Liban The Good Life

During the 1960s, Beirut was as 'swinging' as anywhere else in the western world.  Pubs, clubs, parties, theatres and celebrities were as much of a feature of Lebanon as they were in London, New York or Paris.  Much of this can be attributed to its French influence after the end of the First World War.  Along wth Cairo and Tel Aviv, Beirut grew as a commercial centre in the region, especially after the discovery of oil among the Gulf States.  By the time the Civil War broke out in 1975, Lebanon was pretty much 50-50 split between Muslims and Christians, meaning more relaxed attitudes towards nightlife activities.
 
Beirut is pretty much divided into three sections; east, west and south.  I had found a place to stay in Gemmayze, the city's 'artistic bohemian' quarter, which is in the eastern section.  The area is filled with narrow streets and historic buildings making a great place to walk and marvel at my surroundings.  Everywhere I looked there were boutiques, bookshops, art shops, restaurants, cafes and trendy bars.  Walking around it seemed I was more likely to see a woman with her face covered up with an iPad than a hijab,  It felt a bit like being back in the Northern Quarter in Manchester and I almost expected to see posters for upcoming gigs at my favourite bars.

The problem I have with living in Dubai is that it doesn't feel like a city to me.  One plot of development doesn't really connect to the next one and, in fact, it is mostly separated with swathes of desert.  Without a car and outside of the Old City, Dubai can leave you feeling isolated.  Beirut, on the other hand, is undoubtedly a city.  It sprawls and links and is full of character and charm (though 5,000 years of history tends to do that).  Walking west and exiting the 'Christian half' of the city brought me to Downtown.  Central Beirut was once the dividing line between the warring factions during the Civil War (highlighted by the fight for control of the then newly-built Holiday Inn which offered a perfect locale for snipers).  Nowadays, just like in pre-War times, Downtown is a mecca for high-end hotels, designer stores, museums, art galleries and restaurants.  It is also home to numerous mosques and churches, sometimes standing side-by-side.  The inner part of the area is cordoned off with only pedestrians permitted to enter.  It can take away some of the atmosphere, especially with the high police presence at the checkpoints, but then in a city not unfamiliar to assassination attempts on those persons more likely to frequent the area it's understandable why the decision was made.

The further west you go in Beirut, the further you move into the 'Muslim half' of the city.  Here, it becomes slightly more traditional (by Beirut's standards).  Saying that, it's also home to the student population of the city with the huge grounds of the American University smack bang in the middle, so in proximity there are a number of cool bookshops and cheap places to eat and drink (including alcohol).  Eventually, I walked right through and came out at the corniche.

The promenade of Beirut is lined with palm trees and spectacular views of the Mediterranean.  Walking along from one end to the other I encountered numerous joggers, families out for a stroll, teenagers hanging out on the rocky beaches, men and women enjoying nargile (water pipe) and other tourists happy to escape the urbanity for some sea air.  It is up one of Beirut's hilly roads along the corniche that I encountered perhaps Beirut's most photographed landmark, Pidgeons' Rock.  Here I had the perfect vantage point to watch guys on scooters zip along without helmets (though probably with enough gel in their hair to soften the blow) and top buttons on their shirts undone, and girls dressed in the latest fashion attempting to catch the guys' attention.

I didn't venture to the southern section of Beirut as I didn't have enough time on my trip.  However, it is the south that perhaps says more about the capital's recent history and maybe its future than any other part.  In the grip of Hezbollah, this is where you will find large communities of Palestinians who have been displaced.  After the Israeli-Lebanon conflict in 2006, the area was left devastated and it would have been interesting to see how, if at all, it had been regenerated.  With constant warnings about security, it's probably safe to assume that it's likely to be minimal.  With the presence of the 'Party of God' and ongoing tensions with Israel (and Syria), it is said that these southern suburbs are still in war mode and ready to take up the fight once more.

In spite of this, it's even more incredible that Beirut is growing once more into one of the tourist hotspots in the Middle East.  Although I didn't check out any of the 'superclubs' that Beirut boasts (a lack of interest in techno music and being woefully under-dressed), I managed to get a feel for the nightlife hanging out at some of the bars and pubs, as well as a rather successful night at the casino playing poker.  I declined the invitation of the other card players to celebrate my winnings with a trip to the strip joints nearby, but the very fact that it was a possibility was something that took a while to get my head around.  Bars, clubs, casinos and strippers are just not things you usually associate with the Middle East.  That isn't to say it is seedy, far from it.  It is far too charming and stylish for that.  It was once hailed as the 'Paris of the Middle East' and it's not hard to see why.

The Road To Ruins

The plane touched down at 4am, seven hours later than scheduled.  I had flown from Dubai to Beirut, then back again after ridiculously bad fog had made it impossible to land.  No sooner had the pilot got the wheels down on the tarmac back in the UAE came the announcement that after re-fueling we would be trying it again.  Luckily I had had the row of seats to myself so I was able to lie down during the flight and get a little bit of rest.

By the time I got through passport control and out of the airport I was ready to crash.  I jumped in a taxi and instructed the driver to take me to the hostel I had earmarked for my stay.  I had intended to Couchsurf in Beirut, but a late cancellation and numerous no replies left me resigned to conventional accommodation.  Upon arrival at the hostel, I was informed that there was no room for me for the remainder of the night and I got a similar response from two other places nearby.  I was willing to fork out on a mid-range hotel for the night just to get some sleep and get my bearings during the day.  It was not to be as after 45 minutes of walking around the area I didn't stumble across a single hotel.  It was after 5am and everywhere was deserted except for a few hole-in-the-wall bars that were still in full swing.  My body refused to countenance going for a beer at that moment so I went back to one of the hostels to beg for a bit of floor space.  The night watchman opened the door further to reveal that every bit of the floor space had already been taken.  There would be a bed available at noon, I was informed.  Back on the street, a 4x4 pulled over and a ridiculously attractive girl poked her head out of the window and asked if I was looking for a ride.  Hot girl, 5.30am, offering a guy a ride?  I took a peek at the driver and saw it was a guy who knew how to handle himself and that accepting her offer was only going to lead to two possible outcomes; she was a working girl, or this was a Honey Trap and I'd find myself in a bath of ice with my kidneys removed.  I politely declined.  My last hope was to find a park bench and catch a few hours sleep on it until daylight fully broke.  It was easy enough to find, except that there was already a cop sitting on it.  After ascertaining where I was from and that, yes, I did like football, I pumped him for some information.  A thought struck me and with a few simple instructions ringing in my ears from the rather nice cop (makes a change on my travels) I found myself in a mini-van out of Beirut.

That was how I found myself spending my first day in Lebanon not in Beirut as I had thought, but in Baalbek, a town in the Beqaa Valley about 85km northeast of the capital.  The Beqaa Valley is better known for two things; growing a lot of hashish and opium poppies, and being the heartland of Hezbollah.  However, I was on my way to the place the Greeks called 'the city of the Sun.'  The ride through the Valley was pleasant enough with small villages and towns passing by and the snowy peaks of the mountains flanking the road.  It took me back to Central Asia except here the roads were paved and at no point did I feel like the van would go crashing into a ravine at 100km/hr.  A constant feature also unlike Kyrgyzstan along the road was the presence of police and military checkpoints with guys armed with AK-47s (OK, I have no idea if that's what they were carrying, but if Hollywood has taught me anything, then all Arabs and Commies tote Kalashnikovs, right?).

I arrived in Baalbek, no longer tired but excited to be on the road again.  It had been a while since my last little trip anywhere and it was nice to be exploring somewhere new again.  I had some pastry with cheese filling for breakfast and washed it down with some chai before sauntering over to the reason I was there; the well-preserved Roman ruins.

As a testament to Roman power and wealth, four giant temples were built on this site to honour Jupiter, Venus, Bacchus and Mercury (though the one to Mercury was built at a location separate from the other three).  As these ruins have been particularly well-preserved, it is easy to get a real feel of history and what the place was like 2000 years ago.  The sheer size of the temples, stones and trilithons are mind-bogglingly huge and, much like the Pyramids in Egypt, still leave a debate about how such feats of engineering were achieved so quickly with the tools at their disposal.  Halfway through my walk around and caught in my own thoughts, I was approached by the second nice cop of the day, who offered to be my guide free of charge.  He didn't speak much English, but I think he was just looking for some company as I imagine 'Ruins Guard Duty' is not exactly taxing work.  Up on higher ground, it was wonderful to see the mountains in the background and marvel at location.  I'm a sucker for ruins and mountains.

After taking another mini-van back to Beirut, I managed to check in to a hotel and hit a couple of bars with two Swedish guys who had also just arrived.  It wasn't how I had planned to spend my first day in Lebanon, but it turned out for the best.

Not Such A Qatar-strophe!

As anyone who has flown between Europe and Asia and had a layover in Doha will know, the airport is relatively tiny in comparison to the one in Dubai.  Considering the number of flights that pass through it every day, it was certainly a surprise the first time I disembarked there to find very little to keep me occupied for the 9 hours I would be there (the next time I passed through it was for 14 hours!).  Luckily, I did find a place to crash and sleep in one of the airport's 'quiet zones' next to the mosque.  On this occasion, the airport would be my final destination.  Well, not the final destination as a trip to Qatar airport could only be marginally duller than what I'd been led to believe about the actually country.

Like the other Gulf member states, Qatar discovered giant oil reserves in the middle of the last century and quickly went about transforming itself and its people from desert nomads into modern-day city dwellers.  For most of its existence as an independent nation, though, Qatar has been playing second-fiddle to the UAE and Dubai, in particular.  However, all that is rapidly changing as the emirate is starting to make noises on the world stage.

Would you let this clown into your country?

With all the money that keeps rolling in, it was almost no surprise to find that Qatar may have been the one border that finally blocked my hobo backside from crossing.  Whereas I have hidden money in my underwear and socks while crossing borders in Central Asia to keep it out of the hands of sticky-fingered customs officials, this was the first time I felt I had to hide my money out of embarrassment.  Qatar airport doesn't like cash.  It likes plastic.  Every booth at passport control came equipped with slots and thingy-me-jigs to scan your eyes and the strip on the back of your Mastercard.  I do not have a credit card.  Nor do I have a bank card or even a bank account with which an aforementioned card could be attached.  Instead, I was ushered to a tiny little desk hidden away to one side to pay using my 'dirty' banknotes.  Even the guy at the desk seemed to be judging me when I admitted that I didn't have a credit card to pay for my entry.

With my head bowed in shame, but with a stamp in my passport, I exited the airport and headed for the corniche (in Arabic it is used to mean the land border from the sea) where most life in the Gulf is centred.  Luckily, it started only a five minute walk away from the airport so there wasn't any need for a taxi.  One of my favourite things exploring places like Muscat, Bahrain and Doha has been the early morning walk along the seafront.  It is here that the skylines are changing at an incredible rate and you get to see the city take shape as it heads into the future.  Of course, with everyone throwing their money at the best that it can buy, those skylines tend to look the same as they are designed by the same architects.  However, they never fail to be pleasing on the eye, especially springing up over the horizon where once the desert was king.

On the waterfront (in fact, standing on land reclaimed from the water) is the impressive Museum of Islamic Art.  Designed by I.M. Pei - more famous for the Pyramid that welcomes visitors into the Louvre in Paris, the museum is a major landmark in Doha and looks very impressive.  After living in Central Asia and being blown away by the the architecture and art work in Samarqand, I've grown to appreciate the art from this region of the world.  I am no expert and don't put up any pretense to know what I'm talking about, but I can spend hours marvelling at the intricacies of a carpet, vase or archway in a way I just can't get excited about with a painting.  Walking around the museum, I got acquainted with relics from places I had already visited such as Uzbekistan, India and Turkey as well as new pieces from places that I hoped to visit soon like in Iran.

Back outside and along the corniche, I came across three signs that had been erected in order to showcase what could be Qatar's current motto; Think, Realize and Achieve.  Strategically located so that any observer can feast their eyes upon the way the country is shaping up, and near enough the big Oryx statue that was commissioned for the 2006 Asian Games, to remind you that Qatar is not content with just being a player in the Middle East.  Already, the country has the 2022 World Cup to prepare for and with bids for the 2020 Olympic Games and who knows what else, the emir isn't content with what he's got just yet.  Much of the controversy about Qatar being awarded the World Cup is that during the summer the heat will be unbearable.  One of the solutions that has been put forward are remote-controlled clouds, which sounds laughably absurd until you factor in that if one country in the world had enough money to make such an idea come to fruition then it is probably this one.  For me, the biggest issue with having a major sporting event here, is that being a Muslim nation, the usual festivities and excesses associated with things like the World Cup would have to be curtailed out of respect (no alcohol, for one thing).  Morally, you also have to factor in whether you could support an event like the Olympics, which is supposed to unite people, in a country where homosexuality is illegal and the existence of an Israeli state is denied - athletes will be able to compete, but their fans may not enter the country to watch them.

It was while taking all this in that I was approached by Dave, an American living in Doha.  He was on his way to the camel market and wondered whether I'd be interested in checking it out.  Random stranger? Check. Intriguingly bizarre offer? Check.  So I hopped into his car and allowed him to either take me to a place with camels or a place out in the desert from whence my remains would remain undiscovered.  As I watched the desert landscape go by, I was relieved to see the 'farm' come into sight.  The camel market itself was huge, with camels galore all eager to pull funny faces until a split second before I pressed click on my camera.  Tricky buggers!

I finished my day out in Doha with a milkshake in the Souq Waqif, probably the hub of social activity in Doha for locals and expats alike.  With a look and feel from a bygone time, it was nice to get a sense of what the city and the country was like before it struck it rich with black gold.  Overall, Doha proved to be a pleasant place for a little trip, though I doubt it would hold enough interest to be a place I called 'home.'  Saying that, whatever happens in the future, I'm sure that Qatar will continue to make waves and rock the boat.

O-man, What A View!

The biggest benefit to living in Dubai (if you aren't a shopper) is the convenience for travel possibilities.  Being the gateway to three continents - four if you factor in that flights to Australia and New Zealand generally operate through the UAE too, opens up the amount of places you can visit without much forethought and planning.  With multiple daily flights to Nepal, India, SE Asia, East Africa, Europe and all parts of the Middle East, this very modern metropolis is the very definition of a  'travel hub.'

For my latest trip however, I didn't need to take a plane as I was going someplace closer to home.  In the farthest reach of the Emirates is the Omani exclave of Musandam, very much a part of Oman despite being cut off from it.  It's location gives Oman partial control of the Strait of Hormuz, an important trading route shared with Iran.  Musandam is also only a couple of hours away by car from Dubai, making it a popular day-trip destination for residents and tourists in Dubai.

The major draw to the peninsula is Khasab, a port town built by the Portuguese as a strategic point for their naval presence during the 17th century.  Khasab has been tagged as the 'Norway of Arabia,' owing to it's fjord-like cliffs and rock formations.  Although I haven't been to the Scandinavian country, I doubt the Omani version stands up to the comparison, but seeing as much of the surrounding region is desert, then the enthusiasm for other geographical features is understandable.

Crossing over the border into the exclave, the scenery gradually changed from the bland desert plains to a more eye-pleasing mountainous region.  Fishing villages, sandwiched between the Gulf and the crags, whizzed by in seconds due to being home to only 3 or 4 families at a time.  Without a doubt, Oman has the most interesting landscapes of the various Gulf states and made a nice change.

My journey continued along the winding roads until we reached the harbour, just before the city of Khasab itself.  Here, our party of day-trippers swiftly transferred to a traditional dhow (an Arab sailing vessel) for a tour of the aforementioned fjords.  For a few hours, our ship cruised along and allowed me to get lost in my thoughts while watching the cliffs and peaks go by.  Numerous times during the trip, dolphins would swim nearby and play in the waves generated by the boat.  Needless to say, watching them dance and jump in such close proximity was the highlight of the trip.  Taking a cooling soak in the water and the chance to try our the snorkelling gear was also a blessing in the summer heat.

Although not an action-packed day out, the tour to the Musandam peninsula turned out to be quite a pleasant way to spend a day-off from work.  Seeing something other than sand and shopping malls can never be a bad thing, especially when replaced by dolphins.

Food, Glorious Food!

If there is one thing that is important to me in a country I deign to call 'home,' it is the food on offer.  I don't particularly care what it is as long as it tastes good.  Over the years I have eaten most things I could stuff into my face including such delicacies as camel, horse intestines, pig's trotter, the head and feet of a chicken and, yes, dog (boo hiss!).  This has been supplemented by an array of food from all over Asia that would set you back a few bob in a restaurant back home; Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai, Indian, Central Asian, Turkish, Persian, Lebanese and Georgian to name just the highlights.  Since moving to Dubai I have not been disappointed in the food stakes.  The only thing I don't seem to have had is anything traditional.

Being an 'international city,' Dubai has been inundated with foreign workers from all parts of the globe looking for their own piece of the 'Dubai Dream' (much like the American one, this 'dream' revolves around money)  with the bulk of this mass immigration has come from the Subcontinent, China and the Philippines.  A common misconception about the Emirates' jewel is that it is merely the plaything of the rich and famous.  However, cheap (ish) food can be had in the less glamorous nooks and crannies of the metropolis.  For a couple of dollars it's possible to pop over the street for a biriyani from the Indian place or go around the corner to the Lebanese joint and pick up a falafel sandwich with a side order of hummus (and complimentary baklava for dessert).

The only problem with being spoilt with such a selection here - apart from an ever expanding waistline, is that as a Muslim country, most of my favourite places close for the month of Ramadan as they are forced to close during daylight hours.  Many owners choose to take a month-long holiday than worry about the cost of opening up for a few hours each evening.

Ramadan is the ninth month in the Islamic calender and is the time when Muslims fast in order to learn about the values of patience, humility and submission to God.  It's a bit like Lent and Yom Kippur rolled into one.  As well as giving up food during daylight hours, Muslims are also expected to refrain from drinking, smoking and sex.  Here in the UAE, even infidels are, by law, required to adhere to these rules and keep any such acts out of the public eye.  The act of fasting is intended to teach believers the importance of self-control, sacrifice and empathy towards those less fortunate.

Now, you'd assume that most of the offences carried out during this holy month were by non-Muslims ignorant of the rules or just plain culturally-insensitive.  For that you'd be wrong as most infidels try their hardest to eat and drink behind closed doors.  In actuality, most 'crimes' during Ramadan are committed by Islamists.  In other countries around the world, people are expected to live their lives normally and make the sacrifice regardless, but I've found that in the UAE special dispensation has been made to aid in the success.  Most workplaces operate on 'Ramadan time,' which means that employees sleep in half the day and don't go to work until the afternoon.  This means that instead of a full day fasting and reflecting upon their faith, they only have 6 or 7 hours, at most, to carry out their duty and miss prayer times - one of the pillars of the religion.  As well as not bothering with the sacrifice bit of it all, it is a sad sight to see iftar (the evening meal to break the fast) abused with food being gorged upon by ravenous mouths and platefuls of leftovers sitting on empty tables.  What happened to thinking of others less fortunate?  It would seem that in the UAE, or Dubai at least, the real meaning of Ramadan has gone the way of Christmas in the West.

Last year, Saudi clerics condemned the UAE for the behaviour of its Muslim residents during Ramadan.  A report had shown that more food was consumed during the month than for any other month of the year.  Now, it doesn't take much to get rebuked by a Saudi cleric, but when you find yourself agreeing with them, then you know something must be amiss.

Reclaiming Bahrain

The Kingdom of Bahrain sits between Saudi Arabia and Qatar in what looks like an international tug-of-war.  This image is not without some merit, though, as the tiny island has historically been the subject of claims and counter-claims over the years.  Initially, Bahrain made reference to the land stretching from Iraq to Oman.  This eastern part of Arabia was one of the first to embrace Islam and was a vital player in the trade conducted along the Gulf.  Over time, the province of Bahrain gradually shrank as other Arab fractions and the Persian Empire conquered and divided until all that was left were a series of islands.  This didn't prevent the country from enticing first the Portuguese and then, much later, Britain.  In 1971, Bahrain declared its independence, but its political struggles still continue to this day.

My first task getting into the Kingdom of Bahrain was to clear passport control.  Although I had nothing to hide and filled in the declaration form correctly and truthfully, it was still eyed with suspicion by the officer behind the desk.  After a few questions about my purpose of visit and taking my money, he stamped me in.  No sooner had I gone a few feet, though, another officer stepped out and asked for my passport.  This one asked the same questions as the first and scrutinised my document.  This wouldn't be the last time this happened during my brief visit.

Stepping out into the hot summer morning, I instantly started to wonder just why I had opted to visit at the end of July.  The thermostat told me that it was 38 degrees and it was still only 8am.  I had arranged to meet my Couchsurfing host later on in the day, so I had the bulk of the day to wander around by myself..  As the airport wasn't situated on the mainland, but on the neighbouring island of Muharraq, I thought it as good a place as any to start my exploration.  Muharraq is the more traditional part of Bahrain, with its old-style buildings and labyrinth of alleyways.  In the heart of all this are a couple of interesting homes which have been preserved and offer a look into the life of the people in their pre-oil days.  The most interesting of these was Beit Sheikh Isa bin Ali , which offered a little shade from the oppressive heat and lots of chambers to snake in and out of.

From Muharraq, I hopped on a bus across the bridge to the mainland and into the city of Manama.  Officially the capital of Bahrain, it's probably fair to say that it is the only city of Bahrain as much of the rest of the island in undeveloped or uninhabited outside of the city limits.  I am pretty much opposed to taking taxis when I arrive in a new city, largely because I worry that I'll miss out on something by being off the street.  As such, I tend to walk a lot.  My resolve would be tested many many times and not just by the heat which left me resembling a fountain at times, drenched in sweat.  No, what almost had me hailing the nearest cab, was the constant police checks and roadblocks.  It began to get really repetitive answering the same questions and assuring the police (and soldiers at other times) that I wasn't a journalist and demonstrating such by showing them the photos I had taken.  At one point, while taking a photo of Bab Al-Bahrain, a gateway that was originally built by the British, a policeman appeared from nowhere to scold me for taking pictures of other police officers.  The fact that he couldn't tell me where these officers were and subsequently failed to point them out in my pictures didn't deter him.  I apologised anyway and left, scratching my head.

This paranoia and, seemingly, overbearing police presence was not without reason, however.  Since February this year, the country has been a part of what has become known as the 'Arab Spring,' a series of revolutions and civil uprisings across the Arab world.  The protests here, though, were unlike those of other Arab states.  Bahraini people were not interested in overthrowing the monarchy or the government, merely being granted greater access to political freedom and human rights.  That changed, however, when the powers that be, got nervous after seeing what was happening around them, and tried to end the protests with violence.  The result left a bad taste and as such the country is still a ticking time-bomb.  One of Bahrain's more famous sights, the Pearl Monument was torn down in a bid to remove an iconic reminder of the protests.  It was near here that I was stopped by soldiers operating a tank.  On another occasion, I was going for some food with my host and his friends when our eyes started watering and the other complained about the smell.  It turned out that a couple of hundred yards away, a gathering was being dispersed using tear gas and rubber bullets.

I met Taher, my host and a native, that afternoon and accepted his hospitality and hung out with him and his friends for the rest of my trip.  Driving around the city and seeing how the skyline is rapidly changing as skyscraper after skyscraper is in the process of being built.  Many of these buildings, including the impressive World Trade Centre - with wind turbines that provide 15% of the towers energy requirements, have been constructed on land reclaimed from the sea.  Just like in the UAE and Qatar, Bahrain is expanding in an effort to allow more businesses to set up.  Although the country built it's economy on the harvesting of pearls and then the production of oil, today Bahrain is the region's centre of finance and banking.  As such, the new Financial Harbour has been created on land that only a few years ago had a watery grave.

The Kingdom of Bahrain is such as small place that you could see everything you need to see in one day, but by taking the time to hang out with locals you can get an idea into the mentality of the region.  Liberal by other Arab standards, Bahrain is a favourite destination of Saudis looking to blow off a little steam and women to let their hair down, literally.  Smoking sheesha or drinking coffee and watching the world go by are particularly popular past-times.  A few days was probably enough time in the country and it might have been better outside of summer, but I had a pleasant stay and would recommend it for a couple of days.  Unless there's a full-scale revolution anytime soon, obviously.

It Muscat Hot In Summer

Sharing the same peninsula as the UAE and jutting out into the Arabian Sea is Oman.  Before reading any further, take a moment to make a list in your head of everything you know about this country and I'm willing to bet it's not an extensive one and probably reads; Arab, Muslim, oil (?), only country I can think of beginning with an 'O'.  Don't feel bad, as both your and my ignorance of this seemingly insignificant player in the Middle East can be attributed to the lack of newsworthy events that happen there.  Oman isn't an oppressive Arab state in the same vein as Saudi Arabia.  Although the country is governed by an hereditary sultan, his council is elected by the people (with over 70% voter-turnout).  That council, which contains female ministers, has overseen changes that have established Oman as one of the most developed and stable countries in the region.  It seems highly unlikely any uprising will occur here and there is never any overt political rhetoric about neighbouring nations like Israel.  However, the Sultanate of Oman has kept strong ties with the US, the UK and Iran, thus proving to be the best placed state to help keep relations from boiling over.

Like the UAE, Oman has made its wealth on the back of the discovery of oil in the 1960s.  This influx of money has allowed the country to improve its infrastructure and let its citizens to enjoy a high standard of living.  Unlike the UAE, Oman has yet to descend into parody.

I arrived in Muscat, the capital, early.  My 6am flight from Dubai was certainly not the most pleasant part of my trip and I'll have to make sure I don't take too many more of them in future.  However, an early start proved to be a godsend as arriving in the coastal city at 7.30 meant I could check out the fishing port of Mutrah and watch the fishermen bring in their catch.  I was impressed with the efficiency with which the men would unload their boats and cart the fish up to the market area at the top of the beach.  There, family members had set up shop and would hawk the extremely fresh seafood to restaurateurs, supermarket-inventory-stockers (or whatever you call the people who acquire things for supermarkets!)  and housewives alike.  After buying the fish, it would then be taken to another part of the hall, where the fish would be gutted and cut and readied to be taken home or for resale.

Muscat is affectionately known as 'the three cities' as it comprises 3 distinct areas separate from each other.  Mutrah is the port town, Old Muscat provides the history and Ruwi is the commercial and business district.  Walking around Mutrah it is hard to believe that you are in a city at all, let alone the capital.  The sleepy fishing village feel extends beyond the fish market and can be seen along the stretch of road down the coast.  With a strict building policy that all building be traditional in design and with few high-rise buildings, Muscat couldn't be further away in its outlook from Dubai if it tried.  Even the souq (market) in the heart of Mutrah with its narrow alleyways and maze of shops seemed tranquil.

In Old Muscat, which has weathered Portuguese occupancy, the forts, walls and gates still stand high on hills safeguarding the city and the country from invasion by sea.  Any new building here seems to follow the same design which results in the roofs of homes and offices resembling turrets.  Set against the backdrop of craggy rocks and hills, old and new blend together with a pleasing affect on the eye.  Perhaps the most endearing aspect of the old town, however, can be found near the government buildings and the sultan's palace.  Walking around, I didn't encounter another soul and went right up to the gate without spying a soldier or anyone else seemingly guarding the premises.  The paranoid part of my brain prevented me from testing the theory that the country was so open and safe that anyone could take a stroll in the palace gardens.  I suspiciously eyed a rosebush and came to the conclusion that a member of the secret police must have been hiding behind it.

Further along the coastal road, near the Al-Bustan Palace Hotel (consistently said to be the best hotel in the Middle East, much to the chagrin of hoteliers in Dubai), you can see the 'Sohar,' a boat made famous in 1980 when it set sail from Oman to China, taking 8 months to complete.  What made this journey so special was that it was a recreation of a voyage made 1300 years ago and used a boat created in the same fashion, implementing only the bark of palm trees and rope.  Not one single nail was used in its construction.

After a day of sightseeing and leisurely strolling along the seaside, I got in touch with Sener, my Couchsurfing host, who had offered my a place to stay for a couple of nights while I was in town.  Sener was from Turkey, a country close to my own heart, and had moved to Muscat the year before for his job.  Much like its Arab neighbour to the west, Oman has had an in-pouring of foreign workers from all over the world, though most notably from the Subcontinent and Africa.  The high salaries offered have enticed people looking to make money and the relative relaxed nature of the country compared to the UAE have brought Europeans too.  Hanging out with Sener and his friends one night for a game of poker (I opted not to take everyone's money in case they thought me impolite), it was a regular meeting of the UN.  I was pleased to find that Omanis mixed with ex-pats though, as it was something I had found lacking in Dubai.

It quickly became apparent, however, that being a quiet city with hardly any hustle or bustle had left me with a feeling that the city was a little 'lifeless.'  I had a relaxing break and learnt a few more things about the Sultanate, but I just didn't feel like I had found out what made people tick.  Sure, I was only there for a few days and another visit to another part of the country in the future is in store, but Muscat felt as pretty as a picture and as multi-dimensional as one too.  I'm glad I went and I recommend it as part of an extended visit to the Gulf region, but I think it may be some time before tourists flock there en masse as the government hopes.

The Place Dubai Everything

Smack bang in the middle of three continents and the origin of the major religions of Islam, Christianity and Judaism, the Middle East has been at the centre of world events since the dawn of civilisation and continues to play an important role today.  Technically Western Asia, the Middle East stretches from North Africa (plus Ethiopia and Sudan) all the way to Pakistan and arguably encompasses Central Asia too.  With its ever-changing national borders, political and religious disputes and hostilities and its somewhat negative image in the eyes of most 'westerners,' the land of hot climes, deserts and mosques is a region of the world that continues to fascinate.  Dead centre of all of this is a brash newcomer that has sprung up out of nowhere.

The United Arab Emirates is unlike other nations.  In fact, it's not like a nation at all as it is composed of seven emirates, each ruled independently by their own monarchy.  Although Abu Dhabi is the capital, each family holds autonomy when it comes to how each emirate is governed.  Until the 1970s, the UAE had been under the influence of the Portuguese, the Ottomans, the British and Iran, but the discovery of oil in the 60s quickly changed all that.  Over the last four decades the money has kept rolling in as the desert has retreated.  At the forefront of all this change is the city of Dubai - not the capital, but without a doubt the country's 'first' city.

Not 20 years ago, Dubai was a mere outpost where 'unlucky' expats were sent to help set-up a foothold in the region.  Nowadays, the name is synonymous with high-rise buildings, 5-star hotels, shopping malls galore and the rich and famous flexing their significant financial-muscle.  It feels like you can't go five minutes without stumbling into a trendy boutique or scrambling out of the way of an expensive German or Italian-branded car.  Dubai has transformed into the home of the superlative; the biggest, the tallest, the longest, the most expensive.  Making your way along Sheikh Zayed Road as a first-time visitor will leave you with a severely strained neck as you pass skyscraper after skyscraper, including the Burj Khalifa building (2,717 feet).  Mixed with the more traditional constructions in the older part of town, a trip to Dubai is to be left feeling like you have been a part of an architect's wet-dream.

When it comes to prying dirhams, dollars and euros from its residents and tourists alike, Dubai seems to come up with a myriad of ways in which to do so.  Dubai Mall (the world's largest) and the Mall of the Emirates are but two of the many shopping centres that dot the city, linked by a Metro line that seems purpose built to shuttle consumers from one shopping mecca to the next.  The latter mall also comes complete with an indoor ski resort!  Even shopping at the cheaper end of the scale doesn't deter the grandiose, with the Chinese Dragon Mart stretching over two floors for a combined length of over 2km and stocked with goods from the East.

This will be the 6th place I have called home since leaving the UK and whether or not there is more to the city than just the superficial remains to be seen.  I intend to find out.

I Kish(ed) A Girl, And I liked It!

The tiny Fokker 50 plane rattled its way across the Persian Gulf, but managed to complete the 30 minute flight without coming apart at the seems.  I stepped out into the hot night and made my way to the passport control booth at the equally tiny airport.  After having my document inspected, the officer instructed me to take a seat and wait.  After the appropriate amount of time elapsed, another officer ushered me into a back office to ask a few questions and take my fingerprints and photo.  After disclosing that I was meeting an old student, the officers located Ashkan, my girlfriend's brother, in order to confirm my identity and purpose of visit.  Eventually, I was allowed to pass through with my passport newly stamped with an admission from those in authority that I had only been kept behind in a petty attempt to illustrate the difficulties that they face when going to my country.  It would have been frustrating and intimidating but for the fact that they couldn't stop smiling warmly and being so welcoming; a big contrast to the time I flew out of Uzbekistan.  The key, I find, to border crossings is to look contemptuously bored with a few pleasantries, but without being overly friendly.  And with that, I met my girlfriend and we made our way out of the terminal.  I was in Iran.  More specifically, I was on the island of Kish.

Kish Island lies less than 20km from the Iranian mainland and is home to about 20,000 people.  With its Free Trade Zone status, the island has been granted a little more freedom than the rest of Iran and as such it is possible for foreigners to visit without a visa - notoriously problematic to acquire, especially for those holding British, US and Canadian passports.  Most foreign guests to this small, but beautiful island pop over from nearby Dubai in order to update their UAE visas every month or so; the majority of whom are from India, Pakistan and the Philippines.

I was there to see my girlfriend, Pegah.  Although originally from the capital, Tehran, she and her family have called Kish home for some time.  It was my first opportunity to visit her in 6 months and after so long apart it was so good to finally be not only in the same time zone, but breathing the same air.  For the past year we have been in a long-distance relationship after I went to Vietnam for work and she remained in Istanbul for her studies.  With hindsight, not the greatest move I've ever made, but I tend not to dwell on the past and the things that could or should have happened.  Instead, I try to make the most of the present and future.  My present was finally being with my girl and my future involved restarting our life together in Dubai.

My first hurdle to overcome, though, was to find a place to stay for a couple of nights.  Pegah had reserved a room for me at one hotel, but when we arrived there wasn't anyone to be found but the security guy who refused to check me in.  At a second hotel we were informed that I had to go to the police station and get a letter stating that it was OK for me to stay there.  After trying another couple of places, we finally managed to find one with a room and didn't have paranoid owners.  I wasn't required to get any such letter, but after decades of living in fear of authority and not used to dealing with 'westerners,' people could be forgiven for not wanting to get involved with me.  However, this was not a feeling I had often as most people seemed welcoming and friendly, including Pegah's father (who, I must admit, I had been pretty nervous about meeting).

Kish enjoys a slightly more liberal environment, but it still has to adhere to the laws that govern Iran.  As a British national, and thus open to suspicion, it was difficult to know when my girl and I could express our feelings.  For our own security, it was wise to keep her brother as a chaperon while we hung out and checked out the island's sights.  I have known many Iranians, and the tragic part of their plight is being forced to live my an Islamic code that a good majority don't believe in.  It's rare that I've encountered devout Muslims from that country and it's no surprise that the first thing many women do when arriving at a foreign airport is to remove their hijabs.

Although the island is pretty small (about 90 square km), it does have a number of attractions for those people who hop over on their visa runs, or come from the mainland to take advantage of the shopping and the beaches.  First up, we checked out the underground town on Kariz.  This was the island's main water supply and has been around for over 2000 years.  Exploring the tunnels and vast expanses made for a pleasant escape from the sun and its heat.  Another ancient sight, is the city of Harireh which still partly stands and can be seen for free.  The biggest attraction for most tourists here, though, is the Greek Ship, an old vessel that was shipwrecked in 1966.  It still stands just off the coast and made for a good photo-op at sunset.  My highlight, it has to be said, was the giant penguin that stood in the centre of the island.  I have no idea why it's there, but climbing up it, it did offer a good view of the island.

My stay was far too short and my time alone with Pegah even shorter.  Now that I'm living in Dubai and she is in the process of transferring and completing her studies here, I can only hope we remedy that soon.

Miss Saigon

"Where you going?" I was asked the moment I got out of the taxi from the airport.  I was still preoccupied with getting my bag out of the boot (trunk), so hadn't yet seen to whom the inquisitive voice belonged.  "To find a place to stay," I replied, hoping the owner of the voice was touting a hotel room for a reasonable price. "And after that?" continued the questioning.  It was then that I looked at my interrogator and saw that it was a not unattractive twenty-something.  "Er, eat something and then sleep," I confessed, it being close to midnight and nearing the end of a long day.  The woman pulled a face and clearly had other ideas for me.  "No, you want to have a massage and make love to me.  One hour.  Beautiful."  I politely declined and made my escape.  After finding a hotel, I ventured out in search of Subway, which had recently opened.  With most franchises (KFC being an exception) not allowed by the Vietnamese government, it had become something of a novelty to eat western fast food.  I only made it a halfway down the road when I was accosted by the same woman.  "Where you going?" she asked again.  "Subway" I answered, thinking that she might be able to direct me there.  "Ah, ten dollar," came the rather unexpected response.  "Er, no.  Subway," and proceeded to mime eating a full-long sandwich.  Realising how this looked to a woman-of-the-night, I stopped and hurriedly exited stage left.  I was back in Sagon.  Back in Pham Ngu Lao.  Puzzled as to what perverse sexual deed a 'Subway" entailed.

Pham Ngu Lao is to Saigon what Ko San is to Bangkok; a small area devoted to backpackers and the like with hostels, cafes and travel agents galore.  With this also comes the easy access to cheap booze, drugs and hookers.  The encounter above is only one of many examples.  Another incident involved a pimp asking me if I wanted to go up to his flat where his wife was waiting!  The thing going in Pham Ngu Lao's favour is that is hasn't yet become as insular as its Thai counterpart.  Whereas Ko San can leave a traveller feeling cut off from the rest of Bangkok, here some of Ho Chi Minh City's more famous landmarks are within easy walking distance.

Despite living only an hour or so away in Vung Tau, I never really made the most of Saigon.  I had ventured there a few times, usually on my way to someplace else, but never to really explore and get to know the city.  This time I had a few days and so I jotted down a list of places I wished to check out and mapped out a walking route.  Top of the list was the War Remnants Museum, a harrowing reminder of the realities of war.  Being a communist state with a strong emphasis on propaganda, the museum is completely biased in its portrayal of the American War, but with plenty of exhibits from American sources it's hard to argue with its message.  Less horrific landmarks in Vietnam's second city include the Notre Dame church, Ben Than market, the zoo with botanical gardens, the palace and numerous pagodas and temples in Chinatown.

Surprisingly, this one didn't make the grade...

For me, though, the chance to have a flutter and a day at the races was too good an opportunity to pass up.  In Vietnam, like in China, gambling has been made illegal throughout the country.  However, in the 1980s, the government realised that it was never going to improve the country's economy while blocking an activity that could generate such a big windfall, so in Vung Tau they allowed greyhound-racing and in Saigon they allowed horse-racing.  The last time I had been to the track was in Hong Kong, where I didn't have much luck in making my fortune.  Here I hoped to at least break even.

The most noticeable facet of the sport here, is the use of young boys as jockeys.  Whereas the practice as been banned in other countries, the necessity for pre-pubescent boys has meant attempts to make the change in Vietnam have stalled.  With tiny H'mong horses used and the oppressive heat, to use adult jockeys would be make racing impossible.  While you could argue that this is child exploitation, I find it's not as simple as that.  These boys, no older than 10 or 11 years old, are earning much needed money for their families and seem to be well taken care of.  In a country which is said to be in the three-poorest, non-African countries in the world, child labour is unavoidable.  Riding horses seems a tad better than working in factories, churning out counterfeit designer brands.  Although I didn't make enough to retire on, I did manage to pick 5 winners in the 8 races I watched.

Saigon is a hectic mess, symbolised by the motorbikes whizzing around like mosquitoes, but as far as metropolitan messes go, it can be a lot of fun.

Mekong Sweet Love

Starting at the Tibetan Plateau and winding its way through the Chinese province of Yunnan, Myanmar (Burma), Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam, the Mekong River is the tenth-longest in the world.  Tucked away in the southwest of the latter country, the river breaks off into multiple channels to form the Mekong Delta.  The Delta region produces more than half of Vietnam's rice output and, in fact, produces more rice than Korea and Japan combined.

To do the entire region justice would have taken more time than I had, so from my base in Ho Chi Minh I opted for a brief 'taste.'  From my hotel, I booked a day-trip to see some river-life including floating markets, bee farms and river cruising.  The journey to the Delta by bus was two hours, and the time flew by with detailed commentary from the tour guide.  Interesting tidbits that stood out were utterances such as, "This is a petrol station and the driver is going to fill the bus up with petrol for our journey" and "If you look to your right you will see a field.  I don't know what it is used for."  One thing the guy did say, though, which was genuinely interesting was his disclosure that, although he had had many Mekong girls as girlfriends, his father forbid him from ever marrying one.  "Mekong girls are beautiful and lots of fun," he confided with a devilish grin on his face. "But they are terrible girls for marriage."  It seems that Vietnam has it's own version of the "Essex Girl" or "Jersey Girl."  This is something which I have seen first hand in Vung Tau, as most of the girls working in bars or "massage" parlours hail from the region with the intention of snagging a rich husband to lavish gifts upon them and take care of their families financially.  Of course, this is a generalisation, much like the ones regarding Essex and New Jersey.

Once in the Delta and on a boat, it was easy to sit back and soak up the scenery as the boat chugged along, passing people going about their daily lives.  The floating market was quite unlike the one I had seen in Thailand, as it was something akin to a wholesale market, where business was conducted in bulk.  Still, watching the act of commerce taking place in unconventional surroundings was fun.  The tour included a couple of stops at various places with the motive of foisting stuff upon tourists, but I gave them a miss and stuck to the riverside to watch the locals play out the soap operas of their lives.  I did take the opportunity at one stop, however, to jump on a bicycle and take it for a spin around one of the islands.  Unfortunately, the bike wasn't exactly in good condition and proved a lot of work for something supposedly 'leisurely.'

I wish I had had more time to fully explore the Mekong, to have taken a boat up the river into Cambodia and beyond.  I'll just have to leave that trip until another time.

Born To Be Wild

I've never learnt to drive.  As a teenage-boy I never had posters of high-performance cars on my bedroom walls and I never mithered by mother for lessons nor for a car.  I guess a psychologist or a social anthropologist would define this lusting for 'wheels' as a struggle for independence - the chance to strike out alone.  For me, however, it was motorbikes rather than cars which held that position in my psyche.  That doesn't mean that I can name the various parts of an engine or even pretend to know anything about the machines.  I'm not an engineer and as anyone could attest, I'm not the kind of guy who gets excited about technology and mechanics.  Simply put, a motorbike is like any other mode of transport which gets you and your cargo from A to B.

No, what set motorbikes apart from cars in my eyes were the logistics.  Growing up, cars journeys involved lots of people in a confined space arguing about bathroom breaks and compromising over which music cassette was to be played.  Riding on the back of my grandfather's bike felt like liberation.  Whether he was taking me to rugby practice or a ride around the villages in the nearby countryside it didn't matter as I always eagerly anticipated the chance to go for a ride with him.  So, naturally, when I got old enough I opted for two wheels over four.

Since I left home as a teenager, I haven't had my own vehicle.  In Manchester, the public transport system was always sufficient for me and then when I hit the road I never really needed anything.  Living in Vietnam was the first time in a long while that that changed.  I loved my crappy little bike and the independence I felt again while on it.

Whenever you think of Vietnam, one of the enduring images is of the chaotic melee of motorbikes on the roads of Saigon or Hanoi.  Observing this can be quite a spectacle and wincing every time two motorists come within inches of colliding can make your eyes hurt.  I've been to a lot of places where the locals have 'boasted' of how crazy their drivers are and they would have been right.  However, Vietnam is the only place I've been to where I actually lived in fear of losing my life.  In fact, the World Heath Organisation officially has the country down as one of the most dangerous countries in the world for road-related fatalities; over 12,000 deaths a year.  With a population of 85 million people, this can be hard to put in to context.  So if you were to compare it with the UK (pop. 65 million), where there are around 600 fatalities, you can see just how much of a problem Vietnam has.  Many of these deaths are the result of people not wearing helmets, despite them being readily available.  I've even seen people riding along with their helmet tucked under the arms!  The other major causes are speeding and, of course, drink-driving, both of which happen as part of the norm.

Which brings me to Ty.  I met Ty coming out of the train station in Da Nang, his glorious mustache setting him apart from the others.  Usually, I am wary of being approached by touts and taxi drivers as I always feel I've been marked for a scam.  This time, I was feeling relaxed after my stay in Lang Co, and was open to his spiel.  I only wanted a lift to the bus station, but I allowed him to talk me into taking me to my final destination.  The price he quoted was only a little more than the bus ticket and after seeing his 'big-boy' bike and how comfortable it looked I gave him the chance to impress.  Ty was not only that rare thing in Vietnam of being a safe driver (using the horn when appropriate, not driving too fast, slowing down on blind bends, etc), but he also had good English and would give tidbits of interesting information along the way.  He even found a hotel for me and negotiated a cheap price (usually, you pay extra for commission when a taxi takes you to a hotel).  I looked at the room-rates board at reception upon arrival and saw that I had been given the non-foreigner price.

In Hoi An, we sat down for some food at a street stall and feeling satisfied with his abilities on a bike, we discussed a possible trip to be taken after my stay in town.  I was short on time and money, so the 6 days journey along the Ho Chi Minh trail was out of the question unfortunately, but we came to an agreement on a one-day trip.

I had set my expectations low in order to not be too disappointed if it turned out to be bad.  I needn't have worried.  Riding through the villages and the countryside, along the rivers and rice fields that made up the landscape I could remember the feeling I had with my grandfather.  In one village, we met a woman who was eager to show me how to make rice paper and in another place I met a family who conveyed, through my guide, that I was the first foreigner they had ever seen in person.  The old woman couldn't stop touching me to see whether I was real and attempted to marry me off with one of her granddaughters.  Along the way I got to sample the Ho Chi Minh trail for a couple of miles before turning off and got to meet a guy who had never left his home town in the Mekong before.  He was journeying up to Hanoi for university and stopping off at various places he had read about in books.

One such place was My Son, home to Champa ruins which had stood for centuries until the Americans bombed them to Kingdom Come during the war.  What is left is a small collection of ruins that survived the onslaught, but still give a good enough impression of what the area looked like at the time of their inception.  You could walk around the entire complex in about 30 minutes, but the backdrop of mountains and greenery made it a pleasant 2-hour stopover.

The trip ended later that evening after a long day on the back of a bike.  My legs were aching and I had caught the sun, but it had been well worth the money.  That morning I had happened to glance at the date and I had realised that it was actually the day of what would have been my grandfather's birthday.  It seemed a fitting way to spend the day.

For anyone looking for a safe and reliable motorbike guide in Vietnam, I highly recommend Ty.  He has a decade of experience and would be a great choice to add another dimension to your trip.  His number is 0905194373 and it's one that he has used for 12 years so it's unlikely to change.

The Beach

For those fans of Alex Garland or Leo Di Caprio, 'The Beach' is the epitome of paradise.  Golden sand, clear blue water and no mass tourism.  A secret little hideaway where you can relax and enjoy your surroundings without the full-moon party brigade, the package-tour touts, the vendors selling various items of necklaces made from shells, inflatables, watersports or hotels marring the skyline.  Nowadays, this is almost impossible to achieve with the opening up of borders and the abundance of low-cost flights to all corners of the world.  Even in Gokarna, India, where I found the yang to Goa's yin, there were still backpackers by the boat-load.

Vietnam, as I was finding out on my trip, was quickly losing its 'hidden gem' tag as the tourist industry has kicked into high gear over the last few years.  So it was much to my delight and surprise to find an antidote to over-development going on in Ha Long Bay or Mui Ne in the fishing village of Lang Co.

By no means the vision of the perfect beach getaway Garland had when he penned his story, or even a deserted utopia on some inaccessible island, Lang Co is 'merely' your garden-variety village with people going about their routine lives.  Other tourists pass through and may even stop off at a restaurant for a bite to eat on their way from Hue to Da Nang, and there are frequent guests from neighbouring towns and villages.  There is even a beach resort hidden away.  But none of these things take away from the magic of Lang Co.

For starters, the village lies between the South China Sea and a lagoon that has formed from it.  Sandwiched between the two, villagers are privy to majestic views whichever direction they look.  The coastline stretches for almost 20km with golden sand that hasn't been contaminated with litter or been disturbed with a sun lounger.  Looking out to the horizon you won't see a motorboat or a jet-ski or anyone kitesurfing.  You probably won't even see another soul swimming.  Those Vietnamese people who do brave the sun (like a lot of women throughout the east of Asia, Vietnamese women cover up from head-to-toe to avoid darkening their skin - paler skin being seen as more attractive, much the same way as we in the West think the opposite) confine themselves to the 300 metre segment that is used by the aforementioned beach resort.  That leaves an unimaginable stretch of shoreline that is untapped. Walking along the beach, I didn't see another person.  I even managed to leave my belongings unattended and go for a swim in the clear sea without fear of someone stealing my wallet or camera.

On the lagoon behind the village, fishermen work and make their living by catching oysters to export to other towns and cities in the vicinity.  It meant that I was able to walk into any cafe or restaurant nearby and eat some of the most delicious seafood I had ever eaten.  In the evening, locals invited me to drink beer and eat shrimp with them, despite the obvious language barrier.  It had been a while since I had encountered such genuine hospitality without someone trying to sell me something or practice their English.

On another day, I managed to hire a guy to give me a ride on his motorbike to the nearby springs, where I had been told by one local with some English that I could have some fun.  When I arrived, I found that the springs had been turned into a kind of water amusement park like the waterfall I visited in Iraq.  Families ate picnics while the children splashed about in the springs, someone had used small rocks to create dams so that small rock-pools could form, and teenagers sprang into them from great heights.  In complete contrast to the empty beach, people were more than happy to play in the water once they were sheltered by the trees all around.  Again, although at odds to the ethos of 'The Beach', I found the fact that this was local recreation as opposed to a money-making venture to be something to cherish.

I went to Lang Co with the intention of staying for a few hours to catch my breath and take a break from the tourist trail, but I ended up staying 3 nights.  Without a doubt, the highlight of my trip in Vietnam and it only saddens me to think that by writing this I may only be contributing to its downfall.  The world doesn't need another Koh Sumui, Goa, Ibiza, or even another Mui Ne.  However, I don't doubt that once the industry gets wind of its true 'potential,' my little Lang Co won't be able to hold back the tide.  Personally, I will always have my memories of 'my' beach.  Taking the train to Da Nang, I spent the journey looking out of the window and taking it all in.

One Hue To Get Hoi An Life

During the American War, Vietnam was divided in two.  To the north was the communist Vietnamese People's Army and to the south lay the American-backed South Vietnamese forces.  Cutting through the middle ran the Demilitarized Zone which for the decade prior to the conflict had been the official border.  As such, it was the scene of some of the bloodiest battles of the time.  This is not a post about them.

This post is about another part of the region's history.  Just south of the DMZ, you will find the historical cities of Hue and Hoi An.  Hue, which was the home of the Nguyen Dynasty until 1945, was a giant citadel built upon the banks of the Perfume River.  Its tiny neighbour, Hoi An, is more known for its importance during the Champa Empire of the 16th and 17th centuries.  The Chams were the last real obstacle to a unified Vietnam before the French and Americans came a-knockin'.

After checking out the hustle and bustle of the big city, the incredible scenery of the mountains to the north and the impressive coastline of the northeast, I was looking forward to checking out something more imperial.  From Hanoi, I took a sleeper bus for the 14-hour journey to Hue.  When I first got on the bus, my heart sank when I realised it was full of teenagers on a school trip.  Luckily, most Vietnamese people are a uniform bunch and as soon as the clock struck 9pm, everyone was fast asleep and I too could enjoy a restful sleep without a the usual noise of pubescent boys and girls in a confined space.

Stepping off the bus the next morning, I was accosted by the usual suspects - motorbike taxi drivers, tour and hotel touts and people hawking their wares.  I lied and told them that I had already booked a place and I had reserved it online.  This seemed to deflate those who would have me believe the hotel was full.  One ingenious mind, though, was undeterred and popped up with a cardboard sign with the name of the hotel I had claimed to have booked and the bus company's name that I had travelled down on, saying he was from the hotel to pick me up.  I almost felt bad having to tell him that I had never told the hotel how I was travelling to Hue nor at what time I would be arriving.  Good try, though.

I found a hotel by myself, dumped my things and headed out.  I know, I missed the shower part, but it was a boiling hot day and I saw no point in getting clean only to be dripping wet with sweat a few minutes after stepping outside.  I had been told numerous times not to bother with the former capital as there wasn't much to see anymore and while that may be true, I've always thought it a shame that places get dismissed so easily because they don't have a Taj Mahal or a Great Wall.  Some places require a bit of work and imagination and I"m willing to give them a try.  Due to the heavy bombing during the war, much of the ancient citadel was destroyed.  The walls and some buildings remained intact, but a lot of what can be seen nowadays is a replica of what used to be.  Still, it was interesting to work around and it brought back memories of all those places in China I had visited.

With even less to see and do, the former fishing village of Hoi An has taken the route that so many other places have tread.  Namely, they have opened themselves up to mass tourism to the detriment of the sleepy ambiance that first attracted visitors.  The buildings still hold up well and the charming architecture make Hoi An a pleasant place to wander around for a few hours.  However, as soon as your head dips to eye-level, all you can see are the myriad of cafes, tailors, shoe shops and general tourist-tat shops.  It reminded of being back in England to some extent.  Whether you're walking Manchester, London or Chester with their deep histories and architecture, it can't escape you're notice that each building now seems to be home to a Starbucks or some other franchise or retail chain.  It just seems like an inappropriate use.

To a degree, the naysayers were correct and the two 'guidebook highlights' of Central Vietnam could be seen in a couple of days.  However, those couple of days open up a side of the country which isn't so accessible anymore because of the progression of time and the ravages of war.