Travel Days That Feel Like a Treat

Travel days in Vietnam are starting to feel like a reward rather than a chore. I actually get a bit giddy about them — it becomes a full sensory overload and a real opportunity to write as I go, capturing all the tiny details that are just excellent. After weeks in Cambodia—where you could only travel wherever the one bus per day happened to be going (and if you missed it, well… taxi it was)—Vietnam feels wonderfully liberating. It’s not that Cambodia was hard, just limited. Here, everything is cheaper, easier, and so well organised that I’m convinced the receptionists could run entire governments.

Booking a Bus Without Losing the Will to Live

All we had to do was wander downstairs, smile vaguely in the direction of the front desk, and ask about buses to My Tho (pronounced Mee Tow). Within minutes they’d arranged everything: tickets, shuttle, timings, and a hotel‑to‑station pickup. Same price as buying it at the station, but without having to use the Grab App — which is a blessing, because Craig hates apps and we end up in a full‑blown argument every time we open it. Honestly, avoiding that alone is worth its weight in pho.

The Shuttle, the Station, and the Genius Ticket System

Our shuttle arrived exactly when they said it would—a small miracle in Southeast Asia. It whisked us through Can Tho’s morning bustle: women in conical hats balancing baskets of herbs, men sipping iced coffee like it’s a competitive sport, and scooters weaving through traffic with the confidence of people who’ve clearly lived nine lives already.

Shuttle bus

At the station, we paid just under half a million dong — about £9 for two tickets and were handed tickets with the bus registration number printed right on them. Genius. No guessing, no wandering around looking lost, no being herded onto the wrong bus and ending up in Da Nang by accident.

Inside a Vietnamese Sleeper Bus

Our chariot for the day was a Futa Bus Lines sleeper bus—red on the outside and brown‑and‑cream on the inside. Step aboard and it’s like entering a cross between a spaceship and a karaoke bar. Mirrors everywhere, bling‑bling lights, and a general sense that someone once had a vision for glamour but ran out of budget halfway through.

Every seat had its own little TV, but I doubt any of them have worked since the early 2000s. They’re more decorative now, like museum pieces from the era of portable DVD players.

The Mekong Delta From a Reclining Pod

This was a local sleeper bus, not the tourist kind, which meant:

• Reclining pods stacked in rows

• A faint smell of durian, feet, and air‑freshener fighting for dominance

• A driver who looked like he’d been doing this route since the French left

• And the sweetest young helper you could ever meet

As we climbed aboard, the helper—maybe 18, shy smile, immaculate manners—approached with his phone. He typed something into Google Translate, then proudly held it up:

“Where would you loke to travel ma’ma?”

My heart melted. The spelling made it even sweeter. I told him My Tho, and he nodded enthusiastically, repeating “Mee Tow, Mee Tow,” as if he’d just passed a pronunciation exam. We repeated it back, but with our Lancashire accent it sounded more like CB‑radio chatter — “Mee Tow… Mee Tow… over and out.”

We removed our shoes (mandatory), squeezed into our pods, and settled in. They’re designed for people under 5ft 6, so Craig folded himself in like a human Swiss Army knife. I slid in more gracefully, but still with the elegance of someone entering a tumble dryer.

Despite the snug fit, it was surprisingly comfortable. We were handed a bottle of water and a hand wipe—small gestures that felt like luxury after Cambodia’s “good luck, hope you survive” approach to public transport.

The Journey: A Moving Postcard

Once we rolled out of Can Tho, the scenery became a slow‑moving film reel of Mekong Delta life.

• Rice paddies glowing neon green, so bright they looked photoshopped

• Buffalo lounging in muddy pools like they were at a spa

• Narrow canals lined with coconut palms, dotted with tiny wooden boats

• Roadside stalls selling everything from dragonfruit to petrol in old vodka bottles

• Families of five on a single scooter, the smallest child usually asleep

It struck us how different it looked from Cambodia. At the elephant sanctuary there, they told us over 70% of the jungle and trees had been destroyed, which explained why so much of the landscape felt flat, bare, and exposed. Here, it feels the opposite — like the jungle is still very much alive, and instead of clearing it, people simply tuck themselves inside it. Everything feels greener, fuller, more vibrant, as if nature is still winning.

Every so often the bus would honk—not a polite beep, but a full‑bodied foghorn that could wake ancestors. It’s the Vietnamese way of saying “I’m here, don’t even think about it,” and honestly, it works.

We drifted in and out of chill mode, rocked gently by the road and the hum of the engine. It was one of those journeys where nothing dramatic happens, but everything feels quietly beautiful.

A Rest Stop, Free Flip-Flops, and a Brief Existential Crisis

About halfway through, the bus pulled into Trạm Dừng for a 15‑minute break. Before we’d even uncurled ourselves from our pods, our wonderful young bus assistant sprinted to the luggage hold and came back with a pair of bright orange Futa Bus flip‑flops for each of us. He handed them over like sacred relics, saving us the faff of wrestling our trainers back on. Honestly, he’s becoming the star of this journey.

We nipped to the loo, stretched our legs, admired the organised chaos of the rest stop… and then walked back out to discover that our bus — our big, red, brown‑and‑cream karaoke‑spaceship bus — was nowhere to be seen.

We both froze.

Looked at each other.

And simultaneously thought: oh shit.

We walked up and down the bus lanes like two confused contestants on The Amazing Race. No bus 127. No familiar helper. No bling‑bling interior. Just rows of identical buses and the rising panic of two people who really didn’t want to hitchhike to My Tho.

Then Craig spotted it — tucked away at the fuel station next door, quietly filling up like nothing had happened.

Phew.

Heart rate returned to normal.

Flip‑flops still on.

Back aboard we went.

Eating Our Way Through Mild Culinary Trauma

We’ve also been struggling with food in Vietnam, which is not at all what we expected. Normally we love Vietnamese food — we practically inhale it at home — but something about the Mekong versions has made us… cautious.

It started with a pho that tasted like it had been brewed in the Mekong. Then came a masquerading sausage that looked innocent enough but tasted like very strong, very unusual mystery meat. Since then, every time we go hunting for something simple, we seem to stumble into a world of offal, organs, and unidentifiable wobbly bits. Even the bánh mì — our safe, reliable friend — keeps turning up plastered in lumpy offal pâté splatted on like mortar blobs.

We’ve managed to survive on bakery finds: plain bread, the odd pastry, and plenty fruit. Although even that betrayed us yesterday when a local fruit seller tossed a box of rotten produce into the bin… and a thousand cockroaches exploded out of it like a scene from a horror film. The look he gave us suggested we were the strange ones for reacting.

But this morning, Craig stumbled upon a small miracle: a simple rice paper snack topped with nuts. No offal. No mystery meat. No swamp broth. Just crunchy, nutty goodness. A tiny victory, but we’ll take it.

Meanwhile… Our Website Was Having a Breakdown

While the bus behaved perfectly, our website decided to have a meltdown of epic proportions.

For weeks we’ve been battling to upload blogs. What should take ten minutes has been taking two to three hours. I’d click “upload” or “publish,” go for a shower, come back, and it would still be thinking about it. Behind the scenes, it’s been a digital horror show.

Last night we finally got through to our server provider.  Fluent tech gobbledegook. I understood none of it. That’s when Craig stepped in like the IT knight he secretly is.

Turns out we’d had:

• Bot attacks

• Strange monitoring

• A few mysterious “issues” the host provider quietly fixed without admitting anything

Craig ran some tests, pressed some magic buttons, muttered a few things under his breath, and suddenly… everything worked again. We think we’re back in business. If the site still misbehaves, please let us know. Preferably gently. We’re fragile.

The Lunar New Year Countdown

On top of all this, the Lunar New Year is just over a week away—and Vietnam is already buzzing. It’s the biggest celebration of the year, a mix of Christmas, New Year’s Eve, and every family reunion you’ve ever avoided, all rolled into one.

Yesterday we had to sit down and plan the next two weeks, booking accommodation ahead because things get wild. Prices jump, hotels fill, buses sell out, and entire cities transform into a sea of red banners, kumquat trees, and people carrying enough gifts to supply a small village.

In the build‑up you see:

• Families cleaning their homes from top to bottom

• Markets overflowing with flowers, fruit, and lucky decorations

• Motorbikes transporting peach blossom trees the size of small cars

• Everyone buying new clothes for a fresh start

• A general air of excitement mixed with mild panic

It’s chaotic, colourful, and completely infectious. We’re excited to be here for it—though also relieved we’ve secured beds for the next fortnight.

Welcome to My Tho (Population: Staring Locals)

As we approached My Tho, the landscape shifted again—more coconut groves, more river life, more glimpses of the Mekong doing what the Mekong does best: being enormous and everywhere.

Our little bus helper gave us the nudge to get off, and the bus rolled away, leaving us on what we thought was the edge of town.

It wasn’t.

It was Hicksville.

People stared at us like we were the surprise entertainment for New Year’s Eve — two sweaty foreigners clutching backpacks and confusion.

A quick look at the map confirmed we were 20km out of town.

Which meant one thing.

The bleeding Grab App.

This time we engaged in a prenup before we even pressed “Start” — terms, conditions, emotional boundaries, who was allowed to speak, who wasn’t, and what constituted grounds for divorce.

£3.81 later, a miracle occurred: we arrived intact and still married at the Cuu Long Hotel — a dated but rather posh place for $25 a night, breakfast for two included. Carpet older than us, chandeliers that have seen things, but honestly… after Hicksville, it felt like the Ritz