The March To Ho Chi Minh

This bus ride then, was a monster. Hoi An straight through to Ho Chi Minh, 25 hours, a new record...Fortunately sleeping wasn't a problem for me at this time as my health was still very mediocre at best. The prospect of 25 hours on a bus though, was rather demoralising and I needed help. It promptly arrived in the form of a weathered old man who walked down the aisle as if he'd just seen off both the French and the Americans single handed, and was now heading home for a brew. He saw the empty seat next to me and marched over. Giving me a stern and purposeful stare, he sat down and shook my hand. He knew what lay ahead and proceeded to give me a reassuring pat on the thigh as if to say "don't worry son, i'm here now, it'll all be ok". He didn't speak any English but immediately I felt better and was ready to take on the 25 hour marathon. Nothing could shake him, and he was on my side, there was nothing to worry about.With 24 hours and 50 minutes still to go then, he cracked. Barking orders down the bus he turned to me again, his face still solemn and serious. He shook my hand a second time, stood up and instructed a young local girl to take his place whilst he strode off down the aisle, presumably to sit somewhere else. This was a blow, particularly as in what appears to be a very Vietnamese trait, the local girl then fell asleep on me... Only one man could get me through this ordeal now - I sat back, closed my eyes, and listened to the wise words of the great John Denver for as long as the battery would last.25 hours later, via Mue Nui and Natrang, we crawled into Ho Chi Minh, tired and rather sick of buses. The big city straight after Hoi An was all a bit much for me in my fragile state, and although I liked the gritty, busy and French colonial feel, I was happy to stay just a couple of days before moving on again. After browsing another art gallery, I strolled around the Reunification Palace where the first North Vietnamese tanks headed to end the Vietnam War. A rather strange decor for a palace, it seemed more like the set from a 70's sit-com, although I was very pleased to find a copy of The Sports Almanac 1965 still on the shelf. The amusement I felt at the palace quickly vanished at the excellent, graphic, sobering and shocking War Museum, definitely worth a look for the many tragic tales and pictures of war time anguish which continue to this day.Tired and in dire need of a beach to relax on, I had at least made it down Vietnam with enough time to enjoy Cambodia and still make it to Malaysia, although southern Thailand would have to be sacrificed. This seemed a good plan as I thought it through over a drink with new friends Julie from Belgium, and Pete The Irish Drunk. Partying in Southern Thailand would be a bad idea given my woeful state of health, and certainly didn't appeal I decided, as I finished my second bottle of wine... Suddenly it was 5:30am, I'd accidently got hammered and my bus to Cambodia left in only 3 hours. Pleasant company, but a bad move, a very bad move...