Getting wet in Bangkok
The chance to visit my brother — working in a hostel in Hanoi — was too good to miss, so I booked myself a ten‑day trip. No direct flights meant a night in Bangkok first, which suited me fine. I’d been there six months earlier and returned to the same guesthouse tucked down a quiet street off the chaos of Sukhumvit Road.
I dropped my bag, freshened up, and headed out to meet an old workmate now living in Bangkok, at his local bar.
As I stepped outside my guesthouse, a group of kids sprinted towards me with a bucket of water and — before I could even process what was happening — threw the entire thing over me. Soaked. Head to toe. My first thought: this is a very strange mugging.
They just laughed and ran off, leaving me dripping, confused, and holding a now‑dead mobile phone and a wallet full of soggy banknotes.
I carried on, bewildered.
Turning onto Sukhumvit, I expected the usual gridlock of tuk‑tuks and taxis. Instead, the street was full of people dancing, shouting, spraying hoses, firing water pistols, and riding around in pickup trucks fitted with industrial‑sized water cannons. Everyone — and I mean everyone — was drenched.
I had absolutely no idea what was going on.
I sprinted to the Skytrain to avoid further soaking and made it to Nana Plaza, where I found my mate and his friend at the bar. I explained my dramatic entrance and asked what on earth was happening.
They couldn’t stop laughing.
It was Songkran — Thai New Year — a three‑day festival where people cleanse away bad luck by throwing water over complete strangers. A spiritual ritual that has evolved into the world’s biggest water fight.
We spent hours drinking from an “all you can drink” deal for 250 baht while I waited for my phone to dry out. Miraculously, by the time I was tipsy, it spluttered back to life. At 6am, shattered, I headed back to the guesthouse — this time with my phone wrapped in a plastic bag like a newborn.
The next morning, after barely any sleep, I booked a taxi to pick me up directly from the guesthouse door. No way was I risking another ambush with my backpack. Then it was off to Hanoi — just a two‑hour flight away.
Hanoi: Scooters, Street Beer & Controlled Chaos
It had only been six months since I’d seen my brother, but it was great to see him waiting outside the airport on his scooter. We joined the other 20 million scooters on the road — a haze of two‑stroke fumes, beeping horns, and organised chaos that somehow works.
After checking into the hostel where he worked, we headed out for food and Bia Hoi — Vietnam’s legendary home‑brewed beer. It’s brewed daily, sold on street corners, poured from metal kegs, and drunk by crowds of men sitting on tiny plastic stools. It’s unregulated, cheap, slightly dodgy, and absolutely brilliant. At 3,000 dong a glass (about 8p), it’s probably the cheapest beer on the planet.
Hanoi is Vietnam’s capital, but it often feels like a collection of villages stitched together. Dusty side streets ooze character. Women in conical hats sell street food. Men hammer away in tiny workshops. The smell of noodles, grilled meat, and exhaust fumes fills the air. People practise tai chi by Hoan Kiem Lake at sunrise.
It’s chaotic, charming, and completely addictive.
Curfews & Police Raids
Hanoi has a midnight curfew, but a handful of bars ignore it — and that’s where things get interesting.
Each bar has a lookout posted outside. When the police appear, the signal goes out:
- music off
- lights off
- doors locked
- everyone hides behind tables or curtains
This is so well drilled, it happens within seconds.
The police shine torches through the windows, trying to catch someone mid‑beer. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke makes it obvious the party is still going, but after a few minutes they wander off and everything resumes like nothing happened.
It feels like a school game — except with more beer and higher stakes.
Halong Bay: Caves, Karsts & Sunset BBQs
No trip to Hanoi is complete without Halong Bay.
We took a 2‑day/1‑night boat trip through hundreds of limestone karsts rising out of the sea like giant green hairy teeth. The bay was packed with boats — everything from old wooden junks to shiny modern yachts.
We explored deep caves, climbed to lookout points, sailed past floating villages, and bought fruit from kids rowing tiny boats between the larger ones.
Later, we jumped off the deck into the sea, had a BBQ on board, and watched the sun set behind the karsts with a cold beer in hand. One of those perfect travel moments.
Hoi An: Lanterns, Tailors & Scooter Adventures
We flew south to Hoi An, a UNESCO World Heritage town that feels frozen in time. Once a major trading port, it’s now a beautifully preserved maze of old buildings, lantern‑lit streets, and riverside cafés.
The Thu Bon River splits the old town, and at sunset the whole place glows — bars, restaurants, markets, and tailors all buzzing with life.
We hired scooters and rode north to the Hai Van Pass, a winding coastal road with golden beaches and turquoise water stretching out below. A brilliant day out — apart from the sunburn on the back of my neck.
One Last Bangkok Twist
After flying back to Hanoi and squeezing in one last messy night out, I returned to Bangkok for my final night at The Cathouse before heading home.
Or so I thought.
At the airport, I looked up at the departures board and saw the dreaded word: Cancelled.
The airline couldn’t say when the next flight would be, but they did put us up in the Sky Hotel — a 5‑star tower with a Skybar on the 83rd floor and 360‑degree views of Bangkok. Not a bad consolation prize.
Six hours later, we were herded back onto a bus and finally onto a flight home — fourteen hours late and very ready for bed.
