"The average age of a combat veteran in World War Two was 35. In Vietnam it was 19. In Vietnam it was 19"

Good stat there from Paul Hardcastle and his 80s hit "19" and also a tenuous link into us making it all the way to our final Nam destination of Ho Chi Minh City or Saigon as i'll be calling it as it takes less time to type.

First things first though and it was another long bus journey down to Saigon, but this time enlivened by the driver really ramping up the local music to new levels. Should have expected it really given that it is the last leg, but halfway through I get a nudge from Rhiannon and I turn off my ipod; "have you heard this that the're playing?" I listened and they'd begun playing English music or to be precise Vietnamese covers of English tunes - truly awful covers to be even more precise. Bad song after bad song came and went building to a crescendo with a bone numbing version of The Locomotion being followed by Madonna's Like a Virgin. Expcept that they had changed the words to, and I kid you not, "Like a Surgeon". Here is a genuine verse, that I have honsetly not made up:

"Like a surgeon,

Cutting for the very first time.

Like a sur-ur-ur-geon

Got your kid-neys, on my mind"

We felt like crying. It was ipods back on after that before our ears began bleeding.

I was going to try and describe Saigon without mentioning the traffic but we talked about our memories of the place and it's the first thing that pops into our head. I know I wrote about it for Hanoi but Hanoi is a mere childs playground compared to Saigon. With a population of about 8 million the city manages to support 4-5 million mopeds and at any point in the day it can seem like they are all out there at the same time. Crossing the road really can seem like taking your life into your hands, or even worse about a thousand moto drivers' hands - and to be honest they don't look very safe when they are hurtling towards you and the driver is trying to send a text message.

Some of the photos we will eventually post will try to do it justice, but we have our doubts. Crossing just after dark (say 6.30pm) is the most 'fun' time to cross the road as the rush hour is still well under way (it starts about 6am and generally finishes around 11pm!) as the headligts come on and as a pedestrian you can't see much except light. The darkness doesn't in anyway slow the drivers down, nor does it impact on how closely they drive together, if at any moment a moto driver decided to fling his arms out wide he would most likely knock at least one driver off with each arm, they get close enough side by side to read the odemter of the next bike.

Trust me when in the dark you have inched ever so slowly to the middle of the road and then hazzard a glance left and then right and all you can see is a blinding wall of thunder coming towards you, it is a brave pedestrian indeed who doesn't see their own demise flash before their eyes. Having said that, it does get easier and after a few beers or cocktails it gets even easier than that!

Arriving on the bus we were accosted by a tout who Rhiannon with her new found Asia-confidence began negotiating with whilst I went looking for our bags. When I returned she'd sorted the room out and we had a place to stay. We stayed in the backpacker district around the streets of Pham Ngu Lao which is seemingly where every backpacker stays (oh yes, we're backpackers now not tourists) and it is where every tout and moto driver lurks on each corner trying to offer you a lift somewhere. When you refuse they just go back to sitting by their bike and doing nothing. The men in Nam and the rest of Asia seem to have life pretty easy compared to the women, who do all the work. Something we could learn from back in England I reckon.

That's part one done, part two will actually contain things that we did and saw in the city. It's edge of the seat stuff.