown just before midnight. I can only mildly speculate on the cruel beauty that awaits in the Chinese year of the Tiger.

Hue Song of the Day - The Police - Every Breath You Take
The repetitive bass loop plodded along nicely as I gazed at the street views from the rooftop bar of the elegant Imperial Hotel. I chose a small can of tonic water as my poison of choice, it was the cheapest item on the menu and still cost more than most of my meals.

i-Pod Song of the Day- Flight of the Conchords - Cheer Up Murray
Our favourite Deputy Cultural Attaché at the New Zealand Consulate gets a pick me up from Bret and Jermaine.

Cheer up Murray/It's time to forget /Your wife met someone on the net /Let's go and get an ice-cream

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mqbB8aPD1UU

Some people don't return his calls

White Rose Christmas

"I think you need a shower" were the first words that the Manager of the Perfume Grass Inn uttered to me on arriving, whilst my backpack swung limply from my shoulders, late at night at Nha Trang. The kind faced Mr. Huynh Hong Huan had a fair point. I had travelled for seven hours on the train from Ho Chi Minh City and I felt worse for wear. The journey was not as romantic as I had depicted in my mind beforehand. I imagined sitting by the window, watching the farmers plough the lush vivid fields as the train ebbed and flowed towards the horizon. This wasn't so, I shared a kindergarten sized table seat with local Vietnamese folk who, it transpired, felt great communal joy in sharing spring rolls with one an other and not me. I was real hungry too, so I made do with a few sips from my lukewarm water bottle, which by then had the smell of my own weary breath.


Nha Trang Beach. Real purdy

Nha Trang is not the beach resort I had imagined. There were no bungalows or the quiet calm like that of Sihanoukville in Cambodia - more of a built up metropolis to the equal of any Spanish resort. Having said that, the beach front itself is exquisite, with humble mountains engulfing the flickering turquoise sea. Without the need to tan or the desire in having to pay for a sun lounger, I made do with enjoying a few mango smoothies from the Sailor's Club, a popular and recommended bar and restaurant by the sea. The night life is enjoyable, and accompanied with my friend for two days, Morris (a gentle and bearded young motorcycle enthusiast from Leicester who also owned freakishly child-like small hands) we sampled the many jam jars of potent and sugar laced cocktails which had the ability to wipe your memory like the flash devise in the movie Men In Black featuring Carlton Bank's cousin and Two-Face.

At certain times in life, your curiosity will betray you. One such time was when I entered the XQ Historical Village, which in my defence, looked intriguing from the other side of the street. On entering this little courtyard of several small shops, I had to wander round a museum of weaving for an hour or so, accompanied by an encroaching hostess. She didn't even ask me any questions or for my opinion, she simply followed me a handful of steps behind for the entire duration, as I fained interest in the craft of stitching and threading. The fairly swanky brochure stated the following:
"Inviting you penetrate deep into embroidery artworks imbrued with legends, memories, passion experiences..." Blimey.


Display at XQ Historical Village. Exactly how I felt during the tour

The overnight bus trip to Hoi An, the tailoring capital of Vietnam, was a lot more painless than I had presumed. You could just about make out the teems of rain-soaked paddy fields in the soft moonlight. Very charming this sight was indeed. I arrived at Hoi An bus station at 6am on Christmas Day and had to endure a further four hour wait until my room at the Nhi Nhi Hotel was ready and cleaned for me. I spent this time wolfing down some breakfast (it was free, so I ate like Henry the VIII) and spending an hour or so teaching one of the young staff some basics in English. She's a part time student and so wished to work on some of her pronunciations. The highlight was when she would point at objects and I'd have to pass on the English for her to repeat. Her grasp of the words 'Lamp' and 'Table-cloth' are second to none now. My first ever student. I was surprised that I didn't have a rage on like I always did at old work when I had to explain something simple.

When my room was finally ready I was greeted by a four poster bed with rose petals liberally scattered on the blanket. I'm living it up, baby. I felt like Prince Akeem in Coming to America and I even asked the receptionist as to the whereabouts of my bathers. She didn't look amused at this request. Santa granted me one other gift too, as my Christmas lunch at Mermaids, a fairly well known restaurant by the Old Town, was sublime. I tucked into a crispy crab meat flaked hoanh thanh - a Won Ton to you and me, and a White Rose, a signature dish around these parts made up of delicate parcels of shrimp and pork on rice paper.

However, on wandering aimlessly at the quaint alleyways at the Old Town, I stumbled on the Museum of Folklore. I hadn't learnt from my XQ Village experience and had to once again breeze in and out of a dire display of tired looking crafts and surreal wooden model dancers (pictured). Don't make me go back there.

A sample of shops from the Old Town.

Guilty, on both counts*

Nha Trang Song of the Day: Daft Punk - Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
Awesome tune that I whacked on the playlist at The Red Sun Bar four times. The punters didn't mind though as they all left by the second round. This still kills the version that Kanye 'Fish Sticks' West urinated so liberally over. Still can't believe he ruined our Taylor Swift's big day at the 2009 MTV Video Awards. Jackass

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDlwwKikOUI

i-Pod Song of the Day: Friendly Fires - Skeleton Boy
Nice dancey feel to this, get the album if you haven't already. They're all the rage with the kids.

*may not be true