It's about 15 hours in the air from Manchester to Ho Chi Minh City, plus a few hours connecting to a different aeroplane in Dubai. so, having left Manchester airport at nineish last night, we are sitting here at nine o' clock at night local time expecting an hour wait for the landing visa to be processed. And this is a crazy system. A hundred plus are crowded into a little corner waiting for the return of our passports for which we will have to hand over $50 each for the multi entry visa. This will allow us to return to Vietnam in a few weeks after our time in Cambodia. We are weary, of course, after the long flight but our mood is not being lightened by the confusion here. There is a minor throng of people bundled around the glass-paned counter waiting for their name to be called. But as everyone's names seem to be translated into Vietnamese and seem to sound like my name each time they are mumbled across the ears of the assembled throng, we could be well here for longer than the hour the officials told us it would take. And I suppose that's going to be an hour, Vietnamese time! I've already been repelled once, with a withering look from the counter woman, having made the mistake of thinking that our names had been called twenty minutes or so ago. This arrival hall is huge. Why are we all squashed into this corner? Why is this poor Vietnamese woman allowed to mutter in such an incomprehensible manner? Why are there only four people in the office processing hundreds of people at the same time? Why is there not an electronic screen with the processed names displayed clearly? Why no coffee shop here? Questions, questions, questions! And will our booked taxi driver be waiting for us when we pass through passport control? And will our luggage be sitting on the carousel? I've had a few experiences of spending time with lost luggage departments in recent years which is why I've packed a change of clothing into my hand luggage. Three quarters of an hour in and we hear what seems like our three names repeated in clipped tones. It's us! One hundred and fifty crisp dollars later and we're hauling our backpacks and Alyson's suitcase onto yet another X ray machine -how much radioactivity can our stuff withstand?!? - and we're on the red carpet beyond the air-conditioned zone. Can we spot our names amongst the mound of men eager to take the foreignors away to one of Ho Chi Minh's palatially fronted hotels? Yes! Away to our hotel some half an hour away as the taxi crawls and five minues maybe as the crow,or whatever bird is commonest here, flits and flies. Usual infinite filling of forms in the hotel lobby before the bellboy who doubles up as airport greeter deposits us on the fourth floor of the EdenStar. A comedic scene in our room when he quite clearly wants a tip and loiters in and about before he finally gives in and closes our door without any cash in the palms of his hand. We feel excruciatingly embarassed, having been unprepared emotionally for such a dramatic request for recompense for his services and also physically unprepared, due to our weariness after such a long flight and due to any dong or dollars that we have being secreted in some far corners of our backpacks. Anyway, we're asleep fairly soon after his disappointed disappearance from our company, aware that we've our first activity booked for 8 in the morning. Not too many hours in bed then!