I arrived in Hanoi on Friday afternoon, having started the journey back on Thursday in South Africa via Doha. By then I’d crossed enough time zones to make even the most seasoned traveller question their life choices, but I was determined to make the most of it.

After spending quite some time at Hanoi airport — long enough to start recognising the cleaning staff rotation — I decided to try my first pho. Now look, I’ll be honest: it’s going to take some getting used to. It’s a little different to a lamb chop. Less “braai smoke and spice,” more “broth, basil, and whatever that green thing is that looks like it could cure a cold.” But when in Vietnam, you slurp what the locals slurp.

And very early on, I realised something: finding an English speaker here is like discovering treasure. You hear a familiar accent, and suddenly you’re ready to adopt them, offer them biltong, and ask where they were in 1995 when we won the Rugby World Cup. It’s a very different world from Abu Dhabi, where English is everywhere — here, it’s more like spotting a rare bird.

The trip up north was in the school bus, and because it was at night, there wasn’t much to see except the dense foliage rushing past in the headlights. Every so often, we stopped at these roadside rest spots that can only be described as church bazaar meets flea market meets corner shop. It seems the locals come there for a bit of social gathering — especially considering that the further you get from Hanoi, the less populated the region becomes. By the time you reach Lao Cai, you realise it isn’t exactly a bustling metropolis either. Think “small town charm,” but with more scooters and fewer Spars.

Once I got to Ardingly College Vietnam, I was blown away by the sheer enormity of the school and amazed at how it was almost cut into the surrounding hills. It’s the kind of place that makes you stop and stare before you even realise you’re doing it.

Once up and about, I wandered around the school and met the staff, who were very supportive. I was shown my class/lab early on, and I’ll add the video for context — because words don’t quite capture the scale. I’m not against stairs, but here the journey from the staff accommodation to the classroom is quite an ascent. Thankfully, we have lifts, because even the most enthusiastic teacher doesn’t want to arrive at a lesson looking like they’ve just completed a mountain stage of the Tour de France. I came here to teach Chemistry, not to train for Comrades.

The school term has officially started, and there’s great excitement all around. The school has all the bells and whistles, and the stance is incredibly welcoming. The people are amazing. There’s a humility here, a willingness to make things work, and a genuine warmth that catches you off guard in the best possible way. It’s the kind of place where you ask for help and three people appear, smiling, ready to solve the problem before you’ve finished explaining it.

At the moment, I’m still figuring out how to get to the blog since my site doesn’t load on local servers — probably a word or sentence somewhere that doesn’t sit well with the internet filters. So here I am, trying to outsmart the digital gatekeepers so I can keep sharing these adventures. If this post loads, consider it a small victory against the algorithmic overlords.

So this is just a warm‑up after figuring out how to update the blog. I will certainly continue informing everyone back home of what is happening — because if I don’t, I know someone will message me: “Michael, are you alive? Did the pho get you?”