Eighteen hours of gruelling travel and we are home once more. Two hours Saigon to Singapore, nine hours waiting time in Singapore's Changi airport and seven hours to Tullamarine.
Changi airport, to me, always has overtones of what happened there during WW2 . In the oppressive heat and humidity the Japanese imprisoned 1000's of civilians in this camp and many 1000's of soldiers in a nearby camp. Now Changi is a monument to Mammon. Designer brands proliferate in the sprawling complex which is served by a train service which whisks you from one Terminal to another. It includes a cactus rooftop garden and a butterfly enclosure as well as many food stores of questionable quality.
Oh, forgot to mention, when leaving Danang the security guys took me aside and asked me to open my case. They searched it and found my favorite Swiss Army pocket knife, a present from my sons about 15 years ago and now sadly in the possession, no doubt, of some lucky Vietnamese security guard. I had got a new suitcase in Hoi An which became my check in luggage and my carry-on now contained the knife. Derrr. In Singapore the guards did the same, they opened the case and went through it. This time they came up with my first aid kit a present that came with my new Volvo. It was in the glove box and Uncle Ernie must have bought it when he got the car in 1984 and never used it . This time they just sniffed the bottles of calamine and antiseptic and returned it.
Notes on Vietnam: I have never been in a place where there were so many changes of level. The footpaths are cracked and broken and have sudden drops and humps including the obligatory small concrete ramp up to the front of every shop and house so the scooter can be driven in to safety. It's not unusual to see a business office open with scooters parked in the foyer. The footpaths are the unofficial parking lots of the scooter, and men charge a fee to park and they come with a security man to watch over them.
Every building seems to have a step on the threshold and also inside when you pass from room to room. Going into a hotel room involves a step and then from bedroom to bathroom another step. I suspect this is a cultural thing to do with spirits.Tiles are everywhere in hotels and are kept spotless by an army of floor sweepers and moppers which makes them extremely slippery. All the hotel rooms I was in were tiled in high glazed tiles including the bathrooms which makes them very dangerous. The Vietnamese are meticulous in their cleanliness despite the seeming mess in the streets. In Danang I watched a woman sweep part of a runway using a small whisk broom and a dust pan. Many happy memories of Vietnam mostly involving the wonderful people there. So industrious, so welcoming and so forgiving of what was done to them.