The Ghost of Thomas Hardy and Kamikaze Hookers

My last few days in Ho Chi Minh were a wondrous time. We took a day trip to the Cao Dai Great Temple, 100km north of HCMC. Cao Daism is a perplexing religion, something to do with seances and the spirit of William Shakespeare, Joan of Arc and Thomas Hardy. I've seen a lot of temples recently, but this one took the freaking biscuit. A cacophony of colours, music and a ceremony like I've never seen, they believe in "the existence of the soul, the use of mediums to communicate with the Aspiritual world, and belief in one god".

Blew my mind.

Onwards to the CuChi Tunnels, where I conquered my claustrophobia to get down and dirty in the 200km of tunnels dug during the Vietnam War and saw traps laid for the Americans with spikes up to your eyeballs. We ate a weird tunnel dinner of some kind of nutty sweet potato with sugar and peanuts and I lost my fear of dysentery.

Waving goodbye to Saigon, we headed up to the Central Highlands, this was the first time I've worn socks in a month. While the others took an early start in the mountains, I opted for a day in the city. It was cold. And if you thought I was shitting myself in a tuk tuk, you should have seen me on the back of a motorbike. Clinging. On. For. Dear. Life. I took a cable car up to a Chinese pagoda, and paid a visit to the local's "crazy house". Kind of like Disneyland but a but shitter. It felt good to not be sweating in 30 degree heat and I think it's at this point that I give a shout to my lovely travel buddies The Laxton-Badleys and Jo-Jo.. Thanks for taking me under your wing. Drinking vodka under a mosquito net will never be the same. I'm praying for immunity to Japanese Encephalitis.

A cramped bus ride later, we've arrived in Nha Trang.. THE BEEEEEEEACH! I sat today on paradise sands, burning my belly, reading my Kindle (I'm on The Help- nailed One Day in two bus rides- I heart you, Dex), drinking beer and fighting off kamikaze hookers. "You want pringles?" "no". "you want massage?". "no". "you want chupa chup?" "no." "you want bracelet?" "no". "you want ladyboy?" " NO!". I bought a lucky Buddha bracelet. It was the least I could do.

The Vietnamese are the cheeriest, cheekiest people I've ever met. The Beef Pho is to die for and the diversity of the country is sending me crazy. I don't want to leave but I've booked a flight for November 5th back to Thailand. I'll be sorry to say goodbye.

Yo Chi Minh!

My last day in Phnom Penh was spent mingling with the sex tourists on the riverfront. After the trauma of The Killing Fields, I thought I would spend a quiet day wandering the city, but couldn't really escape the pervy old men with their giggling lady friends. After trotting merrily through a Buddhist temple for an hour thinking it was the Royal Palace, I then found the Royal Palace. Seen one Royal Palace, seen them all. After meeting Chris and Mangesh for dinner in a restaurant that trains street kids in cookery and hospitality (great to see some familiar faces), it was time to get out of dodge. I've taken a delightful souvenir of a leg full of bed bug bites - who knew that in my room with air con and Glee on cable TV and a minibar and crisp cotton sheets I would have been mauled by these little bleeders, looking like I may as well be carrying a frigging bell round my neck.

The border crossing into Vietnam was much more civilised, and I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City to a great family run guesthouse. I spent the first day on a tour of the Reunification Palace, a bizarre time warp with a wisecracking tour guide who I wanted to wrap up and ship straight home to keep me entertained with one liners when I get back. Onto the War Remnants Museum, which was reasonably harrowing, but which I soon managed to erase from my mind with a hilarious dinner on a boat. I'm getting better - I'm eating meat and not fearing instant salmonella so much.

We ended up in Lush, a club in central Ho Chi Minh, which can only be described as Vietnam Does Garlands. A Michael Jackson impersonator abseiled from the ceiling into the crowd to the strains of Beat It. A line of 1920's flapper girls doing the conga trying to sell you cigarettes. A gangsta Vietnamese rapper. 4 guys with boxes on their heads doing a synchronised dance to Adele.

I love you, Vietnam.

After a hilarious trip to a water park, I had to say goodbye to my glasses. It's okay - I didn't lose them, just stored for safekeeping while I shot down waterslides which thank god I couldn't see. I swear I've picked up Typhoid but as I said, I know I was having fun, I just couldn't see it.

30p beers on plastic kindergarten chairs in the street and a guy swallowing a saw, followed by eating hot coals, followed by shoving a live snake up his nose and bringing it out of his mouth and flossing his sinus, I have to stay here. Going to meander up to Hanoi in the north. Thailand can wait.