A Ride on the Vietnamese Conveyor Belt

I'm definitely a city person at heart. I love living in London and I can't imagine settling anywhere else. But if I were Vietnamese, I think I would have to live by the river.

There was, of course, much to enjoy about Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). When I was buying bananas from smiley women in conicle hats, or watching Vietnamese students try to sell Graham Greene's The Quiet American to every passing tourist, or drinking coffee in French-style cafes while the world rushed past, I felt that the cities were fascinating and welcoming places. But then I would spend a couple of hours negotiating the frenetic streets, dodging motorbikes and sweating in the 80% humidity and I longed for a bit of peace and quiet.

After two days in Hanoi, it was quite a relief to escape to scenic Halong Bay, a tourists' favourite due to glowing reports in the Lonely Planet and the prevalence of cheap boat trips. Unlike Russia, Mongolia and China, the South-East Asian countries are beginning to move into high season, and so Halong Bay was heaving with little tourist boats on the sight-seeing conveyor belt. It was soon obvious how carefully scheduled these tours have to be. As we pulled into a small beach for our allotted 30 minutes of swimming, another boat was just pulling away - and our hour of kayaking and 45 minute climb through the caves of stalactites (holding on tight) and stalgmites (pushing up with all their might) were equally well choreographed. On the morning of the second day, as we sat down for breakfast at 8am sharp, I looked out across the water and saw exactly the same picture unfolding on boat, after boat, after boat, after boat...

The Bay was beautiful, but by far my most memorable experience in Vietnam was visiting the Cu Chi tunnels near HCMC. The tunnel network stretched from Saigon to the Cambodian border and was instrumental in the Vietcong's control of the area. Before we went into the 'jungle' we watched a short film about the "War Against the American Imperialists and their Lackeys" which was so fabulously propagandistic I had to keep reminding myself it was also largely true. At Cu Chi you can see examples of booby traps and spider holes, take a turn firing a gun (only 2000 Dong per bullet!) and there was even an old tank you could climb into and pretend to drive, if you wanted to look like a wannabe UK defence minister.

Needless to say, I declined the last two and went straight to the main event, a chance to crawl through a widened section of the tunnel for 35m or 100m depending on the extent of your claustrophobia. I was extremely glad to emerge after 35m and find it incredible to think that not only soldiers but whole villages used these tunnels and lived underground for years. Our guide in the tunnels, Minh, fought with the South Vietnamese and so had many stories to tell. He was almost unremittingly cheerful - "it's over now!" - except when explaining that the War Remnants Museum in HCMC paints an incomplete picture. "There are no winners in war," he told us, going unexpectedly off-message, "and afterwards only one side of the story is ever told."

As part of the day trip to the tunnels, we also stopped off at a Caodai temple during morning prayers, for what turned out to be the most appallingly intrusive tourist hotspot yet. As monks dressed in spotless white chanted and prayed ritualistically in the temple, we were actively encouraged to crowd round the edges of the room to take photographs. As our bus joined the constant stream of tourist traffic roaring down the narrow streets away from the temple, passing within feet of small wooden houses where children swung in hammocks, I was shocked to realise I'd inadvertently become part of the damaging side of the tourist trade. And what's worse, I'm not sure how to avoid doing so again.

And that brings me to the Mekong Delta, where I finally found the peaceful side of Vietnam, sailing through calm floating villages and relaxed markets selling fresh fish, sweet potatoes and coconuts. From here I took a boat across the border into Cambodia and then a minibus to Phnom Penh, which was not quite so peaceful a journey. But that's another story.

One World, One Dream... One Party

Something unexpected happened when we arrived in Beijing. I got the opposite of culture shock (culture recognition perhaps?) brought on by the buzz of a massive city, the prevalence of KFC / Starbucks / McDonalds and the numerous English language signs. After rural Mongolia, this Westernised metropolis almost felt like home. Soon however, from behind the skyscrapers, the coffee chains and the 24-hour consumerism, the China I had been expecting started to emerge.

There'd been hints before we arrived - other travellers advising us to hide our guidebooks as they recognised Taiwan's independence and were routinely confiscated by customs officials - but it was after a few minutes of watching China's English-language news channel (part of the entertainingly named CCTV network) that their version of reality began to come through. Advertised as a standard domestic and international news programme, there was something of the Demon Headmaster about the smiling presenters parroting unfailingly good news about China's prosperity, international prestige, moral strength and perfect readiness for the Olympics. (Attempting to ride the packed underground trains or even more overcrowded buses soon put this last proclamation in doubt, proving that London is not the only Olympic city in danger of being brought to a standstill by the Games.) Even more blatantly, it seems the Museums of the Revolution and of Chinese History are often closed while history is altered. He who controls the past, controls the future, indeed. And visiting Tiananmen Square was an unsettling experience. I don't really know what I expected, but it wasn't a giant portait of Mao, traders selling postcards and a huge Olympic-themed flower sculpture where a memorial should be.

But politics aside (if it is possible to put politics aside in China), Beijing is a fantastic place to visit and its historical sights have far exceeded my hazy expectations. The Great Wall in particular was unforgettable and although the 10km scramble up and down the steep sections between Jinshanling and Simatai was exhausting, the views of the wall snaking away into the distance made every step worthwhile. The Forbidden City too was breathtaking, although far too big to take in during our half-day visit and teeming with hundreds of tour group tourists in matching baseball caps, all jostling to take the same photo at the same time.

A few days into our stay in Beijing, Amber and I took a two-day trip to Xi'an, home of the Terracotta Warriors. I didn't know much about the Warriors before we arrived, just that they'd been buried for centuries and had been rediscovered in the 1970s, so I was surprised to discover that the excavation and restoration process is nowhere near finished. After we'd watched a scene-setting film, our tour guide led the way into the main 'pit' - the original site of the discovery with an exhibition hall built round it. In one section, a large collection of soldiers and horses stand in lines, in another the mishmash of broken pottery shows the condition of the statues when they were discovered. A third large area is still covered with earth. As with the Great Wall, I find it hard to comprehend the immense amount of time and effort that must have gone into such a project. I think it comes of not being a natural 'completer-finisher' myself, that I find such great feats of time and energy fascinating but slightly unimaginable...

Beijing marks the end of my Trans-Siberian journey, and as Amber flew home on the 14th it is also the start of my solo trip into South-East Asia. Special mention at this point goes to the perceptive people at CAAT who bought me a compass as part of my leaving present in July - pathfinding alone with my sense of direction, I would have been lost in Beijing many times without it, and I have no doubt that it will be invaluable as I continue my journey!

Camels & Eminem in the Dust

As soon as we completed our six-hour customs stop at the Russia border and the train trundled slowly into Mongolia, it seemed as though everything changed. The scenery was more varied, the sun was shining (in contrast to Russia's near-constant rain) and the people seemed more relaxed, making the lack of a common language much less daunting. All the Mongolians we met laughed a lot, especially when asking us (jokingly... I think) why we had come to visit their country without our husbands; and when meeting a vegetarian. Not eating meat is unheard of in a country which survives on mutton for breakfast, lunch and dinner (in fact, with meat so central to their diet I was surprised to learn that 98% of Mongolians are Buddhists, as I'd previously identified that religion with vegetarianism). In any case, the animals all appear to be 'free-range' and every part of them is used to help ensure the family's survival through the winter, so at least this is meat-eating borne of necessity, even if it's a necessity I'm grateful not to have to accept!

We spent a day in Ulan Batar before starting a nine-day tour of Western Mongolia, but it is not a beautiful city, even in the perennial sunshine. Low, grey buidings and blocks of flats and offices stretch into the mountains, the roads are full of potholes and on more than one occasion we almost stumbled into open manholes apparently left permanently uncovered on the pavements. The poverty in Mongolia is more evident in the city than the countryside, even before you come across the street children who live in Ulan Batar. Apparently their number have dropped sharply since an NGO was established to help them, but it is clearly still a huge problem with an estimated third of the city's population living below the poverty line.

In contrast to the sprawling city, Mongolian countryside is sparcely populated and we often drove for miles without seeing another vehicle or building. More prevalent were the animals - sheep, yaks, goats, dogs, horses, rodents and even on a couple of exciting occasions camels and vultures! All of this wildlife kept us entertained as we bumped along the dusty road, with Eminem and Justin Timberlake blasting from the car stereo. Our guide initially told us that it was the favourite music of our driver (who was also her uncle). This seemed unlikely, but not wanting to stereotype we weren't quite sure until she confessed that she'd instructed him to buy some western pop music from the petrol station and this hip hop compliation cassette was the only one they had. We heard it many, many times over the nine days.

During the tour, we stayed in Gers; round tents with wooden frames covered in layers of felt, with a wood-burning stove in the centre. This stove was soon our favourite feature as the evenings and early mornings were freezing, and it was invaluable on the day when I misjudged the stability of a plank across a stream and ended up knee-deep in water. Thanks to the stove nothing took long to dry, although I think my trainers will now always be the colour of Mongolian mud.

After threatening for days, the snow finally arrived just as we were leaving Mongolia, swirling round the train while melodramatic Mongolian music was piped through the carriage speakers. The music provided a strange but oddly fitting soundtrack to the snowy landscape, and a satisfying and atmospheric end to our time here.

Choosing not to freeze in Lake Baikal

Of all the places we have visited in Russia, the village of Khuzir on Olkhon Island - where we stayed for 3 days - has definitely been the most different from home. Olkhon Island is near the west coast of Lake Baikal in Siberia; The lake is 50 million years old and holds enough fresh water to sustain the entire population of the planet for forty years.

Khuzir is the island's largest settlement, with a collection of wooden houses, sandy tracks for roads and other wooden buildings housing cafes, bars, shops, an art gallery and at least three internet cafes. Cows, dogs and cats wander the streets and although the island only got electricity a couple of years ago, mobile phone reception is excellent. Oddly, the island is also covered in litter. We saw beer bottles, rusty old machinery, broken glass and other rubbish everywhere, in the villages, forests and on the beaches. It's hard to understand why the residents tolerate this, but it does seem to be due to local lack of interest in the environment rather than disrespectful tourists (although no doubt they also play a part).

During our first evening on the island, we decided to join an excursion to a 'traditional' Buryat village. The Buryats were historically nomadic people living near Baikal long before the Russian colonists arrived. They are the largest ethnic minority in Siberia and have their own republic south of the lake. Visiting their village was a bizarre experience, partly as the tour was entirely in Russian, but also because it felt like we were watching people perform a fake version of their lives for tourists to take photos of. It made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but hopefully it is profitable for the people who live there and that's why they choose to do it.

On day two we went on another excursion, a day trip to the north of the island, where there were stunning views across the lake. The scenery on Olkhon Island is spectacular and varied, from sandy beaches to snow-capped mountains, and the lake is perfectly clear and a brilliant shade of blue. It was also very cold and windy, but despite this a favourite activity among the other backpackers staying on the island was to sit in a banya (sauna) on the beach before plunging into the freezing lake and then running back to the banya. According to the myths, swimming in the lake adds 25 years to your life (if your heart can stand the shock, presumably)... but even so I wasn't convinced!

Trains, churches & the Black Rose

On Thursday, after 2 days of visiting gold-domed churches and drinking mead in Vladimir and Suzdal, we boarded the sleeper train to Ekaterinburg, or Sverdlovsk as everyone in Russia still seems to call it. The town was renamed Sverdlovsk in 1924 after Yacob Sverdlov, a Bolshevik party official responsible for arranging the murder there of the royal family, the Romanovs, in 1918. It reverted to Ekaterinburg in 1992 as part of Russia's attempts to leave its Soviet past behind.

Within minutes of joining the train, Amber and I found ourselves right in the middle of the authentic Trans-Siberian experience. We were sharing a 4-berth compartment with a Russian woman and her young son (or possibly grandson) and - for the first couple of hours - a young guy on his way to Nizhny Novgorod. He displayed the Russian interest in English speakers that we had been led to expect, by inviting us to drink beer with himself and his friend, and insisting we accept a box of Siberian biscuits (which he seemed to carry for such eventualities) as a gift to welcome us to his country. Between his few words of English, my (shameful) knowledge of Bon Jovi songs - his friend's favourite band - and Amber's supply of Kiwi toys, we got along pretty well until the carriage attendent came along to tell us to be quiet! Apparently 9.30 is way past bedtime on the Trans-Siberian railway.

After a week of sightseeing there is something very relaxing about being on a train for 24 hours with nothing to do but sleep, eat picnics, read and look out the window. But once in Ekaterinburg the sightseeing began again, starting with another gold-domed church (a continuing theme), this one dedicated to the murdered Romanov family. In the interests of balance we also visited the statue to Sverdlov, still standing although with some graffiti - whether pro or anti-monarchist it was surprisingly hard to tell. We spotted a couple of Banksys (real or homage?) and also saw the Black Rose, Ekaterinburg's Afghan (anti-)war memorial, a soldier sitting with his head bowed (see photo above). My guidebook suggests it provides an insight into how the Russian people feel about the Afghan war. I thought about how fitting it would be for the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square.

Moscow via Dusseldorf (and Vienna)

When Amber and I first started to plan our Trans-Siberian trip, we intended to do the environmentally-friendly - and most interesting - thing, and take the train all the way from London to Beijing. Unfortunately, problems obtaining a Belarus transit visa meant that we eventually had to compromise our principles and fly to Moscow. However, the environmentalists will be pleased to hear that the non-religious version of divine retribution soon struck on behalf of the melting glaciers, as our journey was not quite as straightforward as it could have been. After our flight from London to Dusseldorf was delayed by more than an hour, we missed our connection and ended up redirected to Vienna. Which would have been fine, apart from the fact that our bags stayed in Dusseldorf and the airline staff weren't confident of it making it to Moscow any time soon....

Luckily the non-religious retributors had decided we'd learned out lesson, as our bags did turn up in Moscow before we left, and we could get on with the sight-seeing. We were lucky enough to be staying in Moscow with Tim's friend Nadya and her mother, both of whom were wonderfully hospitable and generous. Nadya showed us round the markets and even sneaked us into the school where she teaches English, to talk to some of her students. Her mother cooked us delicious traditional Russian food (even vegetarian food for me!) and made sure we got on the right train when we left Moscow for Vladimir.

Red Square was unfortunately closed during our time in Moscow, so we couldn't pay Lenin a visit or go into St Basil's Cathedral. However, we made up for it with visits to several museums, the State and Tretyakov Museums and by the time we left had almost mastered the Metro system. I knew I should have learned Cyrillic before I left.

Fringe programme

The Fringe programme is out now!

Here's the advert for Mutton.