Central and Southern Vietnam

Special mention to Glenn and Fergus of Finnegans and Sean in the Irish Embassy in Hanoi. Always good to to dragged to more and more good eateries and drinkeries on your travels.


We managed to drag ourselves out of the place eventually, settling on Hue as our next stop, a day by train down the coast. After a day of ironing out accommodation and avoiding ghastly tours to see bombsites, we made the most of the scorching weather and settled into some air-conditioned bars with pool tables, interspersed with trips to the citadel, the old town and the Hue Tourism Education Restaurant for a great meal. Bumped into a crowd of lads all the way from Tuam we had previously met in Finnegans, eveyone seems to be on the same route around here. Where ya come from? Heading north or south? Where to next? Oh, me too. See ya there.


A short bus-hop later and and we're in Hoi-An, home of the tailors of Hoi-An and (incidentally of course) the UNESCO World Heritage Site that is the Old Town. Chock full of bars, restaurants and cookery schools, the old town was the first real evidence of old world charm that you could reach out and touch. A tour of the city took in Ancient Houses and Assembly Halls, a fascinating mixture of Chinese and Vietnamese Architecture that tells a muddled tale of occupation and rebellion long before the Americans and Ho Chi Minh went at it. The My Son Temple complex an hour out of town has been reduced from it's original 70 temples, rediscovered in the late 19th century by a moustachioed Frenchman, to less than 30; the remainder having been blown to smithereens by the US of A (yeeeh hawww!!) when the VietCong based its operations there in 1969. A single hour was enough to walk the whole complex twice, a miniaturised and brutalised version of Angkor.

In our ever increasing list of bizarre coincidences a day of lounging by the pool in Hoi An was interrupted, in a good way, by a fellow traveller from Malahide joining us in the pool and commiserating with all of us on our hangovers. The usual swappage of routes, plans and tales ensued and Fiona was halfway through the round-the-world-no-planes-we're-daft spiel when he comes out with "This might sound thick, but do you know a Cathal Brugha?". Well, yeah. We do. Turns out that shortly before they left home himself and his girlfriend had bumped into the Brughas at a funeral and learned all about our routes and plans and he (Rob) had been regalling people all over Vietnam with tales of these eejits who were heading from Ireland to Melbourne without using a plane. Eejits.

We've had plenty of people, mostly Ozzies, who tell us it can't be done, no way you'll get to Oz without a flying machine of sort or another. Eejits like us, this sort of talk only strengthens our resolve.

After a day of cooking lessons for Fi and Paddy, we again bumped into our Tuam shadows at a pool table. This was to become a recurring theme as we headed down the coast. In another freakish but inevitable coincidence, a CBS Midleton alumni suantered into the Thanh Binh III Hotel with a hurley under his arm. Small world. We avoided the urge to have a cheap wardrobe made in Hoi An which the eager tailors could then fill with shiny suits, silky shirts and custom-made-on-the-spot shoes, heading south again to the beach party capital of Nha Thrang.

Naturally, five minutes after arriving after a day of reading and snoozing on a train, tucking in to our half-cooked burgers, we once again ran into our erstwhile Tuam buddies. One of them had headed for HCMC to make his way back to Oz, the others happy to take it easy and enjoy the beach, sun and ales that Nha Trang offered in buckets and spades. The tiny Irish Pub, the dodgy TexMex, splendid Louisiane Brewhouse and disreputable Sailing Club all clamoured for our attentions.


After a couple of days nursing the mildly pathetic Seamus out of a tummy bug, we turned our attention to celebrating his promotion to a twentysixth year. A sleep in followed by croissants and frosties to kickstart the afternoon. Hours lazing by the pool in the Louisiane sipping fresh juices then onwards to glory. Glory being a rake of pints. Huzzah!


Stuart from Sydney was also celebrating his advancement in years and was happy to encourage the beer, whisky and bad karaoke fest that followed. May 30th is an esteemed day all round. His girlfriend achieved a feat unmatched in all of Asia by picking Seamus out as being from Coonty Cark, like. Respect.


The adventure continues while we try to figure out where we're off to next. The beaten track is losing its appeal, daft decisions are called for.

Vietnam, Vietnam, Vietnam

Eye of the storm

Myanmar and China in swift succession.

The tail end of the cyclone brought horrific weather to the mountains of northern Vietnam and the tremors from Sichuan were felt in higher buildings in Hanoi. Hard to imagine the isolated suffering of the people left unaided by the junta, so soon after the Christmas Tsunami of 2004. The toll in China continues to rise as excavations continue in the rubble of collapsed schools and other building around Sichuan. Our friends in Xi'an were severely rattled, trapped in their 24th floor apartment where the effect of the quake is even more pronounced than at ground level. A friend in the Irish Embassy in Hanoi (around 1000km from the epicentre) evacuated along with the rest of his staff. There was no noticable effect at ground level.

Our thoughts are with the people who were lost and especially those who have lost.

The all important books - Updated

These are the books that have filled our 18nights and many more days on trains........(so far)
We've included marks out of ten- just for fun.

We've added a few more (without marks)


Cloud atlas - David Mitchell 8.5/10

The lovely bones - Alice Sebold 8/10

On chesil beach - Ian McEwan 7/10

Never let me go - Kazuo Ishiguro 6/10

No country for old men - Cormac McCarthy 7/10

In Siberia - Colin Thubron 7/10

Shadow of a silk road - Colin Thubron 8/10

The last Templar - Raymond Khoury 4/10

The 'Myrsco'? helix - ? 3.5/10

The black Angel - John Connolly 5/10

The runaway - Martina Cole 7/10

Everything's eventual - Steven King 3.5/10

The damage done - Warren Fellows 3/10

Dead souls, Let it Bleed, Black and Blue, The Hanging Garden - Ian Rankin 6/10

City of bones - Michael Connelly

Some Hope - Edward St Aubyn

Senior Vivo and the coca lord - Louis de Bernieres

'Round Ireland with a fridge - Tony Hawkes

Sophie's world - Jostein Gaarder - Katie, read this one, you'd love it!

Saturday - Ian McEwan

The killing fields - Christopher Hudson

Lonely Planet unpacked

Void moon - Michael Connelly

And then we came to the end - Joshua ferris

Under the banner of heaven - John Krakauer

City of Joy - Dominique LaPierre - Fiona's favorite

Horse whisperer - Nicholas Evans

May you be the mother of 100 sons - Elizabeth Bumiller

The girl in the picture - Denise Chong

Heart of darkness - Joseph Conrad

The summons - John Grisham

100 years of solitude - Gabrial Garcia Marquez

I chose to live - Sabine Dardenne

The return of Merlin - Deepak Chopra

The memory keepers daughter - Kim Edwards

Forgotten Kingdom - Peter Goullart

High Society - Ben Elton

Night Fall - Nelson Demille

Sea Lion - ?

Point deception - Marcia Muller

The tunnels of CuChi - Tom Mangold and John Penycate

First they killed my father - Loung Ung

All the pretty horses - Cormac McCarthy - Favorite Writer

The gathering - Anne Enright

The kite runner - Khaled Hosseini

Brave new world - Aldous Huxley

Animal farm - George Orwell

Bravemouth - Pamela Stephenson

Haunted(Oz Ghosts) - John Pinkney

Into the wild - John Krakaur

The zahir - Paulo Coelho

From potters field - Patricia Cornwell



and a plethora of vaguely useful travel books

Lonely Planet Trans-Siberian Railway

Lonely Planet Beijing

Lonely Planet China

Let's go Vietnam

Lonely Planet Southeast Asia

Frommers - Australia

Northern Vietnam part deux

Hanoi, where cats are tethered to shop fronts and dogs roam free in feral, dribbling packs.

Hanoi, where a taxi can travel 7km in 90 seconds in crawling traffic.

Hanoi, where a grimy dorm bed is $7.50 but a spacious double room is $15.

Hanoi, where Bobby Chinn, his miked up staff and his daft haircut serve up finest lamb overlooking the lake.

Hanoi, where we find ourselves yet again after a week in the mountains of Northern Vietnam.

A few days spent soaking up the noise, shrieks, Irish pubbery and lakey shrubbery of the Old Quarter of Hanoi and the three of us loaded up on the night train to Sapa, nestling 1600 metres above sea level in a beautiful mountainous area near the Chinese border crossing of Lao Cai-Hekou. The train broke, the staff smoked, the karaoke continued until 4am while Paddy and Seamus were taught the finer points of Vietnamese pronunciation while bellowing loudly into a microphone and hoping smoke didn't start erupting from the underside of the train again. Vietnaaaaam, Vietnaaaaaaaaaamm!!

View from Hotel room(without fog)

Another hour by bus and we arrive into Sapa, a town consisting of one part hills, one part hotels, three parts restaurants and the rest a mass of H'Mong villagers flogging everything from blankets to cushions, trinkets to Class A drugs. We resisted the powerful urge to go on a three day trek in the rain and checked into the Mountain View Hotel. Misty View Hotel more like. Visibility approaching zero and 2 hours kip on the train catching up with us, we surrendered to a lazy day. A two day stay in the mountains turned into a week, with good food, walks in the surrounding hills and a few good nights out with pool, chess, poker and Halida.

M'hong girls take their pool very seriously

Another exciting day playing look-who's-scamming-us-now and we're back in Hanoi, 5am and the taxi is mysteriously clocking up dongs by the dozen as the meter tells us that we're half way back to Sapa by the time we reach the hostel. 7am before we find a room, plans ahead include a visit to waxy HoChiMinh, the oh-so-important Visa extensions and tickets to Hue, 12 hours away by train, sitting on the coast where the Gulf of Tonkin meets the South China Sea, promising beaches, another UNSESCO World Heritage Site, cooking courses for Fiona, a new hat for Paddy and hopefully some waves and a hammock for Seamus.

Eoin's (freehand) Map

Back to China, onwards to Vietnam

All Visaed up, back we go to China via Shenzen and on to Guangzhou to pick up a train to the island of Hainan off the south coast. An unscheduled stop in Guangzhou due to ticket shortages led to a dingy, windowless room and a night of KFC, nasty people and rain. Bliss.

Finally making it to Hainan we took the train to the southern tip of the island after crossing the straits on the train that was first shunted onto a boat. Oddness. Sanya is a bit of a tourist trap with overdeveloped beaches aimed at tourists from the mainland and Russia, handy enough because we could order stuff and ask for the bill in Russian but a pain when the entire tout population of the island chases after you with shouts of "Drastvutye". Picked up a car for the first few days to explore the coast, no rules-of-the-road or signposts hindered progress somewhat but we did a bit although our dream of surfing on China's best surf beaches were quashed by a timely typhoon. Fantastic waves but a tad out of our league. After a relaxing week of sunburn, burgers and sposiba-sposiba, off we headed to Haikou (pronounced High-Coe) on the north of the island to pick up a boat back to the mainland. A night in Haikou turned out to be a blessing. Cute little hostel with pool, pingpong, DVDs, good grub and a gorgeous if slightly bickering pairing of a dalmation and something approximating a basset hound.

After a single night in Haikou we headed off to the ferry port to get the boat to Beihai. The simple task of ticket buying and boat boarding turned out to be a tad more complicated than we thought. Ticket counter was easy enough, gesticulating and pointing did the job as usual. We were then pursued by random-man-in-white-shirt-who-likes-shouting (a constant fixture in Asia when you're trying to do something, we'll call him "RMIWSWLS") who tried to get us on a bus. Eh, no thanks buddy. After joining a queue to a boat we eventually realised this bus was to the other side of the ferry terminal where we'd be getting on a different boat. Clear as mud. Off we went, watching groups line up and board while people milled around, spitting, smoking and dozing. When it came to our turn we made a move to the departure gate, only for the RMIWSWLS with the megaphone to start barking orders in Chinese, instigating a rush of bodies to the ticket window and a lot of shouting, banging on glass and general mayhem. Boat cancelled? Ferry full? World ending? Who knew.

Eventually the brave Fi makes a move and tries to ask RMIWSWLS what's going on. He looks horrified at our mere presence during this mayhem (we were the only non-Asians there and obviously hadn't a clue what was transpiring) and proceeds to drag Fi through the melee into the caged ticket office, leaving Seamus guarding the bags and hoping the growing riot doesn't extend his way. The shouting only gets louder, at this point a crazed tour group leader is whacking her metal flag off the glass and screaming, and the frenzied crowd watch in disgust as the RMIWSWLS scribbles something on our tickets and takes us through the back door and directs us onto the earlier, already fully loaded boat. Bless his heart, he took enough pity on us to find us what was probably the only free cabin (post-analysing this we realised that no normal people travel without a tour group in China and fitting thirty people into our two man tin can cabin might have been a tad tricky). I didn't envy him the return walk into the terminal to deal with the mob but he kept his cool through it all, there's a reason he was appointed as RMIWSWLS in charge of passenger boarding.

Safely ensconced in our cabin, we tracked down the essentials in the tiny shop. The options extended to vacuum packed mystery meat in mystery sauce, noodle tubs and beer. The beer and noodles won. A makeshift seasickness wristband for Seamus saved the day (TOP TIP- The pressure on the front of the wrist from an inverted watch acts like the usual band on the acupressure point that calms the nausea)

We awoke at dawn on the final approach into Beihai harbour. Slightly rested and still a bit shaken after the adventure of boarding. Departing we followed the crowd into a small terminal building where some darling staff helped us find bus tickets to Dong Xing (pronounced Dong Ching) on the border with Vietnam. 3 hours later and we're in a bright yellow milkcart taking us from the station in Dong Xing to the Border Crossing over a narrow brigde into Mong Cai, Vietnam. The usual mess of queues, forms, checks, double checks, stamps and accusing glares from border guards marks our arrival. They must have forgotten the banners, balloons and streamers.

A negotiation with some cheery taxi drivers left us with the option of spending a fortune on aircon taxi to Halong City further down the coast, a 6(ish) hour bus journey, or our initial plan of staying for a night and getting a high-speed boat down the coast where we would eventually be meeting Paddy. The option involving a bed, food and pleasant boat journey won the day. A guesthouse near the bus station welcomed our custom with the expected greeting of giggles and confusion. Boat tickets sorted and chinese/Vietnamese mix border food hunted and paid for, we settled in to one of our many nights in limbo. Not quite where we want to be or where we thought we'd end up, just another step in the journey.

The morning brought us to a bus which would then bring us to our high-speed, high-tech hydrofoil boat which would whizz us down the beautiful coast to Halong Bay. As they loaded us on to an overcrowded old timber tub we weren't in the least bit surprised. A rough calculation and we figured it would take 10 hours to make the 70km trip, but the woman perched on the bow with a pink petalled face mask offered us mandarines and mystery dried fruit, so it's not all bad. After 40 minutes of chugging into the open ocean we were greeted by the sight of a hydroil, raising itself supremely over the waves as it sped towards us, and as it dropped speed and settled it's hull onto the water we took part in a game of throw the bags and passengers from one rocking boat onto another. Some things just can't be done the easy way.

We sped into Halong City on the edge of the UNESCO World Heritage Site that is the karst limestone islands, bays and inlets of Halong Bay. 1,969 island and nearly as many beaches frame and shelter the island of Cat Ba, Quan Lan and a couple of other inhabited islands in the area. Halong City was enjoying the first day of its annual Carnaval as our boat docked and we made our way on to the pier. We put off the trip to Cat Ba island for a couple of days to soak up the noise, energy, parades and fireworks as this huge city went slightly nuts and partied underneath our harbour-view balcony. Popcorn, Pho and Fishy(photos will come later) all entered our lives as we alternated between trying to find a boat to CatBa, to meet up with Paddy, and watching the great and good of Halong show off their floats, dance moves and costumes.

Come Monday the party was definitely over, the stages and pontoons were wiped away, unveiling the "grimy city" the guidebooks had warned us off. Still enjoying the initial colourful taste of Halong we made our way to Cat Hai on another taxi-boat-ferry-bus adventure that brought us in to Cat Ba town to soak up the beach and party atmosphere as promised.

Costa del Sol in the 1970s was the final judgement. The great and not so good of Vietnam descended en masse to celebrate Liberation Day and Labour Day in quick succession. After booking into a hotel for 2 days we were all booted out after the first night when the charming hotelier decided to accept a more expensive booking over our own. Our newly formed trio was advised that you can rent tents on the beach, take a flying leap if you will. We eventually found a passable guesthouse that would put us up for triple the usual rate and bless us with 6th floor rooms and no lift. Oh my aching thighs.

Cat Ba has little to offer beyond a couple of half-decent restaurants and a free pool table with cheap ales. The assortment of once serene beaches is marred by imposing facilities buildings, touts, umbrellas, Christmas lights and the usual tools of the trade for over-eager tourism development types. Organising a tour out to the bay and getting scammed for as many dollars as you have available are an automatic combination. We opted to hire a couple of kayaks and explore the bay on our own terms. Packed lunches, a cartoon map and lots of paddling later and we found ourselves travelling under huge stone arches, exploring tiny bays between the towering limestone formations and poking around in the rubbish and detritus that marks high tide on the random spits and beaches we came across (UNESCO might want to note that). Tourist boats gawped as we crossed the bay, avoiding the hype and bites of Monkey Island and the other oft-frequented tourist traps. There's nothing like a Tour Group to ruin the sanctity and peace of an otherwise beautiful scene. After 4 hours of paddling we eventually returned to the floating fishing village and gingerly stepped onto dry land. Sore arms, cramped legs and damp clothes, all well-earned with cheesy photos to match.

After a few too many overpriced meals, overpriced rooms and ridiculously early mornings precipitated by noisy Vietnamese visitors, we arranged for another hydrofoil to Hai Phong on the mainland where we would board a train to Hanoi where burgers, lakes, museums and a decidedly waxy Ho Chi Minh waited eagerly for our arrival. The PaddyFiMoose machine never stops turning, never loses will, and never passes up the opportunity to hunt out a bargain room with a big TV for the football and a mini-fridge.