Teacher Tales

Bali 2- A Day with Putu- 17-12-25

As promised Putu was waiting for us when we arrived at the reception. He was a lovely chap, very tall and slim and with an infectious smile. The roads were surprisingly empty at that early hour and we made good progress for an hour or so, passing more temples than I think I have ever seen, down side streets, in the fields and by the side of the main road. Putu explained that many rich families had their own daily burial sites and as a brit used to cremations (well not personally yet) this was surprising. Many of the roundabouts on the road had ornamental gods in the middle with one being a dramatic sight attraction, which people came out to take photographs of. Whilst Indonesia is a majority Muslim country, Bali itself is 87% Hindu, making it the only island in Indonesia with a Hindu majority. 

Our first stop on the road trip was the Batik factory which I knew Rachel would enjoy. In fact, she remembered having a go at it when she was at school and as we looked on at the local women using the hot wax with immense skill, it brought it all back for Rach. I remember feeling awkward watching these ladies work and having a similar feeling in Margilon, when at the silk museum. How many tourists popped in and then stared at the them working- real artists they were too and yet, I imagine, very poorly paid- before wandering off into their decadent lives 

Rach bought a sarong, a bag and a scarf from the shop attached to the factory, all of which were stunningly beautiful and hand made. Upstairs, there was some beautiful batik art work, conjuring the surreal, the real and the cultural, sometimes all at the same time. A sign said we shouldn’t take photographs here but I was alone and well, what are rules for eh? After leaving this factory, Putu, who was incidentally excellent company, suggested dropping by to the silver factory where there were ladies making the jewellery. This place was mildly interesting but the focus was definitely on getting rich travellers to put their hands in their pockets. Still, we managed a toilet stop here and Rach was intrigued as her grandparents once ran a jeweller’s business and she engaged in conversation with some of the workers before we both left, thankfully, not a penny down (rupiah I suppose).

From here, the traffic, still not terrible, though certainly getting busier, was reasonable and before too long we were at Cerang Old Village. In truth, this place was a little underwhelming and small but the private burial area was fascinating and Putu explained why men were placed in certain parts of the graveyard and women too. There were some old houses but perhaps most lingering in the mind was the kitchen area with the fire stove and endless old pans, seemingly for every possible cooking requirement. Noodles, rice, whole pig or cow seemed to be covered by the utensils available. Apparently, the kitchen is still in use. 

From here we took a slightly longer drive to Batuan Temple. During the drive Putu told us that due to a certain religious festival women on their periods couldn't enter at the moment. Not a problem for post menopause Rach but we did chat about ‘why always the women?’ We delved into our collective knowledge and brains to see if we could think of a time where women were favoured and other than symbolic favouring or subjugation, masquerading  as favouring, we couldn’t find any. Putu agreed.

Batuan was an ethereal place and the architecture was stunning. We bought our inexpensive entry tickets on the opposite side of the road to the temple and then crossed, after putting on our sarongs and for me, a hat. It is the first time I had to wear more covering going into a temple than Rachel did. In essence, our earlier conversion had been rebutted. Maybe there is a God and maybe that God was making a point. In truth, I didn’t mind and felt I looked pretty good. It wasn’t just me in a sarong. Indeed, there was a quirk in Bali of dressing up their statues in sarongs- I guess the complaints were minimal from inanimate, deftly carved chunks of stone. They also added parasols to create a somewhat ‘camp’ theatrical feel to almost every sculpture which was in stark contrast to the gruesome, snarling expression on most of the faces of the gods. Imagine prime Mike Tyson (ear-biting period) with a parasol and wearing a skirt!

Bali really understands how to  blend nature and human construction as they often intertwine the trees around or within the rocks and foundations. There were several water features here too with terrapins and even a colourful frog. The garden of the complex were teeming with butterflies, many of which were a vibrant red colour and like no butterflies I have seen before, even in the butterfly parks we have visited. Rach bought some fish food and we enjoyed some time with the large carp that swam in a stunning garden pond surrounded by ogre like gods in skirts. The temple itself dates back to the 9th century and it is hard not to feel a sense of spirituality here. 

We drove from here and passed a famous roundabout (although many roundabouts in Bali are adorned with stunning statues) Putu told us that this roundabout with its impressive statue of a god was a demon-quelling roundabout. He confidently claimed there were many crashes in this area until the statue was built, on the advice of a local preacher, and since then, the deaths and accidents had stopped. It was a story of faith I adored, even if my skepticism remained intact. The drive to Tengenungan waterfall was a little more hair-raising and bikes zoomed by on both sides of us, swerving, sliding and speeding.

Tegenungan though is a stunning location and we walked down towards the photo opportunity overlooking the drop of the water flowing off the cliff. There were many stalls, bars and restaurants all with hawkers calling out to sell us, bags, fridge magnets, toys, ornaments or most often wooden sculptures or coconut water. It is easy these days to ignore these guys or even recognise them, smile and say hello but still walk on by. This comes from experience. 

It was possible to walk down and stand under the waterfall and there were many who were taking photographs like they were in a 90s Timotei advert. I would have strolled down but Rach wasn’t keen, sensibly, as after all, we would need to come back up the hill. We looked out above the waterfall and there was an Indiana Jones style rope bridge which I was really keen to cross but as I asked around it seemed that there was no access from our location and so we could only take photographs and head off in search of beer. It wasn’t long before we found a pleasant location, with free photographs with birds available. We settled for beer only and a good chat. Putu was surprised to see us back so soon, but was as chatty as he had been for the entire journey as we pushed on towards Monkey Forest. We stopped here for some packed lunch and had to move a few times to avoid the ants and the inevitable bites on the backside. 

The sanctuary itself gave me Angkor vibes with monkeys (obviously) wandering around at will. At the entrance it suggested we should remove our spectacles. Rach explained she could not see without them and we didn’t fancy an episode of Scooby Doo so she took the risk. All was well. Inside the complex there were many trees and temples, some original and others mocked up to once again portray a sort of Indian Jones style theme park. There were several baby monkeys that were undeniably cute and followed their mother just like humans do. Most fascinating was the moment where we watched a monkey smash open a coconut by repeatedly raising the shell in the air and smashing it down on the wooden flooring. Initially, we and the rest of the increasingly large throng of spectators were shaking their heads feeling that the monkey had no hope and even some of his simian friends had also voted with their feet, wandering off as if he had bitten off more than he could chew. Yet, the tenacious so and so, continued to focus and low and behold he cracked the nut and the spoils were all his. Well deserved indeed. 

Another highlight of this forest was a photogenic area next to a temple where one woman was sitting with a monkey astride her head. Both Rach and I smiled and laughed, before taking a few photos and making our way back, unfortunately uphill, towards the car park. 

From here we drove to the rice paddies but by the time we arrived it was teaming down with rain and everyone was running for cover. We decided that the view from the top was pleasant enough and we stopped here for beverages and a chance to marvel at the Instagrammers on swings, swirling in flowing dresses for the shot they craved, even in the rain.

Then, the drive home. 21km. Three hours in the heaviest traffic I have ever witnessed—a solid river of metal where bikes flowed the wrong way as a matter of course. At one moment- Putu struggled to drive down his own side of the road as the bikes coming the other way were taking up both lanes. During the long trip back to the digs, we were able to chat about life in Bali and Putu explained that the average salary was £175 a month. It cast the relentless grind of that traffic into heartbreaking perspective. These guys were hustling for the pennies- there is no realistic bus service in Bali, no trains and cars are just too expensive and slow in this madness and so, bikes are King, Queen and Princes all. 

We finally arrived back after a long, eventful and fun-packed day and Putu was more than happy to receive his hard-earned cash. We had a wine or two back at the digs, a swim, of course and a little chat about how we wanted to redecorate the Shepshed house before heading out for an italian meal, literally around the corner. Rachel enjoyed some delicious ravioli and i had devoured some fresh tuna, although slightly over seasoned with black sesame seeds. We managed puds of panna cotta and lava cake and then had another one or two wines back at the gaff before heading to bed. It had been a delightful day. 

A short hop over to Singapore-March 28th- 31st 2025

The day of travel was certainly a day of two extremes- from total relaxation and perfect planning to panic, desperate anxiety and high stress. On Fridays, I don’t teach so I stayed at home, slept in a little and then woke to realise that Rach was still in the house too. She had managed to negotiate the morning off and so this was the perfect way to prepare ourselves for the travel we were about to embark on. I had printed everything out for the trip including some details for the car rental in Brisbane, which I didn’t need at all (more on that story later). Rach was able to rest but also prepare our one and only case in a relatively leisurely fashion and so all was going so well.

Something made me think. I don’t know what it was but I suddenly thought about travel visas. I had checked the Singapore situation and a visa is not required but strangely, I assumed Brits would be allowed easy visa-free passage into Oz. Big mistake. I joked, and searched the visa situation with only one hour to go before Ganesh was about to pick us up. My blood raced through my body and anxiety seized hold as I thought the whole trip was over and that I had royally ‘fucked up’.

I was all fingers and thumbs as I searched for the answers online and the horror stories don’t help- ‘can take up to 3 days’ to get your visa ratified’, being the most terror inducing one. I found the site to apply on and went through it. I asked Rach to do the same but typically her phone didn’t work with the site and so I had to make two separate applications. On both occasions, scanning the passports didn’t work (twice for me); taking the photo didn’t work several times and each time, dread squeezed harder and I became more and more flustered. I do struggle with moment like this, these days, and immediately I found myself in a world of ‘doom’ and ‘gloom’, shouting swear words to the four walls and screaming ‘blue murder’. I remember this happening to my dad as he got older and inevitably, I am following in his footsteps. Rach is much better and calmer.

Eventually, with persistence, we managed to make the applications and something or someone was shining positivity and luck upon us as within seconds of pressing submit, the visas arrived in our email. My relief was palpable: not 3 days then but about 10 seconds. I guess they like to cover themselves but wow, the stress these statements cause folk.

I contemplated rushing to school and even got in the car to go and print them out but forgot my badge for entry to school and the badge works the printer too so I spun the love machine around and trusted that the visas being on my phone would be enough. It was. In fact, we didn’t need to show them at all, as it automatically links to your passport when you make the application.

Ganesh arrived about five minutes early. He is a trusty fellow.

The stress didn’t leave us for quite some time as Rachel’s anxiety levels were through the roof and at the airport, it got worse. She was also suffering from back pain and when we arrived at the immigration (to leave the country) queue, she couldn’t cope. It was Hari Raya and the places was packed, meaning the queues for inspection were very, very long. Eventually, Rach slumped and dropped to the floor and we tried to push to the front but the airport staff were called out and Rach was having a panic attack. I honestly the thought the trip was over…again!!!

Somehow, Rach found herself again and we were able to get through immigration, with the staff at the airport finding her a wheelchair and then a shuttle bus so that we could get nearer the plane. I was mightily relieved to board the plane and even more so that the flight was only just over an hour long. Unfortunately we had been separated on the plane and so I couldn’t look after her although she did well and got through it.

Singapore airport is incredible- like stepping into the future: clean and stylish, no queues—funky, even. The travel guides list it as one of the top ten places to see in the city. That has to be rare right? Passport control entirely automated, and gliding through the machines felt like something straight out of a sci-fi movie.

Typically there was the inevitable minor hiccup when we first arrived at the gates as our passports didn’t work and we realised that we needed to fill in some entry form for Singapore which we hadn’t sorted ahead of time. While we eventually got it done, Rach was moving slowly and I was getting increasingly frustrated. (Patience is not always my strong suit when tired and hungry as my son and daughter would confirm).

Once through, the taxi situation was blessedly easy to navigate—though not cheap. As we drove through the urban jungle, seemingly designed by someone who loves symmetry and sparkle, we were amused and eventually irritated by the looping voiceover on the sat nav repeating ‘Remember, drive safely’, with nauseating frequency (about every 2 minutes) and with an even more nauseating American accent.

It was night time and my first impressions of Singapore were good. Trees lined every street—lush, green, and abundant. Lights twinkled from buildings and bridges, reflecting off the water where boats floated calmly. It was beautiful. The wide boulevards, reminded me a little of Tashers, but with a sleeker, more modern twist; framed as they were with modern architectural wonders.

We finally arrived at the Ibis Hotel. It was nothing fancy—cheap and basic- but we were only here for three nights and so we didn’t want to throw money away at this stage. The staff at the IBIS were superb- very happy, always smiling, super helpful and kind. I was very happy to get Rach safely inside, and we could exhale the pent up frustrations and stress.

But the night wasn’t done with me yet.

After settling Rach in, I decided to head out and explore a bit. I wandered down a nearby side street and stumbled upon a little Vietnamese restaurant still buzzing with life—despite it being almost midnight. I find this in Asia. When I was in Europe, and later in Australia, as well as my home nation of the UK, restaurants close so early but in Singapore, the night was thriving. Neon lights, clinking glasses, and a happy hum of voices spilled out onto the pavement.

I sat at a table outside the restaurant near to a lady and three chaps who were drinking away and cheering very loudly, on about as frequent basis as the taxi telling the driver to ‘drive carefully’.  Within minutes, I was cheering with them, laughing at jokes I barely understood but they simply kept turning around and cheering, holding their beers in the air and the girl of the group insisted I joined in. I ordered another beer but the waiter forgot the bottle opener. One guy cracked open my beer using just the edge of the table like it was second nature. Total legend. I needed to work on these street skills.

I ordered a pork belly salad on a whim, and it was sumptuous- amazing. Sweet, salty, crispy, fresh…and I was very much ready for it.Two police officers wandered by at one point, just casually strolling.  One of them couldn’t have been older than 20—looked like a kid to me. Another reminder about old I am getting.

As the night rolled on, the restaurant cranked up the music to levels that would’ve normally driven me away but I was ok. I felt good. A couple of chaps walked on the pavement that went through the restaurant and mocked the loud music with some unfiltered dance moves before wandering off down the street

Singapore had welcomed me with open arms, glowing lights, and pork belly. Not bad for the first night and my fingers were crossed that Rach had managed to get some rest.

The next morning, Rach still wasn’t feeling great, so I set off on my own to explore more of Singapore. It was a lovely temperature outside and the first thing I noticed was how clean the place was. No litter and everything seemed ordered and focused. I walked across the river and wandered towards Fort Cannock Park. To traverse its green interior you have to walk up a large and somewhat tiring flight of steps but my new found fitness from training served me well and I was soon at the top, where there is a wonderful view of Marina Bay Sands, the famous modern three column structure with another structure lying across them called a sky park. It sort of looks almost alien or like a spaceship on legs.

At the base of the steps to Fort Cannock I read about Sir Stamford Raffles. I had never read about this guy who was born in 1781 and who was a colonialist, often seen as the founder of modern day Singapore, which he wrested from local rulers in 1819.

Fort Cannock Park is beautiful and full of majestic trees, some of them brought in from South America, centuries ago and unrecognisable to my British eyes. As you walk along the elevated section of the park you are treated a stunning panorama with impressive skyscrapers piercing the skyline, not unlike Kuala Lumpur, but there is more flair in Singapore and the streets are even more lush with greenery and nature. Everything felt clean, quiet, smart, and strangely calm for a city.

I wandered toward an old gate and stone archway, where an American guy passed by and said, “Look at this ancient building—19th century!” It made me laugh. Ancient to him, maybe, and his excitement was fun to observe for a while. People watching is fascinating some time.

That said, this park is one of the most significant historical landmarks in the city. It is also home to an interesting underground WWII tunnel complex and other attractions of art and history. Previously known as Forbidden Hill, archaeologists found 14th-century Javanese artefacts here dating back to when Singapore was part of the Majapahit empire. The hill, sacred to Malays, also contains the shrine of Sultan Iskandar Shah, the last monarch of the old kingdom of Singapura.

I reached the highest point surprisingly quickly where a lighthouse and flagstaff stand proudly in front of a whitehouse that commands the very top of the hill. The flagstaff was used to display the arrival, identity, location and status of ships entering Singapore Harbour. The sun was beating down but not quite as oppressive as it is in Malaysia and so it troubled me very little as my step count increased significantly.

After witnessing some of the old fort walls, I made my way back the way I had come and strolled down one of the main streets where I had to admire the old Victorian structures, with vibrant shutters, and roll down blinds in reds, greens and yellows. There was a clear indian influence here and I saw several Bollywood postersand bright sarees in shop windows and indian style bangra music drifting from somewhere, unseen but certainly heard.

I later realised that all of this was because I was in Little India, on Lavender Street.

Curious, I made my way to a nearby temple. It looked closed, but I slipped in through a back entrance for a nose around. From there, I wandered into a tiny park, unexpectedly serene, where statues of fishing traders stood quietly telling their story through their physical shapes. What really struck me, though, was a group of artists painting in the park. Not selling, not performing—just creating, immersed in the moment. It was a mindful, almost meditative sight. I stood watching for longer than I expected.

Hunger kicked in, and I stumbled upon a fantastic food court. Here I ordered pooris with chana masala, spicy Indian-style potatoes, and a cold beer. While I ate, an English woman wandered in, eyes wide, taking it all in. She stopped and said, “I’ve never seen a place like this.” I smiled. I had seen many such places but this was larger than those in Malaysia and cleaner, more modern and probably more hygienic.

I had clocked up the steps impressively and after lunch added to them considerably with a further couple of kilometres to Treeglade, one of the iconic sites of Singapore. It was daytime when I witnessed them, when they are at the least impressive and yet, the eighteen human created trees at the Supertree Grove were a site to behold. Rising up to 50 metres above ground, these iconic giants provide shade in the day and come alive with an exhilarating light and musical show at night. More than just futuristic-looking structures, the Supertrees present a bold new way to grow and display plants. They are intricate vertical gardens, with metal interiors and botanic exterior! Gorgeous bromeliads, ferns, orchids and tropical climbers weave their way within the metal framework of each tree. There is a walkway between some of the larger trees which is high up and no doubt a fun walk but I was on my own and decided that I had had a good enough view from the ground.  I strolled from here to the Gardens by the Bay where there is a flower dome, and another botanic space with the largest indoor waterfall in the world. The crowds began to swell. It was beautiful, sure, but packed so I decided there might be a better time to see the place the following day and I knew Rachel would love the nature.

From there, I wandered down to the bay and saw the art museum ,shaped like a hand—one thumb, one finger, and what looked like three chopped off. A curious and bold design. I crossed the stunning Helix Bridge, pausing to take a photo for a fellow traveller.

There was a memorial nearby for civilians from 1942–1945, which was quietly powerful and spoke of the civilians who had lost their lives under Japanese occupation during the second world war. When I first came across the monument, some of the outer façade spoke to me saying ‘welcome’, which was once again, somewhat futuristic. I was ready for another beer and so I wandered closer to the ‘digs’ and took a few steps down to the river where I lingered for a couple of beers, finding a cozy little spot that served a fusion of Mexican and Indian food. Odd combo, but it worked.

Eventually, I made my way back to the hotel. At first, I couldn’t find Rachel, who I thought was at the pool but we had crossed in the lift. After sorting this out I took the plunge in the pool and Rach and I shared some beers from a 7-Eleven which I purchased on the way home. We laughed a bit. She fell asleep, and I found myself dozing too—outside, in the sun with a pair of shorts on my head for a pillow.

Later, we headed out again, this time to the riverside. Rach had her first Singapore Sling, and for a while, things were lovely. Then I ruined it—some dumb moment I wish I could take back but she wasn’t in the mood for eating and so she slept and I headed out to my fave Vietnamese place from the night before for a beef pho dish—comfort in a bowl.

A couple more beers later and I was heading back for a good nights rest. I had walked nearly 20000 steps!

We kicked off our day with a lazy start and slept in until nearly 10, which felt indulgent and well-deserved. After finally dragging ourselves up and about, we set off, on foot , toward the iconic Gardens by the Bay, aiming to explore both the Cloud Forest and the Flower Dome.

When we arrived, the place was buzzing. A very large queue had formed, and to add to the chaos, the internet ticketing system was on the blink so the queue was becoming uncontrollable. Rachel exited herself for a sit down and I braved the long wait. Eventually, we had our tickets and firstly, we entered  The Flower Dome. Despite its name, there were more plants and trees than actual flowers — but it was impressive nonetheless. The cherry blossom area was especially magical, like stepping into a postcard from Japan. It was clear that they had loaded all the best flowers by the side of the dome that looked out on to the river. Photos were being snapped at a ridiculous rate and some people seemed to have no thought for others whatsoever. Ironically, one guy huffed at me as he stood under an archway at the top of some steps waiting for a snap. I , unlike many, always try to wait or be polite but he was taking forever and seemed to have no ability to read the situation. After his huff I said, ‘We can’t wait forever mate’. I think he thought he was a catwalk model.

Next up was the Cloud Forest, which was impressive. An incredible indoor waterfall (as aforementioned) greeted us as we walked in, cascading from a towering indoor mountain surrounded by lush greenery. The whole space, dedicated to conservation and sustainability, felt like a rainforest dream. We took the lift to the top and wandered along the sky walkway. The views were unreal — floating above the treetops, with mist curling around us.

Later on, we hopped into a taxi and headed for a craft burger and beer spot we'd heard about. Unfortunately, it was packed and already queuing out the door — in a mall, no less. Dreadful places. I really don’t like malls. So we ditched it and walked instead to a joint called Dalla.

Good call.

Dalla had a chilled vibe and a solid Australian pale ale on tap. We split a pizza topped with cold meats and knocked back three beers between us, which was just what we needed.

Refuelled and curious, we grabbed another taxi to the National Gallery. The visit had a weird moment as we walked in and immediately thought, "Where is the art?" We walked around in circles ending up in playrooms, cafes and educational centres before asking a serious looking gentleman, ‘Where is all the Art’? Fatigue had crept up by then, so we didn't last too long but we still managed to catch a few interesting paintings before calling it.

To end the afternoon, we sat by the river, watching the city lights shimmer in the dusk. Rach had another Singapore Sling.

Back at our digs, I enjoyed a late-night swim and a sleep by the pool but we weren’t quite done and so popped back to the river for a bite to eat. Rachel was still struggling with her food and the night became a little fraught but we managed and all in all, it had been a fun day and it was great for Rach to finally get to see some of Singapore.

We were up at 6.00am the next morning and managed to Grab a taxi (see what I did there) to Singapore airport. This place is super organised, and the toilets flush themselves- which, in truth can be annoying, as if you are struggling to release, as it were, you may be there for a while and this bloody sensor picks up on the slightest of movements and so goes off several times whilst you are sitting there. I left with a wet arse. There are futuristic buggies here too with a red lazer light shining around it to judge distances and show how close they are to people. If people crossed the lazer, the buggy called out…’Excuse me, be careful’ or something like that. Rach was in good form and obviously looking forward to the hop over to Australia. We had a smooth transition to the plane and settled in for the 7 and a half our flight to Brisbane.

Cloudy on the Sunshine Coast- 31-03-25 to 05-04-25

We landed in Australia with little fuss, despite all the dire warnings about customs. We had enjoyed Bill Bailey’s sketch about Australian customs many times and how the most bizarre items are listed on the ‘strictly must not bring into the country’ card that you are given on the plane. He was right- wood, erm bees, animals, parts of animals, which by the way made us picture some very comical scenarios of folk trying to bring in a goat head, or a lion’s mane or maybe a monkey’s paw! Then there are the questions where you must declare whether you have been on a farm of late or been around any hives. You tick the boxes to say you’re safe and hand it in as you pass through immigration. Despite this build up, customs was exceptionally easy and we simply strolled through. I don’t think I even saw a member of staff on duty.

The flight had been good one. I watched The Pianist, a film I knew a little about but which I had never seen. It was good although not as good as I had been led to believe. Followed by a film called Heretic, which had a great premise but which didn’t quite deliver.

I rang the car hire place and the whole process went smoothly- the purple shuttle bus arrived, just like they'd promised. None of the documents we’d been told we’d need were actually asked for. She asked for my driving license and within minutes we were on the road. It made me think about all the needless stress that websites on the internet sometimes subject customers to. I had been on the DVLA website, applied for various paperwork and checks and they didn’t want any of it. Grrrrr…

Driving the automatic up Bruce Highway with “Land Down Under” playing on the radio was perfect and Rach rightly turned the volume up to the max! The sky was soft with early evening light, the windows down, and the road felt like freedom. We joked about wanting to listen to the hits of Rolf Harris and then realised it was in pretty bad taste- it was so sad to find out he was a paedophile. We arrived late at our apartment in Mooloolaba on the Sunshine Coast and had a minor parking faff, as we tried to negotiate our way around the signs saying ‘vehicles may be clamped’. There was no one at reception, as it was after hours, but the instructions they had sent me worked out perfectly and the apartment was delightful with a kitchen and a balcony. I was very pleased with myself.

We were just in time for a late night beer and dropped the luggage in search of a relieving pint. A stone’s throw from our ‘digs’ was a place called Taps, and there were some very tasty and diverse ales here which were in huge contrast to the very simple and basic beers we are forced to consume in Malaysia. I say ‘forced’ but no one holds a gun to my head, obviously. We were clearly the oldest in the bar and there was a busy dance floor inside. Thankfully, the outside area was quiet enough and we were able to have a few beers in relative peace. The Aussies here certainly knew how to have a good time and we were surrounded by noise and chat and laughter. Rach noticed a couple of interesting things- one being that we couldn’t see a single person in the bar who didn’t have a tattoo. In the UK tattoos are also very popular amongst the young generation but here, in Mooloolaba, even more so. Rach also noticed how almost no-one had their phone out and as we people watched, we noticed how in the moment all the friends were- all engaged and listening and laughing and joining in. I also noticed that all of the women were drinking beer and not a single glass of wine or any other drink was in view.

We had a lot of fun at Taps, and although only an hour or so, it felt like a lot longer. Back at the hotel room I realised I had diarrhoea and this continued throughout the night meaning I was up and down many, many times. Frustrating, but the next morning started better with great coffee at Coffee Columbia and a toasted banana chocolate cake that hit the spot. The women working there were lovely, full of warmth and humour and I was already noticing that customer service assistants here were so much more extrinsically happy and chatty than in the UK.

We popped back to the digs to unpack- well Rachel did. I do tend to live with my clothes in cases, on the floor, hanging off doors and even TVs but one of us has to have some class! Both of us were not impressed by the poor weather- grey clouds and the promise of persistent rain was in the air. I couldn’t help but have a wry smile when I stood on the balcony thinking, ‘so this is the sunshine coast’. Worse still was that the long term forecast suggested the rain was settling in for the week!

In search of an indoor experience we walked to the Sealife Aquarium. Once again the ladies at reception here were delightful, funny, chatty, friendly… An aquarium is definitely more of Rachel thing than a me thing but it was a very good one. The underwater tunnel was amazing — massive ray fish and multiple sharks swam casually over our heads and it was incredible — the jellyfish were otherworldly, glowing in deep blues and purples. We even got into a discussion about creationism and the idea purported by creationists that the world is only 6,000 years old. Not quite sure how we ended up there.

We had a couple of beers at The Savvy Squire and some parmesan-coated sweet potato fries. A peahen wandered through the bar like it belonged there — we joked it was on the payroll. I think there was something about its movements- exuding a casual ‘devil may care’ attitude. Actually, I don’t think it was a peahen. I think it was a native Australian bird but I haven’t worked it out yet. No waiters or customers responded to the bird wandering through the bar which was humorous to us and we joked about how far this might go- imagining, in our balmy reverie, koalas and even crocodiles wandering through. Perhaps they could have different jobs such as the croc being sent in when the drinkers are failing to sup up and leave at closing time. That would move the punters for sure!

We sat outside for the most part by the marina, which was charming, even in light rain.

On the way home, I spotted my first kookaburra — confident little thing, locked eyes with me like it owned the street. It seems to be a thing with birds here.

At the hotel we both enjoyed the sauna although I had to leave when one chap poured the water bucket over the coals and the heat went through the roof. I thought my eyeballs were melting at one point. Outside there was a pool and a jacuzzi and no-one was letting the rain stop them rightly so- as I have said before in a previous blog. Pools are wet- so is rain. What’s the problem?

That evening, I managed a short run along the beach, just to the end of the pier, whilst Rach rested up a little. It was pitch dark, easy to bump into people, but it felt good. I was less tired than I’d expected to be and amazed by how many joggers were out. Clearly fitness is an important aspect of life on the Sunshine Coast. After returning, we headed out and grabbed a beer at the restaurant adjacent to our apartment- Dirty Moe’s. We were in search of fish and chips and were gutted to not see it on the menu. Whilst we were standing over the menu, weighing up our culinary options, a top lady — maybe the manager —took us personally to another restaurant round the corner that served fish and chips (the same owners). Rach was still struggling a little with her diet so we shared a generous plate of breaded fish and chips. It was very tasty and we just sneaked in before last orders. Phew!

Back at the digs I had a little quiet balcony time and then sleep. I sweated buckets overnight — both of us did. I think it was related to the diarrhoea the previous night but, I’m not a doctor, so who knows?

Next morning, we stocked up at Coles. We had only previously heard of this supermarket in the Australian masterchef so this made us chuckle. Worth mentioning that once again the lady at the till was lovely- ‘Looks like a snack day’, she said with a big smile of warmth. From here, with a bag full of tucker, we set off for Australia Zoo. Just brilliant. We were super excited by the great photograph of Steve Irwin and I think they got the balance right between honouring the man and turning the place into a sychophantic space. Here were so many incredible animals and some we had never seen like the wombat and the Quokka. Although my favourite was the Tasmanian devil, which was cute and nothing like the manic revolving growler popularised by the cartoon of the same name.

Clearly, this park, full of green and lush gardens was all about conservation and in terms of natural landscape, it is certainly the most impressive zoo I have ever been to. There was a standout crocodile show, despite the rainy day, where we learnt that crocodiles can sense movement and reverberations even outside the water. There was a display of Robert Irwin’s photography in the centre of the zoo and we learned Bindi had won some dance show here in Australia, like Celebrity Come Dancing. Rain poured all day, but it didn’t matter as we had bought our trusty macs at the entrance. Once again, and I know I am starting to repeat myself now, but the customer service at the coffee stand, the entrance and even the staff at the crocodile demo was outstanding.

We drove home feeling like we had ticked off a big part of Rachel’s ‘bucket list’ and enjoyed some food which we had packed in the bags and then beers back at Taps. Back at the apartment, Rach read, while I went out for one more at Dirty Moe’s and some scrolling time. I’m not proud of the increasing reliance or link to my phone but sometimes, short bursts of mindless scrolling can help one to relax. Or is that the dopamine hit? We had an early night feeling like we had made the most of the day.

In the morning I had figs for breakfast in the apartment and Rach packed up some snacks before we hit the road to explore the Aussie Hinterland. The word ‘Hinterland’ made me think of Germany or Austria and it made me laugh, oddly.

Before leaving the beaten track we dropped over to see Cartwright’s lighthouse and stunning water can mural. Painted initially by Joel Fergie, Travis Vinson, and Jordon Bruce in March 2016, the artwork underwent a ‘mural makeover’ in April 2022 due to weather erosion. Despite this update, titled ‘Subsurface,’ the 2016 and 2022 murals remain almost identical, showcasing the diverse sea life of the Queensland coastline. There was a small amount of thoughtless graffiti defacing some great art work near the bottom of the large water can which was a shame.

Beyond the lighthouse, which has been standing there since 1979, are dramatic coastline views and the weather, at least in the morning was a little better. There were many plaques commemorating loved ones who had died, screwed to the wooden fencing that overlooked the splendid Sunshine Coastline. We read a few with moist eyes.

Once back on the road we smiled at warning signs promising stray kangaroos and errant koalas. We had seen similar signs for monkeys in Malaysia and elephants in Thailand but this was definitely new to us. We stopped at lovely little town, more of hamlet really called Eumundi. The town's name is believed to come from the Kabi name Ngumundi, the name of a local Indigenous clan leader, who was said to have adopted an escaped convict as his  son. Prior to 1890 the town was called Eerwah after Mount Eerwah; this was changed to avoid confusion with the nearby town of Beerwah. I loved some of these old Aussie names for places!

There are some quaint, old timber houses and building here as well as a Presbyterian church and a delightful café-cum-central hub that made me think of our British vision of small town America. The coffee here was delicious and the menu very modern fusion including some Thai Green curry. They sold some gorgeous looking cakes and handmade bread here as well as bottles of sauces and condiments. From here we drove to a similar delightful Hinterland town called Palmwoods which was very retro and we stopped for a pint of tasty ale at a pub called the garage, which was adorned with 1950s and 60s posters and art as well a vintage car. It was like the setting for the musical Grease.

We drove to see Kondalilla Falls but the rain was relentless and we ate lunch in the car. I took a quick wander down to where I thought the pool at the base of the waterfall was but it was much further away than it looked on Googlemaps.. From here we took a longer drive to see the Weyba Tree, a truly fascinating spot, passing through hushed, wealthy neighbourhoods. It was peaceful here and the tree was eerie and attractive in equal measure leaning precariously over the water with its skeletal branches.

We returned to Mooloolaba and stopped at the HMAS monument which is a metal framed sculpture pointing out the site of a lost ship which is now used as a dive site. We headed back to Coles to buy some bits to knock up a dinner (rotisserie chicken and haloumi- yum yum!), before enjoying a couple more beers at Moe’s. After eating we watched The Iron Lady, played cards, and talked late into the night. It was fun.

Next day started with avo on toast for me and noisy, cheeky birds trying to steal our food. One poor lady at a nearby table had a seemingly incessant nosebleed and her daughter (I think) had to call an ambulance. I hope she is ok. We walked to the canal tours company after our bellies were full and paid for a cracking boat ride along the many canals that snake into the town. Our captain pointed out the Irwin family house (with a great boat moored up in front of it) as well as the house belonging to the CEO of Norton antivirus The skipper promised 70s and 80s hits but only got as far as 1978 — Rach teased him about it as we disembarked. He had been a lot of fun and a great host and we had even enjoyed a beer on deck. It might have been two!

We had cocktails at The Savvy Squire before wandering into town for some makeup shopping, and yet somehow found ourselves at an Irish bar. I had a Kilkenny and we chatted before strolling along the beach. An artist was painting in the rain, loving every second; truly at one with nature.

For lunch we ate leftover chicken from the night before and then climbed the stairs up to the top floor jacuzzi which was piping hot and commanded views over the Glass Mountains. Stunning. In the evening we headed out for tequila and tapas but were disappointed as they had no tapas in so we dashed back to Savvy Squire just before the kitchen closed — I had a beetroot risotto, which was excellent. A live guitarist played with an Ed Sheeran-style pedal setup and he had some serious skills. We were the only ones watching, which was sad considering his ability but Rach had a couple of her requests played, including Somewhere Only We Know- which is becoming a habit. We gave him warm applause throughout the night and I think he appreciated it.

The next morning was chilled, despite getting ready for a flight. We weren’t boarding the giant bird until the evening so took a steady drive late morning to Carboolture — a kind of heritage museum town with old buildings, a schoolhouse, and even a developing railway. We both loved wandering round this old museum which is quite extensive and makes you feel like you have stepped back in time. We both enjoyed reading about the history of the those who had first been sent to Botany Bay and of their struggles. We even enjoyed a sneaky beer in the garden, thanks to Rachel’s foresight.

From here we drove back to the car hire place and dropped off the car with zero hassle. There was a bit of a wait at the airport and we had to negotiate the self-check in,, self weigh in and self everything but we handled it well, before the boarding the 5 and a half hour flight to Perth.

Soaking up the Aussie Blue- 05-05-25-10-05-25

I love travelling domestically as you don’t have to mess around with customs and passports and all that paraphernalia. As such, we were soon in a taxi, heading for our hotel in Perth. There was mild confusion at first as the driver explained to me that there were two Adina hotels in central Perth. Initially, I thought he had an attitude but I misread it slightly and he turned out to be a really helpful chap.

The gentleman at the reception was the first anomaly, in terms of customer service, that I had experienced in Australia- dour, no eye contact, slightly grumpy and not at all welcoming. Clearly, here was a man, in the wrong job- utterly lifeless. It was late, in fairness but after a tiring journey, this was not what we wanted at all! The apartment itself was lovely however and a coffee settled me down before we crashed out, like the lights.

We had to walk quite some distance to find a breakfast place and although, in theory, we were quite central, but in the heart of the financial, commercial area and there weren’t many restaurants or cafes. Eventually we found a really cool, bisu place called Little Willy — cute, with modern hippie vibes selling a wide range of juices, yoghurt andb erries, buddha bowls and modern breakfast fare like avocadoes or granola.

My first impressions of Perth were similar to those I had for Singapore — clean, creative, high-rises and ultra-modern in terms of architecture. Our first experience post breakfast was a trip to the National Gallery where we were able to see a diverse array of artistic styles including some Aboriginal-influenced art (quite a theme in Australia- a recognition of the native peoples) Perhaps my favourite art was at the entrance- a huge, vibrant, colourful mural that you could stare at for hours and still see new stories. On the top floor of the museum there was an outside area known as the sculpture trail and the views of the city from this rooftop were also quite impressive. The sun was certainly showing its face and the temperature was high, so after a wander around we were pleased to get back inside, where the aircon cooled. We left the gallery and wandered in the direction of Swan River. This area, by the wharf, is stylish, and dramatic with the waterways and the high rises sparkling with reflective glass panes.  We had a beer at a joint called, The Reveley. Just a few metres from this pub was a beautiful bridge that crossed over to an island and a stylish bar that was sadly bursting at the seams, so there was no room for us, on this occasion.

We were keen for fish and chips so found a busy pub called the Lucky Shag and sat upstairs overlooking the bay. From here, we debated what next and considered a boat ride but they were all a little too long. Rach spotted an open top bus tour and we jumped on, despite being quite late on in the day. The weather continued to be wonderful and we really enjoy our stop at King’s gardens and its spectacular view of the sea. There is a thought-provoking war memorial (in fact several) here too, which stands proudly in these lush gardens. We loved it here.

In the early evening I popped out to try and get some snacks and felt it rude not to stop at the Belgian Beer Bar. I settled outside at a table and supped away when an overly confident chap and his mate came along and sat down at my table. They seemed a little entitled and maybe annoyed and I realised they felt this was their table and so, I apologised and moved. The younger of the two, said not to worry and that I could join them. There was something I didn’t like about him and it wasn’t long before he was waxing lyrical about one thing- ‘himself’. He was a bad boy at school (because I was a teacher, for sure), was from Manchester in the UK, earned loads of money, lived in an amazing flat in Perth- and had the biggest bollocks in town. You know the sort. I supped quicker than normal and escaped.

Rach and I returned to the bar later that evening but sat inside to avoid the narcissist who was still there, annoying most of the customers outside. We had a couple of very tasty Belgian beers, chatted, ate some delicious food and then moved into the back room, where we played dominoes. Rach kicked my ass! We didn’t see Billy Big Nads all night.

I woke up earlier than Rach and embarked on a snack dash for breakfast. I managed to locate a supermarket where I picked up some ham and cheese sarnies for Rach and some raspberries, mainly for me. We were both super excited to see Barry and Rach, a little anxious to make sure we were standing outside the hotel at exactly the right time. You don’t have to tell me twice to be punctual and Barry too, it seemed, as he pulled up with the window down, right on time, sporting some stylish sunnies, a broad smile and sat behind the wheel of pretty cool car. "Anyone want a ride"? he said in a strong Aussie accent. Barry and Caz were great company from the off and the conversation flowed easily, like fine wine being poured into a glass. Initially, Barry drove us to grab some coffee and then we headed to the inland canals overlooking the stadium in Perth, where swans glided across the water.  A lovely, easy start to the day.

Then came the drive to Scarborough — not the Yorkshire one, but its Aussie counterpart- gorgeous sea, almost surreal in its blueness. Barry referred to it as the “Aussie blue.” Indeed, Barry dropped Aussie slang gems throughout the week: “crook” for sick, “palmy” for a palm tree or maybe a chicken dish — unclear, but charming either way. In fact as the week continued Barry came out with more and more classic lines, with my favourite being- ‘up and down as often as a groom on his wedding night’.

We reached their place just outside Perth and it was stunning. A sylish bungalow with a swimming pool shimmering in the sun, a full-size 12-foot snooker table with its cover on and family history in the photos presented on the walls.  We took a refreshing dip and Barry challenged me to glide from one end to the other. I failed- though not for want of trying. I asked him about his children and then felt terrible as he told me how his son had suicided. This must be the hardest and most terrible thing that a parent can ever experience but Barry and Caz are incredible people with huge resilience. There is a bench around the pool with the name of their son on it and it is rightly revered by the family.

After the swim, Barry fired up the classic Aussie BBQ. There was a hilarious moment where the gas ran out, but Barry claimed ‘no worries’ or ‘no dramas’- just how the aussie’s roll and nipped out to get some more. It was a lovely night where we ate, caught up on gossip and where Rach and Barry were able to exchange stories about the famalam. I know Rach found out many saucy secrets and even discovered a great uncle she had never heard of and who had been strangely ostracised from the family.  We finished the night watching Australian Idol- the finale (so we timed it just right). The winner? A guy named Hamburger. Not my vibe, but they were into it and Caz and Barry had obviously invested many weeks into the programme.

Caz rounded the night off with a birthday cake for Rachel’s 50^th  and late-night chat about life in the UK versus Australia before we headed to our own private suite with a bathroom, a bedroom and a washroom. We were very lucky indeed and it had been a great birthday for Rachel.

The following morning brought a different kind of culture: Barry and Caz took us down to the train station but there were no parking spaces so we drove into Perth. They took us to a free talk called  A Fortunate Life, the memoir of an Australian with a life packed full of drama. The place was crammed full of retired folk and people who were mentally challenged, accompanied by their carers and it was obviously a community event.  It was a boring start as a journalist from the local rag chatted about random local news issues which understandably didn’t land with Rach and I, but once the main event began, we started to see pictures and hear about the life of this impressive man and were both hooked. At some point, I do intend to read the book. It was a shame that two ladies on the back row decided it was a social event and chatted throughout and with increasing volume.

From here we went to Dirty Nelly’s, a proper Irish pub with rustic charm. I went all in on sausages and mash, which were delicious and Rach struggled with the steak and ale pie, which was enormous. Barry talked to us here about the time they were in Ireland and specifically Kilkenny. He had walked into a bar and ordered a pint of the beer with the same name. The bar lady looked non-plussed snd confused as she said she had never heard of it. Ironic indeed as we can drink the stuff in Negeri Sembilan! I enjoyed a lovely pint of the stuff here in Dirty Nellie’s too.  After dinner, we headed back and Barry finally took the cover off the snooker table.  I was a little rusty at first and it wasn’t made any easier when Barry suggested we start with a game called ‘Scrub’ which involves certain balls being able to go in certain pockets only and not being able to make contact with any other ball, other than the one you are playing. It was difficult but oddly, after a slow start, I won. I won several games in fact before we switched to snooker. Barry was excellent in the first frame and utterly demolished me. However, I got going after then and won the next four frames, each time before we reached the colours. We had a lot of fun and Barry lost graciously.

Caz and Rach had continued watching TV and we rejoined them at the end of a long session. The pace had slowed, the mood was calm, and it was all very... lovely. Soon after, we were snuggled up in bed.

Barry gave us a lift the next morning to the station so we could board the train to Fremantle. He even leant us his and and Caz’s cards so that we could travel for free. The train was clean, the stations well-staffed, although at one point we were forced to get off because someone was stuck on the line. The gentleman at the station explained it to us, apologised and let us know when we could rejoin the train. Excellent customer service once again. Fremantle was a sunlit mix of Victorian architecture, cool sea breezes, and that glorious “Aussie blue” sky again. We visited the Maritime Museum to see Australia II, the yacht that won the America’s Cup, and its fascinating backstory. Rach took her time with it, soaking up the maritime glory and enjoying the ancient shark on display called a megamouth.

From there, it was only a short walk to Gage Roads Brewery, where we sat outside with craft beers (made on the premises) staring out over the Indian Ocean. We even had a “could we live here?” conversation. (We always do.) I honestly understand why the phrase ‘life is too short’ exists. There are just too many things to do; too many places to go and too much fun to be had but there is nowhere near enough time available. From here, we walked off the IPA buzz with a tour of Fremantle Prison — a surprisingly compelling experience. The small cells, Shawshank vibes, and grim details (like “shit buckets” and anti-projectile ceilings) painted a stark picture of Aussie penal history. One lady asked way too many questions, which was irritating but the guide didn’t know many answers so responses were mercifully short. He was very excited about the upcoming concert- the Sex Pistols- in the prison grounds. Not something that would excite me particularly.

On the way back to the station we grabbed another beer — this time in The Old Synagogue, which felt mildly sacrilegious but tasted divine — before heading home on the train. Barry scooped us up again (legend), and we ended the day with a simple pasta dinner cooked by Cass. Solid food. More snooker followed — another win for me. I lost a close game of "scrub," but redeemed myself the next night at billiards, winning 101–99. I know this sounds like Rimmer’s risk story (watch Red Dwarf if you don’t know what I mean) but I was down by 30 or so and had no right to win and Barry made several mistakes, missing a couple of essential cannons, and I clawed back into it with a good run of pots on the pink. Barry was gutted.

The next day got off to a slow start. Barry had a dodgy foot and visited the docs, so we headed out a little later for a drive to Rockingham, a breezy coastal town with laid-back bars and sparkling sea. We talked about housing costs and how they stack up with the UK. Online it says Aussie houses are about the same or slightly more expensive than in the UK but in truth, they are not comparing like for like. Aussie houses are a lot roomier than UK houses, after all. I dipped my fingers in the water (a Brisbane flashback- both coasts now), and Rachel dangled a foot in. Then, we drove on to Mandurah.

Here we enjoyed an incredible Asian meal at Hans (which I bought- to say thanks to Barry and Caz), before boarding a dolphin cruise. The weather was perfect, the waters were calm and the dolphins put on a show around us- leaping, laughing and diving around us. The canal-side houses here were as extravagant as they were aspirational and the price tags considerable like those by the canals in Mooloolaba. We finished the day with a long, scenic walk along the coast, stopping at the “wooden man” sculpture, one of many wooden man sculptures that have been secretly popping up in this part of Western Australia. The sign warned us to watch out for snakes. Thankfully, we didn’t meet any.

After a sun-soaked hour’s drive back, I dozed in the car. Sunstroke, or just blissed out? Who knows. Back at the house, we vegged out with Gogglebox Australia, which was much like the UK version but with a lot more talk about Trump and tariffs. The man is a monster, for sure and the Aussie tend to call a spade, a spade and there is little holding back. Apparently one of the senior politicians of Western Australia had proclaimed Trump a 'complete nob' on television, so Barry informed us.

Later that night, Barry and I played more snooker. I won every frame we played and by the end was making some decent breaks. When we went to bed that night I think both Rach and I felt slightly melancholic as our Australian adventure was coming to an end. It had been a wonderful way to reconnect Rach with family and had been filled with nature, history, sea, sun, good food and new experiences.  

So- blog complete and as Barry would say, ‘that’s night night Sooty’.

Ushering in Chinese New Year in Hoi An- Vietnam  27-01-25 to 29-01-25

We were relieved, joyous and ecstatic to board the plane for Da Nang. Only a few weeks back, we were denied entry, despite having negotiated our way through Malaysian customs. If you remember, Rachel’s passport had taken a soaking and it was judged that her previously wet passport would not be accepted by the passport control at Da Nang. 

We sat at KL airport, a few moments before, sipping a can of Special Brew, as is customary. I became slightly irritated by the chaps who collected up the baggage trollies, made a train of them and pushed them through the crowds (not particularly large) back to their place of origin. What annoyed me was the fact that they each blew loudly on a whistle to move people when it would have been so easy to say "excuse me" and probably taken less effort than the large puff taken to blow the whistle. People being treated like cattle always annoys me

We both chatted about Air Asia and when I say chatted, I mean ranted about past experiences. We also noticed how almost everyone, including staff, passengers, children and even toddlers were almost, to a man/woman/child, on their phone or some digital device. This continued throughout the pre-flight experience with no staff interacting with each other, or customers and families ignoring each other. Our gate was changed and no-one said a word! There were two Air Asia staff at the first gate and they ignored the passengers, waiting instead for the announcement. When we moved to the next gate there was a member of staff and eventually four, over the course of the next 10 minutes. Not one of them spoke to anyone (not the customers in the queue- “Sorry guys but we will have you boarding the plane very soon” or indeed each other. They all arrived one at a time and started playing on their phones. What is wrong with us? 

The flight was less than comfortable- just under three hours, which is short by our standards these days, but annoyingly Rach and I were separated from each other by a couple of rows, and between us were four rather loud Spanish speaking men, who couldn’t seem to speak in a normal decibel range. One chap in particular, managed a good 40 minutes without pausing for breath whilst his compatriots laughed and sometimes belly laughed. I don’t have an issue with people enjoying themselves but it is always annoying when you have no idea what they are saying and when you are trying to rest, read, or in my case, write poetry. At the other end of the spectrum we had the overly attentive father whose sibilant hushes were only interrupted by his speedy jaunts up and down the plane, clutching his daughter (I think) and hushing out- ‘chu, chu,chu chu,chu’ on repeat. This created an inevitable but unusual effect as if a distant train was approaching the tunnel or the platform and then rushed by clattering off into the distance. Unfortunately, once he reached one end of the line, he simply turned round and repeated the process, creating an incessant, endless chu chu train relay.

The landing was a good one and the airport process, organised and easy. I was once more (and I will get over it) brought back to the moment where we had been denied boarding because of Rachel’s ever so slightly water tinged passport. Ridiculous at the time but made more so when we experienced the pleasantly perfunctory customs process, which involved a mild glance at a screen, and a speedy stamp in the book: seconds it took. I think we would have been fine. I will let it go now. 

It did get me thinking about why the customs experience is so varied around the world. I mean, of course there are different levels of quality and different styles and rules in different countries but the process of checking a passport, looking at a screen and stamping it, should surely take about the same length of time- right? I guess technology plays a part but some places can take up to 7 or 8 minutes a person and here, in Da Nang, less than 30 seconds. A slight anomaly?

We found our man, with our name on a board almost immediately, which is always a relief. The journey from Da Nang to Hoi an is theoretically about 45 minutes long but it took nearly an hour. It isn’t far but the roads are less than impressive although the culture and views are fascinating. We drove out of the growing high rises of Da Nang into the country and the rice paddies which were in full flood. Occasionally, we drifted by a temple- possibly Buddhist or Taoist and eventually arrived in Hoi an. The place was busy but nothing like as manic and bustling as Hanoi, at least until we reached the old town, which was overloaded with mopeds, and cars (though mostly bikes). We reached a bridge which crossed over to Cam Nam, a mini island, connected via said bridge to the main part of the old town.

The hotel was delightful and the staff professional, polite and pleasant. We settled into our room, which had a balcony and dropped our bags before heading out into the old town. It was about a third of a mile to the bridge, which was treacherous to cross, as there were only two raised pathways- one on each side. You have to walk in single file and if you catch someone coming the other way, you have to take your life into your own hands and drop down on to the road of bikes, cycles, and cars as well as these huge long tourist cars which I am finding very hard to describe- like urban jungle wagons? The bridge over the Thu bon river offers great views of the old town and as always, when water meets civilisation, everything just works. There are waterways everywhere in Hoi an and multiple tiny islands, making the place very attractive. 

Once across the bridge we took some photos by the water in what was a small, quaint square next to the market. There were lanterns everywhere so it was a delight to travel to Hoi an during Chinese New Year. Next to this cute area was the market- and what a fascinating place it was: fruits and veg on the food, on tables and in tents going back many metres- and some of these foodstuffs I had never seen before. There were street vendors and hawkers selling pancakes and others selling sausages. The place was crowded in a way that only those who have visited India or Hanoi could understand (at least in my experience). What is startling for a westerner alongside this seeming madness is how bikes, and I mean motorised ones,puttering  continued to drive through the chaos, adding danger and fascination in equal measure. You can stop to look at the widest and most diverse array of fridge magnets, or necklaces for a fleeting moment but be honked at immediately for standing in the way of a bike. There is no way that such a space in the UK would allow motorised vehicles. Yet, somehow, annoying as it is, I am so pleased it is like this here. Firstly, it is why we travel- to see other cultures and secondly because it creates this wonderful soundscape complete with images and smells which are equally and strangely compelling- the river stench, the glorious spices and the puttering growl of mopeds.

We took a side road away from the river in search of a place called  7 Bridges (presumably some reference to the bridges around Hoi An). A friend of ours had recently visited and raved about the place, which apparently had good food but far more importantly, wonderful beers. 

From the outside, the aspect of 7 Bridges is quite humble, and you could almost pass it without noticing if it wasn’t for the need for fine ale and the strident voice of the lady on Google Maps. Inside, the place is modern but stylish and they sell their own merchandise. It was colder than we expected so Rach didn’t so much as ‘get the t-shirt’ but the ‘hoodie’. We had some lovely beers here and Rach had a delightful beverage with ‘madness’ in the title but that is about as much as I remember. I think I drank a zombie beer of some kind too. It was a great ambience and there were obviously quite a few expats in the gardens where we sat. We had a pizza which was huge but they also served a monstrosity which is 18 inches in diameter-I couldn’t manage that. On the table there was some ‘dragon sauce’ and I do love some kick and punch when I scoff pizza but this stuff was mental- straight from the spicy belly of the beast. I think, perhaps, the most potent, aggressive hot sauce since ‘Dave’s Insanity Sauce’- a present from my brother in law in my 20s and a condiment that could melt iron. I misjudged myself then and, as I found out, turning 50 hadn’t matured me at all and I poured huge quantities of the stuff on to the cheesy goodness. Big mistake. 

I recovered. Then the conversation turned and Rach became sad- this happens from time to time after her father passed away and she is doing so well. I am proud of her.

Tailors in Hoi An are all the rage and you can get a perfectly fitted suit, dress or indeed anything made super quick, super cheap and to exact specifications. We were both excited about getting some clothes made for the kids but it was Chinese New Year (and many benefits came our way from this) and so they were open that night but closed for the two days that followed and so, after considering delivery and other options (including overpaying) we decided to decline on this occasion. It was a shame but probably the right call. 

We decided instead to head to a bar- an upstairs one with a pleasant balcony- principally because I wanted a pee, desperately. It wasn’t as warm as in Malaysia but warm enough (the air temperature, not the pee). We had a couple of tasty IPAs here looking down on the streets adorned with lanterns that hung from houses and the trees, glowing with exotic joy. One lady sat below us with a few plastic chairs set out, in front of her three or four large silver containers of food. Initially, she had no customers but slowly the punters arrived. If you wanted food, you sat on the small plastic chairs and she served you a bowl of pho or some other delicacy and you sat with her, chatted and ate. 

I had a moment where I felt detached, above, elitist if you will. There we were, supping relatively expensive IPAs whilst those below, on the ground-the underlings-sat slurping from plastic bowls on seats the same size as primary school chairs. I felt guilty because I knew I should be down there, with them, embracing the culture. I didn’t feel above them but somehow there I was. It is a strange feeling, being immersed in a culture and yet still shielded from it. Anyway, I digress.

We wandered back slowly, crossing the dangerous bridge and dodging the bikes and the madness, whilst marvelling at the lights and the sparkling, glittering boats that bobbed on the glistening river. We enjoyed one last drink in the hotel bar before bed- a bed that was super comfortable.

Breakfast the next day was good, accompanied by a delicious mango juice which we both thought was orange initially. I chose to try Pork and fried rice- a rare and odd craving, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Once again, I was reminded about how we perceive breakfast and how culturally ingrained our tastes are. If I had said to a Brit that I was having pork and fried rice for brekkie they would think I was mad, or seriously hungover! 

After brekkie, we rented bikes from the hotel, and though Rach was nervous, she was brave and far less wobbly than she had been when we were in Gili Trewangan. The riverside was beautiful, adorned with lanterns everywhere and away from the river there were flags rolling all the way down the main street, including hammer and sickle flags like something out of Stalinist Russia. Vietnam is, after all, a communist country, or at least purports to be, although commercially, there is little evidence that it is, in any way, a true communist state. Perhaps most surprising for a westerner are the frequent posters and paintings of  Ho Chi Minh, still dominating the main road of Cam Nam. Ho Chi Minh had of course died in 1969 and the iconography is still strong, as it had been in islands around Ha Long Bay where we had seen portraits of Ho Chi Minh in the houses of several villagers. The Primeminister of the UK in 1969 was Harold Wilson- I can’t imagine there being too many posters of him on the streets of the UK any time soon. 

We cycled back from the main street, through the narrow country paths and back to the river. Where little lantern boats bobbed gently on the water. In the gardens of restaurants or houses we saw many, what we thought were, Satsuma trees adorned with red bows. Later we discovered that these trees were for Chinese New Year and that they were kumquats, not satsumas. Most houses in Hoi An and here in Cam Nam had fire cans and clearly throwing rubbish in these and burning them was an ordinary thing to do- sometimes even out on the street. Many locals were washing carpets and going about their chores focusing extensively on the kitchen.  Rach read about the Gods coming into the kitchen at this time of year and this might explain the extensive cleaning. Cockerels and chickens roamed freely here as they had on Java and it was fun to watch a small pack of cute dogs wander by. 

We stopped for iced coffee by the river, which was very nice. The tiny chairs were surprisingly comfortable, and the coffee tasted like a Baileys without whisky. Returning to the hotel, we took some chill time. I rested before writing most of my poem. Later, we walked into town. The market was as busy as before. I bought a fridge magnet, Rach bought some earrings, and I grabbed some expensive shirts. The vendor definitely saw me coming but she made up for it when I walked away without our bag and she ran through the market to return it to us. 

The place was bustling, crowded and frenetic and some tourists, mainly Chinese I think, were recording themselves getting cycle rides in sedan chairs. Lanterns were ubiquitous, and hawkers plied their wares from banana pancakes and sweetcorn, to Banh Mi. The sensory overload was intense, with stunning flowers and vibrant colours alongside crowded fronts of shops and fruit and vegetables cascading out across the walkways. Eventually, we arrived at  the impressive 17th century UNESCO Heritage site- the Japanese bridge. The bridge has been associated with a monster’s legend called Namazu. Specifically, Namazu is a Japanese mythological monster whose movements cause earthquakes and floods. Its head is located in India, while its body is in Vietnam and its tail in Japan.

The bridge was built with the belief of a magical sword to pin down Namazu’s back. Therefore, the monster could not wriggle, preventing natural disasters in Vietnam, Japan, and India. Hence, the lives of people in these three countries would happen in peace and prosperity. It was fun to cross it and rarely have I stood on a bridge with a roof. The curved nature was fun too. 

We decided after walking around the crowded streets by the river, that it was time for Craft Beer. I really fancied drinking at the fun sounding Wanderlust but after a walk back across the water, we were sad to find out it was closed. Heading back towards our digs we plumped for a place called The Smokehouse but that was closed too and we began to wonder if there was some plan to close all the craft beer places in town. Thankfully, we found a sportsbar which we assumed would be poor but which served two or three excellent beers and had an outdoor area that overlooked a wider part of the river and where we could watch the world go by. There was even a boat that had been converted into a restaurant bar that was a boat. We stayed longer than we planned and the Heart of Darkness which I had first tried in Ipoh was very tasty indeed. 

We headed back to the digs which was only ten minutes away and I finished my poem whilst Rach had a little sleep. Once she had recovered,  we took another walk into town. The night lantern boats were spectacular, with so much color, sparkling lights, and billowing flags. We ate at Morning Glory, which had been recommended to me and the duck dish I had was wonderful. Rach struggled with her food and some anxiety and the night was slightly marred, but we recovered and headed back to the hotel. 

I sat out on the balcony, sipping a beer or two from the mini-fridge. As if from nowhere the fireworks began for Chinese New Year and slowly the whole skyline of the city came alive with fireworks bursting everywhere and fizzing in the distance, behind us and to the side of us. More and more displays were born and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. So much so, that I had to wake Rachel up so that she could see it. She wasn’t disappointed.  

Before hitting the sack, I checked my step counter and discovered we had walked nearly 17,000 steps. I took one last breath of air, which was now tinged with the lingering taste of burning and sulphur. 

It had been a busy and fun day. 

My Son, An Bang and More... 30-01-25- 01-02-25

At breakfast the next day, I plumped for the more typical-me breakfast of pastries and sugary doughnuts with some very decent coffee (Vietnam is good at coffee although, regrettably, I didn’t get a chance to try the famous egg coffee). Once full, we gathered our bits and pieces and jumped in a taxi, organised by the hotel, to My Son. The route took us less than an hour but the views were very interesting indeed- rice paddies at the heavy water stage and random temples sitting in fields or at the side of the road- the communist style red flags were ubiquitous in the villages, perhaps linked to Chinese New Year. Actually, let me pause here and state that the Vietnamese call it Tet and it is a festival somewhat different to Chinese New Year but it is held at the same time. To the Vietnamese people and the diaspora, this lunar festival is the most significant moment in the Vietnamese calendar. We also saw at least two more posters of Ho chi minh's face from the car window as well as cartoon pictures of working people striving for a better Vietnam- lurid, excessively bright and somehow ugly, at least to my eyes. 

We passed wide river waterways, acres of fields with gravestones and some ornate tombs randomly placed there and of course many, many longhorn cattle. I mentioned in my previous Vietnam blog that people can bury their dead on their own land and this is quite common. Like Malaysia, we saw many bikes bearing the weight of entire families, often with only the driver wearing a helmet- and I wondered if maybe there might be some more graves popping up sooner than hoped.

My Son Sanctuary is another UNESCO World Heritage site and once served as the political capital of the Champa Kingdom for much of its existence, nestled in a mountainous basin of Quang Nam Province. The setting itself, surrounded by mountains and fed by the sacred Thu Bon river, adds to the sense of awe.

The journey began with an essential photo of me standing in front of the My Son sign which I then had to send to my dad- ‘Your son at My Son’ I wrote waggishly. There followed a good trek, and a brief show from some Vietnamese dancers who impressed me more than Rach; she wandered off in search of the next part of the journey. Thankfully, this involved a buggy ride, leading us to an initially not overly impressive ruin of a couple of small towers and the remnants of what might once have been a wall. I had a terrible feeling that this might be the whole site and that we had miscalculated but thankfully, this was just the beginning and as we discovered more, and more we were both impressed by the unique Cham architecture, a testament to a civilization that thrived on the coast of Vietnam from the 4th to the 13th centuries. The spiritual roots of this culture, deeply intertwined with Indian Hinduism, were palpable in the intricate structures and the overall atmosphere. It was also interesting how certain buildings were sandy orange coloured and others grey and fading. 

One of the first things I noticed was the relative lack of monkeys compared to Angkor Wat. Just a single monkey, perched in a tree, seemed to be orchestrating donations from tourists – a humorous little moment and it was funny for us to see so many people taking photos of the monkey. We rarely bother these days as we see them all the time!

As we explored the ruins, the poem "Ozymandias" (interestingly, my ‘actual’ son’s favourite poem) came to mind, sparked by the fragmented inscriptions left by a Champa king. The sense of faded glory was powerful. This place was once everything and the King, no doubt super important- we all fade away in time. Of course, no tourist site is complete without the ubiquitous selfie-takers, peace signs and all to Rachel’s consternation.

What I truly appreciated were the little streams, bridges, and lush greenery – a landscape that felt surprisingly familiar, almost like a slice of the UK and the temperature was about the same as a decent Spring day in England. We also came across, a stark reminder of more recent history: a spot where a bomb had landed, during the Vietnam War; a poignant contrast to the ancient ruins. The US military conducted extensive bombing campaigns in the area, significantly damaging the temples.  

Our walk back was filled with the hum of conversation, primarily in German, as the site was bustling with German tourists. We ordered a beer at the cafe, relieved that served some and were delighted when all the germans, a bus load bought beers too. We found ourselves discussing the universal human connection, how sharing something as simple as beer could bridge cultural divides. We felt akin to our germans friends based simply on this. We then discussed groups and how we were once prehistoric settlements and as communities became larger and larger, our affinities for groups became larger too. When we are in Vietnam and we hear German (a language I can’t speak) we still immediately feel more connected to them despite them living in a different country. Proximity seems to be very important to us as human beings.

We walked back rather than wait for the buggy- it was going to take a while to ferry all those germans. It was perhaps a mile and we enjoyed the trek through the trees. Once back at the car park, our taxi chap wandered over to me and I didn’t recognise him which was a tad embarrassing. It wasn’t long before we were back at the hotel but would have been rude to not unwind with a bottle of  "Heart of Darkness" beer – a fittingly dramatic name for a post-exploration drink. Our friendly French manager who had been so polite and lovely, checking in with all his guests at breakfast, was there again to chat and check in with us both.  from our breakfast, a nice touch of familiarity.

The afternoon was spent relaxing. Rach immersed herself in reading, and I followed suit, adding a bath to my agenda. While the water cooler wasn't quite up to par, it was still a welcome moment of respite.

Later, we ventured into town, only to find seven bridges closed – a bit of a travel hiccup! Our quest for craft beer also proved challenging, a string of "bad luck" experiences. However, the quieter market, likely due to the ongoing New Year's celebrations, offered a calmer atmosphere. We picked up some black and white peppercorns, a delicious souvenir.

We ended up in a sports bar, where we enjoyed a fantastic curry (me) and ribs followed by an affogato (Rach). The view of the lantern boats on the river reminded us of the bikes in Melaka, a nostalgic touch. A final cocktail and a leisurely walk home capped off the evening.

We shared the bar with another couple before calling it a night. My Son Sanctuary was a truly memorable experience, blending ancient history with the quirks of modern travel, and leaving us with plenty to ponder. It's a place that resonates with the echoes of a lost kingdom and the enduring spirit of human connection.

The first truly warm morning greeted us when we awoke the next day which was a welcome change- we hadn’t even tried the hotel pool yet and neither had anyone else, it seemed. We hopped into a Grab taxi and headed for An Bang Beach. The journey was a lively introduction to the day, with odd sights- many dogs wearing T-shirts; people cooking in makeshift kitchens, and the ever-present symphony of beeping horns. Realistic scarecrows stood guard in the surrounding fields, adding a touch of rustic charm.

We strolled down the beach, the tide decidedly high, leading to a couple of unexpected encounters with crashing waves which made Rach squeal and both of us wet. The hawkers were refreshingly polite, and the sea, though marked with "no swimming" signs, was undeniably inviting. Despite the warnings, many people were enjoying a dip.

We paused for coffee, and I opted for a coconut coffee – a delicious revelation. I started to appreciate the Vietnamese preference for cold coffee; it proved far more refreshing than its hot counterpart in this climate. The hawkers were a bit more persistent here, but Rach managed to score a few trinkets and some cards, a small victory! Of course, once you buy, the others, like vultures arrive and we had to be quite dismissive in the end as they call out ‘But what about me?’ You can’t buy from everyone.

Our next destination was the Vietnam Heritage Art Gallery- back in the old town. This place was an absolute gem and one of those places that is truly inspiring- a place you know you will be talking about and thinking about long after leaving. The gallery showcased the work of a French photographer Rehahn, who captured stunning portraits, primarily of elderly Vietnamese women from across the rare less-travelled areas- the hills, the wetlands, the jungles… The stories behind the photographs were equally compelling and the blurb inside the main door explained that Rehahn had been visiting Vietnam as a young, out of work photographer and was taking a ride on a boat which quite an elderly woman was rowing. She said the only thing she ever dreamed of was owning her own boat. Rehahn took another picture of the lady and when he sold it to various magazines, it became one of the most iconic photographs, in terms of, South East Asian life. Later, when successful, Rehahn returned and bought this lady the boat she had always dreamed of. Other amazing photographs in the exhibition included the girl with the striking blue, cat-like eyes which was captivating and of course many many photographs of women, in traditional local garb, which varied a lot between different regions. The museum was full of art, culture and stories. One photograph was of 103-year-old woman, captured cooking with a warm smile who had never met a westerner before but who treated rehahn like her only son from the outset.

Rehahn still visits all of these regions and their people from time to time and regularly gives back to the communities, financially. 

We then retreated to our now regular sports bar for beers and before long we were deep in a conversation about ethics, passion, culture, history and human nature. We discussed the nature and purpose of life, the loss of cultural heritage as younger generations lose interest in the past, and the profound impact of the art we had just witnessed.

We left in search of grubski but unexpectedly,  we ended up on a short, pleasant boat trip around Cam Na. The sun was shining, the river was mighty, and when we returned, we enjoyed sweetcorn from a roadside stand.

Back on land, we settled in for more beers and a period of rest. I took a brief swim (at last I was in the pool) and was joined by some brave kids (11 and 15) who were also enjoying the water. They were from Sydney and we briefly discussed Australian life and about how we were heading down under in the not too distant future. Rach retired to the room for a while and I took a solitary walk: a wave of maudlin sentiment washed over me, prompting me to send voice notes to friends and family. I looked out across the water for the last time and had found myself reluctant to leave. This feeling is not a new one for me but it was the strongest I felt it for a long, long time. 

The evening wound down with a couple of glasses of wine for Rach and a final whisky. I finished the night with a beer on the balcony, reflecting on a day filled with contrasts: the vibrant energy of the beach, the haunting beauty of the portraits, and the philosophical musings over beers. 

We were up an hour earlier than the previous few days to ensure we could nab some breakfast before the taxi trip to the airport. We had a chat with the driver who used Google translate to ask our opinion of Vietnam and where we were from. The airport, when we arrived, was quiet and after a mild panic attack from Rach, we were able to sit down for a last beer and, in my case a terribly dry croissant before hopping aboard. It had been a great trip and thankfully, we arrived back in KL safely.