May I see your boarding pass?

"I'm sorry, sir, you can't board with out a pass." The airline employee didn't look very sorry as he delivered the bad news.

"But we weren't given one. All we've got is this," I said hopefully holding out the crumpled stub from my previous boarding pass. The man looked at it with the sort of disdain reserved for real stupidity and calmly told us that we should've got one ourselves.

"Where?!" Steve and I said in unison, trying to show that we had looked properly and not just spent two hours eating fast food and playing on computers.

"There."

The man pointed in the direction of a fairly huge desk that had the word 'tranfers' written in big capital letters above it.

"Oh. There."

***

Singapore was my favourite airport. I'd only been there for five minutes, but I'd already decided that this small island nation's transport hub was better than the dozen or so I had visited in the previous month. Signs led to relaxation zones and free entertainment, there were soft reclining chairs instead of the hearing aid beige plastic seats that we had found in other places and, above all, the transfer process had not been painful and drawn out. Usually we had to endure at least two baggage checks and acquire a boarding pass from a stern faced security guard. This time, however, we just strolled through and found our gate with two hours to spare! It all seemed too easy. It was.

We were catching a connection to Indonesia and the tropical island of Bali. So, pleased to have some time to relax between long flights, we went off to explore the delights of the departure lounge. We had some food, sent an electronic postcard and played on the free games consoles. In fact, we were so engrossed playing on the new Xbox One, that we nearly missed the final boarding call for our flight! Running through the airport we were relieved to make it in time - only to have the aforementioned conversation.

In actual fact, I think we had the same conversation with a few more bemused people as we tried to explain to the TigerAir staff that no one in Vietnam or on the plane had instructed us to find the transfers desk before boarding. All of those conversations were to no avail though, as we were informed our luggage had already been taken off the plane. It would be transferred automatically, but we would have to pay for another flight and that plane wouldn't leave for another twenty-four hours. 

And so there we were, for want of a better word, stranded.

Suddenly the glittering airport didn't seem quite as inviting as it had done previously and so we decided to make our way into town and find some cheap lodgings. Except Singapore doesn't do cheap lodgings - it doesn't do cheap anything! Feeling slightly sorry for ourselves we traipsed through China town and paid a small fortune for some food and drink before returning to the sauna that our hotel had marketed as a bedroom and tried to get some sleep.

As a new day dawned, it brought with it a renewed sense of optimism and we realised that we had a few hours to explore the city - an added bonus to our trip's itinerary. Country number seven.

Despite the heat, the walk into central Singapore was really enjoyable. For the first time in two months cars actually stopped at zebra crossings and you didn't have to cover your mouth and nose in order to filter out some of the exhaust fumes! The most impressive thing about the place was the exciting architecture that gave the city its incredible skyline. Initially we walked through the imposing colonial style buildings that made up the city hall, courts and civic centres. They were in stark contrast to the gleaming glass giants that loomed above them, simultaneously reflecting the bright sun and the country's booming economic power.

In the center of these grand buildings stood two slightly smaller structures: the city's famous cricket club and its cathedral. The latter of the two proved to be our surprising venue for lunch - relieved that we didn't have to take out a mortgage to eat we gratefully paid a few dollars for a sandwich and a few crisps from two little old ladies who seemed to be running a booming business from the church's kitchen.

The afternoon took us in search of the city's F1 track so that I, being the geek that I am, could get a photo on the street circuit. We found a stretch of hallowed Tarmac on the harbourside but almost forgot to take a photo of the track as we were so mesmerized by the buildings that hugged the waterside. Most impressive of all of these was the Marina Bay Hotel - it dwarfed everything around it - it's three ginormous A-frames supporting a huge park and swimming pool like cards on top of their fifty plus storeys.

However, the more jaw dropping feats of architecture were only revealed once we'd walked through the Hotel. Protruding out into the sea lay the city's stunning Bay Gardens - a huge collection of exotic plants built around what can only be described as a man made forest. Giant metal trees covered in flora and fauna gave the place a very surreal, Alice in wonderland type feel.

We could've spent hours there, watching the world go by from the tree top walkway, but we had a flight to get and we didn't miss it. Again.

Half-an-hour later we found ourselves back in Terminal 2, this time we had our boarding cards and although we'd actually enjoyed our twenty four hours in Singapore, we were ready to start the next part of our adventure.

"Should I check they've got our luggage on board?" Steve asked as we walked toward the boarding gate.

"No," I chuckled, "They promised that they would transfer it yesterday. Surely nothing else could go wrong with this transfer."

Famous last words and all that...

A message from Alan... (#3)

Dear everyone at school,

Me again! I hope you had a fantastic Easter and didn't eat too much chocolate!

It's been a while, sorry about that. Mr Kent stuck me in his rucksack and that got lost for a bit (he'll tell you more about that another time). But now I've found my way out from under his smelly socks and I thought I'd tell you a little bit about my favourite places in Southeast Asia (without the boring bits Mr Kent waffles on about!).

Funniest moments (there were too many to chose from, but here are three!):

3) Watching Mr Kent get soaked on the boat journey back to Cambodia.

2) Nick, Steve and Mr Kent all losing their swimming shorts and having to buy dodgy shorts which all broke immediately! Hard to swim with holes in your shorts!

1) Steve accidentally getting a mouthful of petrol - NEVER EVER try and siphon petrol, children. It could have been lots worse - as it was Steve just tasted petrol for about a week after!

 

Best food experiences (so much good food and some strange stuff too!):

3) Mr Kent, Steve and Nick all loved frog's legs! They were very tasty! I thought the French were the only ones who ate them!

2) Southeast Asia had lots of funny foods on offer, despite Mr Sherwin trying to persuade him to, Mr Kent avoided eating scorpions, snakes or dogs. Mr Kent thinks they're too nice to eat - the dogs, not the scorpions and snakes!

1) In Vietnam, they all tried something a little weird - silkworms! Big squishy and gross looking - but they actually tasted okay apparently! Silky!

Best views (check out Mr Kent's blog for some photos of the incredible things we saw!):

3) The crazy streets of Ho Chi Minh City were fantastic fun. Lots of people and great food - not to mention the millions of mopeds!

2) Sailing down the Mekong river was an incredible thing to do. When adults get old and boring like Mr Kent, they love looking at places like this!

1) The beautiful river and mountains at Vang Vieng in Laos. It was absolutely stunning there, even though Steve managed to chop a bit of his foot off!

Memorable experiences:

3) Finding a paradise beach on an island near Cambodia! (A bit like Westward Ho! Just a bit warmer!) it was worth the long trek!

2) Floating down the river in an inflatable tube in Laos.

1) Meeting so many wonderful people. Even though there have been lots of horrible things happen here in the past, the people were so friendly and welcoming - even to Mr Kent - and he's pretty strange!

Anyway, enough about Mr Kent! I hope you are all doing okay? Mr Kent quite often goes on about you lot to people he meets - I guess he might miss you a bit, although he'd never say that!

He says that Year 6 and Year 2 might have their SATS soon and that he wishes them lots of luck - not that they'll need it, because they're all brilliant and have super-amazing teachers! Just don't panic and do your best.

If you're going to Georgeham, have a brilliant week. Say hello to all the leaders for Mr Kent, he's very sad he's not going this year - it's one of his favourite places in the world- but at least he won't embarrass himself surfing or canoeing!

Keep working hard! I'll try and make sure Mr Kent doesn't lose me again so I can write another blog soon.

Lots of love,

Alan

PS - Here are some photos of me abroad. (Clockwise from top left)- me at the massive temple of Angkor Wat - me at the 'Temple of Doom' where Tomb Raider and Indiana Jones wre filmed - Angkor Wat at sunrise - our very cool island bungalows at Vang Vieng - sunset on the Mekong river!

Fond Farewells

I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with shopping. I like the idea of shopping, but my idea of shopping is a long way from the reality of shopping. When I make the decision to go and purchase something, I have a vision of me entering a quiet shop, picking the item I require, paying the helpful and polite member of staff and then exiting the establishment. Unfortunately, the reality, as we all know, is very different. I often return empty handed having spent hours traipsing around shops with ridiculously loud music, slightly gormless work experience staff and no clothing in my size (which, in case you're wondering, is Hobbit).

Men are particularly bad shoppers. My dad, for example, has spent a good portion of his adult life stood outside shops waiting for my mum or my sister to choose an item of clothing. I often thought that a good business plan would to be to open a crèche for husbands and boyfriends who were shopping with their partners. I guess that the Apple store now fills that role.

But there are exceptions to this rule - there are men who can shop without losing the will to live - and I was stood in Hanoi market with one of them.

Nick is a master when it comes to shopping. Maybe it's the fact that he's the manager of a retail outlet, or perhaps he's just more practised - whatever it is, watching him barter with locals is hugely entertaining.

Sadly, we wouldn't be able to witness the sight for too much longer as Hanoi would be where Steve and I said goodbye to Mr Drew.

We spent our first evening in Hanoi watching a re-run of the Ireland v England Six Nations game. Thankfully, no one complained about the noise emanating from our room as we shouted at the rugby on my iPad and sung 'Swing low, sweet chariot' whilst England recorded a hard fought victory. 

It wasn't difficult to find a place to celebrate, as Vietnam's capital city offered an abundance of eateries and bars. Choosing was the hard part. Like all of the Asian cities we'd visited so far, Hanoi seemed to buzz whatever time of day it was. Motorbikes swarmed around the web of streets that made up the city's Old Quarter and street food stalls that hugged every corner filled the ancient streets with alluring smells. Everywhere you looked there were people laughing, joking, selling and creating an atmosphere I knew we would miss when we left Asia.

Most locals would attribute this vibrancy to the freedom from colonialism won for them under the leadership of one man, Ho Chi Minh. Their great leader is honoured all over the city, not least at the giant mausoleum that contains his embalmed body. 

The mausoleum is a place of pilgrimage for many Vietnamese. When we visited the site, the place was relatively quiet, but people often queue for hours to shuffle past the glass sarcophagus housing the body and pay their respects.

The whole experience was very odd. We marched, in near silence, past a number of stern looking guards in their snowy white uniforms - each of whom were seemingly ready to shoot us if we strayed from the narrow path or dared to try and take a photograph. I'm not sure I would want thousands of people walking past my remains when I pass away. Ho Chi Minh didn't either, actually; he asked to be cremated - but, unlike me, Ho meant so much to his nation that they wanted to honour him this way.

A less macabre tribute to Ho Chi Minh is found next door at the museum that celebrates his life and achievements. We spent a few hours there before we made our way back through the city to the hotel.

That night Nick had very generously said that he would take us out for a meal. He had found an incredible place where we ate like kings - sharing dishes like frogs legs, ostrich and venison accompanied by all manner of vegetables and spices. As we tucked in, we reminisced - recalling all the adventures we'd had together in the past month or so. Some had been hysterical, some had been heartbreaking, lots of them had involved Steve injuring himself, but all had made our time with Nick something we'd remember for a long time.

The next morning, after Nick had tortured a few more unsuspecting market stall owners and acquired a rucksack, a pair of headphones and a set of chopsticks, it was time to say a sad farewell. Not just to Mr Drew, but to the five week Southeast Asian leg of our journey.

I thought I'd let Nick sum it up in his own words...

Travels summed up in a few numbers.

5 weeks, 4 beautiful countries where people smile and welcome.

11 bus journeys, some fast and mainly bumpy, 1 traumatic sleeper bus.

A city full of cars, a city full of bikes, all cities full of wonder.

3 swim suits drying.

1 murder (mystery) solved with a little welcomed help.

10 miles of super fun mountain roads on mopeds, 2 fuel empty mopeds, 1 conveniently placed pipe.

2 days meandering down the Mekong.

1 waterfall we dreamt up, 1 waterfall you couldn't dream up.

4 goals scored by Englishmen on Lao soil/sand.

Too many mint leaves.

2 ill fitting swim shorts.

1 win at Carcassonne.

7 beers hustled off locals.

1 day floating down a river in an inflatable ring.

3 poorly stitches swimsuits.

Sunrises, sunsets never to forget.

7 planes and 3 sleeper trains.

1 tailless gheko, sorry, Ben.

5-1, sorry, Steve.

Golden temples, ruined temples, earthquake damaged temples, 1 temple of doom.

6 sleepy attempts to watch Argo.

3 French musketeers.

1 paradise island.

2 places where the harrowing history leaves you empty.

2 names, 1 city to be admired.

1 Bideford couple found in Hoi An, 1 not.

3 piece suits, 3 blazers and a shop full of happy tailors.

1 advert repeated for 3 hours.

A mistyfull bay full of a thousand mystical islands.

2 huge caves.

3 Aussie dudes.

2 nights waking 1 Hanoian night porter.

18 guesthouses, hotels, homestays, 2 island bamboo bungalows.

Fantastic foods, delicious meals.

Awe inspiring landscapes, breathtaking views.

A thousand laughs, a million smiles.

2 great guys to share it all with.

Cheers, Ben and Steve, for letting me join part of the adventure, it was a blast.

We got around it.

No. Thank you, Nick, the pleasure was all ours. See you on the otherside!

Where the Dragon descends to the Sea

I was having a flash back. It was 1990 and I was stood on the side of my old school hall with the rest of the boys in my year, being told off for sliding on our knees, "It's a disco, boys, you're supposed to be dancing." The girls were dancing - they always did, but until then we were pretty sure that our role in proceedings was to make fun of the girls and see how far we could slide on our knees before our polyester shell suits caught fire.

Back in the present day, I had the same urge to slide. We were stood on the edge of a dance floor with a group of boys, watching people dance to awful music. The difference was that we weren't stood between the PE cupboard and the Headmaster's office, we were on a boat in Ha Long Bay. 

The previous night we had journeyed northward from Hoi An on another sleeper train. Before darkness had fallen we had watched the stunning landscape unfold outside the window as we climbed higher. The railway line clung to the hillside, perilously close to sheer drops down to the the waves below. A bit like the Dawlish line in South Devon, just a little higher, and a little less ruined by the storms.

We all managed to get a bit of sleep before a man we nicknamed Bob Flemming hopped on at midnight and proceeded to cough sporadically throughout the rest of the journey.

Once we arrived in Ha Noi, some fifteen hours later, we had to endure a long wait in the station before we were picked up by our tour company. I say endure, because the only place to sit was directly in front of a television screen that played advertisements. The same four advertisements. For three long hours. I was just beginning to realise how terribly I would hold up under torture, when, just after seven a.m., a gentlemen arrived to rescue us from our ordeal.

A bus journey and a short boat trip later and we were boarding the vessel that would take us around the thousands of islands that make up Ha Long Bay. We were shown to our living quarters, introduced to the overly enthusiastic crew members and then began our cruise.

Ha Long means 'where dragon descends to the sea'. Local legend has it that a giant dragon, who lived in the mountains, once ran towards the sea - as it did, the beast's flailing tail gouged out great valleys and crevasses. Now only the peaks of the limestone karsts are visible above the shimmering waters of the Gulf of Tonkin. Since Vietnam has become more accessible to travellers, people flock to Ha Long Bay in their thousands to witness the breathtaking beauty for themselves.

That said, our view of the islets that day was less breathtaking. There's a lovely saying in North Devon that goes something like this, 'If you can see Lundy, it's going to rain; if you can't see Lundy, it's raining already.' Needless to say, it was raining in Ha Long. I think that summed up our view nicely that day...

The mist, or 'mizzle' as we might call it back home, was a shame but didn't ruin the experience entirely. As we stood on the ironically named 'sun deck', big dark shadows loomed out of the clouds - the weather creating an eerie, mystical feel as we floated silently on - spectacular in its own way.

After lunch, where we'd met some of our fellow passengers (3 Germans, 3 Australians, 3 Americans and a Vietnamese girl), we headed to our first stop - a cave filled with spectacular stalagmites and stalactites. It was surprising to see how huge the caves were - extending hundreds of metres into the karst. Actually, it would've been surprising if they hadn't called the cave 'Surprising Cave'. The name ruined the surprise a little. They should've called it 'Quite Good Cave' or 'A little bit better than your average cave Cave', at least then the experience might have actually contained a genuine element of surprise.

My favourite experience of our time in Ha Long Bay was when we were given the opportunity to paddle a kayak around and explore some of the grottos and bays. The kayaks were only big enough for two people, which meant that one of us would have to pair up with a stranger. But whilst Steve and I were deciding who would find a new partner for the trip, Nick had already employed his usual charm to snare one of the German girls as his other crew member.

We spent the next twenty minutes slaloming between floating villages and the islands. We weren't necessarily intending to slalom, but we didn't quite have the oarsmanship skill of Messrs Redgrave and Pinsent, and so our straight lines weren't often very straight.

Once we back on the boat, we were told to get a shower, whilst there was some hot water available, and then meet upstairs for dinner. To my surprise, what greeted us on our arrival in the dining room wasn't the captains table and silver service I'd been expecting, but a disco ball and a small Vietnamese man dancing to Gangnam Style.

So there we were, watching this strange show - me resisting the urge, wisely, to slide on my knees - and wondering when our western dance 'moves' had made its mark on this ancient culture.

Thankfully we didn't have to ponder that question too long as we were soon seated and served dinner. We spent the rest of the evening playing card games with the Australian lads and a couple of the German girls. It was a close run thing, but we did our country proud and recorded a victory for GB.

The next morning, following a visit to a floating oyster farm where they harvested beautiful pearls, we packed and readied ourselves to return to the mainland. 

In truth, our visit to Ha Long Bay had been a little disappointing. It had been a place all of us had wanted to visit when we came to Vietnam. We had all dreamed of emerald waters and majestic views that we'd cherish forever. I guess it goes to show that things don't always work out how you planned them. I certainly hadn't expected a toe curling school disco, but, I thought as we drove back towards Ha Noi, at least I wasn't wearing a shell suit.

Suited and Booted

'You don't look very brown!' is a very British greeting to someone returning from abroad. Those five short words have the power to bring any jolly traveller back down to Earth with a bang. There are those amongst us who can return from foreign climes with golden, sun kissed skin and then there are others, of which I am one, whose skin tends to peel off in the air conditioning on the plane home. Nick, however, is one of those people whose complexion closely resembles a mahogany sideboard once he has spent any period in the sun and he was really keen to use the time we had left in Vietnam to top up on his tan. He wasn't very happy, therefore, when the train pulled into Da Nang Station and we saw people on the platform holding umbrellas and wearing coats.

Thankfully, as we made the half-an-hour taxi journey down to Hoi An, the rain subsided and by the time we had checked into our hotel the black clouds had been replaced by slightly greyer versions. Despite the locals all being dressed up for winter, we, as Brits, stubbornly refused to wear anything other than shorts and a t-shirt as we went to explore the town.

The narrow cobbled streets of Hoi An were a stark contrast to those we had left behind in Saigon. Long gone were the swarms of mopeds and high-rise buildings, they had been replaced by ambling tourists and arty cafés. Although it had once been a major port, Hoi An's importance dwindled in the early Twentieth Century and this meant much of its old world charm had been preserved. Now it has become a Mecca for those after a good tailor or delicious food.

It wasn't long before Nick and Steve's stomachs were telling us it was lunch time, so we made our way to the town's market and found a little stall that served up a local speciality, Cao Lau. As we sat enjoying our noodle dish we chatted to some locals, one of whom was very insistent that we visited her little tailoring shop. A few minutes later we were wandering through a maze of market stalls having agreed that we'd have a very quick look, just to be polite.

Some three hours later, we stumbled out of the shop, slightly bewildered and having, between us, purchased 2 three-piece suits, 3 blazers, a pair of shorts, a pair of trousers and even a pair of shoes. The woman's 'little shop' had actually turned out to be a vast labyrinth of multicoloured cloths where we were ambushed by half a dozen smiley ladies who convinced us to buy some custom made clothes from them. We weren't the only ones - every now and again more unsuspecting backpackers were dragged in from the street and charmed into looking through clothing catalogues to choose their own garments.

The whole process was, in fact, great fun. We were measured up, chose our materials and then haggled with our hosts for the best price, and although we left slightly drained of energy and cash - we were very satisfied with our afternoon's work.

The next few days we hired mopeds again. Even though I wasn't riding on Tracey (the bike I'd grown attached to in Thailand), my bike was fine and the green paddy fields and a long coastline provided a great backdrop for us to explore the surrounding area. Despite it remaining overcast, we enjoyed pootling around and visited a Buddhist temple, whilst Steve managed not to drink any petrol, which was a bonus.

Hoi An also provided us with an opportunity to catch up with a friend from back home. Jon and his girlfriend, Clare, were travelling through Vietnam in the opposite direction to us, but here in centre of the country our paths happened to cross. It was great to spend some time with them and it even gave me the chance to show the boys how to play tennis and pool.

Our last day in Hoi An was a real treat; we had spent the previous evening consuming some delicious grub at a local restaurant and noticed that the owner offered cookery classes, so we decided to sign up. The day consisted of three different elements: first of all, we were treated to an all you can eat breakfast (one of the reasons we signed up!) - our plates were soon brimming with local delights.

Next, we were each given a mountain bike and headed off with our guide on a tour of the local area to visit places that the restaurant sourced their products from. It was a great way to see the countryside as well as being a good insight into where our food comes from.

The final part of our day was the cookery lesson itself. We were taught by the owner of the restaurants, Ms Vy, who by the end of the afternoon I had developed somewhat of a schoolboy crush on. Ms Vy demonstrated how to cook four local specialities, including Cao Lau and a delicious dumpling known as the White Rose. We were impressed as we listened to how she had built up her old family place into a small group of thriving restaurants. Whilst modelling the techniques, she pointed out that it was the women in the town who ran all the businesses and made up for the lazy men. Our own attempts at the dishes were actually fairly decent, if I do say so myself, and they were certainly edible.

After forcing down a complimentary icecream we left to pick up our various garments from the tailors. Slightly apprehensive that our clothes may bear no resemblence to the ones we had chosen, we were delighted to see that they exceeded our expectations. I'd go as far as to say we all looked rather dapper in our new gear!

We finished our day by having a rather foolhardy dip in the hotel's freezing swimming pool and then said goodbye to Jon and Clare.

Our time in Hoi An hadn't been filled with sunshine, but had definitely been a highlight. We still had time for Nick to get some sun before he returned to England, surely the next week couldn't all be cloudy, could it?

Good Morning Vietnam!

I have a confession.

I like hand dryers. In fact, I'm slightly obsessed by them. I have taken photos of about a hundred (ninety-six to be precise), not because they are cool - but because I was determined to write a book and had nothing to write about, so I thought hand dryers might've been an interesting topic. Don't judge me. The reason I mention it is because I had the opportunity to see a lot whilst in Ho Chi Minh City - not out of choice, but because I spent rather a lot of time in the loo during my three days there. Not fun.

Toilets aren't all I saw in Ho Chi Minh, though. We'd decided that a relaxing way to spend our first day would be do a cycling tour of the city. The city, still called Saigon by many of the locals, is full of interesting people and places - for example, our guides for the trip were three locals who must have been in their late seventies. Although we weren't feeling great, it was hard not to feel guilty as three small men, old enough to be our grandparents, cycled us around on the front of their bikes! Having said that, my driver - clearly enjoyed the fear on my face as he rode through red lights into oncoming traffic. 

At first it appeared that the tour would only take in the local Starbucks and KFCs, but our first stop was the War Remnants Museum. We took a few minutes to wander around the vast array of American military vehicles outside the museum, which varied from a tank to my personal favourite, the iconic Huey helicopter.

During the next few hours we wound our way through Saigon's bustling streets, visiting iconic sites like the Reunification Palace, the beautiful old post office and Notre Dame Cathedral. The trip gave us a little insight into the history of the city - its French colonial past and, more recently, its role in the American war - but, as our pension-aged guides steered us between the gleaming skyscrapers and beautiful parks, we realised that there was a lot more to Ho Chi Minh City than we'd thought at first. 

My new best friend, Imodium, helped me to enjoy (rather than just endure) a few trips during our stay. The first of which was to the Mekong delta. Having spent a couple of days floating serenely down the mighty river in Laos, we thought it would be a good idea to go and take a look at the place it met the ocean.

In truth, the day was a little odd. We had a very enthusiastic guide, however, he was about twenty minutes into his talk before I realised he was speaking English! To be fair to him, he wasn't helped by the coach's old PA system, which echoed through the bus and made it sound as though we were taking part in some soviet communist rally. It was like a sketch from the Fast Show, every now and again we would catch a word I thought I knew - pineapple, coconut, island - but the rest we would have to make up ourselves. Still, much better than our Vietnamese.

The Mekong delta stretches along the coast southwest of Ho Chi Minh City. Its fertile green landscape and myriad of waterways has become known as the 'rice bowl of Vietnam'. We spent the day visiting just a few of the millions of people who call this region home. They owned a variety of businesses, from men who looked after floating fish farms, to a group of women who made coconut sweets. Nick endeavoured to keep the latter in business by buying half their stock.

Our next morning, took us an hour or so northeast, where we visited the incredible tunnels in Cu Chi. They aren't called 'the incredible tunnels of Cu Chi', I've just called them that because that's what they are. Although many were destroyed by bombs dropped by B-52 planes, this system of rabbit warren-like tunnels once stretched two hundred miles to the Cambodian border and played a key role in helping the communist troops defeat the American 'insurgents'.

When we were younger, Steve and I used to enjoy playing amongst the hay bales, creating dens. But even with our tunneling prowess, we had to bow down to the ingenuity of the local people who had created a three tiered system of tunnels, with entrances almost invisible to the naked eye and a bottom level as deep as ten metres.

In places we were able to climb into tunnels that had been widened especially for western tourists! It was a great experience, clambering through two hundred metres of darkness, although it did come at a price. Steve's phone didn't much like being dropped on the floor of the tunnel and showed its disapproval my shattering its screen it to lots of little bits. A little inconsiderate of them not to fit soft carpets in these tunnels. Steve showed far more restraint than I would've in his position and, instead, vented any frustration he was feeling by firing an M-16 at some targets in the shooting range. After we'd all had a go being boys and firing guns, we hopped back on the bus back to the city.

We wandered around the market and then, despite my stomach still voicing its concerns, I endeavoured to eat something solid for the first time in a while before we got on the train bound northward.

Apparently, there are more than seven million motorcycles in Ho Chi Minh. Despite this making it extremely hard to cross any roads, we loved how vibrant the city formally known as Saigon felt. Even though the humidity and my tummy bug had made it a bit of an endurance exercise at times, I could honestly say that it had become my favourite of the cities we had visited so far. I was looking forward to what else Vietnam had to offer.

"Life is like a box of chocolates..."

Have you ever looked at a person and thought that they resembled someone famous? I had that feeling, but strangely, the person I was looking at was me! I was sat in a barber's as the hairdresser hacked off great chunks of my locks, trying to think who I reminded me of.

It had already been a long day - we'd started it on Koh Rong and had just got off the boat back to Sihanoukville. I was quite smug as we had boarded our vessel, earlier on the island; we'd spent the morning swimming and exploring, but I'd got out of the water early enough to dry out completely. I didn't have to rummage around in my luggage, like the others, searching for dry shorts to change into. They say that 'pride comes before a fall' and that prophecy was fulfilled when I chose my seat on the boat - as we moved away from the dock and out of the calm waters of the harbour, we were greeted by slightly bigger waves, whipped up by the winds. Don't get me wrong, you shouldn't be picturing a scene from A Perfect Storm - these were not giant waves, especially in comparison to the storm surges battering North Devon recently, but the combination of choppy waters and strong winds conspired against me. Every time the boat's bow ploughed into a wave it sent a wall of spray into the air, unfortunately the wind was blowing directly into my face and this meant that a large majority of the South China Sea was deposited in my lap. Luckily for the other guys on the boat, I acted as a breaker for them - so by the time we'd reached Sihanoukville, two hours later, I was drenched from head to toe whilst the others disembarked relatively dry.

Our next task was to find a bed for the night, which was easier said than done. We found a few possible places, but each was full of pesky backpackers and had no vacancies. In the end I decided that getting my haircut was a more pressing matter and left Nick and Steve to find accommodation whilst I located a barber.

I had a few establishments to choose from, eventually I settled for the one with the smallest queue. I watched as a man got what I could only describe as a modern day rats tail, and then it was my turn. As I took my place I asked for 'a number two all over' - I'd love to grow my hair long, but it tends to grow up rather than down also having short hair, I've discovered, makes life a lot easier in the mornings. My barber began the process, but once he'd done the sides he stopped and basically refused to do the rest, explaining that it wouldn't look good. Slightly offended, but willing to bow down to the expert's opinion, I agreed to let him continue. This is when I began to think I resembled a celebrity, but I couldn't decide who. Brad Pitt? Ryan Gosling? Maybe, but that's not who I was thinking of. Hmm...

After my haircut I wandered back to the the boys, who were where I'd left them. We found a hotel and made our way to the promisingly named 'Golden Lion Hotel'. It sounded like a grand place. It wasn't. On the plus side, it had three beds; unfortunately those three beds, we would discover the next morning, were full of bed bugs.

I still wasn't particularly happy with the haircut that had been forced upon me. Nick and Steve reassured me that they liked it, whilst also using the phrase 'you look like you've joined the Marines!' First they giveth, then they taketh away. But they were on to something with the military reference. Maybe it was an actor from a war film? Matt Damon in Green Zone? George Clooney in Three Kings? No, still not there.

We decided to watch a film. Nick, as had become customary on this trip, fell asleep after ten minutes. He had already tried and failed to watch 'Argo' four times; 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty' turned out to be no different and snores soon eminated from the other side of the room providing a backing track for Steve and I to watch the film.

The next day, Steve went to pick up our visas from the Vietnam embassy, whilst Nick and I booked some bus tickets across the border to Ho Chi Minh City. The man we bought them explained that the coach would leave that afternoon and arrive in the south Vietnamese city just before midnight. This was great news as Nick wasn't feeling very well at all and we could book a hotel in Ho Chi Minh and relax for a day to give him a chance to recover.

To cut a long story short, though, the man who sold us our tickets was lying. We didn't arrive in Ho Chi Minh City until four-thirty the next morning. In the meantime we had endured a few hours on board a minibus with leather seats and no air-conditioning and then a very shouty man crammed us onto the back seat of a 'sleeper bus' - which didn't live up to its name. We were relieved to arrive at our hotel and collapse on to our bug-free beds.

I had only briefly closed my eyes on the bus and almost immediately woken myself up by snoring! Being the middle of the night, I hadn't even got to appreciate the passing countryside of Vietnam. But we'd made it: 'Nam - the place we'd watched so many movies about...

And that's when I realised who I looked like...

Forrest Gump.