Controlled. Sterile. Outdated. Clean. Quiet.

Think of a 1960's over sized communist processing facility, only silent and empty, with army guards posted on every checkout gate with a computer straight out of 1987. Getting off the half empty plane, and walking across the tarmac and into Vietnam's biggest airport was a somewhat confronting experience.

From the machine gun turrets on the airstrip, to the army guards patrolling inside the airport, you really got the impression that this country controls its citizens with an iron fist. The silent, clean and monitored communist airport was such a contrast to the overbearingly capitalist approach to the airport in Bangkok, which was full of advertising, stores and people selling tours, souvenirs and anything else you could wish for.

And I have to admit, I liked it. There were no people to queue behind, dodge or avoid. Simply walk off the plane, out into the empty airport, get your passport stamped by Mr Red Army at the gate, and you were on your way.

Controlled, sterile, outdated, clean and quiet - that is until you get to the outside of the airport. At which point, you have a fence which prevents those that are not flying from entering the terminal at all. And behind that fence are people. 60 million of them. All smiling, all watching eagerly to catch a glimpse of some famous person that they have never met. At least, that's the way it felt.

Sardines in a can have space to stretch out and lounge around compared to this.

Spenny, Hinton and I walked out the gates, past the fence of people all smiling and watching, and off to find a taxi. From the moment we drove out the boom gates of the airport, that controlled, sterile, clean and quiet environment was all but a distant memory. The original plan of the boys tour, was to get a few bikes for cheap, and ride them up the coast from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi.

Now before you all jump up and down and tell me that the whole Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi thing has been done before, let me say 2 things. Firstly, shut-up stooge. Secondly, it was while watching that very Top Gear episode that a conversation took place back and forth over the course of an hour between Hinton and I. Hinton was using his sales technique to get me over to South East Asia, a place I had never wanted to visit. Eventually I somehow agreed to the trip, and we decided to introduce Spenny to the idea very covertly.

We set up a typical boys night - Beer at Hintons, with Spenny's home-cooked hamburgers. The more beers the better. We told Spenny we had something to show him, and flicked on the Top Gear Vietnam episode... Of course, being drunk, we were laughing more than was necessary, right up until the point when we turned to Spenny and said:

"Boys holiday?" T
"Hell yeah! Where to?"
*Hinton and Will nod at screen*
"Vietnam?! - I don't know if I have enough hand sanitizer!"

So, we knew that riding was going to be tricky, we knew the traffic was going to be crazy. As drivers we have had to put up with our fair share of traffic, and we are used to traveling roads that are jam packed and out of control. But we were totally unprepared for what we saw. We never really expected to be driving down roads with it to be THIS out of control, never this jam packed. Sardines in a can have space to stretch out and lounge around compared to this...

Bikes. Thousands of bikes. Everywhere. Riding on the road. Riding on the footpath.

Traffic Vid 1. (link)

A typical traffic merge. Two flows of traffic somehow dodging each other... look closely at around the 25 second mark, to see where the bus nearly takes out the little man on the scooter.

Traffic Vid 2. (link)

Typical peak hour in Ho Chi Minh. Check out the man using his scooter as a goods truck at around 25 seconds in. Awesome.

No amount of internet videos or TV shows can truly prepare you for what has to be the most chaotic and dangerous road transport systems in the world. Forget road rules or common courtesy (which is on the way out in Australia if you ask me), it is simply a case of every man for himself.

Trucks, cars, taxis, buses, mopeds and bicycles all share the road. But instead of "share" the correct term should be "fight for survival". The first breakfast in Ho Chi Minh saw Spenny and I sitting in the penthouse guest dining room of our hotel, watching the traffic circle the roundabout in hypnotic fashion, the traffic ebbing and flowing from different directions like the tides. A gaggle of traffic begins to force its way through the roundabout, forcing traffic flowing from another direction to cede and give way. Suddenly, a mass of traffic including a bus, a truck, several taxis and 50 mopeds comes to a halt, and swerve and change direction to avoid a hidden obstacle. As the traffic clears, I can see what stopped the traffic flow.

A woman, in woman in traditional Vietnamese clothing, on foot pushing a bicycle laden with bags of rice has apparently out ranked every other vehicle on the road, and forced them off the round about.

It was pretty early on in our trip that we realised that scooter-ing up the coast was pretty much a stupid idea. I mean really, what chance do three white guys on Scooters have against this?

Oh... and did we mention at this stage, Spenny can't actually ride a scooter? Awesome. This should be good.

So it's been months since the holiday of the year, but my posts have finally made it from Sydney, through the seedy underworld of Bangkok, and into Vietnam. Well, almost. Technically we are picking up the story in Bangkok.

You see, the morning of day 3 found the three of us a little worse for wear, somewhat dusty and under the weather. This was mostly self inflicted, and to be honest kind of set the tone of the holiday to come. Awesome.

Oh, and to make matters worse, someone had decided to book us flights that were just way too early. So early that sunrise decided to hit the snooze button, twice. And by way too early, I totally mean we had to be up at 5am. Only it wasn't 5am, that was just the seedy hangover talking. But when you feel seedy, and have a 40 minute Thai taxi ride across the city to the airport, you are totally allowed to bitch about it.

Either way, I spent the flight to Ho Chi Minh city, on the other side of the plane with my head in my hands. In what was pretty much the best mood ever. And by best mood ever, I meant "I'm hungover and the two guys next to me think it is funny to keep poking me in the ribs and drawing pictures of me and laughing at me all the way to another country".

In a rather strange co-incidence, as we flew into Ho Chi Minh, my ipod (which was keeping me sane at this point) switched songs and started playing Cold Chisels' "Khe Sanh" - one of my top 5 Aussie songs of all time. Now, one could launch into a rant about how the song is historically inaccurate *Steve*, but in all seriousness, it felt strangely fitting as we flew a graceful arch over the city and into the airport.

Despite the rapid development in Vietnam, and in Ho Chi Minh in particular, there are still so many vivid reminders still standing of the Vietnam war that devastated the country. I haven't been to many airports around the world to be honest, but I'm pretty sure you don't often fly into an airport still surrounded by concrete bunkers and flanked by machine gun and anti-aircraft turrets. Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice was saying "Seriously Will, what are you doing?!"

But that was the same voice that I apparently ignored when I was sexually assaulted by the Lady-boy in Bangkok, so in typical male fashion, I did some pretty complex high level maths calculations and trigonometry, and worked out the following equation around my relative safety levels in each country.

{n00b (-)5EX / THAI} < {pwnage (+) 1337 / VIET}

Yeah. Works out well huh? Now, I could get technical and explain the actual science behind that calculation, but I know for a fact that there are a few nerds out there who could actually translate, or even improve on that calculation for me, and I'll leave it to them...

For the rest of you non leet speakers, the basic idea of the calculation is:

Thailand: A land where packs of wild ladyboys assault naive and stupid travellers such as my self, vs Vietnam : a land of cheap beer, no road rules, and the ability for foriengers to play with war era machinery.

Just quietly, I figured I'd rather take my chances with a bunch of machine gun turrets, non existant public safety awareness, non regulated roads and an inherant lack of quality control on public infrastucture, food standards and pretty much everything else, than with another Wiggly finger ladyboy massage.

For those that read the previous post, this might make sense to you. For those that haven't, go back and read (touch UP in Bangkok).

After laying in bed trying to deal with my almost rape at the hands of a lady-boy, Hinton and Spenny decided the best way they could help was in the only form of psychological help that men understand.

Beer.

So we headed out into Bangkok's crazy and somewhat seedy nightlife, and on the advice of our tour guide, headed to the most cutting edge, trendy bar & club in Thailand. It was shaped like a new-modern cube, with glass at both ends. Now, in the tour guides defence, they did say "I've never been here on a Monday night before - but it's usually the best place in Bangkok".

So, after being molested by a lady boy during the day, and wanting to go out to a normal pub to check that I hadn't been turned by the event, we turn up at the club to see these seven HOT Thai women in tiny skirts and shorts, and barely there tops, dancing suggestively on a stage and singing.

Not so bad you might say?

Except they were singing "I will survive" by Gloria Gaynor. Which seemed a little odd. But I let it slide and walked upstairs in the club. And then I noticed I was getting watched very closely by a lot of guys, and a lot of rather "strong" looking women.

And then this guy got up and started dancing. In a towel. Then someone in the crowd pulled his towel off. And he kept dancing.

And then I realised... Monday night was Gay night.

OK - So unfortunately someone came around to my house last night and attacked my car in order to help me "remember and share any other events" that may have occurred on that hazy and sleazy afternoon in Bangkok. Fortunately for me, they didn't realise I have a company car. But in the interest of light hearted entertainment,

here we go... disclaimer time...

*Disclaimer - I am NOT for one minute attempting to make light of anyone's experience with sexual assault, rape or lady-boys, I am merely making fun of MY experience with sexual assault, rape, and lady-boys.

So I finished my last recount with Hinton getting his feet washed by a lady-boy and then being led upstairs for his massage... and I honestly wish that we all had traditional massages, and all lived happily ever after. But what really happened was one of the most awkward and uncomfortable things that I have ever experienced.

Hinton was led upstairs by his lady-boy, and Spenny and I were led upstairs by our male massage attendants. I can't remember too much about Spenny's masseuse, mostly on account of my masseuse insisted in standing in my way, and turning around every 3 steps and smiling at me say "It's OK - come on." To which I replied, "Settle down, I'm coming..." Not the best choice of words. Oh, and did I mention that my masseuse insisted on walking 3 steps ahead of me up the stairs, wiggling his backside as he walked, and making sure his pink satin underpants were showing above his tight jeans? I didn't. Oh - well now you know.

**Error number FOUR** When you are being led upstairs for a traditional massage by a lady-boy and two twig-looking men who keep smiling at you and wiggling their satin-encased hips at you on the stairs - there is a pretty good chance you are gonna get screwed. No matter if you like it or not.

So my masseuse - lets call him "Mr Khayup Niu" which roughly translates as "Mr Wiggly Fingers" - ushers me into this room, pats the massage table - which if we are honest is just a mattress behind a curtain, and then holds up a pair of tiny flimsy pyjamas and gestures to me to put them on before he races out of the room. Almost before I am dressed again, he bursts back in, and after some lost in translation conversation, pushes me onto my back and starts massaging my feet.

So, at this stage, I'm wearing next to nothing, spread-eagled on my back in some seedy part of Bangkok with an overly eager man wearing bright pink satin underpants who is smiling far too much for my liking, perched between my legs and massaging my feet. Things can't get can't get any more awkward can they?

Wrong. Things were about to take a turn towards "way more awkward" side.

Mr Khayup Niu (AKA wiggly fingers) changed position somewhat, so that he was now perched kneeling between my legs while I was on my back with my legs splayed out like a frog in a pretzel imitation competition, and began massaging from both ankles, and into my calves - which wasn't too bad - up past my knees and into my thighs - which was starting to get a little uncomfortable - right up to my groin - at which point I started to twitch and try and move away - and, well there is no nice way to say this - straight up my gentleman bits.

**Error number FIVE** If a masseuse touches your gentleman bits. It wasn't an accident. It was never an accident, and will never "accidentally" happen just once... GET OUT NOW"

I nearly hit the freaking roof, and jerked away, but Wiggly Fingers just laughed and said "Oh, sorry sorry" and pushed me down on the bed again. At the same time I heard Spenny and Hinton giggling from the other massage rooms, so in my naivety just thought "Oh, obviously we are all getting the same treatment and it is just some kind of twisted Thai joke". So I tried to relax and laid back down.

Again wiggly fingers started massaging, slowly working his way up my calves, thighs, and into my groin (not actually my bits - just the literal groin), but as he repeated this motion, I realised he was slowly working his way towards my cock again. Persistent little bugger. He kept "accidentally" brushing and touching it, and each time I tried to squirm away, he'd say "shhh... it's OK, relax... quiet". In the back of my mind, fear started to take over, and I remembered a scene from a movie called "Once were warriors" when Uncle Bully forces his way into a girls room and pins her down saying "Shhh... it's OK..."

To say I was uncomfortable is a huge understatement. Wiggly Fingers again worked his way up to full groping mode only this time he forgot to even TRY and pretend like he was massaging me legitimately, and just took liberties that would make a porn star blush. Two little Thai hands started ferreting around my pants grabbing my meat and potatoes and squeezing and massaging. Now, guys might understand this, but when someone LITTERALLY has you by the balls, you just kinda freeze. Wiggly fingers took this as his chance to try and get a rise out of me (pun intended) and for about 5 seconds started going all out with his rubbing and massaging. All I could think of was "Please lil Mini Will - now is NOT the time to get happy. We do NOT have a go for launch!" When he let go of my potato sack I tried to sit up, but he was obviously ahead of me and pinned me back down to the bed and put his hand over my mouth and just looked at me and said "shhhhh!".

I freaked out and went into play dead survival mode. All I could think about was uncle Bully breathing down my neck.

**Error number SIX** Don't just shut down and go into survival mode. That is just an invitation for MORE trauma!

He rolled me over onto my stomach, which was a relief for all of 3 seconds, because as SOON as my back was turned, his hands started groping massaging my ass. I think I must have kinda shut down mentally, because for the next however long, all I can remember was Wiggly Fingers trying to pull down my pants, or fold me over his lap and dry hump me in some strange massage position, or find some excuse to grab, touch, grope and rub me. At one stage he pretty much stretched out over me while I was laying on my stomach, put his lips against my ears and said words that still chill me...

"...um, do you want oil and a fuck?"

After spending the last 40 minutes twitching and jumping around and trying to avoid your slimy little wiggly fingers, do you think I am going to be won over that easily? You'd at least have to buy me dinner first.

When it all finished, he left me on the bed, crying in the fetal position to get dressed again, but decided he didn't want to do that, and burst back in. He tried to get me to put my bag down and kept whispering something to me which I had no understanding of. He kept closing the curtain and pointing to the bed and to me. I was like what? You want me to get on the bed? Next thing I know he has pounced onto the bed, with my bag and beckoning me to join him.

Thankfully, and really I mean thankfully - I hear a voice from behind the curtain...

Spenny : "Will - are you alright?"

Will : *Grabs bag from Mr Sex offender Wiggly Fingers* : "Yes!"

I ripped open the curtain and raced down the stairs past a stunned Hinton and Spenny...

Hinton : "How was your massage?"

Will : "Just keep walking"

Spenny "What? What happened?"

Will : "Just wait until we are in the taxi..."

We wandered out of the massage parlour into a dirty typical Bangkok side street, walked a short distance until we could find a taxi, and after a few minutes of silence, we started comparing stories on the way back to the hotel...

Hinton : "I thought mine accidentally touched me up once, but when he did it a second time I glared at him and said no - after that he was fine"

Spenny : "Haha, yeah, mine touched me once or twice and laughed, but that was about it..."

Will : "Mine kept touching me too... the whole time"

Hinton turned around in horror, Spenny laughed... "What?"

Will : "...yeah, the whole time... I thought it was like their joke or something... I didn't actually know what a traditional Thai massage was."

Spenny : "Yeah, it was pretty funny, but only at the beginning"

Hinton : "Mine placed my foot into his groin at one stage... I'm pretty sure he was hard"

Will : "Mine tried to sleep with me... "

Spenny *laughing* : "No way, What?"

Will : "Did you guys get like, kinda bent over his lap so both your gentleman bits were touching, and then have him try to pull down your pants and keep massaging your ass?"

*Silence*

Will : "Oh, FUCK!"

*Disclaimer - I am NOT for one minute attempting to make light of anyone's experience with sexual assault, rape or lady-boys, I am merely making fun of MY experience with sexual assault, rape, and lady-boys.

It has taken a while (a few months in fact) to get around to finally writing this entry in the 14 days of drunk tour diary, and to be honest I'm not entirely sure how I should write this without sounding, well... you know. I don't know exactly sure how to start, write or finish this post, but I do know that after keeping it pretty quiet for the first month or so after the boys return, the cat has been kinda let out of the bag, and well... seeing as though I now know I have absolutely zero dignity left, we might as well just get it out of the way. Ok? Ok.

... it all started about 15 minutes after Spenny tried to take on a heart attack sized helping of french fries (which can be seen HERE). Firstly you should know that serving sizes are way bigger at Bangkok McDonald's compared to Australian McDonald's, which is odd, because comparatively Thais are tiny and skinny compared to fat overweight Australian tourists. And secondly, it tastes WAY better than its Australian counterparts. Who says dog isn't an edible meat...

So after some lunch and shopping, we were kind of bored and had a few hours to kill before we would be going out for the night, so Hinton decided that we needed a Thai massage. Which made sense, I mean, if you are in Thailand you get a Thai massage. A one and one half hour massage for $10. Awesome yeah? Apparently not.

So Hinton approached a group of Taxi drivers to ask them for advice as to where we should go for massages. Now, lets just admit up front that mistakes were made on this trip, and certain things like "sensibility" and "common sense" were apparently left behind for this trip. So to make each "error of judgement" painfully obvious for this story, I have decided to number each one as it occurred.

**Error number ONE**If you ever see a group of taxi drivers just hanging around talking in Thailand, it is pretty much the same as seeing a group of Dennis Ferguson's hanging around outside a primary school, or a bunch of Lindsay Lohan's or Paris Hilton's racing off to a motel with a video recorder - you just know that something dodgy is going on...

So, as I said, Hinton decided to go ask a group of taxi drivers where we should go for a massage, which lead to the following exchange...

Hinton : "Do you know where we can go for a good nice massage?"

Driver : "Oh, you want Boom boom massage!".

Us : "Haha, um... no. Not boom boom massage"

Driver : " Ahh, you mean happy ending massage"

Us : "Um, no... not happy ending massage either... just a normal massage"

Driver : *looks us up and down disapprovingly* : "Oh, I know what you boys like - Come with me"

**Error number TWO**When a taxi driver looks a group of guys up and down and says "I know what you boys like" - it is in your absolute very best interests to clarify exactly what said taxi driver means by "I know what you boys like". Because sometimes what you like, and what the taxi driver THINKS you like, are two very different things. Very different. In this circumstance, a clarification is a good thing.

So the driver takes us down a heap of dodgy backstreets to a fairly traditional looking massage house. Drops us off, and we walk in. Now with all things Thai - there are two prices. One for Thais, and one for Tourists. So Hinton got down to the business of negotiation with the Madam (for want of a better word) of the massage house. Once they had agreed to price we were ushered into a preparation room, where two male attendants came in, removed the shoes of both Spenny and myself, and started washing our feet and legs. Which isn't totally unusual - often places like this have male attendants downstairs running things, with girls massaging upstairs.

Hinton - who had just finished negotiating was last into the preparation room. He sat down, and waited for his male attendant to come wash his feet. Only it wasn't entirely a male attendant. A figure with delicate features, makeup and long hair came in, knelt down and began washing Hinton's feet. Hinton went white. Spenny and I were doing our best to keep a straight face. Hinton had managed to pickup the first lady-boy of the holiday. We got a photo. Understandably Hinton wasn't happy. Well, maybe just a little happy...

**Error number THREE** When a lady-boy comes out and starts tenderly washing your feet and massaging your calves before a "Traditional Thai Massage" - it is probably safe to assume that Thai massage is going to be anything OTHER than traditional - and now is a great time to run.

So Hinton was lead upstairs to the massage rooms by his lady-boy - which lasted for around an hour and half, and from memory I am pretty sure that as much all I can remember happening in Thailand... so lets move on shall we? Seriously - nothing else dodgy happened that day. At all. Ever. Shutup.

First of all, let me say 9 hours on a flight isn't as long as I'd thought it would be, especially when you have spare seats to play with, movies to watch, and someone as entertaining as Spenny to keep you amused. There were probably 4 times on that flight when Spenny decided that he needed something from his bag in the overhead lockers, and probably 4 times he couldn't actually get the lockers open. Have you ever seen an angry chimp trying to open a jar of pickles? Watching him trying to discretely shove, pull and bash the overhead lockers open without looking like a foolish crazed terrorist is actually kinda funny. What makes it funnier is the facial expressions of those passengers who watch him jiggle and shake for a good two minutes, only to sit down in abject misery and failure, but try the exact same thing over and over again. Hilarious. Oh, seeing Spenny try and scam an extra dinner out of the hostesses by claiming there really is a person sitting in the vacant seat between us, also hilarious.

So, touchdown in Bangkok at 10:00pm local time.

Three minutes later at 10:03pm and we have our first drama of the holiday. Hinton and I have lost Spenny in Bangkok international terminal. It was our own little missing persons case. One minute he was next to me, the next he was gone.We waited for him for 5 minutes just outside the plane in the corridor, and when he failed to turn up, we assumed he must be ahead of us so we started walking to immigration. Now, BKK airport is freaking huge, and it took us a good 15 minutes just to get to immigration. Still no sign of Spenny (and lets be honest, a big white guy kinda stands out in an airport full of Thai's). We couldn't see him, couldn't find him, and couldn't call him because he decided against bringing his phone.

Great. We are 20 minutes into our 2 week journey, and we are already a man down. So, after an in depth conversation with Hinton around the topic "how pissed would Spenny be if we just left without him", we decided that he wouldn't want us sitting around moping over his disappearance, and would want us to go on without him for the sake of the holiday, so we wandered off through the immigration check and onto the baggage claim. For the record we got in contact with Spenny after around 30 minutes of *frantic* searching in the bar and all safely made it out of the terminal. And apparently he did have his phone with him after all. Oh well.

So, my first impressions of Bangkok? Very hot, even at 10pm at night, the air was humid and heavy, everywhere was noisy, but worst of all everything smelled like it had been wrapped in road kill at some stage in its life. Seriously, wherever I went in Bangkok it smelled like a mix of rotting custard apple, poo and vomit. And to make it all worse in all this oppressive heat and stench, you get disoriented WAY too easily. I really had no idea where I was going because as far as I can tell the entire city was modeled on a giant ball of wool. There seems to be no major central business districts or hubs that are surrounded by suburban housing... instead everything is jumbled together in random little knots. You will walk out of a major 40 level hotel, which is next door to a 2 storey house, next to a bar, next to some vacant blocks, on the corner of a random small housing estate which is sandwiched between a massive shopping complex. The taxi driver took us from the airport, down some big freeway, turned down some dodgy looking alleyway filled with old houses and homeless children, and then hooked a left turn through a massive hospital in the middle of no-where, out onto some other alleyways and into our hotel.

Not for one moment did I know where I was in Bangkok. Not once. I was disoriented, hazy, overheated and uncomfortable. For me, being in Bangkok was like surviving in an over sized clothes dryer. Filled with babies nappies. Dirty babies nappies. Fortunately, things were just about to take a turn for the interesting...

To be continued...

So, it has been a few weeks now, and unless you have been living under a rock (and to be honest you probably have been, I know what you people are like) you'd know that I recently put on my anti deep vein thrombosis socks, boarded a plane with two different Joshua's and took my first ever trip overseas on what was meant to be an action packed boys motorcycle adventure in Vietnam.

And let me assure you right now. It was certainly an action packed adventure, it was everything and unfortunately more than I had expected.

Now, details on this trip have been rather hazy since our return, and a lot of questions have gone unanswered - and before you all assume the worst of us - and lets face it, you are all quietly judging us already - let me give you the three most influential reasons for our hazy recollections of our holiday.

1. A beer in Vietnam costs around 60 cents.
2. A standard "Beer" in Vietnam is actually a 750ml long-neck.
3. Previously mentioned beer is available in every restaurant / cafe / corner store in Vietnam from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi.

So, after finally managing to sit down and work out where we had been, and living through our own version of "The Hangover", I can finally describe, narrate and collate the official version of what has come to be known "The 14 days of drunk" tour.

Over the next few weeks an accurate day-by-day account will be given, beginning with our arrival in Bangkok, and culminating with our arrival back on Australian soil. Some stories will make you laugh, some stories will make you cry, and some stories will probably lead you to call the authorities. I understand (more than most) the perils that come from sharing hilarious and embarrassing stories from a holiday, trust me on this. But truth needs a voice, and sometimes, when that voice is unforeseeably unavailable, I step in with my version of events.

This is the story of the holiday of the year. This is the story of Hinton, Spenny and Will. This is the 14 days of drunk tour.

Anyways, I write this as I am about to head out to a nice little cafe for breakfast (only a few hours late) and food is on my mind... It has been a pretty interesting time food-wise over here in Vietnam... from burgers and pasta to Pho, curries, bbq grills and random hotpot combinations, it has been good. Oh, and did I mention the beers and Vietnamese coffees?

Well, Spenny has a pretty interesting habit of looking over the menu and automatically ordering the most vile sounding weird animals on the menu for us before we have a chance to stop him.

So what have we ordered?

Wild Boar.

Deer.

Goat.

Snails.

Frogs legs (twice)

Roasted Field mouse.

Snake.

We turned down the offer to drink Snake and Scorpion wine. (As I write this, Spenny is sitting next to me shaking his wrist and hand inappropriately - he says it is his watch - I'm not so sure to be honest. BUT, Spenny literally just asked when we turned down Snake and Scorpion wine and sounds a little upset because he wants to try it - case in point.) Thankfully, we only saw the last two on the menu in Nha Trang (not a bad little place - not as good as Hoi An though). After ordering Snake and Field Mouse, the waitress came back after a few minutes to tell us "Sorry Sir, all out of Snake", and "Sorry Sir, all out of Field Mouse". I did ask why she couldnt just catch and cook us a regular mouse, but she wouldn't do that.

Fortunately we are heading back to Nha Trang and can re-order snake and mouse. Unfortunately that is EXACTLY what Spenny will order. Apparently he isn't going to rest until he samples every beast on the planet.

Oh, and in other news, we met a dog in Nha Trang called Gappy at a restaurant. She was a lovely little playful puppy that ended up biting Spenny and drawing blood. I have never seen Spenny more concerned with catching an infectious disease in my life.... he was panting, red faced, eyes full of concern. HILLARIOUS. The only time I have seen him more concerned is, oh, I don't know... pretty much EVERY MEAL when he drags out his oversized bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket (I dont know how he fits that bottle in his pants - and I'm not asking). But without fail, every meal... sanitizer. Walking down the street... sanitizer... touching the locals... hand sanitizer.

But back to the dog called Gappy.... I asked the restaurant owner if she was called "Gappy" because she was filling a blank spot on the menu tomorrow. Apparently that joke just isn't funny over here...

Ahh, fun times.

Pretty much every street has security on it, be it army, police or private guards. In fact there is so much security around, you litterally couldn't walk more than 5 meters without tripping on a broken sidewalk and landing in a uniformed guards lap. They always look mean, and unless they are bashing someone with a rifle (which I am forced to say never happens - Mr Dong, you can put the nightstick down now) they almost always look bored.

Security is pretty tight even in the nightclubs, but this time was pretty OTT (over the top in internet nerd speak) and imposing. It is a little scary when 3 white guys decide to pull an all nighter before a 6am flight, and turn up to a club which is litterally on a building construction site, and instantly get mobbed by security guards. They scowled at us, and then ushered us all into what can only be described as a tiny cube of sound. Sound so freaking loud that talking was impossible, and standing with your internal organs intact was difficult to say the least. I couldn't hear what was ordered, and to be honest, can't exactly remember HOW it was ordered, but what I do remember is being the ONLY white Honkies in a club surrounded by Vietnamese... quite conspicuous to say the least.

We got a LOT of stares from all the girls, and a lot of glares from all the Vietnamese guys who thought we were there to steal girls. Next thing we know, a group of security turned up and surrounded us at our little table. 3 white boys who don't speak the language, and 4 massive security guards. Overkill anyone?

We got a little worried, although the fact we were already a little drunk meant that we weren't too worried until it was a little too late. The security cordon surrounding us and separating us from the other club goers, and stood there smiling with arms crossed. Eventually we realised they were there entirely for us, just to protect and serve us... pretty soon we had security bringing and pouring us drinks, and holding back the multitudes keeping us in our own VIP area.

They stood with us for the rest of the night, pouring us drinks, escourting us to the bathrooms, making sure we were happy, calling us cabs, pouring more drinks, smiling, pouring, presenting more drinks. It was pretty much like being famous and I loved it!

So yeah, security in Vietnam can be pretty tight. Sometimes they are there to protect and serve. Sometimes they are there to protect and serve drinks.

I'm just glad I didn't pay the drinks bill that night.

Will

P.S.
I just checked, and apparently I DID pay the bill last night. In the order of one and a half million dong or something. Yay.

I won't go into all the details, partially because I would rather spend an hour typing in this heat, and partially because all stories and events need to be verified for accuracy (and a major one is currently unfolding as we may need police involvement), but mostly because I'm simply not ready to talk about what has been one of the MOST traumatic and hilarious trips of my life...

But just to appease your appetites until such time as I can tell more, here are my top 5 headlines from South East Asia so far.

1) "South Asia is hot - being molested by a lady boy is NOT"

2) "Thailand - land of smiles - just never trust a smiling taxi driver"

3) "Saigon - no road rules, no safety measures, no worries"

4) "A backpackers guide to breastfeeding while riding in heavy city traffic"

5) "Organ donations in South East Asia - how to lose a member of your group and find them 2 days later laying in a remote alley way in a bathtub full of ice"

Will.

So what is it like? Well, firstly, it isn't confirmed yet, and secondly I have the urge to roll in mud a lot more and like to eat left over rotting scraps. OK, maybe not quite, but normally when I have the flu, I get either a bad chest, some muscular aches and a runny nose. Or some chills and fevers, aches and a cough. Or a headache and runny nose and obscenely tired. The point is, I only have ever had a couple of symptoms at once. This time I have had everything at once. Chills, fevers, coughs, ear-aches, sore throat, aching glands in my neck and back of my tongue, chest infections, headaches, eye-aches (it hurts to move my eyes side to side), muscular aches, runny nose, lack of energy, upset stomach. It is like my body just decided it had enough. The worst part of all of this was the fact that the flu hit my lungs pretty badly, so my lungs fill up with mucus which I can't cough up properly.

Unfortunately, as an asthmatic who has made more than their fair share of trips to hospital as a kid, I am more prone to lung conditions than others. So I get a cold, and can't breathe. Fortunately, as an asthmatic I have a crap load of strong medicines and machines at my disposal to keep me going. For instance, take a look at my picture. Here I am doing my best impersonation of "Maverick" from "Top Gun" crossed with "Will Dance" from the upcoming movie "Will Dance was a retard who started the fire in the lounge room and INHALED TOO MUCH SMOKE and thus started choking and tumbled downstairs to his nebulizer.".

Asthma + Swine Flu + Smoke Inhalation = plenty of time on Nebulizer + new LOS post.

So I got tested today for Swine Flu. Some nurse swabbed me. Now when I think of swabbing, I think of gentle dabbing of a cotton bud on a soft surface. I'd always imagined it to be like giving your grandmother a sponge-bath, slightly awkward, but gentle none the less. How wrong I was, I was on a path to trauma of the worst kind. I would have been less traumatised if while sponge-bathing grandma, grandpa got all frisky and climbed into the tub with her...

There were two swab tests, a throat swab test, and a nasal swab test. I had thought that a throat swab test involved me sticking out my tongue, the nurse swabbing it, and we both live happily ever after and have successful and fulfilling careers. Um, no. Not in a million years. Nurses have a way of underselling everything, and this evil one was no different. She starts by saying "this could be quite uncomfortable", before pulling out a 15cm long swab, pinning my tongue down with a depressor, and then jamming the swab so far down my throat that I start gagging... a lot. Only, she missed the first time and had to do it again. Not only did I nearly throw up, it also really hurt! I don't care what any of you say, I am not used to having things jammed down my throat.

Satan's nurse put the little throat swab away, then turned to me and said "now unfortunately we have to do two nasal swabs - and they are a little more uncomfortable than the throat swabs". You. Are. Freaking. Kidding. Me. Unfortunately she wasn't. She tipped my head back, and slid the swab up my nose until it hit something solid and painful. Then she pushed hard and scraped it around in little circles. It felt like she was burning the underside of my brain. In fact if you were to cut me up, you would find little swab shaped depressions on my temporal lobe. On the second attempt I could feel it pushing the back of my right eye socket. I'm pretty sure my eye nearly dropped out onto the floor.

After being tortured and violated, she didn't even offer me a hug afterwards. So, eyes watering I went back out into the real world and coughed on as many people as I could manage. Just kidding. Sort of. So as I sit here, isolated from the world, misty eyed (from the nebulizer), and all light headed (from the drugs), I leave you all with two warnings.

Firstly, stay away from coughing people.

Secondly, don't laugh at people with Swine Flu. We may have little tails, but don't think we haven't been through your cutlery drawer and licked all your utensils.

As it turns out, it wasn't an actual homeless woman. It was just one of my mothers weird friends. At this point I should make note of the fact that my mother is now on facebook, and could potentially hear about this rant, but seeing as though she struggles to turn on a computer and I didn't accept her friend request, I believe I am safe and that we are pretty much among friends here... anyways, where were we?

Oh yes, the homeless one. Who reeked of cigarette smoke and has a child. Her very own child! The cutest blond haired little creature you have ever seen. Which scares me. Because if there was a parenting class that one had to sit through, complete with a test at the end of it, I'm pretty sure this woman would have failed the course for non-attendance. In fact, she probably used the dent in the top of her young child's head as an ashtray when he was younger...

...but I digress.

I was standing in the kitchen watching this woman making a Milo - which involved rattling through the cupboards for a cup and spoon, spilling Milo over the bench, taking the milk out of the fridge and then LEAVING THE FRIDGE DOOR OPEN. Which we all know is bad for the environment. Every time you leave the fridge open a little bit of Elton John dies.

All the while this little snow-haired child is wandering around the kitchen, and eventually finds himself standing in the fridge. Child finds himself standing in the open fridge... mother finds herself standing near the open fridge... fridge door starts to swing closed on its own... Can you see where this is going? It is as easy as one, two, three...

ONE mother watches from no more than TWO feet away as previously mentioned THREE year old child is sandwiched into the lettuce crisper shelf by swinging fridge door.

And after the little crumpled body is retrieved from next to the carrots, all she can say is "Oh, don't play with the fridge, it is like 5 times bigger than you!" No sympathy, no hugs, nothing. Her three year old child is crushed and frozen to death, and she can't even get her figures right...

...because I have moved fridges before, and I am pretty sure that when I struggled to carry it up a staircase the one thing I didn't say was "Wow, this fridge is pretty much exactly the same as carrying five small children!"

From my year 4 / 5 writing book back in the old days comes the rather messy and very average poem called "Treasure at Rakman's Cove". Be amazed people. And see how many references you can spot from my little bubble of existence through the late 1980's. Extra points if you can work out what season this poem was written in, and what sport I was following at the time...

Treasure at Rakman's Cove

"Once I saw a Pirate Ship, heading out to see.
It flew the Jolly Roger, as mean as mean could be.
They fired cannon balls at me, I dodged them by an inch,
I was at the bottom of a cliff, I thought I'd need a winch!

The very next day I went to the execution,
For them all to be killed, there was no refus'in."

....for the record, I especially loved my year four usage of the word "refus'in".

Firstly, let me beat you to the punch. I know that I am on holidays, and cleaning, during my holidays. Which makes me lame.

Secondly, I spent most of Sunday and Monday sitting on the floor reading through ALL my old diaries / files / letters / cards / books that have been floating around my room for the past few years. A dude spending the first few days of his holidays reminiscing over his past. LAMER.

I guess what I am trying to say, in the most ADHD of ways, is that from looking back at all those forgotten memories I can see the events, people, joys and hurts that shaped me to where I am today. Our future determines our goal, our past determines the path we take to get there..

So I have spent the past few days reliving, then throwing out a heap of old memories. I thought it was a strange concept, knowing that in throwing away a bunch of old songs, cards and hatemail, I was effectively throwing away a huge chunk of memories. Each letter was a time and place now long forgotten. Each crumpled page, a poem or song, an emotion lost forever. Throwing away memories is a mildly traumatic experience, and must be approached with a certain amount of what I call "cold bitch-ness".

It is physically impossible to carry every single memory and emotion with us through life, and at some points in our lives, we need to adopt the cold bitch mentality, and just cut them lose en-mass, often in a painful way. Some mementos and memories we can keep, some are beneficial, some are inspiring. On a personal level, most of mine were from what was a very painful and now (thankfully) removed time in life. Most of those were gouged free over the past few days. Some of the extremely vivid and detailed ones I kept, and I am not entirely sure why. In time I will gouge them free too... I would never have admitted to myself before just how big a part that time, those memories, and those emotions in my past played in shaping my attitudes and life now.

I guess what I am trying to say, in the most ADHD of ways, is that from looking back at all those forgotten memories I can see the events, people, joys and hurts that shaped me to where I am today. Our future determines our goal, our past determines the path we take to get there.

So I thought I'd share a few lil' written memories from my past over the next few weeks. Some painful, some funny, some just plain stupid and pointless. More to come...

Fortunately I was insured, and got money back for my bike and gear... but that meant calling my insurance company on a Sunday to make a claim, and let them know what happened. And from the moment the guy answered the phone, I knew the company was run by men.

Insurance guy: *sniffs and clears throat* "Yeah, hello... welcome to **** Insurance.

Me : "Yeah, hi, I need to make a claim on my motorcycle insurance"

Insurance guy : *sighs* "Yeah, just a minute"

I swear you could almost hear him complaining as he put his beer down and got off the couch to walk across his living room to his computer. He wasn't happy that I had ruined his Sunday afternoon watching sports on TV.

Then there were 3 other things that made me think insurance is a mans world.

1) Most everything they have done was a half assed job. From organising the bike pick up, the gear claim, the forms being sent out. Everything. Half assed. No communication, no feedback, no updates. No idea. There was less communication than an unhappy husband in a mexican standoff with his wife over using the sink as a bin.

2) The only time the company did anything was when they were "repeatedly prompted" or "nagged".

3) The official claim release form is a microsoft word document that the dude in the claims department obviously got his 13 year old child to create between homework assignments.

Yeap. Run by men. Lazy fat men.