I've calmed down to an apocalyptic fit.
We got our Vietnam visas within 48 hours, and that little sticker has ramped me into a dreamy state of pre-holiday bliss.
This is, you understand, the first visa that my Brit has ever had to get. Hark! A Brit having to get a visa, imagine that? I was loving this obviously.
"Ooh now you're going to realise the admin of getting a VISA, darling."
[pause]
"...the paperwork, the booking of flights, the expense, the standing in queues, the feeling of quasi-criminality..."
Except that it was the easiest visa process ever, ever.
We were front of the queue, had to fill in one measly form, no supporting documents, simply hand over the cashola. Like most third world countries, Vietnam operates a visa system for all foreigners just for the money, not necessarily the security.
Sixty quid and five minutes later, we were done.
Now to just buy our bright and shiny new backpacks. The Brit has already stocked up on cans of sun cream. Which I suppose, is very unBritish. Most Brits are known for lounging around on the Costa del Sol chugging Stella and turning a poignant shade of lobster el rouge.
Not my little Brit. To be fair, my skin is now mirroring the nation in which I now immerse myself. A complexion of the white and pasty manifestation from 80% less sunshine as to what I'm used to.
Since being able to drive (and I worry I am forgetting as the months roll by....fuck! It's been 6 months since I drove a motor vehicle), I have always had a tanned right arm. From sitting in the traffic while the Joburg sun refracts itself through my window.
Nowadays, with a blueish tinge to my overall colour, I'm going to be stereotyped as a classic Brit flying over for cheap cocktails, sun and fuckloads of rice.
'Brits Abroad!' they will yell, as I attempt to squeeze my thighs through the leg holes of my bikini. (Or more accurately, "Blits Abload! Two dollar love you long time.")
We've been scouring our Lonely Planet any chance we get, while looking for places off the beaten track that promise a vacuum in technology (zero Internet access, phones), and have mapped out a nice little flexible itinerary for ourselves:
That's a rough route, using all modes of transport - flights, trains, buses and boats.
A bit of Bangkok, a bit of Hanoi, a bit of Halong Bay, a bit of Hue and Hoi An, Ho Chi Minh.
We'll be doing it two ways - from very basic to a treat somewhere in the middle.
At one beach we will practically sleep on the sand, with a bamboo screen serving as our roof.
At another, we'll throw some pounds behind some luxury. Hopefully encompassing everything from free beach loungers, free cocktails and a few well earned massages.
And we'll be staying on a boat. In this ridiculously beautiful setting. We are going to be pirates!
Hold me back, just over a week to go.
We got our Vietnam visas within 48 hours, and that little sticker has ramped me into a dreamy state of pre-holiday bliss.
This is, you understand, the first visa that my Brit has ever had to get. Hark! A Brit having to get a visa, imagine that? I was loving this obviously.
"Ooh now you're going to realise the admin of getting a VISA, darling."
[pause]
"...the paperwork, the booking of flights, the expense, the standing in queues, the feeling of quasi-criminality..."
Except that it was the easiest visa process ever, ever.
We were front of the queue, had to fill in one measly form, no supporting documents, simply hand over the cashola. Like most third world countries, Vietnam operates a visa system for all foreigners just for the money, not necessarily the security.
Sixty quid and five minutes later, we were done.
Now to just buy our bright and shiny new backpacks. The Brit has already stocked up on cans of sun cream. Which I suppose, is very unBritish. Most Brits are known for lounging around on the Costa del Sol chugging Stella and turning a poignant shade of lobster el rouge.
Not my little Brit. To be fair, my skin is now mirroring the nation in which I now immerse myself. A complexion of the white and pasty manifestation from 80% less sunshine as to what I'm used to.
Since being able to drive (and I worry I am forgetting as the months roll by....fuck! It's been 6 months since I drove a motor vehicle), I have always had a tanned right arm. From sitting in the traffic while the Joburg sun refracts itself through my window.
Nowadays, with a blueish tinge to my overall colour, I'm going to be stereotyped as a classic Brit flying over for cheap cocktails, sun and fuckloads of rice.
'Brits Abroad!' they will yell, as I attempt to squeeze my thighs through the leg holes of my bikini. (Or more accurately, "Blits Abload! Two dollar love you long time.")
We've been scouring our Lonely Planet any chance we get, while looking for places off the beaten track that promise a vacuum in technology (zero Internet access, phones), and have mapped out a nice little flexible itinerary for ourselves:
That's a rough route, using all modes of transport - flights, trains, buses and boats.
A bit of Bangkok, a bit of Hanoi, a bit of Halong Bay, a bit of Hue and Hoi An, Ho Chi Minh.
We'll be doing it two ways - from very basic to a treat somewhere in the middle.
At one beach we will practically sleep on the sand, with a bamboo screen serving as our roof.
At another, we'll throw some pounds behind some luxury. Hopefully encompassing everything from free beach loungers, free cocktails and a few well earned massages.
And we'll be staying on a boat. In this ridiculously beautiful setting. We are going to be pirates!
Hold me back, just over a week to go.
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