How My House Became Jo's House!

It is now 6 weeks until I depart these shores for warm pastures new. Final preparations are under way as my entire life is squeezed into one, medium sized, case.

When I returned from India 10 weeks ago, my main priority was to own and rent out my house. This was completed with minimum fuss (eventually) and a passing comment, to a good friend in work one day, saw the perfect tenants arriving on my door step.

When Jo had first called me to enquire about renting the house, I had had to think for a whole 30 seconds, as to whether I would want her and her brother as my new tenants. She was young, single, unemployed at present, due to the fact that she had two small children, one under school age. She lived with her brother, a self-employed Tent maker and a past boyfriend of mine, who smoked and owned three cats! They were defiantly not the 'Professional Couple' the Estate Agents would offer me, but I could not have dreamed of better people to take over my ramshackle house and organic garden and so the deal was done!!

I had not been actually living in the house for the past few months, as I had moved in with Peter and his two children. Having just returned from the wonderful holiday, I saw no point in returning to the house and set about clearing it out.

Trips were made to the charity shops, bundles were piled into recycle bins. Gifts of books, jewellery, paintings, began to appear on friends doorsteps and yet the house still looked full!! The turning day presented itself when, faced with a large rocking chair that was simply too big to transport to the local charity shop, I manhandled it out of the front gate and left it, in the morning sun, beside the road with a sign pinned to the cushion. It read.....


FREE
PLEASE
TAKE
ME

I piled along side it some books that had been sitting on a top shelf, mainly for show more than actual reading, and went to work.

I returned at lunch time to find everything gone. The note now fluttered on the gate post and on its back someone had written.......

Thank you so so much

Has gone to a very good home
I will rock my new baby to sleep in this tonight
God Bless You

Matt x


Tears of joy welled up in my eyes, not only was my rocking chair safe, but someone had taken the effort to actually write something back. The warmth of humanity filled my heart as I rushed inside and began to empty my house onto the pavement.

There is a convenient pull in just outside the front gate with enough space for three cars, this was soon filled as I piled the bed, settee, arm-chairs and throws into the vacant space. Books, wind-chimes, cool-boxes soon followed.


I emptied the space beneath the stairs, I emptied the kitchen cupboards of tins and pans, the bedroom was stripped of pictures, shoes, books and strange shaped pieces of wood, all went out into the street as the cars began to stop.

Over the next 24 hours I met a wonderful collection of people. People who took the time to stop, people who took only what they wanted, people who had needs for these things that I had loved and made, people who would give my things a good home. One sweet lady loved the huge denim patchwork throw covering the settee that I had made, quickly I ran inside to find the matching cushions! Another loved the wind-chimes and took the one of the strange shaped pieces of wood to decorate her garden.

By the time 48 hours had passed, every little thing had gone, including the settee which, being made of solid wood, weighed a ton!

I now had an empty house in desperate need of cleaning and painting. I called Jo.

“What colour would you like the walls and carpet?” I enquired. If I was going to paint it, I might as well do it in the colours they liked. “Oh we will paint it for you!” she immediately replied. My wonderful new tenants were turning into dream tenants. We arranged to chose the paints the following day and called into the carpet place next door at the same time. Double glazing was installed throughout the house by the end of the week and the decorating began. Old carpets were ripped from the floors to be sliced and laid between the veg patches. Curtains were removed, washed and ironed.

Green bedrooms became brown.




Peach bathrooms became white.




The Mediterranean kitchen disappeared.




Deliveries began to arrive.



The house was changing.

With the final glossing completed, Jo and Mark rested for 24 hours while the new carpets were laid. Then it was the day of the BIG MOVE. Everyone who owned a car with a big boot was drafted into help. Peter called in a favour to get a van for the big stuff and the mission was on.

I, however, was just the Landlady, and so I sat in the garden reading a book, safe in the knowledge that if they needed me, they would ask!!

As beds and chairs were carried indoors, as settees were stood on end by men who scratched their heads to think about how to get them through doorways too small, as Jo busily directed and prepared food for us all, I watched and read. My new tenants were simply PERFECT!!

Later that afternoon the multitude sat around the table. Children tore around the garden in their wonderful new playground.




They played chase and tag, they sat and ate, they tried to rub their tummies and pat their heads, they rubbed each others tummies as it was easier.




Jo, although exhausted, smiled happily. Mark, while still looking at the settee out in the front garden, rolled a cigarette. They were in their new home four weeks after the whole idea had begun. It was done! (Well, once the settee was in!)

Once Jo recovered, she came up with the wonderful idea of the yearly Land-Lady/Tenant meeting! Of course, it wouldn't be seemly of the Land-Lady to be seen running after her Tenants, so the Tenants would simply have to come to Her! On the Island of Moorea!! I told you they were the PERFECT TENANTS!!!

Vietnam 2010

May 27th 2010

Packages from Home and a Night in the Train Station


It has been over 12 years since I last booked luggage in at an Airport. If it doesn't fit into my small Indian bag, it just doesn't go! This trip was going to be different. I not only had my small bag, containing everything I could possibly need, but I also had a suitcase. A Large Suitcase. A Large Suitcase full of things for other people. A Large Suitcase, full of Shopping, Orders and Dreams!!

'Tense', I think, is the word to describe my mood, as I rushed out of the school kitchen at lunchtime, having checked that the 'Suitcase' was indeed safely in the back of the car. 'TeNsE', was defiantly the word, as we hit the first traffic jam on the M6, 'TENSE' was the word that saw me disappear into silence, as the Radio reported the total standstill on the M25 and yet Peter, calm as ever, got us through it all and we arrived at 'Purple Parking' on time!

'Nervously Tense', was the word to describe the emotional state I experienced, as I checked in the Large Suitcase full of Orders and Dreams, at the First Class Check in Desk. 'Relieved' was the word that embraced me, as they accepted it, without question and the journey was on.

A simple phone call from Kris, the week before, had turned into a marathon shopping expedition. A simple “Could you bring JPs new Bank card with you?”, had grown to include three 250ml, bottles of medicine, hence the reason for a 'check in suitcase'. With so much space now available, I had foolishly asked if anyone needed anything from home. The Large Suitcase was now packed with a 2kg bottle of Heinz Salad Cream for Simon, 2kg of instant Gravy mix, 6 Topic, 6 Snickers and a copy of this months Trader, for JP, a 1kg box of Gummy Bears for Steph, plus an entire pub size box of Pickled Onion Monster Munch and another, equally sized one, of Walkers Salt and Vinegar Crisps for Kris. Around the sides of all this, was packed 2 packs of Cadbury Twirls, 2 Welsh Flags, Jesus Weed ( a brilliant book for Kris to enjoy), some Original Branston Pickle, JPs mail plus a last minute request from Steph for Factor 30 sun-cream!! I was now taking my first tentative step, into the Import Business. I also had no idea whether any of this was actually legal!!

The flight was on time. The long 12 hour flight to Hong Kong, uneventful. Oh, apart from the mid air breakfast, which was as 'uneventful' as it is possible to be, due to my dislike of eggs (runny scrambled egg covered everything hot) my hatred of yoghurt, margarine, and strawberry jam, plus my distaste for apple juice! I added salt to the low salt bread roll and went back to sleep!

Hong Kong Airport was airy and spacious, which is just as well as our connecting plane developed 'technical difficulties' and was delayed for an hour.

The schedule for the day, had been planned with precision timing. The extra hour, to the 30 minute stopover, didn't exactly throw things into disarray, but it did tighten the belt a touch if we were to make the night bus to Nha Trang, by 8pm.

Saigon Airport was running with its usual laid back yet manic efficiency. Military dresses people arranged us into lines, that joined other lines, that merged into the distance. Our visa's were eventually checked, studied, stamped and nonchalantly handed back. At a run we entered the Baggage Claim Area and scanned the moving carousel. Twice round, nothing yet. Three times, four. People were hauling things off, cases disappeared onto trolleys to be wheeled away and still we waited. The Large Suitcase, so full of Orders and Dreams was not there! The crowd thinned and in desperation we approached the opening where the cases had been disgorged onto the moving bed. Nothing moved, no new cases emerged, the plane was empty.

On the far side of the carousel, in a neat pile against the wall, hidden from our previous standing place, stood a line of cases. The Large Suitcase full of Orders and Dreams, stood proud amongst its smaller rivals! The thin silver snail trail, highlighted against the dusty green, battered case, glistened in the overhead strip lights – this Case was on a one way trip and the whole £1, that I had paid for it in the local Charity Shop, told a story of its own!

We stepped into the warm night of Vietnam and my glasses steamed up immediately in the moist air. It was 7.40pm as we walked eagerly towards the Taxi Rank. “Bus Station? Nha Trang Night Bus?” They shook their heads in concern. “Saigon very busy. Much traffic. Night bus go soon. Train Station better.” Nods of agreement followed, so we handed over the Large case full of Orders and Dreams and got in.

I settled back as Peter watched in silent fascination, the medley they call roads in Vietnam. Bikes, cars, buses, interwove their way along both sides of the streets, in both directions, in erratic, to the unknowing eye, fashion. Junctions were a blend of synchronism and luck, interspersed with brave pedestrians making their way through it all. We were dutifully dropped outside the Train Station and the Large Suitcase, so full of Orders and Dreams, was carefully unloaded from the boot. “Train goes 11.30” our helpful driver informed us. “Have good trip”

The Train Station was full of people wandering in random, yet purposeful directions. I left Peter to watch the Large Suitcase full of Orders and Dreams, and went to join the moving swarm at the ticket counter. Curious faces turned in my direction. I smiled and asked for tickets for the 11.30 train. “Train Full. Ask Information”!!

I moved to the Information Counter. Again I was informed that the 11.30 train was full. I enquired about the next train and was handed a timetable, in Vietnamese, to scrutinise. I returned to the step outside and joined Peter and the Large Suitcase full of Orders and Dreams, to weigh up our options. Without the Case, life was simple, with the Case, it grew into a logistical nightmare. This thing was big, cumbersome and heavy!!

The next train was at 5.30am, the following one at 12.30pm. Saigon, although a place of culture and endless movement, was not a place to be lugging a Large Suitcase full of Orders and Dreams, around. We settled on the 5.30am train, I rejoined the bustle inside the Station, found tickets, plus a place to deposit the large Suitcase full of Orders and Dreams and emerged into the night with 9 hours to kill!

We wandered here, we wandered there, we crossed a road and stood in fascination at a crossroad. Eventually we found a nice restaurant, complete with an open air balcony and sat down. Food was ordered, Peter sank a cold beer, while the parting works of “Don't you kill my cat” from Lisa, echoed in my ears, as I sipped my luke warm lemonade.

(For those of you who don't know, I made a 'Deal' with God last December, re the safe return of a very old, deaf, partially sighted and bandy legged cat, called Lotty!! God has a wonderful, weird sense of humour and returned said cat, THREE days before Christmas, just after we had bought the entire Christmas drinks supply!! Peter did a marvellous job of ploughing his way through it all single-handedly!!!!!!)

By 11.30pm, we were broaching the 'outstayed your welcome' stage at the restaurant. All the other tables had been stripped, our bill had been brought, without the usual request and the staff were filing out onto their bikes for their journey home. We paid our bill and meandered back to the Train Station.

By midnight we were settled onto two sets of bench seats inside the foyer of the Station. The huge Air Conditioning Unit made valiant noises, but turned out no cooling air. Security arrived and requested our tickets. Apparently satisfied that we actually did have tickets, he wished us a good night sleep and moved on. Amazingly, we did manage a few hours sleep. The limited sleep we had procured on the plane possibly helped. By 3am however, we were wide awake, as was the station. The first train of the day had arrived and Saigon was on the move again.

Breakfast was taken out in the car-park, (we were really living the high life!) the road side cafe boasted a range of coffees, teas and many other assorted beverages and nibbles. Bikes pulled up, some on their way home, others starting the day, like ourselves. By 5am we had collected the Large Suitcase full of Orders and Dreams, boarded our train and were trying to work out where to put the Case!! Overhead was not an option. The tiny luggage store was full of sacks, plus a well bedded down old lady. It did fit into the foot well in front of our seats …. but then we had the problem of where to put our feet??? We settled, with our knees close to our ears, and tried to get comfortable. The next 7 hours was going to be 'interesting'!

The views from the windows, as we sped across the beautiful Vietnamese countryside, did little to alleviate our discomfort. We tried to distract ourselves by gazing at the vast paddy fields, marvelling at the Dragon Fruit trees, loosing ourselves within the banana plantations, but pain is pain and cramp is painful!

At Nha Trang we dragged the Large Suitcase full of Orders and Dreams, minus four packets of Salt and Vinegar Crisps, off the Train and deposited it into the first available taxi. The sweet taxi man looked at me blankly when I requested “Blue House, Please”. I drew a map. He asked a friend. They smiled. I smiled. “The Beach?” They nodded. “You take me to the beach, I show you where hotel is!” The deal was done and we headed into the not so busy, but just as chaotic streets of Nha Trang.

To say that Peter was suitably impressed, by my ability to find the hotel, is nothing compared to the huge surprise I received at finding it where I thought it should be!! The Taxi man looked impressed too!!

Blue House hadn't changed a bit. Two narrow steep staircases led the way to our room and with immense gratitude, we deposited the Large Suitcase of Orders and Dreams into the corner. We had arrived. The case was safe. I could now regain my freedom!!!


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Greetings, Something Fishy and Dive Training!

With the 2kg of Salad Cream safely in the small bag, we sauntered the streets of Nha Trang to the Dive Shop. Kris was mightily impressed that we had booked into the Blue House, as he had been told the day before, that they were fully booked, for the week! Simon proclaimed me 'Family' upon sight of the Heinz container. He had been anticipating a small bottle, the Bookers Industrial Catering version, blew him away!

The rest of the afternoon blurred into a haze of greetings and reunions. Pickled Onion Monster Munch was distributed amongst the Viet staff and the resulting expressions were a picture I wish I had captured to film. Steph arrived from Sailing Club, more hugs were given and received, plans were discussed and the dinner debate continued.

There is not a huge amount to do in Nha Trang. Actually I will rephrase that. There is loads to do in Nha Trang, if your life does not evolve around a Dive Boat, a Dive Shop and your stomach! The highlight of the Divers day, is the culmination of hours of debate, on where, exactly, one should eat that night!

Something Fishy was tonight's choice. With the directions firmly in my mind (and jotted down on a piece of paper for good measure) Peter and I returned to our rooms, showered, dressed and headed back into town.

Culinary delights awaited our approval. The menu was scanned, pages were turned and reviewed, drinks were ordered and the final nutritional choices passed onto the waitress. Three chips and cheese, one chips with veg, one chips with salad and a bowl of Pasta Bol! Oh, we knew how to push the boat out!!!!

It had been decided, earlier in the afternoon, that Peter would begin his Open Water the following day. The pros and cons of PADI v SSI were discussed over dinner. PADI cost more and involved more daily skill work on the dives. SSI was done on line, with all the skills covered on the first dive. With only a limited amount of diving time available, it was decided that Peter would do the SSI Course, which would allow us to do the 'Swim Through' at Octopus Rock on his second dive.

The evening progressed. New Guavas was followed by Old Guavas, Rab and JP joined us for drinks. Quin and Tara hugged and greeted us, it was as if I had never left!

By morning I was decidedly tired, and immensely grateful that it wasn't me, who had to be in the pool, learning what an 'O' ring was suppose to look like! I rolled over and went back to sleep as Peter headed out of the door. By 11am they were back!! Much too soon in my opinion, as I still hadn't emerged from the bed!

Lunch was sought in North and South, an Indian/ Asian/ Pizza/ Burger cafe, just down from the house.

This was followed by an hour of relaxation with Sean, the newly arrived, that morning, Dive Instructor, who had come to replace Matt. Where to eat, drink, shop, avoid, and hang out, was discussed as the hours clicked away. The electric fan whirred in the corner, the builders hammered away next door and the geckos scuttled across the ceiling.

By 2pm it was time for Kris to go to work and Peter to begin his on-line theory. With swim costume and sarong, I accompanied them as far as the beach; with a reassuring wave, I insisted I would be fine for the next hour or two, just relaxing on the sand. Kris, ever the worrying son, made me memorise where and when we would meet up that evening. Peter was given his instructions and we all headed off in different directions.

The beach in Nha Trang is long and curvaceous. Sporadic clusters of sun lounges with shaded parasols, interspersed with long gaps for sun worshippers and locals to frolic upon, line the beach front. I dropped my sarong and relaxed in the 'not as warm as I remembered it' water. Suitably cooled I returned to the beach, only to become the focus of a man holding a small child. He spoke rapidly to me as I emerged onto the shore, agitated by my lack of understanding. His Vietnamese was flawless, as was my English. Unfortunately, I know only one word of Vietnamese and he knew only one word of English........ OK? …....Gammon! (Thank you)

We bantered our two words back and forth. He launched once more into long flowing sentences, gesturing wildly with his free hand while the other cradled the child. I still had no idea what he wanted. I shrugged my shoulders, gave him my most sympathetic and helpless smile, and sat down. He sat with me, still trying desperately to convey his message to me. I shrugged again at the end of yet another long, expressionative sentence. He got up and went to talk to the girl selling cigarette on the beach. Within seconds he was back, trying once more to make me understand. He pointed to the child, to himself, he cradled her head, he pointed to me! In desperation he put the child beside me, and, gesturing for us to stay, he raced along the sand to the Sun Bed and Parasol man, further down the beach. The child looked at me, I looked at the child and smiled, the child looked at the sand and ignored me!

Suddenly there was a different man heading towards me. He smiled encouragingly and swept the young girl into his arms. I looked confused. I looked for the first man, who stood about 100m away with his back to me, still talking to the Sun-bed Boys. I looked at the new man cradling the girl in his arms. This was all too much.

Between sign language, facial expression and the way the young girl clung to her new found friend, I deduced that this was the father of the child. Who then, had been the other guy? As the second man began to walk away, I stopped him. I gestured wildly at the first man. 'Please talk to him' I tried to covey. All I needed was the first guy returning, only to find I had given away his 'child' to a complete stranger!!

I watched carefully as the two men met. Agitated conversation floated on the breeze. I watched as recognition and understanding flowed across their faces. I signed 'OK?', they waved back, huge grins on their faces. I relaxed, got my book out and began to write.

Moments later everyone was back, with extras!! They surrounded me, all talking, all gesturing, all in delightful Vietnamese, all totally uncomprehensible!!! Others joined us, curious about the growing gathering on the beach. Helpful interpreters joined the spreading throng and the story became clearer.

Man 'A', had found said child on the beach; wary of predatory strangers, he had picked the child up and headed for the nearest female – ME. Having failed to communicate his intentions to me, he had gone to find help, or at least the owner of the child. It was at this point that Man 'B' had arrived. Seeing my reluctance to simply hand over the child, he had then confronted Man 'A'! Now that everything had been sorted, everyone just wanted to say thank-you, and to chat, in Vietnamese, with ME!!!

Phone numbers were written down, fruit brought, offered and taken, hugs, back pats, smiles. For over an hour, I was the centre of attention, while not being involved at all. I felt like the good puppy who was being rewarded simply for being! It was lovely!! Eventually the excitement died down. Children returned to the sea, the father, mother and 6 siblings returned to their sandcastle and I returned to the water. Man 'A' sat by my belongings until I returned and having enthusiastically shaken my hand once more, he too departed.

At the Dive shop Peter was just finishing section 1 on the computer, he enquired about my afternoon. I said that it had passed peacefully enough, before smiling and beginning a rendition of the past hours events. I left him to his studies and went to refresh myself with a well earned chocolate and caramel ice cream, from the Italian Place across the road.

Dinner that night was at New Guavas! Chips and Mayo!! Oh how the other half lives!!!!

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Thermoclines, Indian Takeaways and BBQs

The staff outnumbered the customers, three to one, on the boat the following morning. Steph had the day off, her first in three weeks, and had decided to join us. The lack of power throughout the town may have had something to do with her decision. A day off at home, without TV, a fan or even the PC, was not an ideal situation, especially when you lived at the end of a non air-moving alley, with noisy builders next door!

Kris ran through the dive briefing with Peter. “This is the boat, there is the water, put this on!” He handed Peter a wetsuit. On-board entertainment has never been as good as it was that day.
Peter pulled and shoved, Kris yanked and tugged. I watched and giggled, as the knee pads refused to move any further than the shins! Flesh was jiggled and squeezed, neoprene was stretched like it had never been stretched before, I checked the time and sat back down to relax.



With the second skin wetsuit clinging to his every curvature, Peter accompanied Kris to the back of the boat. Together they kitted up his regulator, BCD and air. I took loads of photos, if only to remind myself what I should be doing when it was my turn!! It had been over a year since I had passed my Open Water! Today I was just snorkelling, tomorrow I would join Peter, as his Buddy-diver for the swim through.

Once everything was in place, we did the traditional diver thing, and hit the top deck for a smoke! The ride out to Octopus Rock runs past the Lobster Village. Hundreds of tiny houses bob up and down on their rafts, surrounded by netted grids. TV ariels dot the flat roofs, washing flutters in the breeze, people sit, while others work.

I repositioned myself, camera at the ready, while Peter did his final Buddy Checks with Steph. One hand on the mask and regulator, the other on the weight belt and a giant step into the water. The splash was impressive.
They did their surface checks and orienteering and quietly sank below the surface, leaving a row of bubbles in their wake.


I donned my snorkel and fins and without the big splash, entered the water. The visibility was fair, the water, defiantly on the cool side. I remembered it being a lot warmer the last time I had swum and dived. Horizontal thermoclines threw my body into spasm each time I entered them, yet the fish were amazing. I lost sight of Peter and Kris and concentrated on what was around me. Thousands of flickering tetras shimmered in the sunlight, clouds of blues and pinks opened and closed, as I passed through. Larger Trumpet fish cruised the current, while Angel fish moved between the coral outcrops. I dove down through the warm surface water and into a chilly layer barely 3m below the surface. This was not the warm Vietnamese water I remembered. I returned to the boat to warm myself in the sun.

Dinner on the dive boat consisted of chicken curry usually with rice, bread and fruit. Even though it was only 10am, people emerged from the water ready to eat. I had picked up a delicious Pannier Palak from Omar's, the wonderful Indian Restaurant in the middle of town, the night before. This had been our daily ritual the previous year and once poured over the steaming rice it made a wonderful lunch. Unfortunately, with only three of us on the boat that day, they had forgone the rice, so we dipped our bread resourcefully into the cold spinach.

Dinner completed, we motored around the bay to Moray Beach, as Kris and Peter went over their next dive. This was to be a more relaxed dive, concentrating mainly on buoyancy and breathing. I had the camera ready as Peter entered the water. He executed the perfect 'What Not To Do When Entering The Water' entry and sank below the surface.

Moray Beach is much shallower than Octopus Rock, huge sprawling reefs lie a bare 4m below the surface. Large overhangs shelter enormous fish from view, clusters of tiny black fish hovered over small outcrops of coral, clown fish guarded their territory with a ferocity that belies their size. Everywhere you looked, huge shoals of tiny fish filled the ocean, shimmering, twisting, reflecting flashes of light. Breathing is forgotten, movement becomes secondary as you become absorbed into the surroundings.

Peter and Kris moved into deeper water, and the temperature reduced dramatically. By the time they had reached 9m even the surface water had begun to chill. I had followed them out into the boat lane and, from previous experience, needed to tell Kris I was heading back in. I dove down thought the water towards them. The water continued to chill. As I neared Kris, I reached out my had to tap him on the fin, only to find I was still a good 3m behind him. The water was now icy compared to the surface. I powered up beside him and signalled that I was cold and heading for the boat. He signalled back and carefully watching the overhead water, for approaching boats, I headed back to the comparative warmth of the surface.

After a brief warm in the shallow water, I returned to the boat and the hot sun deck. I asked Steph, who was also enjoying the hot sun, about the cold water and so so visibility. There had been an impressive full moon the day before and this had brought in the cold water. Only a week previous, the water temperature had been up in the 30s and the visibility had been 20m+. We finished the food and lazed in the sun until everybody was back on board.

The afternoon should have been spend doing more theory in the classroom, but the lack of power put an end to that. Vietnam, in its infinite wisdom, had sold most of its electricity to Thailand and Cambodia. With its huge Hydro- Electric plants, this had seemed like a good thing, until the drought had hit. Now, to honour their promise to the other countries, they had had to ration the electric supply to their own towns and surrounding areas. One day power, one day off. To be fair, all power was restored at 6pm each evening, as the sun plunged the town into darkness. Generators had sprung up along the streets to power a few places and noise and fumes filled the air.

Simon had arranged a Beach BBQ that evening, to welcome Sean into the family but until the sun set, we had nothing specific to do. We headed for New Guavas, as they at least had a generator and free internet. Steph's laptop was positioned onto the table and an informal diving theory class begun.
The intermittent diesel generated power slowed the learning process down to a crawl, as pages and videos, on how to put your mask on, crept painstakingly across the screen. More drinks were ordered. JP arrived. Rab arrived. Each seeking solace from the heat, teaching was abandoned.



Cooling showers, fresh clothes, rested minds and we headed for the beach. Power had now been restored. A huge Dive Flag was laid out on the sands, under the enormous spotlight that illuminated the area. Cases of chilled drinks, plates full of food begun to fill the spare space in the centre as people settled around the perimeter.




The huge orange moon slipped out from behind the offshore island, casting an amazing pathway across the calm waters.

The air was warm, the mood was jovial, the drinks flowed as the camera flashed away. We had been in Vietnam for three days and yet it felt as if I had been there forever.


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Swim Through's and Cleaner Wrasse

Having picked up yet another Indian take away, this time from North and South on our way home, Peter and I rose early for our day of diving. I was glad that I had watched so carefully the previous day. I rigged my kit together and got ready to enjoy a day of being underwater. Kris, with his wonderful sense of humour, had given me a very tight wetsuit to wear. When I protested its tightness he pointed out that it was the same size as the one I had worn the year before! Time for that diet I think!!

Peter and I did our Buddy Checks and entered the water at the far side of Octopus Rock.
The visibility was tolerably, the water, although still not warm, failed to work its way into the incredibly snug wetsuit even when I descended into the murky depths.
Kris led the way around the rock, visibility clearing as we reached the calmer waters. The first swim through was amazing.
Fish filled every corner of the cave watching us, watching them. Kris flashed away with the camera as we emerged and led us onto the next one. This time he pressed the video button, and the resulting video I will treasure for years!!

Having wove our way through the various overhangs, we came out into the coral area of the rock.
The Moray eel dutifully posed for his photo, as did the other numerous residents of the area. Ecstatically happy, we returned to the boat and our awaiting lunch.

The following dive, was a drop off on one side of Moray Beach, followed by a swim, against the gentle but constant current, to the main beach.







Again the numerous residents came to greet their passing guests. I found a tiny Lion Fish hiding in the coral and signalled Kris to come back with the camera.

As we neared the boat Peter had reached 50bar, while Kris and I were still on 110bar. We watched as he surfaced and passed his things to the boat D.M.s and continued our dive. Kris led me out to where two small Cleaner Wrasse ran a friendly cleaning service. He removed his regulator and invited their attention.







Once they had finished, I removed my regulator and waited. My teeth must have been too clean for their attention, but they did enjoy cleaning, whatever it was, that they found behind my ears.






That afternoon was a Power On day. Peter hit the classroom and his studies, while I caught up with some reading with Steph at New Guavas. Dinner was had at North and South, this time ordering from their Indian range, as their boat feasts had been so impressive, before heading back to New Guavas for the Tuesday evening quiz. Three teams, of very intellectual people, gathered around the lounge. Rab rattled off the questions, as our secret weapon (JP) answered the questions for us! Kris astounded me during the film quotation round. He got every question right!! Usually guessing the answer after only the first clip of sound had been played. There is a good brain in there, once it finds something to focus on!!

The evening was hot, but the power was on and we retired to our beds safe in the knowledge that, even though we hadn't won the quiz, we would all sleep tight with the reassuring whine of the cooling fans!

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Motorbikes, Surfboards and Headstands!


A 'Power Off' Day! The plan of the day, was to get up relatively early, i.e. before mid day, and go off to see the Great White Buddha, before heading for Long Beach to meet up with the rest of the crowd from Guava's. The morning started well enough. Peter and I arrived at Kris's by 9am, having washed dressed and breakfasted, only to find them still in bed!

Kris had arranged for us to hire an extra bike to ferry us about that day. We had spent the previous evening 'warmly discussing' whether I should be allowed to ride my own bike, or, whether I should be positioned behind Peter!! I, I had pointed out, had a FULL bike licence, one I had held for over 30 years!! Peter, although able to ride a bike, had no licence. Surely he should go on the back, not me!!?

The debate had lasted well into the evening and although 'they' had decided who should be riding where, I was still debating the issue! As Kris got onto his bike with Steph, to go fetch the bike 'we' would be using, a rather flat back tyre was discovered. They got onto Steph's bike and tried again. Peter, once left without Kristofer's backing, agreed that my riding abilities out-weighed his and he would happily ride behind me. Steph could ride with Kris and the two working bikes from the three we had, would suffice.

With the bags packed, the bikes parked, we were ready for our morning of culture, until Kris decided he would go get his bike fixed, while the rest of us did the culture bit! Peter offered to go with him and I gave up.
Culture could wait in the face of such heathen appreciatives. The broken bike was pushed to the end of the road, sweet tea was ordered as negotiations flowed around the wheels and within ten minutes we had three working bikes. Steph wanted to ride behind Kris, Kris did not want Peter on the back of me, I didn't want to ride behind anyone!!!! The bikes were re distributed and we began the journey. Peter on the borrowed bike, me on Stephs, with Steph behind Kris. Perfect. Vic took up the rear as we raced through the streets to the market for supplies.

The drive up to Long Beach is breath-taking. Not only for the views but the hot, I repeat HOT, wind that blew onto our bodies. Hot wind that made your throat dry up in seconds. Hot wind that dried the tears it brought to your eyes, before they had cleared the tear ducts. It was like riding next to a huge lorry engine that was bellowing out heat straight into your face. Every now and again, a hot thermal of even greater magnitude, would blast its was across our path, shearing the skin with almost blinding force.

The roads had cleared of traffic once we had left the town itself. Long winding carriageways wove their way along the cliff walls. Pot holes lay in ambush along the melting tarmac, large stones and drifts of sand, strewn here and there, made the ride interesting it say the least. I powered up beside Kris, determined to prove my ability to my doubting son. We made the turning to Long beach a good five minutes before the others. Kris dutifully said he had misjudged my biking abilities and congratulated me on keeping up with him. No else had ever managed it apparently!!

We parked the bikes in the shade, attached the helmets and entered the relative coolness of the beach huts. The Guava crowd was there, well into the second case of beer. Large buckets of ice bobbed with chilled bottles, huge flat pancakes of fried rice cakes littered the table tops. A debate was going on about whether the third bag of quail eggs had been paid for. The guys insisted it had, the beach vendor demanded it hadn't. The debate raged for another ten minutes before they handed over yet another 10 bart, just to get rid of the insistent lady!

Conversation flowed along with the beers, lunch was ordered and a small BBQ set up at the end of our table. Bowls and bowls of sea food began to stream down from the main platform to our glowing coals. Each crab, shrimp, crayfish, squid, octopus, whelk, clam and other nameless items, was ceremoniously placed over the hot charcoal and repeatedly turned by two attentive girls with chopsticks.
Once cooked, the delicacies were passed down to the table and another grill begun.

Peter and I relaxed back with our fruit, and watched the passing world with an air of pleasant distraction.

A cow ambled onto the shore. A guy selling, I'm not exactly sure what, pushed his bicycle past. Children ran into tiny waves in the sea and Paul turned up with a surf board! Dinner, by now was dying down and with great enthusiasm he pulled Rab from his seat. Today was the day, he announced. Today was the day he would get Rab to stand up on a surf board!! We all called cries of encouragement, we all cheered as he walked to the edge of the water, we all sat and watched, with a beer in our hands, as he carefully took the board into deeper water.



Within seconds he was riding in the wave, feet firmly planted on the board, arms out-stretched in balance. A huge roar went up from the crowd. Cameras clicked as he did it again. Rab retired with a huge smile on his face while Kris and two of the Vietnamese girls entered the water. From that point onwards things deteriorated in the surfing department. Encouraged by Paul, Kris and the girls doubled up on the board. With their tiny weight on the front they were lifted clean out of the water when the boys jumped on the back! Static handstands were followed by headstands,
which were followed by surf riding on ones head, hands or back, feet were just so last week!!!









With gentle encouragement from Kris, I too managed to stand. It is not the ability I lack these days, it is simply the time scale required to get from my knees, to my feet, that deters me from trying!! I rode my wave, made my bow and like Rab, retired with a huge grin on my face.



Steph was also persuaded to join in, doubling up with Kris to perform a series of movements that got roars of approval from us all!


















The ride back into town was a bit more sedate. The sun had dipped and air was a touch cooler following the thunderstorm that had swept the beach for five minutes.

We stopped for a few scenic photos and entered the affray of the evening traffic. I soon lost Kris and Steph, Vic pulled up beside me, Pete was somewhere but neither of us was sure where. The turning for the dive shop arrived and we crossed the multi directional flow of traffic to pull up outside. From the corner of my eye I spotted Peter, but then he was gone and I began to doubt my vision. Another ten minutes passed, I began to worry, then he turned up. He had overshot the turning and had had to continue with the flow until the opportunity to turn had presented itself. This, during rush hour in Nha Trang, had proved to be not as easy as first believed!!!

Having regrouped, we headed for home and cool refreshing showers. The bike was returned to its owner in New Guava's, supper was had in Old Guava's. The photos of the day were reviewed and edited. Peter has a very useful multi-photo button that had been put into overdrive all afternoon. The resulting 700 plus photos needed to be seriously edited down. As the images flashed, in rapid succession, across the screen of Stephs laptop, we were reminded of the days of the old black and white movies, each frame a split second different from the last, all joining to form slightly jumping, comical movement, that told an unfolding story.

By midnight Steph and I were tired, yet the boys were still on form.
Kris had the morning off to allow him to assist Peter, while they completed their on-line course work and I was booked onto the boat for a day of snorkelling. With a warning not to stay out too late, I left them in the bar.

I awoke at 5am to an empty bed. I awoke at 6am to find a dead man snoring beside me!

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Hangovers, Theory and Snorkelling


I left our room at 7am, having checked that the body lying in the bed was still breathing, and set off for the dive boat. I had given up an entire day of diving so that 'the body' could finish his course work, Simon had given Kris the morning off to assist, yet I had the strangest of feelings that nothing was going to be completed before early afternoon.

The boat trip was superb, as usual. Clear sky, calm water, the occasional shimmer as sunlight reflected off a fish, skimming out of the water to confuse the something bigger that had startled it. The water had warmed which made a huge difference to the time I spent in the water. At Octopus Rock I decided to swim the entire way around the towering Island, just to see what lived on the drop off on the far side. Nothing much I soon discovered, as the drop is quite severe, but the colours in the water as the sun shone from behind me, silhouetting my shadowy shape into the depths were breathtaking. Streaks of light, in as many shades of blue as there are greens in a Welsh patchwork landscape, cascaded into the darkening ocean all around my profile as I swam.

There was only one other boat at the mooring, and only four divers on ours, so the waters had been practically undisturbed as I returned to the boat. I don't think I have ever witnessed so many fish in such a small area. I simply hung on the surface, arms and legs outstretched and allowed them to surround me. Warm water supported my body, warm sun bronzed my skin, shimmering, moving light filled my eyes. It was Bliss!!

Moray Bay, although busier, was just as good to snorkel. I found a Giant Puffer Fish, hanging below a ridge and the longest Trumpet Fish I had ever seen, hovering in the lee of an overhang. The Lion Fish was looking fine and the Clown Fish were still as brave as I approached their tiny enclave.

By the time I returned to the Dive Shop, I was glowing, not only from the sun but from the whole experience of just swimming in so much beauty. I was brought back to reality with a thump, as two very un-beautiful faces greeted my return. Both Peter and Kris were defiantly looking the worse for wear!! Steph, wasn't impressed either, as Kris had unable to even speak until 11 am, despite her urgings for him to get up. When Peter had called at mid day, Kris had dutifully got up and gone for breakfast with him, which hadn't improved her mood, as she had been waiting for breakfast since 9am!!

The course work, I then discovered, had been completed on the lap-top, the night before in Guava's!! Peter had answered the final set of questions just as the site had crashed. Once restored, a new set of questions had appeared. These had been answered, were checked by Kris and Sean but once 'sent', had crashed the system again! When the third set of new questions appeared, both Sean and Kris in their intoxicated state, raced to complete them, these then also crashed the system and so a battle of wills between a PC system, a novice and two 'professional' had raged until, in the early hours, the PC quit and accepted the final page of answers.


At this point, things had gone down hill as they had all gone on to celebrate the victory, in most of the bars of Nha Trang!!

Kris staggered off to work while Peter and I had a quiet afternoon spent reading and chilling. The power was on and the cooling showers and breeze from the fan was most welcome. Late afternoon, Peter went back to do some final revising in the classroom and I wandered up to Sailing Club to see Steph. Together we reviewed her CV, formulated a covering letter that could be adapted to most job applications, and enjoyed each others company.

Peter joined me, revision finished and in nervous anticipation of his final exam that evening. Kris also arrived in Sailing Club, after a mix up of work venues and, while I returned for a final shower, Peter began his exam.

He had just finished when I returned an hour later. Sweat, from not only the heat, glistened on his brow! Kris checked his answers and looked gloomy! Peter looked scared, until Kris broke into a huge grin and announced that he had indeed passed.

Dinner was had in Kit-Kat, garlic overkill being the theme of the meal. Garlic bread, garlic mushrooms, garlic noodles, garlic and steamed veg, with a portion of chips for good measure! We paused briefly in the Shamrock on the way home to dissipate the fumes slightly with a beer, before having an early night. (Via Omar's to pick up the traditional boat curry plus a garlic naan bread for good measure!)

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Breakfasts, Certificates and Pizzas

Having at last recovered from the over indulgences of the previous days, we rose early to meet the crew at the back of the Dive Shop at 6.20am. The truck was loaded with tanks, wet suits, weight belts, BCDs and any else required to provide a days diving for half a dozen people. At the harbour this was all unloaded and carried onto the boat. Peter lent a hand while I supervised from a distance. Work was soon completed and it was time for breakfast.

The guests who were to dive that day, wouldn't arrive for at least an hour, allowing plenty of time for the entire boat crew to disappear into the side streets of the harbour, for nourishment. Tiny tables and chairs littered the side walk as Steph led us to her favourite noodle stand. As meat in water is the dominant ingredient, I happily sat back and simply watched as huge portions of steaming soup were ladled into bowls and handed around. Side salads appeared and hot chilli sauce was liberally poured onto everything.

Once finished we moved onto another stall selling coffee, iced coffee! Again the tiny seats strained under Peter as he pulled his knees up to his ears to sit down. This country is not designed for 6 foot, well built, men!!


The fun dive was wonderful, but having described the waters around Nha Trang so fully in this story, I will simply say fun was had by all.

Kris finished the dive in Moray by blowing bubble rings. Peters buoyancy control improved tremendously and I astounded myself by finding all sorts of things that I had previously swum over.


Shrimps, camouflaged fish, tiny piles in the sand hiding entrances to carefully guarded tunnels, now jumped out out at me as I slowly crossed the sea floor.





I slept most of the way back on the boat, the gentle rocking of the swells beneath the hull doing nothing to help my alertness.

The guests were disembarked, following thanks and cheers for Peters graduation, the truck was loaded with the now empty tanks and wet gear and the tired crew retired to yet another stall for refreshments!

Life is hard when you are a Dive Instructor!!


A leisurely lunch was had with Kris, Steph and Warren, in North and South, chips and cheese being the chosen dish of the day, due to the power being off but the gas fryer being on! Log books were filled, as nothing has been entered since our arrival and two hours passed in general conversation and liquid consumption.

With our departure drawing near we returned to the Dive Shop that evening to get all the log books stamped and to do some final shopping. Dive T-shirts were purchased, goodbyes and hugs were performed and with a final “See you in 10 weeks” we departed for a final meal, this time in Olivia's.


Sean joined us as we tucked into huge pizzas, with more garlic bread filling the table and the drinks once again flowed.

The evening rounds of goodbyes started at Old Guava's, ending up at New Guava's where an idea formed in Kris's mind. During our extended lunch, conversation had turned to Dive Computers. They are hugely expensive in Asia but, although still expensive, are much better value in Europe. Peter had said he could possibly find one on E-bay and Kris had written down all the details for us. Now in Guava's, with internet access, Kris wanted to see what was out there. He and Peter flicked through the various pages. Sean and Steph once more joined the conversation of the pros and cons of each make. At last a decision was made and an e-mail sent off to see if the seller would reduce his price further!

I said I would pay for the Dive PC but, I stated, this was to be his perpetual Birthday and Christmas present as, in 10 weeks, I would no longer have an income. I would also pay for Lisa to complete her Rescue Diver when we returned in August. Kris grinned inanely at the thought of a free Dive Computer and the deal was done!

Tomorrow was to be our last one in Nha Trang but our adventure was far from over. We promised to meet Kris and Steph at the Dive Shop at 6.15 and retired to our beds.

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Trains, Planes and Hong Kong.

We rose quite early, threw the few things we owned into our bags and walked down to the Octopus Dive Shop. The crew were waiting around the back of the shop for the truck to arrive, the hot early morning was doing nothing to awaken them from their semi cosmoses. They sat for a further five minutes once the truck had arrived, each one waiting for someone else to make the first move. Once mobile, however, the kit was quickly dispatched onto the truck and we piled into the mini bus for the trip to the harbour.

Tanks were carried down and stored along with the wetsuits. Boxes of BCDs, snorkels and masks soon joined them and it was time for us to say good bye.

As I was due back so soon, it was not the usual emotional farewell and with a smile I got back into the mini bus for the journey back to the shop. Steph and Vic had half an hour until they had to greet the days guests, so Peter, Steph and I, popped next door for breakfast. Omelettes, pancake rolls and other breakfasty things were consumed as the streets became busier.


Final good byes were said as Steph headed back to work and with a last stroll along the now busy streets of Nha Trang, we returned to our room.

Quietly we slipped on our back bags, handed in the keys and hailed two passing bikes to take us to the Train Station. Having arrived safely in the Bus Station, we re-instructed our drivers where we wanted to go and set off again. It was a scenic drive, if a little manic on the junctions and we saw back-streets and alleys that many tourists have probably never seen, neither have a few locals for that matter. The Train Station was finally spotted and we were once again safely deposited onto the road side, amid smiles and nods.

Our train, complete with sleeper carriage arrived and with quiet relief we lay down on our bunks. Having arrived in Nha Trang with sleep deprivation and cramp, we had decided to leave in style! The wonderful countryside rushed by as we wandered in and out of conciousness. Nibbles and drinks were consumed and more sleep was stored in anticipation of the next 48 hours!

The Train arrived on time despite its late arrival into Nha Trang and two new bikes were hailed from the crowd outside the station. “Airport Please”. We climbed aboard and merged into the traffic. Thankfully I was unaware, that at the first junction Peters driver had turned left, when mine had turned right, and unconcerned I arrived at the airport having enjoyed the exhilaration of weaving our way through the evening rush hour of Saigon. I turned to find Peter nowhere in sight. My driver looked slightly bothered, but not unduly anxious until a good ten minutes had passed with no sign of Peter or the other driver driver. With a final “You wait here” he shot off into the medley of traffic. Peter arrived five minutes later looking quite relieved to see me and full of tales of narrow side roads and traffic pile ups!

Check in was painless, with out anything to actually check in, and soon we were air-born and on our way to Hong Kong! When the flights had been booked, we had noticed that we had a 12 hour stop over in the city. As we were in no rush and had no bags to lug around, this provided the perfect opportunity to explore yet another new place. Our US Dollars were changed into Chinese Dollars, the Airport Train Station located and with return tickets for the 6am train, we set off to explore the city.

Hong Kong was not as we first had imagined. The bustling streets, the thousands of people, bicycles and cars, failed to materialise as we emerged from the Train Station at Hong Kong Central. The buildings were huge, the air was warm yet not hot, but the place was so quiet!! We strolled along the elaborate covered walkways, high above the roads, to the Jetties. No one was there. We walked along the paved piers, took photos of the views across the water and walked onto another high-rise walk-way. In the distance we spotted two people.

We followed them and as we neared the town centre, other voices could be heard. We turned two more corners and began to feel less alone. People were wandering, chatting, getting in and out of taxis. One street further and we discovered where all the people had gone to! Club Land!! The streets were full of bodies, the cars drove nose to bumper at 0.2 miles an hour as the people surged around them.

Other streets had been pedestrianised, chairs and tables pulled out into the roadways. Loud music blasted from the bars, huge doorways, guarded by large men, sporadically opened to the beat of the heavy bass music inside. Flags and bunting adorned the overhead wires as people went about their Saturday night business.

And yet it didn't feel like some New Asian World. Everyone wore European clothes, everyone spoke English, everyone carried their bottles of Bacardi Breezer and staggered, or lurched in the usual drunken fashion of one that should have stopped drinking an hour ago. It could have been Cardiff, or London. The music blasting from the huge speakers was Queen, ABBA, Moody Blues. It was only when you looked up at the imposing skyline, at the glass fronted reflecting towers, that you realised you were not in any European city, but on the set from Roller Blade!!

We walked up steep steps, between lanes and streets. We transversed the upper layers, discovering the whole area was basically a grid.


We ate at an air-conditioned, open fronted restaurant and paid London prices. The food was good and the beer was cold, yet at £5 a bottle, we limited our consumption!


As the evening wore on the dancing in the streets erupted into gyrating madness.
From our vantage point, we spotted a grandmother gyrating with the best of them, her husband trying hopelessly to drag her away. He eventually succeeded, only to have her sprint back up the hill as soon as his back was turned, to rejoin the conga line that had begun!


Bags were grouped in the middle of pirouetting girls, refills from stashed bottles glinted in the lights, street hawkers sold flashing devil horns and tiaras to happy people eager to rid themselves of their money, and Karaoke voices filled the air.

By 3am we were beginning to tire, yet the streets were still pounding with the various beats of Drum and Bass and Celine Dion.




We headed back to the quiet jetties and the relative peace of the lapping water. While Peter watched the lightening sky, I slept soundly on the street bench. As the sunlight touched the distant skyscrapers we returned to the Train Station, waited a further half hour for the gates to open, and returned to the Airport and our awaiting plane home.

It had only been a weeks holiday, but it felt like we had seen and done so much. It is now 10 weeks until I depart for the Big Trip, if this was anything to go by, I was going to be very tired by the time I reach Moorea!!!