The first thing that hits you about Ho Chi Mihn City (hopefully not literally) is the traffic. (Sorry Matt, but it really is noticeable.) Anything on two wheels rules. Faced with this unrelenting wall of motorbikes we had little choice but to do as the locals do: put a hand up in the air, hold onto your ‘valuables’, and walk very slowly until you reach the opposite curb, resisting the instinct to jump out of the way of the bikes coming towards you. The bikes don’t slow down, but flow around you. The city in general seems like its modernized a lot during the 30 years since the end of the Vietnam war. This is a city now very firmly on the backpacker trail. The area we were staying in was full of foreigners, and walking the streets you see as many as you do locals. This makes for a vibrant, if slightly inauthentic vibe to the area, and a great place to have a beer and meet some friendly faces.

The history of the Vietnam war is however still very much alive in the city. On our first day we visited the Reunification Palace – the scene where North Vietnamese tanks smashed through the gates, marking the end of the war. This slightly ugly 60s-style building looks more like Chichester theatre than a national palace and residence of the president. But the Vietnamese love it for what it represents, rather than its aesthetics. It has been preserved exactly in the state that it was in at the end of the war, complete with logistical maps in the bunker from where the war was conducted. The following day we went to the Chu Chi tunnels – an area of preserved Vietcong tunnels about 100 Km outside HCMC. A kind of outdoor museum, this place displayed examples of Vietcong traps such as pit with sharpened bamboo spikes and leg snares. All nasty stuff, Some of them were even designed to specifically target a soldier’s more delicate areas. But the main attraction was the tunnels themselves, which were absolutely tiny and crippled us after a short 50m walk inside them. They’re so small you have to crouch down and waddle like a duck with a hunchback through the darkness. It was quite claustrophobic and a few minutes down there were enough to make you appreciate how hard it must have been to live down there 24 hours a day. Luckily, after the trauma of the tunnels, we were told it was time for lunch. And what was the delightful meal on offer? None other than tapioca – the blandest food known to man. It you’ve never tried this don’t bother. Imagine air, that’s solid. That’s what it’s like. But less useful. You could also shoot real guns here (no not at cows, though apparently this does go on in Cambodia) but it was slightly out of our price range. Fern was absolutely desperate to get her hands on one…she said something about wanting to feel powerful. After Alex managed to drag her away we returned to Saigon (what cool people and locals still call HCMC). On the way stopped off at the War Remnants Museum – a harrowing testament to the atrocities of war. There was some shocking photography and a lot of discussion of the impact of chemical warfare.

We headed to the beach, in search of some relaxation after the last couple of days of wae-focused activities. We went up the coast to Nha Trang – Vietnam’s premier beach resort. It surely would have been beautiful, had it not been for the two days of constant rain that descended almost simultaneously to our train pulling in. In an effort to keep ourselves entertained in the crappy weather we signed up for a boat tour around some of the islands just off shore. Our idea was that we’d spend most of the day snorkeling over the reefs. Our captain’s idea was that we’d spend most of the day doing Karaoke. It was truly awful, but the Chinese tourists loved it. Unfortunately, due to the storm the day before, we were unable to snorkel and so were stuck on the boat, and subjected to our captain’s ‘band’. They had a fold up drum kit. Rusty symbol and everything. But they did not sound good, especially when covering western power ballads. Wine was then served in the cold sea on a floating bar. The five Europeans on board jumped off as quick as they could, in an effort to escape the terrible music, at the first mention of wine. None of us gave a though to about the icy water, there was wine on offer. That was all that mattered. However, disappointment soon ensued as the red wine was actually Vietnamese wine. As our captain described it: “f***ing minging!” Yeah, thanks. But still, alcohol is alcohol and we needed as much of it as we could stomach to make that boat trip any more bearable.

The next day, deciding that after the failed boat trip we should stick to dry land, we visited the mud baths. It didn’t matter that it was raining, we were wallowing in mud, and nothing could spoil our fun. After splashing around in the cold mud for a while, endlessly entertained by how easily we could float in it, we went through a succession of hot springs and pools until we got to the weirdest part of all: the hot swimming pool. Now we know why swimming pools are usually so cold. Moving is impossible in a hot pool. It took all Fern’s energy just to keep her head above the water to stop herself from drowning. Alex attempted a length, but nearly fell asleep half way through. Reluctantly, we left the pool, and it’s oh so cozy waters, to get a night train to Hoi An – or next town up the Vietnamese coast. We were accompanied along the way by two cockroaches, one above each of our heads. They both just sat there all night doing nothing. Alex clocked them both but left Fern blissfully ignorant (deciding this was best for her, himself, and every one else on the train.). The cockroach chased Alex in his sleep.