Through the Jungle at 5am.

Bamboo everywhere.

Crazy house, two.

Crazy House, three

Crazy House.

Crept out of our lodge at 5:00 am, although the croaking frogs would have drowned any noise we made.  It’s rather exciting cycling through the jungle in the dark following a pot-holed sandy trail towards the crocodile lake, as instructed by our guide last night.  Difficult to hear the subtle sounds of the jungle above the rattling of the bikes and the mutterings of Linda’s “oh bugger” as she juddered over the rocky trail.  After 8km or so, just as the sky began to lighten with the dawn we stopped to listen.  All kinds of whoops and shriekings.  We were anticipating seeing a colony of gibbons swinging through the trees.  Paul did see a rustling in one tree and a gibbon tail.  It was good just to stop and listen without anyone else around as the jungle woke up.

Raced back for early breakfast to be in time to meet our guide for 7:30 am.  We discovered that the whooping which we imitated back to our lodge guide was indeed the sound of the gibbons.  Hoorah, may not have seen them but certainly heard them.

After one of our best breakfasts so far, with proper coffee, off to Da Lat, garden city of Vietnam so-named because of its mild climate. Pedal through the jungle, again, but this time easier as we can actually see where we are going. Also fun as we can see big trees, including one named after the ex-prime minister of Vietnam, and over 700 years old. Quite extraordinary that it hasn’t been cut down and made into 1,000’s of armchairs.

Da Lat has an elevated position in the Southern Highlands where the economy thrives on growing vegetables and flowers.  A landscape of pine forests and distinctly cool air as the sun went down.  A quick visit to the Crazy House, a series of “Gaudi on acid” concrete buildings meant to give the Vietnamese an appreciation of the natural world around them which is being destroyed.  Not convinced they get it.  It’s very popular with honeymooners who like to stay in one of the number of bedrooms for rent within the weird, bizarre structures.  I think we just don’t get the Vietnamese.

Stunning. Armless.

Wooden sculpture, 1,500 years old.

Tet celebrations.

Face masks de rigeur

Ladies of the street

Our better decision re lunch.

And Paul’s choice for lunch.

Old and new

Expensive drink…

Lets all hug trees. It’s good for us.

Crazy city.  Hot, noisy, fast, exhausting.  But, some great food. Checked out the Museum of fine arts. It’s good to get out of the sun.  Lovely building with old tiled floors, worth the visit just for that. Paintings made Linda happy, so all happy. Some really world class art.

The next museum to get our money was the National museum of Vietnamese History. Not the catchiest title but rather interesting and worth the 10,000 dong entrance fee. We thought 10,000 dong was a lot, but in fact about 30p. The artifacts are starting to make sense having visited Angkor Wat and the great museum in Siem Reap.

The streets are even trickier to cross than in Hanoi, with 4 or 5 lanes to negotiate.  Have figured out the scooters but more cars to weave between.  The face masks are to preserve the paler skin.  Hands are in gloves and feet in socks in flip flops.  We feel quite naked.

Paul’s choice for lunch and he navigated us to a great pizza spot.  Interesting toppings, seaweed and squid?  Linda had strong memory of her brother’s aquarium and the fish food.  Can’t wait to get to the coast to sample some regular seafood.

We enjoyed a refreshing coconut drink. Especially as we were only charged about 8x the going rate. We learn, sadly slowly.

The city is too busy, too loud, too much. Keen to go to the jungle.

To Saigon. Hot.

Ice is nice.

Morning commute to work.

Vietnam / Cambodia border. Bavet.

Linda’s choice of lunch venue.

Left our slightly upmarket $15 guesthouse, for another early start, making sure, this time to drink lots more (Water).  Long, straight, flat road, hotter and hotter as the kms roll by.  Goodbye Cambodia, we’ve learnt so much about your recent history, particularly from the biographical book by Loung  Ung , First they killed my Father.  A grisly time for the Khmer people.

Across the border without any trouble, miserable officials on both sides but, hey, at least this time, no charge.  Didn’t take long to realise we’re now in Vietnam with the first motorcycles going back with 4 or 5 dogs crammed into a cage on the back – off to the BBQ.

Haven’t seen any other cyclists or other westerners, for that matter, for a long time.  Need refuelling and choose the first place that with some tables and chairs indicates the possibility of food.  Rice, uncooked veg and chicken “bits” in a curry sauce that had been sitting on the counter.  Linda ate every scrap, Paul a little more hesitant.  Surprisingly, both of us have felt fine, so far.

The approach to HCMC heralded by an onslaught of hooting scooters and mopeds.  We squeezed in and out of the flow, avoiding the cars and buses turning in front of us.  Reached down town to discover the hotel we had been recommended full.  Outside met a Welsh/Australian cyclist who had lost his passport and was stuck in town for another 5 days.  We now carry out passports everywhere.

Now for the sights of Saigon. Not a rickshaw in sight.