Start of our 40th Wedding Anniversary : Trip Of A Lifetime

 Well thats another big tick off the bucket list.... swimming with Manta Rays.... amazing experience!! 

Leaving Malé with sand still in places sand should never be, skin smelling faintly of sun cream and sea, and a slightly confused nervous system that’s spent a week being gently told to calm the hell down. 

The Maldives does that to you.

White beaches that look fake, water so clear it feels like cheating, and a welcome so warm you start wondering if everyone secretly knows you. A week of slow mornings, quiet sunsets, and the kind of calm where your brain finally stops drafting emails you’re never going to send. 

And now… Bangkok. 

From whispering waves and barefoot dinners to tuk tuks, traffic, neon, heat, noise and that glorious, beautiful chaos that is Thailand. Part one of the month done. Part two about to slap us round the face in the best possible way. 

Sad to leave the tranquillity behind. Very excited to trade it for madness, street food, energy and whatever Bangkok decides to throw at us this time. 

Maldives, you were magic. 

Thailand… we’re ready. 

Thailand clearly wasn’t emotionally prepared for us yet, so it cancelled the flight. 

Plan B now involves an unexpected six hour interlude in Sri Lanka. Not on the vision board, but here we are. New arrival time is 6am tomorrow instead of a perfectly civilised 7pm tonight. 

This, apparently, is the joy of international travel. You plan. The universe laughs. You eat another airport sandwich and practise acceptance. 

Finally arrived 15hrs late but home for thr next two nights... nice touch by the staff to set the room up for pur anniversary .... so tired but off to the floating fish market to take in the thai atmosphere.... 

Two days in Bangkok.

A proper whistle-stop, blink-and-you-miss-it affair that somehow managed to squeeze in floating markets at dawn, train street with trains passing close enough to check your dental work, the Sleeping Buddha lying there in full golden serenity while the rest of us melted quietly, and the King’s Palace which is so beautiful and overwhelming it forces you to shut up for at least thirty seconds. 

We ate sky-high at Vertigo in the Banyan Tree, city lights stretching to infinity, feeling very grown up and sophisticated… and then promptly balanced that out by introducing Stella to Thai mall food the next day. Extra spice. Obviously. A decision that felt bold at the time and deeply personal about five minutes later. All of it heroically washed down with a Singha beer and mild denial. 

Bangkok is chaos, grace, history, heat, smiles, noise, colour, incense, and traffic all happening at once. So many moments crammed into forty-eight hours that it feels like a week lived on fast-forward. 

Now we’re boarding a small plane and heading to Siem Reap, Cambodia, to start part three of this adventure. New country, new stories, same slightly overpacked curiosity and questionable spice choices. 

Leaving Bangkok on a small prop plane felt like pressing the pause button. One hour later we landed in Siem Reap and stepped into what we assumed would be calm, colonial elegance at Raffles Grand Hotel d’Angkor. Ceiling fans turning slowly, polished floors, the kind of place that whispers rather than shouts. Time to wind down, we thought. Feet up. Deep breath. 

Then the itinerary arrived.

Fast forward to this morning. No winding down at all. Instead we were out early, floating through a village on one of the largest freshwater lakes in this part of the world. Homes on stilts, schools on boats, daily life unfolding calmly on water that stretches as far as you can see. Humbling, grounding, and quietly beautiful. 

Next stop was a lotus farm run by an eccentric Frenchman who has somehow created something extraordinary. From lotus plants, he has built a sustainable cottage industry that supports hundreds of women in the region, creating real careers and dignity through eco-friendly textiles and garments. It is one of those stories that restores your faith in what thoughtful entrepreneurship can actually look like. 

Back to the hotel for an hour to regroup, process, and pretend this was all very relaxing. 

Now we are heading out again. Angkor Wat awaits. One of the wonders of the world. No big deal. Cambodia clearly did not get the memo about slowing down, and honestly, we are glad it didn’t. 

End of day one in Siem Reap and already the line between “holiday” and “poor lifestyle choices” has completely blurred. 

Two hours walking around Angkor Wat yesterday afternoon. Ancient stones, jaw dropping history, and an atmosphere so thick you can almost hear it breathing. Add a baking sun, thousands of steps, and legs quietly filing a formal complaint. Still worth every single second. 

Back to the hotel and faced with a critical fork in the road.

Shower and food… or happy hour. This was very much Stella’s decision. Happy hour won. A few “just one” drinks, a quick regroup, then out again to the Cambodian Circus. Young performers throwing themselves around, folding into shapes that made your eyes water and your lower back wince in solidarity. Energetic, joyful, and utterly brilliant. 

Then came the Elephant Bar at Raffles. Again, Stella’s call. “Just a brandy nightcap,” she said. Reader, it was not just one. One of the oldest hotels in Siem Reap, a beautiful bar, and suddenly it was much later than planned. 

Which made the 4am wake up call today feel deeply personal. Sunrise over Angkor Wat, followed by a champagne breakfast in an idyllic monastery by a lake. Worth it. Then two more temples before lunch, including the jungle temple from Tomb Raider, where nature has decided it owns the place now. 

Getting back to the hotel, I suggested a tuk tuk trip to Pub Street. This was entirely my idea and very much revenge for being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour. One dollar beers were involved. Healing occurred. 

Now we are poolside, horizontal, and pretending we are sensible adults before the gala dinner tonight. Tomorrow we meet our boat on the Mekong River and apparently the “real” holiday begins. I’m not sure how this gets better, but I’m willing to try. 

End of day two in Siem Reap.

And honestly? This trip has now crossed into the realms of the ridiculous. 

This evening we experienced the most extraordinary private gala dinner, set inside another ancient temple, opened exclusively for us. Ice sculptures glowing against stone that has stood for centuries, incredible food, authentic Cambodian dancing, and historic storytelling that somehow made time fold in on itself. One of those surreal, pinch me moments that you don’t quite know how to describe without sounding like you’re exaggerating. But we’re not. 

The only thing not on the invitation list was the wildlife. Millions of crickets. Flying, jumping, landing, launching themselves at faces, plates, and dignity. A small price to pay for history, culture, and the occasional involuntary interpretive dance. 

Now it’s off to bed… or at least that’s the plan. Realistically, there may be a “quick” nightcap in the Elephant Bar first, which history suggests will not be quick at all. Then sleep. 

Tomorrow we ease up. A lazy start, a gentle transfer to our boat, and the next chapter of this adventure begins. If this is how Cambodia says hello, we may never leave. 

After an amazing night and an even later one in the Elephant Bar involving a truly irresponsible number of brandies, our final morning in Siem Reap arrived feeling fragile, slightly foggy, and deeply judgemental of the previous evening. Fortunately, champagne at breakfast continues to prove itself as one of civilisation’s greatest recovery tools and performed an impressive system reboot. 

Then came the 365 km coach ride to meet our boat in Kampong Cham.

A long, slow journey through Cambodia with stops at temples, stone masons quietly shaping rock as they have for generations, and the strangest hotel I have ever eaten lunch in. Middle of nowhere. Zero explanation. Excellent food. We didn’t ask questions. 

We finally arrived at the boat around 5pm to a champagne welcome, a safety briefing, and an alarm drill delivered with remarkable optimism. As that wrapped up, our personal butler, Viet, appeared and calmly escorted us to our room. Not a room. An apartment. Twice the size of any hotel room I have ever stayed in. Our bags were already waiting, a bottle of wine was chilling, and both of us let out an audible “ahhh… we’re home” and meant it. 

Unpacked, we headed to dinner and drinks and immediately bonded with a small group through a shared love of stories, laughter, and alcohol. Predictably, we were the last people in the bar. Again. 

The walk back to our room was slow and slightly uncoordinated, where we were welcomed with yet another bottle of wine, elaborate bed decorations, and more cake than any human should reasonably consume. 

An outrageous start to our journey down the Mekong.

Technology is now being switched off before I embarrass myself further. I’ll post again before we leave this floating palace. 

Cambodia does not believe in easing you gently into anything. It goes big. Every single time. 

The Cambodia leg became six days of glorious contradiction. Decadence and depth. Quiet villages and ten course chef’s table dinners that felt borderline illegal. Exquisite food, faultless service, and more than a few nights where a small group of us quietly bonded over stories, laughter, and alcohol while everyone sensible went to bed. Once again, we were last in the bar. Patterns were firmly established. 

We drifted through local villages and temples, met young Buddhist monks, and were blessed in a temple at Kampong Cham. Simple, calm moments that quietly stay with you. On Silk Island we watched traditional silk weaving still being practised exactly as it has been for generations. Slow hands. Real skill. No rush. A reminder that not everything needs to be faster, bigger, or optimised. 

Then we sailed into Phnom Penh and the world flipped on its head.

One minute it was stilted huts, river life, and star filled skies. The next it was high rise buildings, neon lights, and what felt like a thousand tuk tuks and motorbikes crossing each other with no obvious plan. Whole families on scooters. Babies included. Rules apparently optional. Loud, chaotic, vibrant, and slightly terrifying. A proper jolt back to modern reality. 

And then came the hardest part of the journey so far. 

A day at the Killing Fields and S21 prison. I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to go. I struggle with this side of the human condition. But our guide, a 55 year old Cambodian man, told his story with quiet dignity and courage. His father was killed during the Pol Pot regime. He speaks not to shock, but so the world does not forget. 

Both the Killing Fields and S21 are handled with extraordinary respect. Quiet, restrained, and devastating in their honesty. We even met one of the seven survivors of S21, still telling his story. There are moments when travel stops being about seeing things and becomes about standing still and listening. This was one of them. Humbling, grounding, and deeply moving. Pain and hope existing side by side. A reminder that from unimaginable suffering, resilience can grow. 

Then, because Cambodia refuses to stay in one emotional lane, the story shifted again. Not to diminish what we had just experienced, but to show what has emerged since. The new Phnom Penh. Alive, ambitious, creative, and unapologetically energetic. We visited a rum distillery, then launched into a tuk tuk race through the seedy backstreets and all night bars of a city that refuses to be defined only by its past. 

And finally, because no journey is complete without testing your own bravery, there was the obligatory lunch. Tarantulas. Silk worms. Crickets. A true bush tucker trial. Crunchy, confronting, oddly memorable, and eaten with the kind of determined smile that says “this better be worth the story.” 

Now we are back on the boat, leaving Cambodia and heading towards Vietnam. A little more tired, a little wiser, slightly braver, and definitely richer in perspective. This river carries history, heartbreak, resilience, laughter, and hope. We’re ready for the next chapter and the many stories still to come. 

Part three of this incredible holiday done from Cambodia to Vietnam by boat and i will post pics once we reach the final stay in Phu Quoc.... about ready for som R&R and a quiet beach! 

We left Phnom Penh thinking we’d seen busy. We were wrong. Very wrong. 

The moment we crossed into Vietnam it was like someone turned the volume knob to maximum and snapped it clean off.

One minute the river was calm and wide, the next it was absolute chaos. Boats everywhere. Big ones, small ones, ones that looked like they’d been built from leftover parts and optimism. It felt like pulling off a country lane straight onto a six-lane motorway with no signs, no rules, and no visible concern for personal safety. And yet, somehow, it all worked. 

Our first stop was the town of Tân Châu and a visit to one of the most unusual temples we’ve ever seen. This one follows Caodaism, a belief system that blends Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Christianity and more into one spiritual framework. It also reveres historical figures like Victor Hugo, Sun Yat-sen, Joan of Arc… and yes, Charlie Chaplin. Apparently great thinkers and creatives transcend time, culture, and religion. Standing there, surrounded by colour, incense and symbolism, it somehow made perfect sense. 

Then came the rickshaws. One passenger per rickshaw. One elderly gentleman doing the pedalling. Stella gripping the metal frame with the intensity of someone reconsidering all life choices. We rattled through town at a pace that felt both slow and terrifying, passing shops, homes, children waving, scooters flying past inches from our knees. It was exhilarating, ridiculous, and strangely beautiful. 

From there we moved on to Sa Đéc and the famous house from The Lover, a quiet, elegant place that holds a thousand stories of romance and colonial history. And then… the wet market. 

This is where things get real.

The market was loud, wet, chaotic and utterly alive. Fish still moving. Frogs being skinned in front of us. Chickens, ducks, eels, everything you can imagine — and plenty you’d rather not. It’s confronting for Western eyes because we are so far removed from the reality of where our food comes from. Ours arrives wrapped in plastic, sanitised and anonymous. Here, nothing is hidden. Food is food. Life feeds life. 

It’s uncomfortable. It’s also honest. There’s no cruelty for cruelty’s sake, just survival, tradition, and necessity. Watching it, you realise how insulated we are, how far removed from the realities of what we consume. It’s not pretty, but it is real — and strangely grounding. 

That evening we returned to the boat for Christmas Eve, which involved far more food and wine than any reasonable human requires. Christmas Day followed with an extraordinary banquet, course after course of beautifully prepared food, eaten with the quiet awareness of what we’d witnessed the day before. It was humbling. Gratifying. And a reminder of just how much we take for granted. 

Then came the final stretch.

Disembarking at My Tho and climbing onto a bus for the journey to Ho Chi Minh City. Ninety kilometres that took two and a half hours through a blur of scooters, trucks, horns and heat. Eventually we arrived in the heart of the city — still Saigon to everyone who lives there — buzzing, relentless, alive. 

From there, a short hop to Phu Quoc and the chance to finally slow down. To sit still. To process everything we’ve seen. From luxury to survival, from silence to chaos, from comfort to confrontation. 

This part of the world doesn’t let you stay neutral. It challenges you, humbles you, and then quietly teaches you something about perspective. And that, more than anything, is what we’ll carry with us when we finally head home. 

And so we arrive at the final chapter of our once in a lifetime month away over Christmas. The last leg. The slow exhale. Green Bay Phu Quoc Spa and Resort. 

This place is ridiculous. In the best possible way.

Tucked away on the coast, it feels intentionally disconnected from the outside world, like someone has gently but firmly unplugged reality and told it to come back later. Our villa sits high above the sea with its own pool, looking out over the water like some sort of modest Mount Olympus. Every morning we wake to the most extraordinary sunrise through a wall of glass at the foot of a bed so large it could comfortably host a small conference. 

The only sounds are birds in what they call a jungle, the steady hush of the waves, and the gentle put put put of local fishing boats returning to shore after a night’s work. It is calm in a way that feels physical. Exactly what we needed after weeks of people, places, early starts, tours, temples, traffic, history, emotion and sensory overload across Cambodia and Vietnam. 

This part of the journey was always meant to be the wind down. It has delivered. 

Phu Quoc itself is only a forty minute flight from Saigon but in terms of pace and mindset it could be another planet. Everything slows down. Even the act of ordering a drink becomes a lesson in patience and acceptance. If the bar is busy, you wait. Not in an irritated way. Just because that’s how it works. There is always time. Why rush. 

We did venture out to Duong Dong, the main town. A proper Vietnamese seaside town. Bustling, friendly, noisy, full of scooters, markets, cafes, shops and the smell of food everywhere. Life happening. It is scruffier and more real than the resort bubble, and a good reminder that while we are floating around in luxury, real life is carrying on just down the road. 

Back at the resort, the spa deserves its own paragraph. Or possibly its own book. Three days of being pummeled, scrubbed, exfoliated, stretched and having our lymphatic systems massaged in ways I didn’t know were possible. According to the spa it takes ten years off you. My mirror has raised some questions about this claim, although Stella is glowing. As always. Yes, I am a sad, old, hopeless romantic and I make no apology for it. 

As this final stretch comes to an end, we have had time. Real time. To reflect. On the trip. On life. And on us. 

After forty four years together we’ve realised something quite important.

We’ve become very good friends. 

Which, it turns out, is the actual secret sauce of long term relationships. We genuinely like each other. We want to be together. Even when we annoy each other. Especially when we annoy each other. That feels like a quiet win. 

The holiday itself has been extraordinary. We ticked off more bucket list moments than we ever expected. We have laughed, learned, been humbled, been challenged, eaten things we didn’t know were food, and seen parts of the world that will stay with us forever. 

But we’ve also learned something else. 

Would we spend Christmas and New Year away from family and friends again. No. As amazing as this has been, Christmas without family slowly becomes just another day. Just another drink. We missed the noise, the chaos, the familiarity, the people who know you well enough to irritate you properly. Christmas and family are intertwined. Even when it’s stressful, it matters. 

So no, we won’t do this again. And that feels like the right answer. 

One last day to soak up the sun. Packing tonight. A short hop back to Saigon, an overnight stay, one more day there, then the long flight home. Sad to leave, but excited to see friends and family again. Whether they will be equally excited to see us remains to be seen. 

Happy New Year everyone. We hope 2026 brings you exactly what you need, even if it’s not always what you expect.