stop this asia rollercoaster

If you're looking to get away from civilization and experience the serenity that comes from being out in nature's wild beauty and having the vast majority of the blood sucked out of your body by desperate mosquitoes, then you should try a motor bike tour through rural Vietnam.


I did recently with my teenage son, David.
We took the potholed highways and bi-ways on our .Boston bikes with two of Vietnam’s “easyriders”.
While I am sure Steve McQueen must have been turning in his grave to a pair of wannabe hell’s angels tour the countryside trying very hard to look cool and failing miserably.

For someone who has always politely opted out of scuba diving whenever the opportunity presented itself in the past, going on my first dive with Jan was a surprisingly painless affair.

I am no sissy, mind.
I have done plenty of adrenaline junkie kind of things. This includes flinging myself out of an airplane wearing an oversized jumpsuit and a pair of boots three sizes too big, shooting the rapids on the Zambezi River, hang-gliding off Table Mountain (holding a fidgety bulldog in my arms – very weird but true), climbing down ice crevasses in the Antarctic …and skidding down the side of a snow-covered mountain on an old mattress.

But the thought of donning a heavy oxygen tank, mask and snorkel and submerging myself many metres below the surface of the ocean, has always filled me with horror.

I was worried about feeling claustrophobic, panicking and freaking out. I imagined myself shooting up to the surface and then getting the infamous “bends” and eventually dying a horrible, excruciating death writhing around in agony on the beach.

Not to mention the embarrassment of it all.

In reality, things couldn’t have been tamer and more, well pleasant, really.

After a short training session, Jan and I hit the water and before I knew it, I was 60 metres off shore and exploring an artificial reef 6 metres below the surface.

The “vis” (visibility) as the old diving hands like to refer to it, was not very good on my day out apparently. But as a novice, I was more than happy to hang out with the marine life whether I could see them clearly or not. I was particularly taken by the large, silver pan-sized fish with thick lips glided past gracefully pretending not to notice the strange, bubble blowing invader on the reef.

Getting the breathing right was the most important thing and knowing how to control one’s buoyancy. I wasn’t too bad at that. Jan explained that most people end up either floating helplessly on the surface or lying like a brick on the sea bed.

And apparently women with larger behinds are better at controlling buoyancy – but I am hoping that is just an old wife’s tale.

All in all, I was so taken by the experience, I completely forgot about panicking or feeling claustrophobic… And I didn’t even think about sharks once…

For someone who has always politely opted out of scuba diving whenever the opportunity presented itself in the past, going on my first dive with Jan was a surprisingly painless affair.
I am no sissy, mind. I have done plenty of adrenaline junkie kind of things. This includes flinging myself out of an airplane wearing an oversized jumpsuit and a pair of boots three sizes too big, shooting the rapids on the Zambezi River, hang-gliding off Table Mountain (holding a fidgety bulldog – very weird but true), climbing down ice crevasses in the Antarctic …and skidding down the side of a snow-covered mountain on an old mattress.
But the thought of donning a heavy oxygen tank, mask and snorkel and submerging myself many metres below the surface of the ocean, has always filled me with horror.
I was worried about feeling claustrophobic, panicking and freaking out. I imagined myself shooting up to the surface and then getting the infamous “bends” and eventually dying a horrible, excruciating death writhing around in agony on the beach.
Not to mention the embarrassment of it all.
In reality, things couldn’t have been tamer and more, well pleasant, really.
After a short training session, Jan and I hit the water and before I knew it, I was 60 metres off shore and exploring an artificial reef 6 metres below the surface.
The “vis” (visibility) as the old diving hands like to refer to it, was not very good on my day out apparently. But as a novice, I was more than happy to hang out with the marine life whether I could see them clearly or not. I was particularly taken by the large, silver pan-sized fish with thick lips glided past gracefully pretending not to notice the strange, bubble blowing invader on the reef.
Getting the breathing right was the most important thing and knowing how to control one’s buoyancy. I wasn’t too bad at that. Jan explained that most people end up either floating helplessly on the surface or lying like a brick on the sea bed.
And apparently women with larger behinds are better at controlling buoyancy – but I am hoping that is just an old wife’s tale.
All in all, I was so taken by the experience, I completely forgot about panicking or feeling claustrophobic… And I didn’t even think about sharks once…