Posted 4:15 AM by Gobbler
ah! i cant view my blogspot, how annoying. no time right now, been trying to get to my spot for 20 minutes and it isnt working. going to the beach in a bit so you'll have to wait to hear about the gay local who tried to buy me for an hour last night, or all the other stories whistling around my head. bad luck.

Posted 5:14 AM by Gobbler
how will the story end? will the dynamic duo survive? will commissioner gordon rescue the situation? Jumping jellybeans batman, this is a merry caper.

i was somewhat perurbed to see martin disembark in such a haphazard fashion and so stopped near him to have words. he was, thankfully uninjured, although his shirt would never be what it was. he was more annoyed with himself than anything else. the bike on the other hand ahd seen better days and was now in an undesirable state of disrepair. Martin had not been travelling at any speed, but even so the collision with the bollard had smashed the front mud guard. it would probably only cost about a tenner quid to repair out here, but the guy we rented it from could have carged us whatever he pleased - how would we know? a couple of bikes slowed to see what was up, and after a few minutes someone stopped to check we were ok/ derive some entertainment from our misfortune.

as he stopped we noticed that he had the same model of bike as martin. Great!, he should know how much a replacement mudguard would cost. then we would have a guage as to how much we should pay when we got back. he reckoned about fifteen dollars, about what we had thought. then a brilliant idea struck us: maybe he knew someone who could do the repair for us? that way we'd save a lot of hassle when we got back. Well, he did happen to know a friend of his that could do it without any problems. Agreeing on 15 dollars, we motored away.

we stopped about three kms down the road at a cafe, packed full of wizened old locals and children ensconced on the quintessential plastic chairs and stools, (only tourist places have wooden chairs) sipping endless quantities of green tea, tugging on cigarettes and watching the world go by. The guy we had met had a few words to a friend of his and indicated that the friend was the mechanic who would fix the bike. Fair enough. He rode away on the bike, we sat down to tea with the guy who had stopped on the road to help. He did not possess enough english and we not enough vietnamese to get so far as to exchange names. after a few minutes he indicated that he would go and see what his mate was up to, and he too sped away. thus the last contact we had with martins bike rode out of view. in hindsight, this was not the smartest move.

A couple of cheery old locals sat at our table and exchanged a few words, but the conversation was never going to transcend hello im 22 to the heady realms of international politics and metaphysics. Add to this the fact that i'd only had two hours sleep, martin not much more and with better things to think about. After a while they got bored and turned to each other for conversation. Half an hour later, the bike had still not returned. At the sound of any motor on the road, martin and i span round on our placcy stools to see if it was ours. Forty-five minutes later there was still no sign. I amused martin with the hypothesis that they might just have done a runner with our bike. he did nnot find this notion particularly witty. I kept a steely eye on my bike, reminding myself that the keys for it are interchangeable. and so we waited inthe noxious heat, watchet et pretet. (laura/patrick, translation if you please) The clock ticked past forty-five minutes.

After just less than an hour had elapsed, we heard the sound of engines again, and looking round we saw our bike roll into the cafe, complete with brand new mudguard and even a lick of paint over other scratches. We had not been stitched after all. We paid our dong, shook hands, waved goodbye and went on our way. Alles gut. Ya. Returning to hoi an, we went to get some lunch, and then made our respective ways to bedfordshire. before i arrived at that much desired locale, i took the liberty of checking on Ben, Mr. Entertainment. His bike was gone, but i gave his room a tap anyway in case the girls were in. He opened the door, not looking as chipper as he might have. But pray, Ben, whatever have you done with your bike? He had gone out at nine that morning and it wasnt there. Oh dear. He had had the same bike as mine, and i had obtained a new fully functioning key from a random punter in My Son. Could it be that... Ben did not seem to be overawed at this suggestion. I went to bed. So far we had lost the key to one bike, crashed another and lost another. It was not the most successful of escapades.

To conclude, as i have another appointment for dinner. It transpired that the hotel had moved bens bike and it was in fact just sround the corner, not stolen. Matey at the hire place seemed to accept his new key, and i didnt argue. Martin successfully gave his bike back i believe without further problem. That evening i met anotehr bundle of friendly punters, and another fascinating and memorable evening was wrought. But that, dear reader, is another story.

Here is a quick excerpt from an e i sent to alex, thegetupkid. i hope he will not mind me repeating it here, or the reader be displeased by its unusual literary fromat or seedy contents. you have had due warning, but it is quite funny. a bit like a train.

[Right matey well i hope you recover from the happy pizza in time to treat yourself to the sights. Oh, i heard a clasdsic story the other day. this guy i met had a conversation with a yank who was giving him advice on what to do if you are driving long distances and feel tired. it went something like this: (with a very thick yankee accent)

"Yeah man, when im driving along and i start to feel tired, you know, when i start to feel myself nodding off, you know when that happens. In got this trick i always use, i gotta tell ya. What i do when i feel myself goin, is i just BEAT OFF! Yeah, works every time. I gotta tell ya tho, a little bit of advice i gotta tell ya. Dont try it on a motorbike. Yeah."

Youve got to love that. I dont know if i told you of the guy i met in kantchanaburi, a danish guy. He was sitting having lunch with a friend of mine, and when they ahd finished he grasped the edge of the table with his hands, preparing to stand up, and said:

"Right, sho, ok. Now i got to mashturbate. I have not mashturbated for three days and now it is time. Sho, i will see you in ten minutes."

He was in the room next to mine. Thats great.

Right man i trust that provided some amusement. See you in thailand,]

Thats all for now, except to say that i cant resapond to any comments as i cant get to the site: this computer is too shitty. so, for now, you may consider yourselves to have descended back into the ghetto streets of official punkdom. You punks.

Posted 3:57 AM by Gobbler
Hoi an-ing it still. important and thrilling action to report. hold on, its going to be an exciting ride. and it was an exciting ride, which is why the action was so thrilling. thrilled as i was by the action, this exciting ride i rode, i am excited, nay thriled, to report the ride. it was exciting, and will be for you too. ride with me, cos all of thius is yours and mine, so lets ride and ride and ride.

Met some more intriguing punters, those aussies, a canadian, more brits and a yank or two. but they take a back seat (lets keep the riding metaphors rolling) in this entry. Cos the night before last i met a scot named Martin. he had a cunning plan...

we were in the bar, tam tam cafe, enjoying the 40p a pint happy hour prices. I had agreed with bin, an aussie guy, that we would hire bikes and cruise up and down the beach the next day, for a bit of a giggle. Martin got wind of this and said that he planned to get up early the next day and ride out to the My Son temples, the finest example of the champa people who chugged around these parts in the 3rd -15th centuries. He wanted to set off about five and get there well before the crowds. a splendid idea thought i, a cool 45k cruise on a bike along the highways and biways of the 'nam to a quiet, beautiful set of ruins, with no tourist punks to get in our way. Then we'd return, get a little kip, and join bin on the beach cruise, which would by then be well deserved.

the plan was set and we hired our bikes from the bar. four dollars apiece, twice as much as an organised trip to My Son, but hey ho it was going to be more exciting on our own. I'm sure the mineral water that i was drinking, as usual, was laced wit some kind of intoxicating substance, (Dr. Octagon strikes again? Or perhaps evil Uncle? And while were at it, who, in the name of science, is Papa Smirf? Dr. O's daddy??? Curse your nepotistic predelictions, doctor) and so i was unwilling/ unable to drive home. it is also worht remembering that i have never ridden a motorbike before. but hey, this is the 'nam after all. after being ridden back to the hotel to drop off the bike i returned to the bar to meet bin, who by this time was behind the bar attempting to give out free drinks to us. he was largely unsuccessful, but, posing as a wine dealer, he did manage to give us a brief wine tasting session. Quite amusing. Bar closed at one and we tramped home. went to sleep at about half two in the end - i had to get my moneys worth from BBC World ont telly, and was shortly awoken at half past four. I woke up but not for long, and martin came to re-rouse me at ten past five. five minutes later we were on our bikes and away, zipping through the countryside. all was progressing well.

Indeed, we gained My Son without getting lost or killed, and duly rolled into the cafe where we were to park our bikes. Coming to a halt, martin switched off his engine and hopped off his bike. i moved to do the same but immediately encountered an intriguing problem: no key. There was no key in the ignition. But the bike was still running. Some thoughts entered my head; 1) how do i turn off the engine, 2) how do i lock the bike, 3) how do i restart the bike, 4) where in all the foul flickering fires of beelzebub was my flaming key.

There didnt seem much point in retracing our steps to look for it, and so it seemed as though iwas, in a word, problematized. The owner of the cafe came over to us to say good morning, and saw my troubled expression. i indicated that i was somewhat lacking in the key department. he saw the problem, gave a little giggle, and wondered back to the cafe. Great. However, seconds later he returned with a key of his own, slipped it in and turned. It worked, the engine duly died, and the bike locked. He let me keep the key, and we sat down to our breakfast of rice and vegetables much relieved at this improbable slice of luck.

Breakfasted, we templed. A 50,000 dong entrance fee was paid and we toured the ruins for an hour or two. Unfortunately, the most impressive tower, at Group A, had been reduced to dust and rubble by B-52's back in 'nam days. 1000 years of beauty demolished, as Mr Cooper would say, 'just like that'. Now i dont want to keep banging on about this, for fear of upsetting my expansive, though silent, American readership, but its not exactly my fault if theyve got a habit of blowing everything up. anyhow.

theres little point, it seems to me, in describing the temples in detail. they are hardly the most extraordinary ruins in the world. But they bore a charm and a peace that i could not uncover at Angkor. No one tried to sell me anything, they were left alone, wrapped in mountainous jungle laced with unexploded ordnance. No unscheduled strolls.

We returned to cafe for a coke or a sprite, (martin, being wierd and having lived on the orkney islands, neither drinks coke nor eats ketchup, which in the US is, i was told last night, officially a vegetable- marvellous) and as the first tours began to arrive, we gunned our engines and purred away.

Over long straight and empty roads we raced along, touching 100kmh by my clock, tho martin thought nearer 90. No matter, it was fast enough and we enjoyed ourselves immensely; now speeding, now trotting along, through the villages and waving children and onlooking old, admiring the scenes before us.

Martin was in front of me, and travelling at a perfectly sensible speed moved to overtake a lorry. As he did so, dust was thrown up into his face, blinding him. he braked hard, swerved right, left, then right again. as he jumped clear of the bike it careered into a concrete bollard.

Now i have a diner date, so i will leave you baited, and continue when i can.

Posted 3:36 AM by Gobbler
so i finally took out the co chi tunnels yesterday. just my cup of tea really. crawling 150 odd metres through a tunnel that was really quite small, less than a meter high and wide, about eighty by ninety i think. they didnt go in too heavily for lights down there so you had to follow the smell and the heavy breathing s\quite closely to stop yourself from wandering dwn the wrong tunnel. if this was back in blighty theyd do more to stop the touristicos from disappearing off down a dead end, but they dont seem to care about little things like that here.

i was secretly hoping for one of our group to get lost or freak out and start shouting 'oh my god we're all going to die'. or perhaps for some hidden loud speakers to start blasting out a few explosion noises from above but no such thrills were forthcoming. instead i had to be content with the older guy infront of us running out of breath and stopping for a few minutes. this led to atmospheric heav breathing but little else. our guide didnt bother tyo stop tho so it was touch and go as to whether we went the right way. i dont know how they did it - i was at the back of the group, but we got out in the end.

saw an amusing video with an excellent comentary full of inappropriate adjectives about america. i cant remember any phrases exactly but one of my favourites went along the lines of 'the hellish yankee devils'. The odd crater lying around. they keep soe of them dug out to show the tourists. the area of the co chi tunnels is known as the iron triangle -the main viet cong hq in the south. as such quite a lot of bombage took place as well as the odd drop of agent orange etc.

We were also shown examples of the traps used against said yankees. of note was the meatgrinder trap: a deep pit with two rotating sets of metal spikes at the top. you fall in, the spikes rotate and you go all the way to the bottom being perforated as you go. cheery stuff.

our guide was very keen, but this was just what i didnt want. i had calculated on sleeping for the two hour bus journey there, as not much sleep the night before , but a continuous lecture about the history of the tunnels - and it was interesting - kept me awake for the most part. the guide had been in the south vietnamese air force. when the vietcong won in 1975 he was taken away for reeducation. according to him the only thing he learnt is that it is possible to work non stoop for 12 hours a day in the paddy fields on one bowl of rice. he laughed at this, youve got to laugh at something in this world, but he spent no time hiding his contempt for the government here. he wants to go to america. well, all i can say is that im going to america in a few weeks and least he learnt soemthing when he wsa reeducated...

I took the 7 pm sleeper train to da nang for the connection, by taxi as it turned out, to hoi an. an american guy whom i ahd met in allez boo, saigon, had come to the co chi tunnels and was supposed to meet him at five for some farewell eat. but i overslept in the afternoon and so missed him. i dont know his name but hes from new york. if anyone sees him he'll be thenonly person in s.e asia, and he claims the entire world, who proudly sports a vomit coloured baseball cap. you cant miss him, although i did last night.

now im going back to my 10 dollar a night hotel, complete with swimming pool, a/c, mini fridge and two beds. now which one shall i sleep in tonight? oh, there can be too much choice. AND, ive got hot water. skippidy doo dah, skippidy day. mind you, i've found the 4$ place and will be moving there tomorrow. dont want to overdo it on the luxury front.