Day 57 - Genocide

Our Cambodian Geonocide education continued with a visit to the Killing Fields this morning, which was slightly delayed by a bakery serving a very pleasant breakfast (which we did not want to leave) and by the chaotic Phnom Penh traffic (which we could have lived without). In any case, we had just about enough time to have a thorough visit and still make our bus to Siem Reap.

Unlike S21 (the prison we visited the day before, where the “enemies of the Angkar” were detained before being sent to the Fields for execution) the structures built by the Khmer Rouge were torn down by the Vietnamese shortly after the invasion of Phnom Penh. What remains is a peaceful memorial to the victims of this insane regime which, although built around mass graves where thousands of bodies are still buried, basically provides a setting and a context to the excellent audio guide (included in the price, as the visit would be very incomplete without it).

Over the course of about an hour, we could hear shocking details about how the executions were carried out, from the “magic tree” that played loud revolutionary music in an effort to muffle the sounds of the wailing victims, to the “killing tree”, where babies were murdered in a more brutal and inhumane way than you can probably imagine.

The large memorial stupa in the middle of the park is filled with skulls that have been catalogued and examined, and is a thought-provoking yet serene place. While it can been interpreted as an attempt to shock the visitors, it personally felt like more of an effort to increase awareness of just how twisted the minds of the Khmer Rouge were, and most of all to make sure it does not happen again. And by “it” I do not just mean Genocide but especially the revolting skepticism regarding the refugees, who from the beginning shared their inside view on what was going on in Cambodia but were promptly ignored, as the West was too busy worrying about its stupid Cold War to pay attention to the mindless extermination of millions of innocents. The last 24 hours left a pretty strong dent on my perception of mankind and just how twisted and evil we can be when the wrong people are given too much power.

The rest of the day as spent inside a bus to Siem Reap, which we made by a matter of minutes after being (once again) stuck in traffic on the way back to our hotel. Despite this, I leave Phnom Penh with a very good impression of a pretty hip place, with friendly people and a cool vibe. Our destination, in stark contrast, has the feel of the World’s biggest gift shop, where the constant hassling reaches Indian levels. In any case, our arrival in Siem Reap was shortly followed by a biblical downpour, which will hopefully clear the skies for the big day tomorrow (and by “big” I mean “getting-up-at-4am-big”). Keep your fingers crossed for us…

Cheers,
J-Wowww

Dia 56 - Mal

As primeiras horas do dia de hoje foram comparáveis com uma manhã chuvosa em Milton Keynes - depois de vinte minutos à procura do nosso autocarro, cheios de sono e debaixo de uma nostálgica chuvinha molha-parvos, descobrimos que deveríamos ter impresso o nosso visto para o Cambodja dez minutos tarde demais, quando o nosso autocarro já tinha partido. Felizmente os serviços fronteiriços e o senhor da agência que geria o nosso autocarro eram amigos e uma nota de dez dólares resolveu a situação, um preço justo (tanto financeira como eticamente) a pagar para rectificar o nosso acesso de estupidez e não voltarmos recambiados para Saigão.

O resto da viagem passou-se a dormir tanto quanto possível até um dilúvio se abater sobre o nosso autocarro e, devido ao estado de conservação das janelas do mesmo, sobre mim. Felizmente a trovoada já tinha acalmado quando chegámos, o que nos permitiu fazer o check-in, comer qualquer coisa (visto que até às três da tarde tínhamos comido meia dúzia de bolachas Maria e bebido um café) e seguir para o S21, o primeiro de dois sítios documentando a recente história brutal do país, que não poderíamos deixar de visitar na capital.

Com a plena consciência de já ter dito o mesmo sobre o Museu dos Espojos de Guerra em Saigão, o que vimos hoje não se compara a nada que me lembre de ter visto até hoje. A antiga escola secundária, transformada em prisão política pelo Khmer Rouge em 1975, é o sítio mais macabro que já visitei (com a ressalva de não ter visitado assim tantos sítios macabros…). As histórias das vítimas e as condições em que estas viviam, as torturas a que foram submetidas até serem enviadas para os Killing Fields e a maneira como eram executadas ganham toda uma nova dimensão ao percebermos a razão (ou a falta dela) por trás de tais atrocidades.

Pol Pot, o líder do movimento Khmer Rouge, foi um dia passar férias ao campo e observou que as comunidades agrárias funcionavam como um perfeito regime Comunista. Aí decidiu que, em vez de perder tempo a tentar converter os habitantes das cidades aos seus ideais, o país poderia funcionar sem eles. Nessa altura, o regime começou a evacuar as principais cidades do país (sob o pretexto de iminentes bombardeamentos por parte dos Estados Unidos) para zonas rurais, onde eram submetidos a trabalhos forçados e alimentados de forma deficiente. Os ex-habitantes das cidades, também chamados de “Pessoas Novas”, não tinham obviamente grande jeito para o trabalho agrícola e, sem a ajuda das “Pessoas Antigas” (as que sempre viveram da terra), acabaram por não produzir o que deles era esperado. Os que não morreram à fome foram presos, torturados e executados.

As chamadas “elites”, ou seja todas as pessoas com educação, erma consideradas inimigas e portanto presas, torturadas e executadas. O ridículo chegou ao ponto de pessoas que usavam óculos serem perseguidas pura e simplesmente por parecerem inteligentes, independentemente das suas habilitações ou profissões. Grande parte dos membros do próprio partido foram, mais tarde ou mais cedo, presos e também eles executados. Um trio de ocidentais cujo barco acabou em águas controladas pelo Cambodja na altura errada foi capturado, preso e executado por ser considerado um “risco de segurança”, e todos os estrangeiros que não tiveram a sorte de serem evacuados após a tomada do poder por parte do Khmer Rouge sofreram o mesmo destino.

Tudo isto aconteceu nos pouco mais de três anos em que o Khmer Rouge esteve no poder, até o Vietname invadir o Cambodja e empurrar estes senhores com um parafuso a menos para perto da fronteira com a Tailândia. O melhor disto tudo é que, durante os vinte anos que se seguiram à invasão Vietnamita, o Khmer Rouge (em coligação com duas outras forças rebeldes) continuou a ser considerado como o governo legítimo do Cambodja pelas Nações Unidas, recebendo apoio financeiro e militar por parte da China, dos Estados Unidos e do Reino Unido. Isso mesmo - vinte anos depois da descoberta de valas comuns com os restos mortais de milhares ou milhões de “Pessoas Novas”, que não fizeram absolutamente nada para merecerem o destino que tiveram.

Mesmo depois de ouvir relatos de atrocidades cometidas por outros regimes semelhantes, o ridículo das acções do Khmer Rouge deixou-me sobretudo enraivecido. Não percebo como é possível seres humanos agirem como estes senhores, especialmente quando usam uma espécie deturpada de pensamento racional para justificar as suas acções (segundo o director do S21, “mais vale prender alguém que não deve ser preso do que deixar um inimigo escapar”). Não percebo como alguém consegue ser mau o suficiente para achar que o extermínio de dois terços da população do seu país é um preço justo a pagar pela implementação de uma utopia absurda. Como cereja no topo do bolo, não percebo como é que o Ocidente apoiou estes senhores durante mais de vinte anos, mesmo depois de as provas das atrocidades cometidas pelos mesmos serem quase irrefutáveis.

Peço desculpa pela aula de história e subsequente desabafo que acabou por ser este post, mas acredito que uma visita ao S21 deixasse qualquer um em semelhante estado. Amanhã planeamos ir aos Killing Fields por isso, por muito que tente evitar repetir-me, pelo sim pelo não preparem-se para um bocadinho mais do mesmo…

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 55 - Floating

The floating markets were almost worth our third pre-6am rise in a row and the two rounds of coffee with (condensed) milk more than made up for the deficit (although, as always, the ice-filled plastic cup left us disappointed at how quickly we finished our drinks). Very popular between the locals up to the 1990s, these markets now exist in an effort to preserve the traditional customs of the Mekong Delta, in large part for the benefit of us tourists.

Even so, watching the goods being exchanged between boats and purchasing our coffee and breakfast by essentially colliding with other rafts was a cool experience, if anything showing us how real life used to be around here not too long ago. One thing I struggle to understand though - how does a country with an average annual temperature of 30 degrees Celsius think boiling hot noodle soup is a suitable choice for breakfast?! If someone has the answer, please use the comments box to enlighten me.

The rest of the morning was spent navigating the narrower, quieter canals on a smaller boat and visiting different farms, where we were fed enough fruit to make up for the rest of the trip, slightly offsetting the severe Vitamin C deficit in our bodies. The smaller canals were far more picturesque and pleasant than the large rivers of the delta, leaving me wishing we had spent more time exploring them over these two days. The lady that took us around in her boat was especially adorable, gifting us all sorts of figures she made out of water coconut leaves along the way - from a crown, proudly worn by Ben for most of the day, to grasshoppers and helicopters with unconventional rotor configurations.

After one last stop at the beautiful house used as a setting for “The Lover”, the French movie based on Marguerite Duras’ autobiographic novel (which I think I have read, but was such an ethereal experience I have almost forgotten about it), we drove back to HCMC. Ut, our guide, had us once again engaged in deep conversation for most of the way, when both of us just wanted to pass out in peace. Amusingly, this time he decided to conduct a thorough recap of everything that we had done in the past couple of days, including a test of Ben’s recollection of our activities (which he promptly failed while I pretended to be asleep, as I did not know the answer myself).

While we aimed to do some sightseeing on our last afternoon in Saigon, the persistent rain led us to the Heart of Darkness brewery instead, where we were forced to partake in some more craft beer tasting - ultimately, both the selection and the quality were far superior to what we had at Pasteur two nights ago, so we were quite glad it rained. After a couple of beers, out of our flight of six, I went on a slightly inebriated tangent about how I would love to have a job that allowed me to live wherever I felt like. If I did not enjoy my current occupation as much as I do (which I appreciate makes me incredibly lucky in that respect) I would have probably left everything behind and tried my luck as a freelance writer or photographer. While I am fully aware I am not that great at either activity right now, I am sure the threat of starvation would steepen the learning curve significantly…

What we hoped would be a big night ended up being slightly disappointing, as most places in the backpackers’ district were fairly empty around midnight. The highlight of the evening ended up being Soul Burger, an American joint near the Ben Thanh Market, which provided us with large-and-in-charge nutrition - after having noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the past couple of days, we have to admit we welcomed a change of pace. The American cook’s “bravo” when we finished our double-patty beauties reassured us that we had come to the right place.

Tomorrow will mark what feels like the ninetieth early start on the trot, as our bus to Phnom Penh departs at 7am. Funnily enough, the three days after that will also force us to rise before the Sun, so I may well have to wait until Burma for my next lie-in. Knowing my sleeping habits, however, I can tell you that, whenever that happens, it will be glorious.

Cheers,
J-Wowww

DIa 54 - Delta

Continuando a nossa sequência de dias a acordar a horas ridículas, pouco passava das sete da manhã e já estávamos num autocarro a caminho do delta do rio Mekong. Duas diferenças em relação ao autocarro que nos levou a Bai Tu Long Bay - a viagem foi de hora e meia em vez de cinco e tínhamos nove lugares só para nós os dois, permitindo todo um nível de refastelamento nunca antes visto. Já Ut, o nosso guia, é tão simpático quanto conversador - um ponto positivo para o resto do dia, mas não entre as sete e as oito e meia da manhã, quando me apetecia tanto conversar como arrancar todos os pêlos da minha perna esquerda, um a um, com uma pinça. A paragem numa estação de serviço para o pequeno almoço (café gelado e bolos de uma pastelaria típica que, talvez em parte por estarmos a morrer de fome, nos souberam melhor do que qualquer pequeno-almoço vietnamita até hoje) fez-nos sentir ligeiramente mais humanos.

A chegada ao barco que nos ia levar a conhecer o rio não me deixou boquiaberto. Apesar de bonita, a paisagem que nos rodeava fica aquém das backwaters de Kerala, do delta do rio Tigre na Argentina ou da intersecção entre o rio Trancão e o Tejo - os três outros sítios do género que me vêm à memória. No entanto, passadas algumas horas a observar pessoas a descascar e limpar cocos e a fabricar utensílios a partir do resto da planta (usada para fazer tudo por estes lados, desde vassouras a telhados de casas) fez-nos perceber que mais do que a paisagem, o delta do rio Mekong é um sítio vivo e dinâmico, onde dezoito milhões de Vietnamitas continuam a viver do que o rio lhes dá - desde a pesca a nós, turistas, passando pelos cocos e bananas que crescem abundantemente nas margens.

Ao chegarmos à casa onde ficaremos a dormir devorámos o almoço preparado pela nossa anfitriã e descansámos meia hora (que para mim foram cinco minutos, visto que passei o resto do tempo a ler o artigo da Wikipedia sobre a “Tet Offensive” na guerra do Vietname) antes de explorarmos as redondezas de bicicleta. Antes de pegarmos nas ditas tivemos de apanhar uma boleia de mota e de ferry boat, uma maneira extremamente popular de atravessar os milhares de rios que compõem o delta, onde mais uma vez oportunidades para tirar fotografias de crianças minúsculas em scooters não faltaram.

Desde as centenas de crianças a voltar a casa da escola de bicicleta às pessoas sentadas à beira da estrada, toda a gente nos saudava com um sonoro “Hello!” e um sorriso sincero. Nada do que se passava à nossa volta nos deixava estupefactos, simplesmente olhávamos com curiosidade para o dia-a-dia destas pessoas incrivelmente simpáticas. Igualmente curioso foi ouvir o nosso guia falar de como foi crescer no delta do Mekong, de como os soldados do exército Vietcong usavam templos Budistas como esconderijo e criaram uma rede de túneis para se movimentarem sem serem detectados, ou da religião Tam Giáo, que junta ensinamentos do Budismo e de duas outras religiões chinesas e cujos templos extremamente coloridos se destacam das construções simples e discretas das aldeias.

Após um pôr-do-sol que não consigo descrever com palavras e de (por ficarmos uma hora a tirar fotografias ao mesmo) voltarmos para casa de bicicleta às escuras, fomos ensinados pela nossa anfitriã a fazer Bánh Xèo, as panquecas salgadas típicas do Sul do Vietname, das quais já tínhamos ficado fãs dias antes em Da Nang. Enquanto jantávamos, e depois de se fartar de nos fazer mais panquecas (que não conseguíamos recusar, não por estarmos a ser simpáticos mas por saberem bastante bem), a senhora explicou-nos que o filho vive em Saigão e é casado com uma senhora que, apesar de Doutorada, tem um negócio de venda de leite para bébés (o que, para o Ut, não parecia fazer grande sentido).

Meia dúzia de fotografias dos seus netos e dois dedos de conversa com o Ut, acompanhados por uma lata da excelente cerveja 333, serviram para fechar o dia cedo - seguindo o horário dos locais, amanhã saímos outra vez às seis da manhã para conseguirmos ver o mercado flutuante durante a hora de ponta. Não me lembro da última vez que acordei três dias seguidos antes das seis, mas não posso negar que a paz e sossego deste sítio só me faz querer acordar às seis, sim, mas da tarde.

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 53 - Brutality

My praise for the Vietnamese railways was premature, albeit through no fault of its own. The two guys that occupied the spare beds in our compartment as we left Da Nang were replaced by two ladies and a child just as I was going to sleep, and at the same time a strange odour invaded the room. It was a smell I cannot quite place, but it was so bad I still felt it when my alarm rang, after my senses had about six hours to get accustomed to it. Contrary to what you may be thinking, my money is actually on the lady in the bottom bunk rather than the little girl, but whoever it was made this train trip one to remember…

I would love to tell you our 5.22am arrival in Ho Chi Minh City (which will henceforth be referred to as either HCMC or Saigon, since I don’t get paid by the word) was a pleasant one, but it definitely was not. The lack of a photographable sunrise was compounded by our inability to check in to our hostel until 2pm, which led us to essentially wander the streets until we found a place that would serve us coffee and, an hour later, breakfast. Despite having had the most expensive sandwiches in Vietnam, I was so desperate to have some food in my belly I genuinely did not care.

While we were devouring said sandwiches and looking for a Mekong Delta Tour for tomorrow I came across a Saigon Photography Tour on a website called “withlocals.com”, which pairs willing locals with tourists seeking off-the-beaten-track experiences, and promptly booked it for later today. Until our check-in time we wandered through a park packed with people performing all sorts of arts and exercise, from middle-aged people playing swords to a girl playing the flute or a couple of dancers being trained by a teacher, until we reached the Independence Palace.

Built on the site that once featured a pleasant colonial palace, destroyed in the early stages of the Second Indochina War, it was replaced in 1966 by the current structure, as ugly as any piece of architecture penned in the 1960s. Once you get over how hideous it looks, the visit to the palace is actually quite interesting, mostly due to the surprising amount of history present in a place that served its purpose for less than a decade. My favourite tale was that of the last Prime Minister of Vietnam, Vũ Văn Mẫu, who was in the process of presenting himself to the President of the Republic of Vietnam just as Radio Saigon started reading out the surrender speech, written by the President himself.

Our next stop was at the War Remnants Museum, which was probably the most gut-wrenching place I have visited on this trip. The descriptions and images of the lasting effects of the War on the people of Vietnam, particularly due to the use of Agent Orange by the US Military, were in equal parts powerful and uncomfortable, leaving me unable to divert my eyes. The exhibition on the output of War Photographers was a highlight, with the stories and work of people like Robert Capra or Larry Burrows standing out between the hundreds of contributors.

The lower floor exhibitions about the youth movements that opposed the War were thought-provoking in the sense that, at the time, they were (like most things young people are passionate about) dismissed as naïve and idealistic. In hindsight, History proved them to be unquestionably correct. This still happens today, and maybe the World would benefit from the generations “in charge” not being so smug and dismissive of those who will, one day, replace them. Then again, maybe it is human Nature to become defensive over those who will ultimately steal one’s spotlight.

Checked-in and feeling roughly one million dollars better after a shower and a fresh change of clothes, we met up with Thiem. Our guide spent the next few hours guiding us through Districts 3 and 5, where Tourists very rarely set foot, as District 1 tends to cater of the vast majority of their needs. The photography tour started at the oldest coffee house in Saigon, where Ben and I watched our coffees being made by the three adorable old sisters who run the place.

We then walked around some of the oldest blocks of flats in the city, caught a local bus to Chinatown and got to sample several street food stalls and witness people’s friendliness and happiness to get photographed by two strange foreigners, reacting with a beaming smile to the sight of our lenses. In between spots, the trend of adorable Vietnamese babies precariously placed on moving scooters continued and I am now fairly sure I have enough pictures of that to warrant an album in itself.

A delicious dinner followed by craft beer tasting wrapped up one of the longest days I can remember, with exhaustion and the prospect of a 7am leave for our Mekong Delta tour in the morning   leading us to call it a night reasonably early. Fear not - we plan on taking on Saigon’s nightlife upon our return and finish the Vietnamese part of our trip in style, so stick around for a full account of that experience…

Cheers,
J-Wowww

Dia 52 - Reunificação

O dia de hoje será porventura o que merecerá menos tempo de antena, uma vez que foi passado maioritariamente na mais violenta viagem de comboio de que me lembro - dezassete horas, com partida de Da Nang à uma da tarde de hoje e chegada prevista a Ho Chi Minh City (doravante HCMC ou Saigão, conforme me apetecer) às seis da manhã de amanhã. Este caminho de ferro, conhecido como a “Linha da Reunificação” por ter sido reaberto após a Guerra e o fim da separação entre o Norte e o Sul do país, liga Hanoi a Saigão e vem basicamente definindo a parte Vietnamita da nossa viagem.

As nossos últimos minutos em Hoi An foram passados a inalar Coconut Coffees, a segunda revelação gastronómica Vietnamita. Basicamente um milkshake de leite de côco e leite condensado sobre o qual são deitados dois shots de espresso ou café de filtro, é provavelmente a forma de café mais refrescante que já experimentei - nunca achei grande piada a Iced Lattes, que me sabem sempre a água. Enquanto que as melhores variantes foram a primeira (num café escolhido ao calhas em Hanói) e a de ontem no Espresso House (feita com excelente espresso), gostamos tanto que deixámos de ser esquisitos. Como só tínhamos meia hora antes de termos de ir para a estação, o café à frente do nosso hotel teve de servir…

Os comboios Vietnamitas são claramente mais arranjadinhos do que os Indianos, mas uma viagem até à carruagem-restaurante revela famílias inteiras a tentar dormir em bancos de madeira, que parecem desenhados com o intento de provocar dores de costas a quem se sentar neles durante mais de meia hora. Eu tinha a ideia de conseguir dormir em qualquer lado (menos em autocarros que me obriguem a amputar os membros inferiores para me poder sentar) mas, depois de ver uma criança a dormir profundamente numa posição que a mim me poria numa cadeira de rodas no dia seguinte, tenho de lhe tirar o chapéu.

Apesar de tudo, a paisagem fez com que as primeiras horas da viagem passassem relativamente rápido, com as enormes janelas dos dois lados da carruagem a permitir-nos apreciar a vista do semi-conforto das nossas camas. Quilómetros de campos trabalhados por meia dúzia de pessoas, com as montanhas cobertas de nuvens como pano de fundo, foram a motivação perfeita para passar a tarde a processar as fotografias do Sri Lanka, que se tudo correr bem verão a luz do dia mais tarde ou mais cedo - prometo avisar quando já estiver tudo em ordem!

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 51 - Bridges

Hoi An was not quite as cute under daylight as it had been the previous evening, but even so the bicycle trip that took us to the Cua Dai beach was pleasant and not as life-threatening as we had feared. The beach itself, on the other hand, was a bit disappointing as the line of sand bags spread along the coast and the large pipes heading into the Ocean, covered in a black rubber mat and unlikely to be carrying purified water, spoil what would have otherwise been a nice spot. While I went for a quick swim, Ben was approached by a beach vendor who stuck  around despite his evident lack of interest and told him how grateful she was to the Brits for their support during the typhoons that regularly affect the region, the most recent only a couple of weeks ago.

After grabbing some lunch (many deep-fried spring rolls were consumed) and a shower, we headed to the bus stop that we hoped would get us to Da Nang, a good 25-minute walk from our hotel. To help us withstand the extreme heat, which made the shower we had just had feel like a pointless exercise, we stopped at Espresso Station, a coffee house conveniently tucked away along a side street halfway down our route. Every now and then I walk into a place and get a sudden urge to open my own coffee house - this place was the first to cause those symptoms during this trip due to the adorable decor and staff and absolutely delicious coconut coffees (which I feel deserve a post for themselves).

The bus to Da Nang was not the crazy experience other tourists had described on the interwebs, but rather a fairly quick and bearable trip despite the lack of AC - open doors and windows were more than enough to keep things cool. We got dropped off at the bottom of one of the five Marble Mountains, a cluster of marble and limestone peaks tearing through the otherwise flat landscape in the south of Da Nang, home to an American air base  during the War and later celebrated by the TV show “China Beach”. As stone extraction from the mountains was banned recently they are now peaceful spots covered in Buddhist temples and marble statues, as well as caves and tunnels that we unfortunately did not have enough time to explore. Even so, it was the perfect way to end our afternoon, at least until the mosquitoes started feasting upon every inch of uncovered skin in our bodies.

Once the sun came down and we devoured some more deep fried deliciousness, the early ours of our night were spent admiring and photographing Da Nang’s colourful bridges, including the Cau Rong Dragon-shaped, colour-changing and fire-spitting bridge. If that sounds too epic to be true, rest assured that it is not and the time we spent taking pictures of its different colours at various angles (yet crucially failing to capture the fire-spitting) is a testament to that.

Eventually we did get bored of taking pictures of bridges and headed to a bar called “On The Radio”, which we saw described as a “live music club”. Even though that description undersells this place somewhat, nothing could have prepared us for the rollercoaster of emotions that ensued over the next few hours. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was being played by the band as we walked in, which reassured us that this was a good choice of venue. Three songs later, they had moved on to Bryan Adams’ “I Do It For You”.

The slide continued after a group teenagers was replaced on stage by a band headlined by a guy who looked like a Vietnamese soap opera actor, and whose guitarist sported the epic military cap/ ponytail combo that is shockingly under-utilised in the musical industry. They opened with three ballads in (I presume) Vietnamese, which above anything else left us absolutely stunned by the levels of excitement around us. People were not just singing along - they led the way, most of the time forcing the singer to lower his microphone and let the crowd do his job for him. Bizarrely, he was then subbed off by a lady with an extremely fake American accent, who covered five Adele songs on the trot.

The highlight of the evening was the moment, after the aforementioned lady was replaced by a kid in an Iron Maiden t-shirt, when Ben said the words “if they cover a Metallica song now I will *express my excitement through a physiological reaction that is seldom associated with music and will require me to change trousers*” (using the short, less family-friendly version of that expression). As soon as that sentence was over, the band started playing “Enter Sandman”. That moment alone is, to me, enough proof of God’s existence.

Sadly that was the last live song of the night, as the band was replaced on stage by a DJ that despite trying her best to get people going (and doing a perfectly respectable job) had her work cut out as the staff did not clear the tables spread around the room, effectively leading people to either leave or just dance at their tables, rather than on a makeshift dance floor. Having done our best to get things going, with enthusiastic dancing and the occasional slut-dropping (which did wonders for the split down the inseam of my trousers I had just tried to repair hours earlier), we decided to leave when we were literally the only ones still moving. On The Radio, you have been everything we had hoped for and a whole lot more. If you ever find yourselves with a spare evening in Da Nang, I thoroughly recommend it.

Cheers,
J-Wowww