Sometimes you bore holes in your head through frustration. Staring at a computer screen, you hear voices saying useless things like 'you should have been more f***ing organised' or 'things just dont work outside London'. I don't even live in f***ing London. In my 24 years i have spent less than a week there. I'll come back to this.
After by brutal assault on my liver in Hoi An, Nha trang was supposed to be a place to dry out. I must stress that I am not an alcoholic. I really didn't want to drink anymore. I didn't want to spend anymore money on booze. I certainly didn't want to spend hours wondering where 6 hours of my life went and what I may or may not have done. I checked into a cheap hotel and bumped into Bobby and Suzy, a couple of newlyweds that I had met in halong bay. They invited me to join them for a day at a pool bar by the beach. On my way there, I ripped open the wound on my big toe from Sapa again and bled everywhere. I have a real f***ing problem with curbs in Indochina. Either they're f***ing massive, with cliff drops at the other side or they're so small that you don't notice them. If you're walking with purpose in your stride (which rarely happens with me but anyway) then it's more than likely that you will kick this motherf***er with great gusto, as I did and go through an excrutiating amount of pain. Letters must be sent to the government, petitions must be made. This has to be stopped. People are probably dying from this. I nearly did. I have loads of near death experiences. Despite making it to the pool, I decided against jumping in and leaving a trail of deep claret in my wake. It wouldn't have been a good look and would most likely have got me kicked out.
I hobbled back to the hotel, telling every taxi driver that told me my foot was bleeding to f*** off in the politest way possible. I nursed my wound. It hurt. A lot. With the mange dog bite from Sapa, my trail of blood from my toe and the various cuts and grazes that I had acquired from f*** knows where, you could have mistaken me for a modern day Jesus but with a poorer code of ethics.

Instead of going some way towards drowning, I met up with Bobby and Suzy for dinner and drinks. This couple are super nice and despite stubbing the same toe again on the way to the bar where I met them, I was happy to spend the evening in their company. Conversation flowed with cheap Vietnamese vodka and before we knew it, we had had an absolute skinful. Rarely have I waxed lyrical on my top 3 vegetables. Maybe i should do it more often with my friends at home. By the time we had got to the 3rd bar, I don't remeber talking about that much although embarrasingly enough I think I started a whole new topic on how they were the perfect couple. In french. Some way through our non sensical ramblings, I had mentioned Ariel and how I should go and meet up with her in Cambodia so we could talk about bricks. Ariel had such a heavy bag, well over 30kgs and it was only 50ltr capacity. I had come to the conclusion that she was collecting bricks everywhere she had been. I was obviously fascinated by this. Bricks are often overlooked as things of beauty. I would suggest to her that we meet in Siem Reap and that she give a powerpoint presentation on the Bricks of South East Asia. Bobby and Suzy naturally thought this was an excellent idea.
I woke up in my room at 4pm the next day, clothes strewn across the floor. I fear I made cleaning my bathroom a more arduous affair after splattering bits of last nights red snapper and spaghetti all round the toilet bowl. I felt like a pig had shat in my head. After bringing up bile and mucus for the 2nd time, I went to get some coke from reception; hair plastered all over my face, my complexion resembling that of a jaundiced ghost. I had developed a chesty cough, probably due to lying under full blast air con for 12+ hours. The coke did little but help me clean the tolet and it was 10pm before I made it downstairs again to try and eat something. I saw Bobby in the lobby and turned all sheepish. They were supposed to have left earlier that evening but Suzy couldn't face it. Apparently, it had taken us a while to get back to the hotel. We had found what looked like home but turned out to be a bakery... Surprisingly they didn't let us in.
For some reason, I confided in Ariel. I hadn't felt this bad in years. No, I hadnt been smoking crystal meth or injecting my eyeballs with vodka but I thought by sharing my experience with her, it would make me feel better.Psychologically. I missed her. I could talk s*** for england but somehow telling someone did make me feel better. How f***ing pathetic is that? 'Boohoo, I got hammered last night and now I feel terrible'. Did I tell you I want to be a clinical psychologist?
I ventured outside for food. I felt like s***. A bowl of pho and a mango lassi sent my stomach into elation. Head to pillow and back to sleep.
I woke up at 12pm the next day but still wasn't feeling great. Maybe I'm too old for this. Maybe this is my body's way of telling me that I should take up yoga and drink my own piss. I don't do things by halves, apart from work.
I lazed on the rooftop and turned a deep brown. Like a cake. I booked a bus ticket out of Nha trang to Saigon. I was getting the f*** out. My final 24 hours in Nha Trang were spent baking on the rooftop, reading, sweating through paranoia. I do manage to get myself into some quite ridiculous situations. I should hire a life coach.
The bus journey was interesting. I felt pretty good and was ready to move on. Ariel had asked me if I wanted to be her date for her cousin's wedding in Australia. I told her yes on the condition I could wear a bowler hat and that she buy me a drink. i was joking of course. The last thing I wanted to think about was drink. Post hangover, I sometimes get into silly moods where I grin like a lobotomised gibbon and look at people suggestively. When the lights went out on the bus, I turned my ipod right up and air drummed to Fall out Boy. We stopped for dinner at around 11pm at a godforsaken service station whose urinal pipe flowed openly onto the floor. I had the worst bowl of pho in the history of pho. It had a dog chew in it. The kind you see at the market. There was a statue of the virgin mary, probably praying that no one die from food poisoning. I got back on the bus, pondering salmonella, and dropped a valium.
You lose time. You gain time. Sometimes you don't know where you are. Most of the time I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. At 6.30am I rolled into Saigon, looking like death. Some lady took it upon herself to show me places to stay. None of the 4 places were hotels or even guesthouses. People lived there. These were homestays. in the middle of the city. This lady was some kind of bed pimp. She finally took me to a silk shop with rooms to rent. $12 was steep but it looked like it was the best I was gonna get.
I dumped my bags and looked for somewhere to eat which proved to be harder than you'd think. All the places looked terrible. Out of desperation I plumped myself at a less than alluring spot and ordered a bowl of below par pho. Its strange that the best bowls of pho have come from the cheapest places. In sapa I had gone with Ariel and one of her kids to the market. The pho there cost me 10,000 dong and was one of the best I have had. Ever. A place I went to in Hanoi at least 5 times knocked out bowls of pho with rare beef for a mere 18k. These were good places. Local places I guess. The place I had breakfast at in Saigon cost me 30k. Hail Mary's Truckstop the night before had cost me 40k. They both looked and tasted like they had been put together by a dog with no legs. The waitress smiled at me, turned on the tv and the 'top 10 Modern Hip Hop Classics' came on. I felt like eating my feet.
I had planned to hit a couple of museums later on but this went out of the window when I fell asleep on my bed and a mini typhoon hit Saigon. So I watched the Bourne Ultimatum instead. I want to learn Jeet Kune Do. I want to be master of Bruce Lee's weapon of choice. I want to chase assasins through Tangiers, smashing through peoples' windows, jumping from building to building before I take my target out with a killer combo .
It carried on raining and I ran through my options. Stay another day in what had so far turned out to be a bit of a s***hole but take in something cultural, albeit in the pissing rain; or leave on the next available flight to get to Indonesia.

I definitely should have married the travel agent's niece. Jetstar had a problem with their server that didn't allow credit card transactions. I called Jetstar. They were closed. On a f***ing sunday. Lion Air (I haven't heard of them either) needed at least 48 hours notice to process a credit card. Seeing as I wanted to fly in less than 12 hours, this didn't help me much. Cortisol pumped violently through my veins but anger doesn't get you many places. Apart from maybe a holding cell. I tend to get angry a lot , mostly through frustration. Lion air had given me the best deal. I could fly to Singapore and from there on get a bus up to Kl and then Penang where I could get my ferry to Indonesia. Easy. I'd just turn up at the airport early and sort it out.
It got to 6pm and I was ravished. For some reason I decided that for once the Lonely Liar would come up with a legitimate suggestion for somewhere good . I found a backstreet place that served some of the best food that I had had in Vietnam. Pork, chili and tofu stifried in gravy doesn't sound that appetising but it absolutely blew me away. I won't ever again go by what the Lonely Liar says when on future trip s but the definitely earnt back a sliver of kudos. I instantly wanted to email my dad (he doesnt know how a pc works but never mind) and ariel . She would have liked it. Anyone would have liked it. It was f***ing brilliant They were playing acoustic versions of Sting and The Police songs and I immediately wanted to buy the album. Fields of Gold came on and it made me feel terrible. I was hit by a tidal wave of grief. they played the Eva cassidy version at my Grandad's funeral. Its funny how sounds, smells, whatever can be so evocative and take you somewhere. We lost him a year ago. I stared into space and watched myself as a bystander, standing at the front of the crematorium, babbling anecdotes inbetween snivelling. I have replayed this in my mind on countless occassions and know that I could. It was a horrible horrible day but if I could go back with a different piece of paper, with different words then I would. Some people can't bear to listen to songs or go places that remind them of bad times. For some reason, if I hear a song that floods my tiny brain with negativity then I will invariably listen out for every word, every heart wrenching melody right until the end. I thought of my mum. I thought of nanny and my sister.
Sometimes I take chances, sometimes I take pills. Normally paracetamol or valium for bus journeys. Rocking up to the airport without a ticket to anywhere had taken my status of backpacking maverick to an unprecedented level. I got there at 9am. The ticket office didnt open until 10.30am so I hung around and wrote some of he drivel tht you read 10 minutes ago. Why food in airports is so expensive baffles the f*** out of me. The s***tiest of banana tarts and a very average cofee cost me $8. really. Why.
Back at the ticket office my credit card didn't work, which I disputed as I had used it only 5 minutes previously. I went to the ATM and drew the cash out. I was stewing. Righteous motherf***ers. I definitely should do some breathing exercises or become a buddhist. I got back to the queue, ready to unleash hell on the smug b******s behind the desk. Patiently waiting my turn (I was supposed to be next), some absolute f***er pushed right infront of me without giving me a second look. The staff saw it and did nothing. I started at the back of this c*** s head. His ears glowed red. I was turning into a wolf. His ears looked like meat, like steak that I would carpaccio with my fangs. How f***ing dare he. My eyes bore holes into the back of his skull. He tilted his head slightly to the side and I waited for him to catch my eye. He was about to enter a world of pain. I was going to bite his ears off. He sauntered off al whimsical and I stand there growling. I didnt get angry with the ticket clerks . I expressed my displeasure with a slight grimace and told them that their credit card machine was broken. I could have gone ballistic but that wouldn't have been very British would it.

Raging like a, like a, a bull, I stomped to customs where they asked me for my immigration card. I didn't have one so was sent back to check in. f***ing conspiracy. They were probably all laughing their little cotton socks off. 'There he goes, the little half breed english boy tee hee'. Yeah. f*** off. I get my immigration card filled out and stomp stomp stomp through to the other side where I am ripped off for a a bowl of kway teow soup. Ripped off in Vietnam. How the f*** can this be f***ing possible?!

The flight comes around and I marvel at Lion Air's uniform. I want to steal a seat belt. They said that taking a life jacket is a criminal offence but didnt mention anything about seatbelts. I want one. I don't have a wrench on my person. f***.

Singapore. This is where it gets even more ridiculous. I get busted by customs for carrying duty free. Singapore doesn't allow duty free into the country. Thanks for telling me in Saigon. That was really nice. Just as I was handing over my hard earned cash, no f***er said, 'Ooooh wait a minute there Mr Frois. I see you're going to Singapore?' 'Why yes, yes I am. is there a problem?' 'Well unfortunately they don't allow duty free into singapore. They have strange customs laws. So I can give you your money back.' 'Oh gee, thanks for telling me. I could have wasted $30 there!'...

This didn't happen. Singapore customs made me watch as they destroyed my moisturiser. They wouldn't even give it to a homeless person.

Bus into the city and I have no idea what I'm doing. I laugh, uncontrollably, cackling in my seat, grinning stupidly. I get off at the central bus station and ask for a ticket to penang so that I can get a ferry to Indonesia. They don't sell tickets to Penang. Ok, no worries, I'll go to KL instead. But the bus to KL left a few minutes ago. 'f***' I say to the ticket guy. He smiles. 'f*** indeed!' 'You can go to malacca instead'. Errrr. Ok. So here I am. Voila. Jesus christ, I talk a lot of s***.