Group Therapy…

There is something uniquely Australian about dragging yourself to the football in weather that can’t decide whether it wants to freeze you to death or cook you alive. And yet there we all were, marching toward the stadium to watch Geelong Cats take on Sydney Swans like it was some kind of religious pilgrimage.

The crowd was already buzzing before the first bounce. Half the people looked emotionally stable. The other half were Geelong supporters screaming about holding the ball before the players had even run out. Football really is the only place where grown adults can lose their minds over a bloke named Gary (we still miss Gary senior, let alone junior!) missing  

We squeezed into our seats carrying enough food to survive a minor apocalypse. Meat pies. Chips. Drinks. The kind of dinner that says, “Cardiologists hate this one simple trick.”

The Squeeze immediately became an elite-level coach from Row P.

“MOVE IT!”
“KICK IT!”
“WHAT WAS THAT?!” 

 As though Chris Scott might suddenly stop the game, look into the crowd and yell, “Hang on everyone, Carol’s husband has a point.”

The game itself was chaos. One minute Geelong looked unstoppable. The next Sydney came charging back and the entire stadium developed collective high blood pressure. Every near mark caused fifty thousand people to inhale at once like a giant asthma attack.

And the umpiring. Dear God. AFL fans don’t actually attend football to enjoy the sport. They attend to passionately boo men in fluorescent clothing for three straight hours. Some bloke behind us spent the entire night explaining the rules incorrectly at full volume to his girlfriend, who looked like she was reconsidering every life decision that led her there.

By the final quarter everyone around us had emotionally deteriorated. Voices were gone. Nerves shot. Beer prices criminal. Yet somehow there’s nowhere else Australians would rather be than freezing in a stadium screaming “BALLLLLL” at strangers.

And honestly? Walking out afterwards with thousands of other exhausted supporters, still arguing about free kicks and bad decisions like any of us actually know what we’re talking about, is part of the fun.

The scores; The Cats (Grelong) won; we were 107 to Sydney 80’

Football in Australia isn’t just sport. It’s group therapy with scarves.

Back To Reality

Home again. Back to reality. Back to washing mountains, mystery smells in suitcases, and wondering why we thought buying extra clothes meant we’d somehow avoid laundry. We wouldn’t. We never do.

The house looked offended we’d left. Dust everywhere. Benches needing wiping. Plants hanging on by a thread. And me? Absolutely buggered. Holiday adrenaline has officially worn off and I’m operating somewhere between “functioning adult” and “woman found asleep holding a sandwich.”

Still… it’s my birthday today.

So despite the chaos, the Squeeze is taking me out for dinner tonight which honestly feels less like a celebration and more like a rescue mission. If I make it through the entrée without my head slowly lowering toward the soup bowl, I’ll consider it a success.

Travel is funny like that. You spend weeks wandering around eating, drinking, laughing, buying things you definitely didn’t need… then you come home and immediately get attacked by three suitcases, seventeen loads of washing, and the crushing reality that nobody else cleaned the house while you were away. Rude, honestly.

But it’s good to be home too. Exhausted, slightly sunburnt, poorer than when we left, but home.

Sheez, I need to find enough energy to put real pants on for dinner. Pray for the Squeeze if I start snoring into the bread rolls.

Ok; We Are Off the Plane, But Buggered

Not much to see here but tomorrow, when I've got my brain back (and my new computer working...) we will see! Suffice to say we made it home in one piece, exhausted - but alive!

Escape the City

This morning we decided to escape the city and head to the beach about half an hour away. Absolutely stunning. One of those long stretches of coastline that makes you instantly think, “Yep. I could stay here forever.”

The only issue? The ocean apparently took one look at me and decided violence was the answer.

I got in about knee deep before the waves started trying to sweep my legs out from under me. Not gently either. Full “return to sender” energy. One wave hit and I thought, no. This is how tourists end up on international news reports. So I bailed with what little dignity I had left.

Meanwhile, the Squeeze wandered out there like some kind of heroic sea captain completely unbothered while I stood safely on shore pretending I’d made a sensible adult decision.

We got there around nine this morning because by lunchtime Vietnam turns into the surface of the sun. It’s over 40 degrees again today and honestly the heat hits you like opening an oven door directly into your face.

Now we’re sitting at this beautiful little café overlooking the ocean having lunch while trying not to melt into our chairs. Later we’ll wander through the town for a bit before catching a cab back to the resort where I fully intend to recover dramatically near the pool.

Honestly though, despite nearly being taken out by the Pacific, it’s been a pretty perfect day.

Authentic Cooking Class

There’s something mildly terrifying about being handed knives, herbs, mystery sauces, and open flames in a foreign country and being told, “You cook now.”

Tonight we did an authentic Vietnamese cooking class, and honestly, it was fantastic.

First up were fresh spring rolls that looked far too pretty to eat. Delicate little bundles of herbs, vegetables, and flavour wrapped tighter than airport security around my luggage. Then came Vietnamese pancakes — crispy, golden, stuffed with goodness.

But the final dish absolutely finished me off. A beautiful pork soup loaded with flavour that somehow managed to taste both comforting and fancy at the same time. Everything was fresh. Everything looked stunning. Even the presentation made me feel underdressed.

The Vietnamese don’t just throw food on a plate. They stage it like a performance. It really did remind me of the play we went last week.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting there pretending I understand what half the ingredients are while happily inhaling everything in sight.

Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t sink straight to the bottom of the hotel pool afterward. I’ve eaten enough over here to be classified as imported livestock.

And now reality is creeping in.

We fly home Monday, which means tomorrow is our last full day in Vietnam. That strange holiday sadness has already started settling in — the one where you suddenly become emotional about hotel pools, random cafes, and the woman who made your coffee every morning without judging your increasingly questionable tourist clothing.

Of course, in true holiday fashion, I solved the packing problem by buying a massive new suitcase. Not because we planned well. Because apparently both of us believe souvenirs, shoes, tailored clothes, random gifts, and enough market purchases to open a small store “will probably fit.”

They did not.

So now there’s one giant case stuffed with our lives, held together mostly by optimism and zip pressure.

Vietnam has been chaos, heat, noise, incredible food, massages, markets, pools, cocktails, tailors, lantern boats, monkeys, dentists, tuk tuks, and the occasional moment where we genuinely had no idea what was happening.

Which, honestly, is probably why it’s been so good. Mind you, it will be good to go home to the dog and cats; I miss them.