Vietnam Part 3: Food For Thought

It pains me to say this but you're reading the third and final post about Vietnam. I could've easily written at least six posts about our adventures here but Big Boss Man Lakha told me not to, and I think he's right (for once.) So with a limitation on my creative flow, I'll have to prioritise the content and you know what that means.. Sorry non-foodies but there's gonna be a whole lotta food in the second half of this one!

Let's start with the point at which we left off in Part 2. After visiting the central regions of Danang and Hoi An we went to the south central highlands of Dalat and finished in Saigon (or Ho Chi Minh City.) Bearing in mind what I said in Part 1 about the motorbikes in Vietnam you'd be forgiven for thinking we weren't interested in being one of the 40 people a day who die because of those things. Au contraire, my friend, for we went to Dalat for one reason: to jaunt with the Easy Riders.

The Easy Riders are basically motorbike drivers who take you anywhere you want to go. We spent a day just seeing the whole of Dalat with them but you can ride with them for weeks all over Vietnam. Now that IS bonkers. With the wind in our hair and an open road in front of us (kinda), we saw Dalat in the best possible way. Relative to their comrades in the other cities, Dalat drivers are quite chilled out and we only feared for our lives about twelve times as opposed to twenty and just knocked the one pedestrian down. Excellent going!

On our Easy Rider tour we visited artichoke and strawberry farms, coffee bean plantations, silk worm factories, ethnic villages, beautiful pagodas and countless other sights. All nice enough. There was a waterfall park which we got to by way of a mini roller coaster that we controlled ourselves - THAT was fun! Our favourite, however, was a stunning Buddhist Monastery. It was peaceful, spotless, smelt of the many flowers growing all over the grounds and had young monks in orange tunics tending the trees and hedges. It's no secret that clueless tourists grate on me so you can imagine how unimpressive the French couple who decided to start snogging in front of a shrine were. I mean, seriously? But what made me laugh was that the monk who kicked them out did so in such a composed, graceful and gentle manner that they didn't actually realise why they were being chucked out and left looking highly bewildered.

Dalat's known as a popular honeymoon destination and a beautiful part of Vietnam. Truthfully? - I really didn't get why. There are some pretty French-style villas around to drive past and lots of lovely flower farms but the views from the hills weren't special enough for me to understand the honeymoon attraction. Imran, on the other hand, loved it. Strange, as usually I'm the one who finds beauty in our surroundings more easily but we don't mind a role reversal when travelling! There's a great deal of Parisian influence in dirty and impossible to navigate Dalat town. It hence shares a lot of similarities with the European capital: the everyday food is decidedly below average in a country that values its cuisine so highly and both have an overrated tower (ooh, controversial!) But, when all is said and done, it was worth the visit for the amazing monastery.

From the breeze ruffling our locks in Dalat to the smoke clogging up our air in Saigon. If we thought traffic was mad in Hanoi we hadn't seen anything yet! The drivers on the pavements in Hanoi were a surprise but the ones in Siagon were ready to mow us down every ten metres. From the little old ladies shoving plastic bags full of rubbish down the street drains with a big stick to the market stall holders constantly yelling "Come and buy! Lovely things!" Saigon was brash, stifling and buzzing. We didn't enjoy walking around much but we enjoyed just being there, sitting in a bar and feeling the vibe of the place. We were staying very close to the backpackers' district so saw a lot of Western men with local girls young enough to be their granddaughters but this was also where the buzz was. Open-air bars with thumping beats that perfectly echo the vibrant pulse of the city itself; neon lights that match the bright, electrifying life here. It was just so easy to meet people and party until the sun came up in the heady haze.

Yet despite the party exterior, the depth of Siagon comes from the Vietnam War history. We visited the Cu Chi tunnels and the War Remenants museum. In order to understand both you need to know some history. This is definitely not Fun Fact time: one, because the facts are not fun and two, because Vietnamese history is so complicated that it's just impossible to simplify it and do so accurately with my basic knowledge of it. But here's my understanding of it. Correct me if I'm wrong!

Once a French colony, Vietnam was separated into the Communist North and the pro-Democratic South. When the French tried to obtain power a second time they were fought off by the Communist Viet Minh army led by Ho Chi Minh. The North wanted the South to be Communist and an army called the Viet Cong had based itself in the south so the US began sending troops there to help fight the VC. This wasn't a wholly selfless act done for the purpose of freedom and liberty for the South Vietnamese of course, although I'm sure that's how they spun it (as is their usual way.) The States' power on the world stage would be threatened by the rise of Communism in south east Asia, especially as Communist USSR could match the nuclear might of America. The conflict eventually escalated to the Vietnam War as we know it. The Viet Cong ultimately overcame the south and the US with the help of the north, and many local people fled the country - the 'Vietnamese boat people' - due to fear of poverty and punishment for supporting the anti-Communist cause.

The Viet Cong were no innocent angels. The War Remnants museum, therefore, is definitely biased against the Americans and propagandist. However, the shocking things you learn of US tactics and atrocious acts in the War are there because they DID take place and cannot be denied. The Viet Cong were based in the south and so the US could not distinguish the guerillas from the friendly civilians. That led to an 'if it's in Vietnam, it's Communist' mentality, resulting in sickening massacres of innocents such as that at My Lai. Millions upon millions of bombs were dropped in Laos where the Viet Cong were apparently making their way into Vietnam. Chemical warfare was perhaps their biggest weapon. Millions of gallons of dioxins were indiscriminately sprayed all over Vietnam in order to strip the rainforests bare and see the enemy from above. However, the poisons - Agent Orange being the most well known - killed people, animals, land and contaminated food and water supplies. The result? Cancers, diseases, disabilities and a whole host of other effects. To this day, people continue to be born with birth defects due to their blood line being contaminated with Agent Orange. Sadly and shockingly, the American government still refuses to acknowledge any moral or legal responsibility for the consequences of the herbicides it used. American soldiers exposed to the chemicals have been apologised to and compensated but acknowledging the Vietnamese victims would mean bringing money-generating chemical companies to trial and accepting the huge violation of the Human Rights of the Vietnamese people with this real weapon of mass destruction.

The Cu Chi tunnels are an underground network where soldiers lived, planned and fought. They were tiny and diseases inside were rife. I crawled through one and found it claustrophobic and this is after they'd been made bigger for 'tourist sizes.' The letters, accounts and pictures in the museum of the Agent Orange victims is highly depressing. War is despicable. The things the governments all around the world do to innocent people in order to serve their own interests is sickening. Will there ever be peace in our world? Perhaps when we all wipe each other out.

Saigon was two opposite ends of the scale for us: this emotionally wrought past combined with the frivolity of the travellers' streets. We needed to take a break from the madness so went to the place I was super excited about - the Mekong Delta and the famous floating market at Can Tho. At dawn on the Mekong River, hundreds of boats congregate to sell fruit and veg fresh from the farms. Each boat advertises the specific produce for sale on a wooden pole as it's too noisy for people to ask questions. Buyers yell out, holding up certain numbers of fingers and kilos of produce are thrown one by one onto their boat. Cabbages, pineapples, onions - you name it, they have it. Smaller boats float around selling fresh coffee and snacks. Some are full of bowls piled high with ingredients and a big pan of steaming liquid so that the traders can make a fresh bowl of noodle soup for your breakfast. I've seen this place on food shows on the TV a million times and was jumping for joy at the thought of going; this translated into jumping from our boat onto another to buy pineapples and ended up sitting in a sea of about 500 of them! And then, by 9am, it was all over and the buzz was gone, and we took a leisurely, scenic canoe ride down smaller parts of the river under arches of palm trees instead.

Vietnam is fascinating and fun. Despite its brutal history, it's positive and the people - especially the women - exude a really obvious resilience. We didn't have a preference for either the people in the north or the south because we were lucky enough to have positive experiences with both. If the worst we could say was that the taxi drivers in Hanoi were bolshy enough to take the fare (and tip) right out of our hands then I think we're well placed to say the people were great. In the north-south debate though, I'd say we loved Hanoi more by day and Saigon more by night. Every other sign says Karaoke, Food or Massage and to be honest, if you stick with these, you won't go wrong in this great country. Which brings me neatly on to the matter of food...


Food glorious food! Glorious Vietnamese food. If I had to choose between only eating Indian or Vietnamese cuisine for a year I'd pick the latter without hesitation. Sorry, Mum. 'How is this possible?' you may wonder, when the Vietnamese are so fond of swine that it's surprising babies' first words aren't 'pork' or 'pig.' You'd be right to wonder. As an Egyptian guy we met said: "You just have to accept that you've probably eaten pork a lot in Vietnam without realising it because they put it in everything.. even the vegetarian dishes." And he's right as the stocks for soups most likely all contain Peppa Pig's long-lost uncle and the veggies/spring rolls are often fried in pork fat. But we managed because we don't mind blissful ignorance if the only alternative is chomping outright on Babe's ear.


Hanoi is street food supreme. Believe it or not, the little stools dotted around on every pavement where people sit and eat Pho are actually illegal but the police forewarn their arrival on a megaphone before driving down a road, allowing time for the diners to stand up with their bowls and act like it came into their hands by magic. Law enforcement at its best. Pho is effectively the national dish and at its most simple a noodle soup. But oh, it's so much more than just a noodle soup. Stocks made with beef bones and herbs are cooked for hours and this is poured over rice noodles in a bowl with a piece of beef or chicken placed on top. The flattened beef is often raw and cooks in the heat of the liquid so melts in your mouth. You throw herbs, spring onions, beansprouts and chilli slices in and slurp to your heart's content. They say master stocks exist that have been around for hundreds of years with new flavours added to the boiling concoction each day. I was given a veggie one with a black mushroom stock and tofu. I despise mushrooms but I know they flavour food well and this was delicious.

One day we walked past a tiny, dark alleyway and my nostrils started twitching like a sniffer dog's so I dragged Imran along to see what was cooking (literally.) There was a haze of smoke, a myriad of flavoursome smells and plenty of chatter that died down to a hush as we walked (they must never have seen an afro like that on a brown man's head before.) Locals were crowded around tiny tables slurping soups and women were squatting on the floor deep frying anything and everything in woks precariously placed on coals. There were boxes on the side full of raw meat of various cuts and every few minutes someone would pull out a snout or a trotter or a chicken's foot and throw it on the makeshift barbecues. It was an awesome place; the kind of place Anthony Bourdain goes to and therefore the kind of place I love to go to. But here was our problem with street food in Vietnam: if we couldn't identify it, we weren't going to eat it. Imran, anyway. For me, being veggie, it was a given it was all meat! In South America we could speak some Spanish or at the very least make ourselves understood when trying to find out what the food was. Here, not a chance. But hey, when all the food we were eating elsewhere was so good, we didn't feel like we missed out by not eating the real street food. Especially as one of the best restaurants in Hanoi had a street food theme, with lots of mini kitchen stalls lining the walls where food was made to order in front of you. It's generally a lot easier to make yourself understood when you can see someone pick up a slab of meat and you yell "Nooo!" and wave your arms frantically whilst acting out a horrific death.


Vietnamese salads are the best. They're similar to Thai salads with green mango or green papaya but with less heat. Banana flower and lotus stem salads were a revelation. Dressings are always a perfect blend of salty fish sauce, sugar, lime and a hint of garlic and chilli. Cha Ca was another one of our favourite dishes but one predominantly found in the north. Marinated fish is brought to you along with a table-top cooker and pan. You cook the fish yourself in oil with dill and spring onions, then throw it all in a bowl over some rice noodles, fish sauce, herbs and peanuts. Gorgeous stuff.. but only if you go to the right places. In the very cheap places, they apparently use recycled oil or oils not for human consumption, such as motor oil - makes sticking to raw foods sound that much more appealing, doesn't it?

We ate summer rolls by the dozen practically every day and we watched Banh Mi sellers fill crusty baguettes with grilled meat. I became addicted to Morning Glory (no jokes, please!) which is a green leaf sautéed with garlic. In the central regions there are sweet potato & ginger cakes being charred on the pavements and in Saigon, where the food is flavoured with far more aniseed herbs, there are snails at every night market stall. We had one of our best meals at this market where red snappers covered in chilli paste were thrown whole onto sizzling barbecue flames and cooked to flaky perfection.

Hoi An is well known for its cooking schools and we spent a day at one making salads, pickles, pho, cha ca and incredible prawns cooked in banana leaves. All day we could smell zingy chilli and pungent garlic and the mellow citrus perfume of lemongrass. We even made our own rice noodles from scratch! I can't believe Imran enjoyed himself that day as he hates cooking but I think the feast he got to eat afterwards made up for it. He was, of course, bored out of his brains at the local food market and herb plantation. He seemed to cheer up when he learned someone had stolen my shoes after we'd been made to take them off before entering the farmer's home. The thief was found luckily although the only regret she seemed to have was that she hadn't run away faster. I didn't realise cheap Gap flip-flops were in such high demand in Vietnam.

The food was gorgeous in this wonderful country but unlike in Mexico, we didn't leave feeling like we weighed double. To get a feast for 100,000 dong (a few dollars) was easy here and we never tired of eating the same dishes over and over because everyone put their own spin on it. The waitresses in several restaurants took a real shine to Imran's hair, often complimenting it and wanting to touch it. I don't think they were referring to the food when they said "yum yum." They must've thought he looked a million dong.


Vietnam: thanks for the good grub. Our bellies will always be grateful.

Vietnam Part 2: "Khong Say Khong Vea!"

Imagine mountains covered in green forest as far as the eye can see. Imagine a cool, swirling mist enveloping the peaks while the rolling slopes below are defined by ladders of rice terraces that shimmer golden when the sun peeps through. Imagine ethnic Vietnamese tribes living in villages amongst the paddy fields; giggling girls running around with flushed, rosy cheeks; wearing bright, multi-coloured headscarves and handmade silver hoops dangling from their ears, striking against the black velvet of their long shorts and embroidered belts.

Imagine all of this and you have some idea of what Sapa is like. Right in the north of Vietnam, close to the Chinese border and part of the eastern-most section of the Himalayas, lies the town which serves as the gateway to the indigenous groups that exist in the Vietnamese mountains. And it's pretty special.

We went trekking in Sapa for three days and spent two nights in 'homestays' - as the name suggests, this is where you sleep in the houses of the local people. Generally these 'homes' are one of many houses created specifically for tourists with the family that run it actually living next door, but we were lucky enough to spend one of our nights in the real home of a couple who welcomed us. Both were fantastic and a real highlight of our time in amazing Vietnam.

Taking the night train from Hanoi, we shared a surprisingly comfortable cabin with a lovely Australian couple (who gushed over Imran's "gorgeous thick and curly locks" A LOT) and slept on wonderfully rock-hard beds. That's what I like! They were more comfy than some of the hotel beds we've slept on. Arriving in Sapa in the early hours of the morning, we were greeted with rain, mist and ridiculously cold temperatures. People kept telling us we should be able to cope with it, being from England and all. "But we don't walk around outside in t-shirts when it's cold there!" we had to keep reminding them. We live in the lap of luxury with central heating, insulated homes and hot water on tap (pun intended.) Cue a shopping spree in North Face for ski socks and fleeces - and this was in addition to the t-shirts, thermal tops and jumpers we were already wearing. Our untimely arrival also meant the treks were as muddy as a prince pig's palatial pen and we had to hire wellies and ponchos, too. Trekking in wellies: I really don't recommend it.

Our guide was Dong. She was a member of the local H'mong tribe which makes up the largest number in Sapa and whose members look like the girls described above. She was fun and jolly with amazing English and an infectious, raucous laugh. She kept cracking up at Imran's accent and doing impressions of him saying "wa'er" instead of "water." As we trekked over the mountains and around the terraces more H'mong girls kept us company, asking us about our lives at home. They all asked the same questions and gave identical responses no matter what the answer: "What is your name? - How beautiful!" "How old are you? Fifty two? So young!" As kind and sweet as they all were, we learned the hard way that engaging in conversation with or accepting help from any of them implied an unspoken obligation to buy handicrafts from them later... and they weren't shy about ripping us off!

The trekking would on a normal day be as easy as pie but the mud changed everything. The rocky 'paths' were so slippery that people needed help from these young girls. They were amazing! They were all under five feet tall but as strong as bodybuilders. On our first morning we trekked with a group of French people who had refused to heed advice to hire wellies and were sinking ankle deep into mud with every step. It was a hilarious sight to see one of the guys - at least 6"4 - having to hold the hands of two tiny girls to climb anywhere!

We hiked over rugged mountain edges, squelched calf-deep in mud on unstable terrain and negotiated steep, downhill rocks. We all know I'll take exhausting uphill any day over any form of precarious downhill hiking and, as Imran was being his usual amazing action-man self, I was busy slipping, sliding and skidding in buffalo sh*t. Believe it or not, it doesn't smell good!

Luckily our first night's homestay in the Ta Van village had hot water so I could make myself smell presentable. Even so, it was absolutely freezing the second we stepped away from any warmth. As we sat in the living room of the wood and bamboo house in all five layers as well as socks and gloves, wrapped up in a heavy duvet and next to a tin of burning coal, we could see our breath in front of us as we talked. I can't remember ever being that cold before. We were the only outsiders in this home so the experience felt incredibly authentic. It didn't matter if it was cold: we were up in the Vietnamese mountains, sitting around a dinner table and sharing a feast with people from tribes that have lived in the mountains for centuries. This was the kind of experience we came to Asia for! I'd warned Imran before that if we visited ethnic groups, the custom was for the man to be welcomed with some hard homemade liquor which he'd be required to drink out of politneness. And lo and behold, the husband brought out a bottle of his rice wine and poured us all shots. I took a sip and left it at that; it took Imran five shots and just as many refills to realise his glass would only be left alone if it wasn't empty! At least it was plain rice wine and not the traditional "5 Times A Night" shots - these consist of the still beating heart of a snake in one glass and the blood in another. You can guess from the name what the supposed effect is.

We slept that night on the floor, under two duvets and in all our clothes yet still shivering. But for the experience we'd had, it was well worth it. We've come a long way since the Inca Trail! Even so, we were thankful to trek deeper into the valley the following day and experience slightly warmer weather. We cut through more villages and saw lots of gorgeous kids who waved at us and shouted "candy!" Our second homestay was in Ban Ho and was one of those built specifically for tourists; however, there was no hot water at this one and so we decided to stay filthy!

Staying with us was a Dutch couple who, like all Dutch people we meet, were incredibly friendly, fun and with better English than us. We sat with their guide Mo, the local family and Dong for hours around a table piled high with food and rice wine, talking, laughing and eating. It was a fantastic night. Remember how I'd been moved by the experience of being in the mountains with locals the previous night? This night was emotional in many other ways as we sang Spice Girls songs (blame the rice wine), came up with a plot and theme tune for a movie called 'The Cultivator' and cried real tears of laughter as Mo told us she'd have to shave her whole body first before she ever came to visit England (what does she think she'd have to do there?!)

The following morning we walked to the Nam Tong village, home to the Red Dzao tribe. The women in this group have a very distinctive look. They have flawless skin with sharp, striking features and wear red and silver scarves over their shaved heads. We had beautiful views of the mountains and passed an abundance of flowers bordering a rocky river. There were only 14-16 huts in this village and the local school had just a few classes of 4/5 children. They were filthy and barefoot as this was a poor village; here, land equals more animals owned and more rice to sell and they obviously didn't have much, but the kids were showing a passion for learning that we don't see in our home countries where it's taken for granted. Saying that, this is 2012 and while the kids may not have any shoes or the homes hot water, one can always buy some top-up mobile phone credit in the local shop!

As the time approached to head back to Sapa town, we felt this was a good opportunity to go on motorbikes without risking life or limb. Dong decided she'd join us and jumped on the back of my bike, meaning I was being straddled by this little dumpling whilst at the same time straddling an eighteen year old local boy with unnaturally warm hips and a t-shirt saying 'Man eater.' I know the Vietnamese are fond of sandwiches but this wasn't quite what I had in mind! At one point I shuffled in my seat and accidentally hit my knee in his back. "Are you uncomfortable?" the young lad asked. "No, just happy to see you," I replied. Thankfully, he didn't get it.

Sapa was incredible. It was challenging, beautiful and interesting. It was a perfect blend of old and new; ancient and modern. You can be in isolated mountains in the middle of Asia, eating food grown on the land with families that define affluence by the number of buffaloes they own but people are exactly the same the world over. As Dong said when she was leaving us: "I have to go and deal with my ex-boyfriend now. He wants to get back with me but he dumped me for another girl so I'm not sure about him now.. I need to find a sugar daddy. Right, I'm off to watch 'Vietnam's Got Talent'!"

Back in Hanoi we celebrated the end of a great northern Vietnamese adventure with a night of karaoke with our Dutch pals. Karaoke is always fun but it's even better when you sing 'When The Lion Sleeps Tonight.' Everybody: wimoweh, wimoweh, a wimoweh...

We've never been as excited to land in any airport as we were when we arrived in Danang. The other Lakhas, Amir and Duong (aka Doug Nugget), our gorgeous nieces Mia and Lana, and Duong's immediate family were living it up in the family bar/home with her aunt and uncle and we were about to join them. As soon as I spotted my home girl Nugget and Imran caught sight of Mia and Lana waving at him, we were inwardly squealing and jumping around like little kids. It was so good to see them all! I think the only thing that could have made me happier was being greeted by Bruce Willis singing 'Love Machine.' That wish, by the way, has still not come true after two months of patient waiting. Perhaps it's a good thing because if he were at Danang airport I think I'd have to fight Duong to get to him first and I don't fancy my chances, her being someone who chases after muggers in east London and everything.

Long Beach Cafe is one hell of a lovely bar (no bias!) so you should recommend it to anyone who ever goes to Danang. Duong's mum and aunt make the BEST pho in the whole of Vietnam. You might think I'm just saying that because they're family but I absolutely promise that I say it with all objectivity. Ok, perhaps we don't know if it's the best in the ENTIRE country but it was certainly the nicest out of every single one we tried up and down Vietnam. We were so well fed over four days that we reckon we'll be round at the family home every Sunday when we're back in London!

We spent our days going to the beach, taking day trips and climbing up Marble Mountain to pray in caves with Buddha shrines and catch a lovely view of Danang from up high. One morning we all went for a massage. I hadn't gotten one in Vietnam yet, having been scarred by several stories of inappropriate fondling and lesbian groping. But we needn't have worried as our masseurs just simply sat on our backsides. Cheek to cheek contact: lovely! Duong told us later that she clenched and I can only imagine that her masseuse thought SHE was the one getting over-excited.

We visited a beautiful area in the hills called Ba Na where a cable car took us over thick forests until we reached a 'fantasy park.' No, not that kind of fantasy park: a children's one! It was only a half-built one but the kids' play area was open. Remember that brilliant show we used to watch as kids called 'Fun House' with Pat Sharp? I always wanted to go on that but my dad would never let me apply because it "wasn't what good Asian girls did." Well, this play area was just like Fun House and Amir and Imran were having more fun in there than the kids! I, of course, was more mature about it and used Lana for my own benefit: under the pretence of going in there just to keep her company I lived out my childhood dream. (And it was so much better now with my little 1 year old darling niece in tow.)

Our nights in Danang were spent playing cards and laughing at the loser of each game who had to drink neat vodka and whiskey shots. But if you're going to drink, it's best to do it in style so we all went out for a sushi dinner on our final evening and toasted every other jug of Sake with a cry of: "Khong say khong vea!" It's a great phrase and one lots of our friends' families seem to live by - "If you're not drunk, you're not going home!" Maybe that's why we get on so well with them. So anyway, each night we all drank and the children ran around enjoying themselves. Wow, our parents really did miss a trick. When we were kids we used to hate going back to the motherland and our parents would tell us off for not appreciating our background. If only they knew how simple the answer was: buy a bar on the beach!

Mia, our four year old niece, loved Vietnam and cried passionate tears of sadness whenever the subject of going back home to London was raised. It was a delight to watch her charging up Marble Mountain, doing her cute bows when she prayed to Buddha, lecturing us about the correct Vietnamese pronunciation of words and running around in her traditional outfits. Imran's face lit up with joy when she said she wanted to sleep in our bed but it fell as soon as he realised I'd still be in there too. When we'd wake up she would get a big cuddle and enormous smile and I'd get a "Hey.. wasup." But I understand: she's a far more appealing sight first thing in the morning!

Thanks Nugget to you and your family for your wonderful hospitality that week. We had a fabulous time in Danang and I now know for sure that you are the hottest Fittie McVittie in Vietnam AND London!

Just half an hour away from Danang is the fantastic Hoi An. We'd been here on a day trip during the week with the family and thought it was ok but it was when we stayed here at the weekend that we saw how brilliant a place it is and perhaps our favourite in Vietnam. It's a little town, charming and quaint, with historical architecture and streets full of tailors offering to make you clothes. There are sights to see but we didn't bother going to any of them because we were here for just one thing: food. They call Hoi An the gastronomic capital of Vietnam and if you stay away from the tourist cafes, you'll find this is true. Hoi An is the king of Vietnamese salads and we ate a dizzying and delicious variety. We also went to a cooking school here - yes, even Imran! - and had a great time but more about that in Part 3.

On a Saturday night, Hoi An illuminates its river with floating candles and scented flowers. Only the softest lights can be seen in any shop or restaurant, the atmospheric Oriental lanterns giving the whole place a romantic fairy-tale ambience. Relaxing traditional music was being played on Vietnamese string instruments and a dance show was going on at the riverfront. Elsewhere, a random bingo game was being played by locals in a mini Main Square and teenagers were weaving around the streets on bicycles and skates. It was a lovely atmosphere and we had a great time. Even the random little local kid who smacked me couldn't change how much we loved Hoi An! She was a pint-sized six year old who barged past me yelling "Hiya!" (in the martial arts way, not the friendly way) and karate-chopped me across the midriff. We both turned to look at each other and she grinned at me, daring me to do something. Her mother just stared at us both. "Well, aren't you a little f*ck face?" I said to her. I smiled at her mother. "You must be so proud of your delightful brat!" I said in the sweetest tone I could manage. Thankfully not understanding my words, she beamed at me in agreement.

Time to hit the south of Vietnam!

Va-va-vroom Vietnam: Part 1

They say you should come to Asia and experience the sights, smells and sounds. I don't think the latter should be plural because there's only one sound you hear in Vietnam.

Beep! Beeeeep! BEEEEP!

Every car. Every motorbike. Every second. Vietnam is where people come to die. Well, they don't actually come here TO die but once here they have to accept that there's a good chance they will. This is the land of seemingly more motorbikes than bodies; the country where crossing the road requires the will of a Gladiator and a prayer to every God you can think of before you take that decisive step off the pavement. Once you're walking across the road the best thing to do is just shut your eyes and keep moving, and if you hit the pavement on the other side you can open your eyes in surprise and relief.

There are crazy drivers all over Asia, I know. Mad traffic defines many other Asian cities and there may well be a good chance we go to one on this trip that makes Vietnamese roads look like a farm track in Staffordshire. But Hanoi is the first I've come across where drivers don't know the meaning of looking ahead, preferring instead to look in shops they pass whilst talking on their mobiles, shouting to people sitting on sidewalk about how good their pho is. Of course, I made the mistake of rubbing my eyes on a Hanoi street and mispositioned my contacts. Rendered partially blind, I did what any intelligent person would do and stopped still in the middle of the road and stared wide-eyed at the headlamps coming towards me. Clever. But never fear for Imran saved me Hollywood style. Not Bollywood - contrary to what Imran's hair might suggest - as there were no acrobatic jumps onto buildings and a chorus line dancing suggestively in the rain. I was lucky; shame I can't say the same for the two people I saw get hit by a bike (not fatally, thankfully) because the drivers weren't looking. And in true Vietnamese style, they yelled, they laughed and then they went on their merry way.

For here's the thing about Vietnam: if you make it out alive, it's just frickin' awesome.

After a calm and peaceful stop in lovely but strictly controlled and relatively characterless Singapore City, we hurtled head first into the noise, chaos and vibrancy of Hanoi. Exploring the north of the country we visited Sapa and Halong Bay before heading south to the middle of Vietnam. We spent a handful of days with our sister-in-law Duong's family in Danang and a couple in charming Hoi An; it was then time to hit the highlands of Dalat and finish in the madness of Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City.

The best thing about Vietnam was the availability of juices and smoothies nearly everywhere. Get in, son! The portions are far more stingy than in South America but hey, we're not complaining. In fact, we were usually smiling at the juice makers with big grins and rubbing our bellies whilst passionately crying "Yum yuuum!" until we found out the words mean "horny" in most of Vietnam. They must've thought we were into some real kinky stuff with pineapples and bananas.


At first we found it incredibly difficult to make ourselves understood despite the well-spoken English in a lot of places. Our attempts at Vietnamese were met with a lot of gleeful laughter and mimicking. They key was to speak English in their accent rather than to over-emphasise in our own accents, no matter how silly or borderline racist we felt. So 'sugar' became a loud 'soo-gaaah'; 'beach resort' became the snappy 'beat reezor' and 'massage' became the easily understood 'jiggy jiggy happy time mmmmm.'

As our airport taxi driver charged through the streets of Hanoi - beeping his horn even when the lane was empty - we saw a place that looked similar to India. Lots of green trees breaking up tin shack shops, ditches full of rubbish, throngs of people waiting at tiny bus stops and old ladies walking nonchalantly in the middle of the road. But as soon as we neared Hoan Kiem Lake and the famous Old Quarter - the heartbeat of Hanoi - a true Vietnamese identity began to emerge and put a real smile on our faces. Tiny, plastic baby stools on seemingly every street where people sat sipping the street beer Bia Hoi or slurping bowls of noodle soup (pho); carts full of pyramid-stacked baguettes (probably the most obvious French legacy left after colonialism); stalls of fruit in the middle of congested roads; cyclos, and female hawkers in their trademark conical hats carrying heavy baskets of goodies over their shoulders for people to buy. Motorbikes were not just zipping along the streets but were parked on every available space on narrow pavements, meaning pedestrians had to walk on the roads. Don't make the mistake that we did of thinking a clear bit of pavement is there for you to walk on: this is where the motorcyclists drive if they can't be bothered to stop behind the still cars or bikes in front of them! Red lights are just a suggestion - if they feel it's better to keep on going then they go right ahead.

We weren't in Hanoi at the best time of year and found it was a lot colder than we expected. We only packed one jumper each and found ourselves wearing this every day. Still, we accepted the fact that we're going to be in blazing heat for the rest of this trip and will inevitably find it too hot so we sucked it up. What was a bit harder to suck up was the cigarette smoke. Everyone seems to smoke here and their fumes combined with the traffic fumes makes for a horribly heady combination. I guess we're just so used to the ban in London now that we've forgotten what it's like to leave a bar or restaurant with your hair and clothes stinking.


What's great about Hanoi is that you see the stereotypical Asia you imagine. The best thing by far to do is to absorb every bit of the atmosphere and culture. Watch the people; talk to as many as can understand you and embrace their ways. That's what made Hanoi fun for us. What made it boring for us was visiting the recommended tourist sights: Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum and old house and a water puppet theatre show. Reading about Ho Chi Minh's life and what he did in Vietnam is far more fascinating than seeing his dead body (which, incidentally, we didn't even get to do as we rocked up in the afternoon to find out it's only open in the mornings - rookie mistake.) And as for the water puppet theatre show... well, we just didn't get it. Think Punch and Judy in a swimming pool. The puppet handlers are extremely skilful and the puppets themselves are intricate and wonderfully made. The story the show tells is quite interesting, too. But it feels like it's more for kids and the soothing traditional music combined with a jet lag hangover put us right to sleep.

It's the people that make Hanoi what it is. Whether visitors love them or hate them - and it's always one or the other - they make for entertaining viewing. The women trying to sell tourists stuff are really wily, quick and clever. Don't want to buy any fruit? - tough; the baskets are on your shoulders and the hats on your head before you can blink. Then they convince you you'd love a photo of this for which you obviously have to pay but they'll throw in a bag of pineapple slices anyway because they like you. Credit to them for being smart - we loved that about them and hey, we love pineapple!

The men in Hanoi weren't quite so nice, though. The ones that tried to sell us things were aggressive and their behaviour bordered on harassment. We didn't mind too much as we knew to expect this but I can imagine they'd be seriously annoying for less chilled-out people. They shouted at us if we walked away from them; belligerently asked "Why not?" when we said we didn't smoke after they'd offered us lighters. And they were sexist! I lost track of the number of times I said no to something only for them to continue hounding us until Imran made the final decision. This is Asia, for crying out loud - how could I forget that the man is the boss?! Even saying the word 'bra' in public here is shameful, let alone burning one in the style of those brazen, Western feminists with their terrible ideas.


But ultimately, Hanoi is exciting and full of personality. It's loud, it's gritty and it pulls you right into its way of life. It's brash but at the same time charming. It has so much going on if only you look beyond the obvious and deep into the nooks and crannies. We loved it.


Halong Bay is often on lists citing natural wonders of the world and it really is remarkable. It's 1500 sq km of blue jade waters flowing serenely around massive limestone rocks covered with lush greenery. Technically, they're not rocks but little islands and there are around 2000 of them. Visitors generally come here for one or two nights and stay on a boat; we were there for two which meant we also got to visit an area by Cat Ba National Park, a silent mass of water and caves away from the boat traffic in Halong Bay. There are islands which you can climb, such as Ti Top, for a scenic view of the bay from high up but it doesn't really add to the experience much. Similarly, Sung Sot Cave is full of marvellous rock formations in particularly entertaining shapes if you have as crazy a guide as we did, but it's not unmissable. The best thing about Halong Bay is the kayaking. Again, we weren't there at a time to witness sunny skies and be able to jump in warm waters but at least it was clear for the most part and the cooler temperatures made for better kayaking. It was so much fun to paddle through dark caves and come out the other side into another secluded mini bay, surrounded by tall rock and families of monkeys clambering over the islets. All we could hear were birds chirping and the water rippling beneath us as we glided across. Very peaceful; very beautiful. Despite the enormous numbers of boats in Halong Bay, it was surprisingly quiet and the boats actually added a lot of character to the visual scene due to their unique styles. There were, of course, party boats for the young backpackers but aside from the occasional burst of karaoke song in the distance, we didn't hear much.

I don't know what it is about cruises but we always seem to meet great people on them and they generally tend to be American! Travelling is always made more joyful an experience when you meet nice people. It gives you a better perspective of the world from the different views of the different people living in it and it teaches you about your own stereotypes and prejudices. I love the fact that, despite having American friends already who we think are awesome, we continue to meet more on our trip who defy that image of being lost in their own world with an arrogance of their own culture and an ignorance of other cultures; those who are intelligent and, quite frankly, admirable. I know the examples on Jerry Springer and the irritating muppets that are the Sex & The City girls aren't the best but there are some who think beyond their own world and are wised up to the shenanigans of their government.

I mentioned our crazy guide, right? His name was Man. Cue lots of unfunny jokes along the lines of: "Hey man, how's it going, Man? It's my main man, Man!" He loved it, though. On the drive from Hanoi to Halong Bay he told us lots of interesting facts. One: his mates don't like his singing and every time he partakes in some karaoke, there is silence at the end of his performance. Not a good sign. I know that from experience. However, he loved to sing (as everyone in Vietnam seems to!) and proceeded to give us a rendition of a traditional folk song. He wasn't half as bad as he made out. But in a culture where it's not good to be bad - unlike in ours - I could see why his friends weren't impressed and why he'd be better placed at a karaoke night with the Lakhas. Two: Vietnamese people (or, I suspect, just him) call the loo "The Happy Room." This is because when you need to use it your face is all scrunched up and tense but, when you've been, it's relaxed and happy. What an awesome dude - his Fun Facts are way better than mine!


Dinners on the boat consisted of feasts of deep-fried dishes. I could count on two fingers the things that weren't dripping in oil and those were the fruit and the water. We understood that this was their way of giving us the best of what they could offer and it was pretty tasty, but after three days we were completely done with drinking grease and needed to get back to our favourite juice bar in Hanoi! On the plus side, the brilliant bartender on the boat made us smoothies as often as we wanted and during one of our cooking classes we made delicious summer rolls - fresh rice paper rolls filled with lettuce, herbs, rice noodles, tofu or meat and strips of carrots and pineapple. Delicious. We also made some pork spring rolls but obviously didn't eat them. Imran had a natural knack for stuffing and rolling (ahem) but I felt very sorry for the people who ended up eating my monstrous creations.

We sailed by a floating fishing village on the day we went to Cat Ba. The people live, work and go to school on the water and their homes are beyond basic. They have barely a roof or walls but they do have the most important luxuries (and I'm not being sarcastic): generators so that they can have electricity and television. We kayaked around this picturesque and tranquil area but it was ruined by one thing: rubbish. It was actually quite disgraceful. This gorgeous natural wonder was littered with plastic bottles, bags, snack packs, fags and even shoes! I don't know if the culprits were more the tourists or the locals but going by what I witnessed during some careful watching, it's the locals and sub-21 year old Western lads who have the least regard for the environment. The captain of the boat that took us to Cat Ba had his very young son on board who threw the skewers from his lunchtime meat overboard as he finished each one. You've got to think he learned that from someone. It's a real shame and will become a big problem if something isn't done. While a lot of Asia might not give a monkeys about throwing litter anywhere, Halong Bay needs to literally clean up its act if it wants to retain its UNESCO privileges.

Another stop we made in this region was at a pearl farm. It was pretty cool to see how pearls are harvested and the sheer levels of perfection each pearl has to meet to be considered worthy. As expected, we were encouraged to buy some. The poor lady in the shop made the mistake of thinking Imran was anything but inappropriate and a joker. "Don't you want to give your wife a pearl necklace?" she asked sweetly.

Imran didn't flinch. "I always offer to give her a pearl necklace and she tells me to get lost!" he replied. The lady's face dropped.

"Oh, that's not nice," she said, turning to me. "If your husband wants to give you a pearl necklace you should let him. Any other lady would love to have one - you must be crazy to say no!"

She obviously doesn't know my husband.


Onwards with our journey!