‘That man was the king of Vietnam. And he just invited us to his house.’
‘Really, ask him.’
The retired king of Vietnam was a fairly unassuming chap, in a sunhat. We found him at the border. His compadres cheerfully boasted about who he was before he had a chance to get a word in edgeways. He invited us to his house, but we were too shocked to ask him for his address. Afterwards I was a bit upset about that. If we can find his address we will go and see him when we get there.
(Thinking about it, maybe its polite to courtesy-call the king before a visit. Especially as pretty much the only thing I could say at the time was “Is it nice being the king?’.)
The next day someone had stolen just one of my flip-flops. I looked out for a one-legged thief with excellent taste in Havaianas footwear, but didn’t have much luck.
We went off anyway, and found a big Buddha sculpture park.
Then we saw a kid eat one.
There was a giant hockey match where the ball was followed around by some men with a loud banging of tambourines and gongs.
We sat in the shade and ate packets of Asian Oddness from a little shop, while kids pushed each other into us to freak themselves out.