Look the morning bus to Hoi An, driving along roads that hugged the moutainous coastline. Below a flotilla of homogenous blue fishing boats with yellow stars on red flags flapping behind them. Stopped for lunch and watched as a huge plate of tiny crabs was brought to the table of soldiers behind us. Unable to luck, I just had a running commentary of the proceedings from my associates, and the slurp and cracking sounds echoing behind me. Euch ... flashback!
One of the Japanese travellers on the bus sat with a table of Vietnamese businessmen. I watched the interaction in amusement as they gesticulated that he sould join them in some rice wine ... and perhaps another ... and another! When I next looked back, the blurrey-eyed jap-chap was being dragged to the kareoke machine. Yes ... the now ubiquitous kareoke ... Asia has opened itīs arms to this hideous invention and taken it as itīs own. Unable to read Vietnamese and sing along, he suddently found himself in the embrace of one of his drinking partners, gliding a waltz across the floor. Was that a twinkle of desire in his new found friends eye? Realising his predicament ... and saved by the beep of the bus ... he made his escape in the nick of time!
Yet another break on the 14 hours travelling extraveganza. A chained baby monkey sat on a table in the back of the restaurant, screaming in distress and repeatedly pulling at his bonds. Everyone standing round watching ... quietly ... impotently. Back to the bus and then someone lept off last minute dashing to take it some bananas, stepping past the mentally handicapped boy sitting by the door of the restaurant.
14 hours ... 14 hours and finally made it to our destination. Should the Hyundai bus company ever burn down, I am now in the position to offer my backside as a mould for their coach seats (aka instuments of torture).
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