So, here we found ourselves in Vietnam underneath the scorching hot sun, not a cloud in the sky. The surrounding scenery pretty mountainous, covered slightly by a soft hue from the radiating heat. Formalities finished, we dragged ourselves and our bags onto yet another bus, - I doubt very much I will want to see another bus by the end of this trip.

We travelled for hours, the scenery rarely changing, dominated by dozens upon dozens of waterways, each as murky as the last, and each as laden with litter as the last. Each were lined with tiny corregated metal shacks as makeshift houses or small businesses selling groceries, meat and drinks. One waterway was much larger than the rest and warranted a ferry crossing, which added some excitement to the journey, and allowed us to stretch our legs andtake some pictures on the top deck. The ride was a short one, approximately seven minutes to be exact; but split up the bus ride nicely.

We arrived in Chao Do, a small town around 3pm to rest our head's for the night. And slept I did; the only venturing out I did was to find an internet cafe, where it appears we were the only white people in town, so much so, as we left the hotel staff all wanted a photo of us standing outside their hotel to put up, which was quite amusing.

The one eventful moment of the evening was when out tour guide's dinner set on fire. He had ordered a traditional Vietnamese dish, in which he was given a small gas stove to cook various meats in, however he had somehow dropped one of the meats underneath, which was blazing. I say blazing; but blazing as much as a gas stove probably could. I was more than slightly concerned considering my recent run in with fire; but I acted rationally and calmly and left the room. Everyone was there in the morning and there were no signs of damage, so no more questions were asked.

The road to Ho Chi Minh City, known as Saigon to the locale, was a long one. It is the largest city in the country and home to more than five million motorbikes. They are literally everywhere; in every nook, cranny and crevace.

We were staying a nice, central hotel, but even the very small road that occupied, was still mission to cross. The locals don't flinch, but simply weave in and out of the constant flow of trffic like an artwork, or a jigsaw. The art seems to be: you dodge the bikes and they will dodge you, but cars won't stop for no one. A pleasant wander down the streets and alleyways cannot occur, as as pleasanties are evaportaed by the bikes coming at you from every direction, and even the pavement is a hot spot for them. I can just about cope with dangerous roads, but dangerous pavements too? Give me strength.

Scar roads and death traps aside, the city appears to be nice. Hectic, but nice. It's difficult to see past the frantic pace of city life, this city seems to be on fast forward, but when you slow down, or stop; it come into light a bit more, and greenery is seen amongst colonial French bildings and grand palaces executing some beautiful architecture.

That night we partied, myself unintentionally, as I hadn;t been well for more than five or six days. I feel I could have saved a lot of money by just not eating at all, as everything I did consume came straight back up. So therefore, the few drinks I did have took immediate effect. There was cause to celebrate however, as we had five new group members join the clan - four Canadians travelling together, and a female Brit. However, we were also sadly losing four of our original group, the two Aussies - Leanne and Emma, as well as Nancy and Frances. A pretty good night was had all round I think, and an even better sleep was had afterwards.

The majority of the group visited the Cu Chi Tunnels the following morning, which were created during the 1940's and used during the wartime for defence purposes, and repopulating the country - a bizare combination if I heard one. They later reported back that the tunnels, which originally led to Cambodia, whee hot and vey muddy, and I imagine quite claustraphobic too - not my cup of tea so much. I would have quite like to have fired a gun however, which some people chose to do.

A few of us instead decided to explore the city at out own pace, which included a well deseved lie in. We heaed irst in the direction of the War Remnants Museum - a graphic pictoral history of the American/Vietnam war. We anticipated the walk would take approximatey fifteen or so minutes, instead it took us over an hour, and we nearly died several times along the way. I thought I was doing pretty well, starting to weave between the traffic on the smaller roads, or just cling onto someone and hope that they would be able to successfully escort me safely to the oter side.

It was when w encountered the eight lane road that panic took hold. Eight lanes or racing traffic - I wasn't convinced the weaving tactic the locals have adopted would even work for this road. Sure there was a pedestrian crossing, and even a se of traffic lights, the issue lies when these aren't adhered too, which they rarely are. I only ad to glance up to see my companions scuttling across the road. Kate saw my loom of horror, but it would have been too risky for her to come back for me. I watched as they somehow made it the whole way across, safely and unscathed. Now I was here, alone on the other side of the road. There were no two ways about it, I had to get across.

My opportunity came, I made a run for it, and got half way. Half way, right just the same to do again. The trouble was, there were literally hundreds of bikes at the start line, waiting to tae off at any given minute as the revved their engines. It was fine, I would wait. The roared off, and I stod in the middle clinging onto a pole, shutting my eyes from time to time, and shimmying back and forth, as the traffic was now racing extremely close behind me now too. If I shut my eyes, I won't get run over, was my irrational logic. It worked, and as soon as the traffic calmed, I made a run for it. Next tim I will most definately say close to my group, or even better a local.

We weaved our way through many more roads, finally making it to the War Museum - which was closed. Just brilliant. An iced cold coke was consumed in the hour until the Museum reopened. Similarly to Tuol sleng in Cambodia, the museum is very graphic in it's imagery and depicts the atrocities of war. Some of the images are very disturbing showing the devasting effects of Agent Orange. Twenty million gallons of tis chemical were poured over Vietnam by the Americans during the war, with extremely serious health consequences. Mnay people have bee severely disabled and babies have been born disabled or without limbs - signs of this are prominant around Vietnam. I have seen so many people who are incredibly disbabled and/or missing limbs. It's crazy to think that tese living people are images of a bloody and hideous past.

We later strolled to the Post Office, which is an old colonial French style building, and situated next to the aptly named Notre Dame Cathedral - these buildings obviously having been built during the times when the French had rule over Vietnam. They were pretty impressive buildings and worth a peek.

Relieved to have gotten a taxi back to the hotel, we bidded farewell to our group members, before heading for the train statio to get an overnight train.