Hanoi offers the chance to see Water Puppetry ,which is a traditional art form that originated in the countryside and would be performed in the flooded rice paddies.

We turned up at the last minute and settled for the cheaper tickets in the aisle, but still had a good view of the stage. The show lasted for about an hour and showed scenes of country life and historical legend and was entertaining as well as being skilfully produced.

The outside of the structure was a vast, imposing, mass of heavy grey stone and towering pillars, but once inside the massive front doors, a red carpet led the way through a more subtle hallway, and into the resting place.

The cold tomb was dimly lit and walled with great marble blocks which belied a tempered opulence that you could not imagine from the outside. 

The back wall had two giant vertical banners which showed a hammer and sickle on the left one, and the communist star on the right. Both stood authoritatively over proceedings and an air of stark utilitarianism filled the room. There were no signs of spirituality anywhere. No candles and wreaths were present. No religious iconography.

Below our red-carpeted walkway – which skirted the room, was a pit in which stood a glass casket built into a black monolith. Where the casket met the obsidian base, dark, cherry lacquered wood formed an intricate weave of roses which sprang to join the glass. On each corner of the casket stood a guard, attired in white uniform and armed with a rifle and bayonet.

Interred inside the casket lay the mortal remains of Ho Chi Minh, his body embalmed to last through the ages. Dressed in black, only his hands and face showed as his lower torso was covered with a blanket. A spotlight casting a yellow hue focused attention on his face. His skin was pale and waxy, taking on the likeness of a mannequin. Silver hair spilled from the back of his head and was combed back. A styled, short beard was cropped under his chin.

The Vietnamese in front of, and behind us, made no sound. There was no praying or mourning, no offerings were made, the queue just proceeded, all eyes fixed on their previous leader.

As we filed past, four new guardsmen marched into the pit, silently and efficiently taking the place of their comrades who left in just as quick a fashion.

And then we were out of the cyclopean structure and back under the hot sun. The chill from the tomb quickly evaporating, but the memory lingering, surely for a long time to come.

The difference between Laos and Vietnam is startling.

Day to day in Laos’ small capital Vientiane was docile and relaxed, and considering it was the capital, weirdly quiet. Most days were spent languidly walking between coffee shops, and along the banks of the Mekong which offered a clear view of Thailand on the other side. It seemed odd that just across that stretch of water, a society which prized commercialism and progression thrived and yet here a country existed which put limits on trade and ownership, leading to a much more basic lifestyle.

Laos people are quiet, they don’t call out, shout or prompt tourists to see their wares, instead they level a granite stare and wait for you to initiate proceedings. At midnight a country-wide curfew comes into effect and the streets clear completely, adding to that sense of stillness. After a month in Laos I was feeling fractious and bored, and longed to get back into the thick of it.

Enter Vietnam.

Arriving at Hanoi was a breath of fresh air (pollution notwithstanding). The city was large, with sprawling districts cut up by multi-laned roads and a constant stream of two-wheelers weaving in and out of the less frequent car, sometimes they rode up onto pavements and past pedestrians who seemed unphased by their mechanised antics.

Road-works thundered in the background along with the hooting of horns, and street traders would accost us with a shout of “Hey you, you buy?” In some ways it was like being back in India, with the constant hubbub. Indeed one of the best things is just being able to watch ordinary citizens going about their business; a natural modern city abides here, not one where everyone waits and contests for the business of tourists, but one where tourists fade into the background as yet ‘just another person’. Unlike India however, the Vietnamese are heavily into fashion. Everywhere you look, clothing stores hang a vast range of items on petite mannequins, and the people here have stark individual style – this being in contrast to Thailand where a homogeneous fashion presides. Dogs seem to be a particular accessory, with many small, fluffy-haired, rat-like creatures being led around on coloured leashes.

Walking around Hanoi shows a sense of pride. From the many flags hanging from homes and businesses, to the cleanliness of streets – where armies of street cleaners are out in force, and men with pressure washers keep the pavements in check, you see a city that the inhabitants are proud of, and one that they care for.

So far I love this city, full-on as it is. The Vietnamese have been incredibly welcoming, and always make an effort to ensure you are well. Over the next few days we will explore the many local attractions, including the traditional water puppetry – which imports from the countryside, the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh and the military citadel, which all add to the distinct flavour and feel of the city.

Just outside of Luang Prabang lie the Kouangxi Waterfalls, which reside inside a nature park thick with jungle.

We caught a rickshaw to the site and asked the driver to wait while we explored the area. The path took us alongside the river, stopping first at a beautiful, smaller set of falls which poured into a plunge pool. A thick canopy cast light down in beams and I was filled with awe as to just how tranquil the area was.

After stopping to soak up the atmosphere and rest from the tropical heat, we carried on up the path to the main falls. Water cascaded down from a stepped cliff and sent a fine mist into the air.

To the side of the falls was a steep ascent which led almost vertically up to the top of the falls. Feeling adventurous we began the climb and were heavily rewarded by another stunning scene at the top, where we could see for miles, out over the park.

We decided to journey into Laos down the Mekong River. Previously we had journeyed by train, bus and plane, and the idea of floating slowly into the heart of Laos held certain appeal.

From the quick processing at the border, we were herded onto a bus which ran us down to the long boats which lined up along the north side of the river. These boats held about one hundred car seats, all lined up in rows down either side of the vessel, and luckily we were able to secure a good spot at the front of the boat, away from the noisy engine at the rear.

As we set off, the boat slipped smoothly out into the river, the front swinging round in a large arc to face down-stream before the engines roared to life and the banks began to slip past more quickly than I would have imagined.

The river was fast and wide. Large islands of rocks jutted up from the turbulent waters and many whirlpools formed nearby, some were small and precise, others wide – sucking water low beneath the river level. Our captain expertly navigated around these as they formed, and we seldom felt more than a gentle rock of the boat as a result.

In Laos, traditional farming methods have the tribes slash and burn fields after the harvest before sowing elsewhere for the following year. The burned fields lie fallow for a decade and are then finally replanted. Unfortunately the burning season was upon us, and the air was thick with a low hanging smog. Even the banks of the river would, at times, seem indistinct through the haze, and the sun would cast a dirty, yellow cast on the landscape. At the end of the day when the sun would set, it appeared as a fiery red orb that hung ponderously on the horizon. This wasn’t quite the backdrop we imagined when setting off, but the uncanny scene was set and so we relaxed into the long journey as we delved further into the eerie countryside.

That evening the boat came to a landing at a single road village named Pak Beng. We found a small and comfortable guesthouse with unadorned rooms and low ceilings before taking a walk to find a restaurant. We ended up eating at an Indian restaurant where we met up with two siblings- Monica and Clint, whom we had been chatting to at the border earlier that day. The evening was grand, with good food that inspired nostalgia about India, and pleasant company to share the stories with. The evening came to a close with a primordial thunderstorm which lit up the sky and rattled the roof with its booming thunder. A nearby lightning strike plunged the village into darkness and the muggy heat of the night hung heavily as our fan wound down in the absence of electricity.

Waking with the strangled cry of dawn roosters, we rose and had tea before walking back down to the boat. We arrived hours before departure in order to get another good seat. It was just as well that we did, for there were less boats around this day, and a sudden influx of people meant many were forced to sit in the actual engine compartment at the back of the boat!

Our journey took us onward past several villages with rows of sharpened bamboo forming fortification around the perimeter. Presumably this either kept livestock in, or wild animals out, and again provided stark reminder that we were now in a county with roots firmly set in the past. On the banks of the Mekong we saw locals carrying bundles of sticks, or herding elephants slowly yet surely down river. The dress was tired and plain, lampshade hats sat atop weathered faces, and for the large part we were ignored by the villagers we passed. Occasionally a fisherman, standing waist-deep with a line, would look up and grant a nonchalant wave and then they too were gone and we found ourselves bordered by thick jungle which crawled and massed over the nearby hills, occasionally allowing for a small sandy beach or cove.

Some people had chosen to take a faster speed boat down the river. These craft completed the two-day journey in just six hours, tearing past us at breakneck speed. The tourists aboard had to wear motorcycle helmets due to the inherent danger, and the boats were nicknamed suicide machines. A furtive look around as one passed, confirmed that we were not the only people glad to be aboard the more languid slow boat.

As the sun set that day a landing appeared ahead of us and the boat swung around to rest. We climbed off the boat and stretched out. We had been dropped five kilometres from Luang Prabang and a local taxi racket ran shuttle to and from the town. Burdened with heavy bags we resigned to the ride and were soon on our way into the middle of the small city.

In Chiang Mai we stayed in the old city, which is to say, within the ancient walls; these are only intact in a few places, but a large moat still demarks where they should run. Within this boundary the roads run one-way traffic up and down at a leisurely pace, and pretty much every business is there to cater to the tourist. Cafés and restaurants serve up vibrant dishes of almost every type of food, and Nicole and I devoured tacos and burritos when we discovered a Mexican restaurant – something we had missed for the last six months.

Chiang Mai has plenty of activities on offer and every guest house will present a portfolio of potential options. You can bungee jump, attend cooking classes, fire weapons, hurtle down zip lines or go on a leisurely float along the river in a tractor’s inner tube – a tradition called tubing.

Nicole and I took the chance to visit tigers at a nearby zoo and then in the evening attend a Muay Thai fight. Muay Thai is the national martial art, and adds both feet and knees to the traditional British boxing we are more familiar with. The show started with a couple of teens going at each other, and progressed through some women’s fights before working up the men’s weight ranges. The final fight was a showdown between a Frenchman and a Thai man, both fairly well-built men. The Thai man ended up winning the match on points after the full five rounds, but in our view the Frenchman gave more in the fight and probably deserved to win. The cynic in me says that the tourists usually bet on the foreigner to win!

Our time in Chiang Mai was short as we needed to leave for Laos, so we booked ourselves onto a bus which took us to Chiang Kong on the border. This bus stopped at a very unusual temple called the White Temple, or Wat Rong Khun. This stunning, modern temple was built by a celebrated national artist who had a desire to see the battle of good and evil played out with modern cultural characters. This meant that arriving at the temple we were greeted by the torso of Predator bursting out from the grass lawn, the heads of Hell-boy, Freddy Kruger, Batman and Hellraiser hanging from a tree, and a mural of Spiderman and the Minions from Despicable Me painted on the inner wall of the actual temple. ‘Weird’ barely describes it.

Nicole and I took a leap of faith and visited the hand-reared tigers in Chiang Mai’s Tiger Kingdom the other day.

The zoo was adamant that they did not drug the animals, and backed up by a good reputation we decided to venture into the cages. Tigers are massive! Pure muscle ripples along their flanks as they walk and jump about.

We found the tigers to be fairly playful, although the ones in the following video were mostly sleepy in the afternoon sun.

We boarded a ferry for Koh Samui. The wind was up and the sea was choppy, so our ride across the water lurched backwards and forwards on the waves. After what felt like an eternity, we stopped at Koh Pha-ngan and swapped ferries for the short stretch to Koh Samui.

The word Koh (or sometimes Ko) literally means island in Thai, which is why you will see it on so many place names.

Arriving ashore feeling a bit peaky, we found some German men headed to the same beach as us, on the far side of the island. This was fortuitous as taxis on these islands are outrageously expensive. To give a little context, a ten kilometre journey in Bangkok would cost £2, whereas a similar journey on the island would cost £12 and that’s after finding a better deal. Some unscrupulous drivers will try and charge upwards of £30!

Koh Samui was a totally different beast from the last island. The small coves and jungle-set resorts of Koh Tao were replaced with white beaches which stretched for miles up the coast. Large resorts and nightclubs spilled out onto the sands, and a much older and varied crowd of tourists wandered up and down the streets which were filled with shops selling more than just the basic conveniences. Art galleries gave way to gift-shops which adjoined electrical shops. Up and down the road that we were staying on, open-sided restaurants grilled fish and meat on large barbeques, and whole hogs turned on spits as the waiters called for you to come in and sit down. As the sun set, the clubs opened and the distant thunder of trance and house echoed in the warm night.

Our first night was spent in a mosquito infested dorm which had no glass in the windows! After a fruitless attempt at sleep that night we checked out early in the morning and found ourselves a much nicer room with AC for the same price! This one luckily had windows and so we booked in for a few days and set off to explore the island.

A local bus company was doing mini-van tours and we booked onto one for £6 each. The tour took us around most of the island, stopping off for ten or twenty minutes at various sites so that we could look around and take photos. We stopped at Buddhist wats (monastic temple complexes) which glittered in the sun. Nearby large Buddhas were sitting on small islands surrounded by a lake filled with enormous carp. Whereas in Nepal the Buddhist holy places were usually clad in gold with either bare stone work or washed in white paint, here in Thailand every wat and temple is inlaid with coloured, mirrored glass which glimmers as you pass. Decorative dragons snake along the roofs and the massive Buddhas are kept clean and freshly painted at all times. The effect is outstanding and it’s impossible to not stop and marvel as you pass.

The feel of these places is very different to holy places in other religions. I find Christian places of worship give an almost painfully strained silence, and the rough-hewn stonework, stark decoration and dim lighting of old churches weigh heavily in the air. Hindu temples, similarly, are also close, stone caverns; but colourful deities and a constant hubbub from the congregation make the experience much less austere. Buddhist temples on the other-hand are airy despite the heavy teak wood that lofts overhead. People come in and sit, or kneel on the red carpets, commit a prayer to one of the many assembled Buddhas, perhaps take a photo then move on. Some people sit in quiet contemplation, and others lay down looking at the colourful mandalas that are painted onto the walls. From the ceiling hang prayer flags which flap gently as the breeze comes in from the large open doorway, and a gentle feeling of ease permeates the building. Nearby, you will occasionally hear the dim reverberation of a gong or the distant echo of a mantra sung by an orange-robed monk and his circle of acolytes. All in all, Buddhism comes across as a much less severe religion. Fervent piety has no place here, just calm, collected meditation and an air of relaxation which fills the mind.

The tour stopped at an elephant park for a while, and whilst the mahouts took care of their charges, washing them down with hosepipes and walking them across the well-trod trails, Nicole and I opted to walk up to the waterfall that the site is famous for. The prevalence of the dry season meant that the waterfall was subdued, but arriving at its base, people were still happy to swim in the plunge pool, sheltered from the scorching heat of the day by a small patch of jungle that surrounded the bottom of the cliff.

The next stop was a little different. Dropped near a small pagoda, we climbed its stairs to see what was inside. Encased in glass was a golden throne, atop of which sat a mummified monk in orange robes. The mummy had a large pair of black sunglasses on, resulting in a slightly comical look. Local legend has it that this Abbott – Dang Piyasilo, was able to foresee his own death. When he died at the allotted time his fellow monks found a note explaining that he would not decompose and should be left upright for future generations to behold. True to the words in the note, the body began to mummify and was taken to the pagoda to inspire future generations of would-be Buddhists.

Next we were taken to an infamous rock situated on the coast. Named the grandfather rock, it was supposedly near another formation called the grandmother rock which we couldn’t see as the tide was in.

Our journey continues up in the north of the country, in the city of Chiang Mai. Here we look forward to a more affordable take on Thailand, without some of the gratuitous commercialism that grips the southern islands so tightly.

Our first day started in a coffee shop where we met our instructor, a Spaniard named Sergio. Now in his thirties he has been diving for many years, clocking up thousands of dives. In the summer he runs his own school in Spain and in the off-season comes to Koh Tao to teach.

To begin with we went over the first few chapters in our text book, focussing on equipment, dive physics and primary dangers along with the techniques required to avoid them. Our small class size of three had plenty of questions, and after an extensive Q&A we collected our gear and headed out to the beach where a longtail was waiting to take us over to the dive boat.

Other students and recreational divers were already there with their own instructors. And soon a good fifteen people were speeding out with us, toward the ancient dive boat that rocked gently in the west bay of the island. Climbing on to the boat, we were introduced to the deckhand Ow, and the captain whose name remained a mystery – I asked, but the surly man either didn’t understand or chose to ignore me. The boat started up its engines in a cloud of black smoke and Nicole and I both grimaced as the smoke hung like a blot on the landscape of the bay.

Soon we had arrived at our first dive site, the ‘twins’. Swimming away from the boat into shallow chest-high water, we started practising the use of the buoyancy vest and the regulator which provides the air. Sitting on the bottom of this shallow sandbank was brilliant. The water was a balmy thirty degrees, visibility was good up to fifteen meters, and the crystal clear waters hosted hundreds of small fish which swam around us, occasionally letting curiosity drive them closer towards us for a better look.

Nicole didn’t feel so comfortable with the diving and so bowed out after our initial day under water, this left me swimming on subsequent days with one English chap named Joe and some other already-qualified divers along for fun-dives.

I found some of the safety exercises to be fairly challenging. One of these had me take my weight belt off whilst on the sea-bed. I was supposed to then hold it out in front of me before strapping it back on. As I held the belt out, I developed an incredible cramp in my leg. Kicking out my leg to ease the pain I was suddenly upside down, legs in the air, with my mask letting in water. The belt to which I was still clinging, was anchoring me to the floor!

Over the next few days I dove three other sites which featured fantastic arrangements of coral. One site was a giant submerged rock with a tunnel through the middle of it, which we then swam through. All around us pieces of coral grew out from the rock and spectacular fish swam in the dull light which filtered down from eighteen metres above us. We emerged from the tunnel and Sergio turned to us and tipped his hand like a gun, forefinger and thumb extended. This was the signal to indicate the titan trigger fish was in the area. Following his gesture I saw four of these fish a few metres out. As instructed we all turned onto our backs and started swimming away from these volatile fish. As the distance increased a sudden flurry of movement broke out amongst the trigger fish and they started fighting amongst themselves, smashing and biting at each other before swimming (thankfully) further away.

I saw many other types of fish on these four dives, including blue ringed angel fish, stone fish (which are well camouflaged and very difficult to spot), beaked coral fish, chevron barracuda, butterfly fish and parrot fish. There were many others that I was unable to identify, along with sea cucumbers and sea urchins. I found the variety of life to be the most amazing part of diving and can’t wait to use my newly-acquired ‘open water qualification’ to explore more sites; hopefully in the future with an underwater camera.