Somewhere on the trip from the bus station in Chau Doc to the Mekong cafe where we stopped for some food, Holly's purse went missing. There wasn't much in it excpet for her cards, but we still needed a report from the police in order to claim back on the insurance. Terry, the owner of the Mekong cafe, has a Vietnamese friend called "Mr Hue" who teaches English at the local school (Holly and I went to one of his English classes before leaving for Phu Quoc Island and spent a happy half hour chatting with 30 or so kids) The man is made of gold.

Not only did he take Holly to both of the police stations in town where he was shouted at, but he also prepared a report in Vietnamese for them to sign in order to make things really easy for them and us, before taking Holly back to the police station where they refused to sign it and instead heaped a little more abuse on his head. He also took Holly back to the bus station to try and find the cyclo driver who'd taken us to the cafe. All without a single word of complaint.

The next day, after we'd "persuaded" the police to sign the piece of paper on our third visit that morning to the police station (Holly, it turns out, has a decidedly evil ability to turn on the water-works on demand) we went out looking for a presant for him, as a mark of our appreciation. He's about to become a father, so we hunted round for something suitable for a young baby. On the way, due to a slight misunderstanding, Holly and I discovered how easy it would be to purchase a small child of our own. Yikes!

If you're ever in Chau Doc, go to the Mekong Cafe and say hello to Terry and Mr Hue. They both managed to make our last few days in Vietnam far more pleasant than we had any right to think it could be.

Phu Quoc Island is a quiet place, as yet mostly unmauled by tourism. As such, there's not much to do there, especially if the weather is ropey and you don't have a 4x4 (normal cars being rendered a poor choice by the lack of proper roads on much of the island)

We spent a happy morning walking up and down the beach, which was covered in a charming mixture of flotsam and jetsam and could only be described as "filthy" To be fair, this might have been caused by the previous few days' terrible weather, but if you ever find yourself heading there, don't believe the hype.

The other thing we did was walk into Duong Dong, the nearby town. We felt like royalty as we walked around. The reason was that everyone was waving at us and shouting "hello!" and it took us a while to figure out what was to us quite un-Vietnamese behaviour. There were hardly any western tourists, and we only saw 4 that were our age, none of those in town; we were a novelty! It was great: the people really made us feel welcome, unlike elsewhere where we felt more like walking piggy-banks (the kind that need to be broken open before anything comes out)

Despite this, the weather still looked ropey, so we caught the innocently named "Super Dong" speed boat to Rach Gia, an strangely empty local bus to Long Xuyen and then another back to Chau Doc along roads where the bridges seemed to have been built with a large step up to them, before grabbing some food and suffering one of the bigger upsets on our journey.

The trip from Tuc Dup Hill to our base on Phu Quoc Island was remarkable not for any scenery that we might pass, but because of the torrential downpour that accompanied us almost the entire way. For those of you who are used to the gentle climate of Britain, you might think that by "downpour" I mean "heavy rain" Oh no! How wrong you would be! By "downpour" I mean something more like "prolonged cloudburst"

In itself, a little rain is not a problem, but the journey to the island was mostly accomplished on the back of motorbikes, so as far as we were concerned it was a truely miserable experience. When we arrived at Hon Chong, on the Vietnamese coast, the water had somehow managed to penetrate our waterproof tops, and our shoes squelched with every step. Frankly, we could not have got wetter even if we'd tried to swim to the island.

Obviously, swimming was out of the question, with stormed lashed seas smashing against the dock in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, a hydrofoil was to hand, complete with meat locker-esque air conditioning and oddball Vietnamese TV --- our voyage was accompanied by a video of a small 5 year old child kicking various shades of crap out of either mythical robots or San Fransisco bikers, aided by a stroppy woman, a useless man and a lecherous child.

On landing at Anthoi on the southern tip of Phu Quoc Island, the rain had stopped just long enough for us to make our now slightly hypothermic way to some more moto drivers who offered to take us the 30km to Duong Dong which is near Long Beach and where we wanted to stay. And then it started chucking it down again. When we reached the places where we intended to stay, we found the road to it had turned into a stream, and that it was full. Such is life. Fortunately, we found somewhere else that was cheaper, almost on the beach and that had rooms.

Tired and sopping wet, we changed into the only clothes we had packed (our main bags resting in Chau Doc) and went to try and find some food before passing out.

Needless to say, once we had changed, the rain stopped.

On the way to the Phu Quoc Island Holly and I stopped at the Tuc Dup Hill. This pile of volcanic boulders was a VC stronghold during the Vietnam War that remained undiscovered until near the close of the war. Of course, once it was found, the Americans and South Vietnamese wasted no time shelling the place, and spent the better part of 200 days doing just that. At night, South Vietnamese regulars, bribed with money and a week's leave, would clamber up the hill armed with tins of white paint, with which they would paint letters with, some of which are still there. During the day, the artillary took pot-shots at the letters.

Since this is mainly a Vietnamese destination, seldom visited by westerners, the people there were interested to see us, especially a gang of 6 kids who decided to show us around the tunnels and over the boulders that make up the hill. Our attempts to teach them "head, shoulders, knees and toes" was matched by their attempt to teach us a similar song in Vietnamese. Needless to say, neither Holly or I could actually remember the words to this.

It was a great day, and I have a pile of photos (when they get developed!) to prove it. Why? Because the kids found my camera fascinating and decided to use it whenever they could. Apparently, cameras are something of a rarity amongst the Vietnamese....

Of course, the moment that we clambered back on to the back of our bikes, the glorious sunshine was replaced with torrential rain. But more of that later....

Chau Doc is a border town, sitting near Cambodia --- in fact, it's possible to catch a boat from here to Phnom Penh with minimal effort or fuss, although the speed boats aren't running yet so it's a 6 hour trip. At night, the streets come alive with young men on motorbikes laden with white goods and cigarettes, though during the day it's a little tired. And that's where we are now, after a thoroughly unmemorable 3 day saunter around the Mekong Delta. Why was this? It could well have to do with the fact that it's been raining, sometimes gently, sometimes hard, for 3 days now.

Bah! On the plus side, it seems as if the weather's broken now because it's starting to get brighter and warmer. We're planning to make a break to the coast and the Phu Quoc islands tomorrow. Until then, I'm going to kill some free time by hopping on the internet and trying to find a working email account. Wish me luck for either of these tasks....

Holly, Brendan and Becky and I (the middle two being a couple we've spent the past few days with) decided to head to the mineral springs near Nha Trang the other day. It was thoroughly enjoyable, not only because we weren't attacked by too many Vietnamese keen to part us in from our cash in a hurry (do they think we're fools?) but also because we got to spend an hour wallowing in a large mud bath.

It was like being four again, playing in the cool, liquid mud. Holly is still finding some of it in her ears, but I seem to be able to wash properly, so it's not a problem for me.

The mineral spring itself is about 40 degrees when it surfaces, so using the swimming pool filled with it was like trying to swim in a bath. A very surreal experience.

The Cham are one of the minority tribes in Vietnam, but they previously ruled a decent swathe of it. One of their strongholds was near Nha Trang, and consequently some of their finest surviving ruins are in that neck of the woods so on the way back from the mineral baths we stopped at some Cham towers. They're very impressive brick structures, filled with a thick fog of incense inside around the alters. We didn't quite believe the story about them being as ancient as claimed because of the newly pointed brick-work, but perhaps they suffered from the uniquely asian ability to point to a reconstruction of a thing and claim that because it's in the same place and looks the same as a previous building, it is the same building.

And then we had some beer hoi on the way back, because we'd deserved it. The regulars had clearly been in the cafe we stopped at since noon, and were well and truely plastered --- an intersting sight, especially when they appear to be about to come to blows, but then give up because it's too much effort. And when they pour beer down their fronts and the pretend that never happened.

When we arrived in Vietnam, we were told that the cheapest drink that we had found --- bia hoi --- was only available in Hanoi. For those of you that haven't had the pleasure of visiting Vietnam, bia hoi is a cheap, refreshing beer. It's sold by vendors in the street or in tiny cafes, populated with the more interesting locals. It's great stuff.

Holly and I seem to have a knack of finding this stuff. We're now in Nha Trang, which is pretty far south and on the coast, and the local bia hoi happens to be San Miguel. It's 5000 dong a litre, which works out at about 15p a glass. Fantastic.

Hoi An is a quiet, sleepy town dominated by hundreds of "cloth shops" Contrary to the image this might conjure, these buildings tend to be made of brick and offer a range of tailored clothing to the discerning (and not so discerning) back-packer. We've heard lots of horror stories and far fewer good things, but we've looked around and think that we've found somewhere that might be on the ball, so we're taking the plunge.

For those job interviews which will obviously come thick and fast in Australia, I'm getting a suit with some spare trousers for around 70 dollars. Holly's getting a summer dress suitable for visiting wats and temples (so with covered shoulders) made for about 20. If they're awful, then some lucky charity shop is going to have some new clothing dropped in. :)

Acutally, there's more to do around here, so we're going to hire some bikes and head off to see some of the sights. Apparently, the beach here is better than in Nha Trang (the big beach resort of Vietnam) and there's some interesting ruins to see too, especially in My Son (though many of them were still standing before the US decided to drop a vast amount of high explosives on them) so we'll probably be here another couple of days.

Yesterday and today, Holly and I have been seeing the sites around Hue. The first day, we managed to travel independantly without relying on any Vietnamese. Wonderful. We saw the Thein Mu Pagoda, which has the car of an immolated abbot parked up behind the temple, and overlooks the Perfume River. We saw the monks praying, and that was an unforgettable sight.

We also took the time to look at some of the royal tombs scattered around the area. These turn out to be large landscaped parks, dotted with trees and pagodas rather than big piles of rock, and they are peaceful and quiet. If you are ever in the area, go and take a look at at least one of them (though the 55,000 dong entrance fee may discourage you from seeing more than one) We also made it to the beach nearby, and were the only westerners there, despite their being a reasonably large number of Vietnamese enjoying their weekend and school holidays.

Today we went on a tour of the DMZ, starting at 6 in the morning. Amazingly, we both managed to make it up in time. Though that tour started shakily, when the guide joined us an hour or so in everything fell into place. We've learnt more about the various wars that have been such a feature of this country's past, we've learnt a Vietnamese joke (and it's a pun! Even better!) we seen the tunnels that the VC used to use, we've seen landscape still scarred by the overzealous use of Agent Orange, and we've had a thoroughly enjoyable and educational day.

After the trouble and grief this place has given us, these past two days have been a ray of light. We're leaving here for Hoi An tomorrow, but we're leaving with the hope that things will continue to get better.

We're now in Hue, not far from the middle of the country, Dong Ha and the coast. It's slightly cooler, and we've seen some rain, and that's fine. What's not fine, and is what I am going to blog about now, is the attitude that the Vietnamese take to western tourists. Perhaps an example would help.

There were four of us wandering around the citadel in Hue, wondering what to do. We thought we'd check out the American Museum and sauntered that way, meeting some cyclo drivers on the way. They told us that nothing was open and asked us to take a tour with them. Since we'd been repeatedly lied to in other parts of this country, we didn't believe them. Incorrectly, as it turned out, but we've decided that it's always wise to check.

We arranged to take a tour "that should take an hour" with two of these cyclo drivers, and agreed a price before setting off, because if you don't, they'll try and rip you off. We did the tour, and it was lovely. Really great. We saw sites, chatted to our drivers, heard stories and learnt some history. Fantastic, this was exactly what we had wanted. We were contemplating giving these guys a tip and recommending them to anyone who would listen. Until we got off the bikes 2 and a bit hours later, when they pulled out watches, insisted that we'd spent 3 hours with them, and consequently owed them three times as much cash. We refused to hand over any more money, they refused to accept the amount we had agreed, so after much deliberation the four of us disappeared into a restaurant.

They followed us, harrassed us, stared at us and generally wouldn't leave us alone until the restaurant owner, who'd clearly seen this sort of thing before, got them to leave. They waited downstairs. They came back up. They argued with us. We had agreed a price, and no amount of shouting at us would make us change our minds. They took the money in the end (after an hour of abuse) and left saying "fuck you" to us "bad people".

And it's like this everywhere. All the time. For the simplest things, the Vietnamese will routinely try and scam or overcharge us. You can haggle over the price of a room with air-con, agree on one, only to find out that actually using the air-con costs more. Getting your passport back at the border control involves bribary, though not just for westerners, despite the fact that we get the privilege of paying more.

The worst thing about this is that it's not everyone. It's just practically everyone selling things. The Vietnamese people that we've spoken to have been, to a soul, charming, friendly and welcoming, willing to share their stories or just keen for a chance to practise their English. We're slowly picking up a little smattering of the language through chatting to the random folks that come and talk to us, and it's great, but our view of the entire nation has been badly coloured by the constant scamming. It's deeply disapointing.