After the delights of Hong Kong we brace ourselves for the world cruise equivalent of hard labour. Coming up are five stops in seven days, an endurance test that will push our bodies and minds to the limit. Supplies of Pro Plus in the onboard shop are exhausted, bananas are horded like it is WWII and the gym is empty as energy is conserved for the marathon that awaits.

First up is Nha Trang in Vietnam, billed as an up and coming coastal resort with a generous dollop of culture. It's certainly the joker in the pack so far, a little unknown to most and so, being a bit tentative, we book a morning trip that whisks us around various temples and beauty spots that we would otherwise have missed. After a stop for photos at a coastal panorama where fishermen still use small coracles in the shallows, we throw ourselves into some intensive temple-gazing. We are shown temples old and new, ornate and stark, Buddhas reclining, smiling, small ones, big ones and massive ones. The last is a huge white sitting Buddha (I think that's the expression - maybe its regular/standard Buddha) that also happens to be up a couple of hundred steps. It's very hot again but we show willing and rewarded with a great view over the town and someone cannily selling cold drinks at the summit.

The final stop is the market in downtown Nha Trang, which turns out to be the market to end all markets. Bustling to the point of combustion, the atmosphere is truly vibrant and everything is for sale. The local staple - I hesitate to say delicacy - is dried fish, that abounds in the hundreds of stalls that form the circular covered market that encompasses yet more stalls in the open air middle section. Scores of stalls are packed to the gills with various dried fish - skins, fillets, bags of bones for stock, it's all here and you can tell by the smell. Pungent at first, you quickly acclimatise to the point where you almost feel like sampling it. Almost. Moving further around, stalls packed with spices and oversize pestle and mortars give way to linen stalls and the usual sprinkling of designer knock offs. Pearls are popular, with vendors willing to set a lighter to them to test authenticity. Mopeds and scooters infiltrate everywhere, beeping their way through the crowds with ridiculous loads hanging off the back. Most of the ship seems to have descended here and congregate at corner cafes, perched on tiny plastic chairs drinking cans of beer. Like most countries in south-east Asia, Vietnam is great value to anyone Western and we head off to a seafront cafe for lunch where plates of prawns, chicken and cashew nuts, and fried rice are served up for next to nothing.

The thing uppermost in your mind is what a tragedy it was that these warm, hospitable people had their beautiful country devastated by a war that had it's roots in a Washington 'domino theory' that the spread of communism needed to be stopped by pre-emptive military action. As a result of the war they are only now emerging in the tourism stakes, and while this is good for Western tourists seeking authentic, unspoiled lands, you can't help feel for the things they have had to endure and go without as a result. Nha Trang stood out as the place where everyone we spoke to afterwards said they had a great time, and it's certainly a place I'd like to return to.

It's Thursday so it must be Cambodia, Sihanoukville to be precise, and another exotic container port that we get bussed out of into town. Not knowing any better, we're expecting another Nha Trang, but the short journey in leads us to an altogether more impoverished setup. The main square is run down, with a market that has none of the exoticism of the previous day. There are also teams of people waiting for the shuttle buses, all offering rides, tours and anything to hand. Imagine recreating the Beatles first tour of America on a budget. We make our way through the crowd, but it's quickly apparent that there are limited delights in town. The beaches here are supposed to be good so we hail a tuc-tuc and head for the coast. Our driver John - I'm guessing this is an approximation of his real name for our benefit - takes us down through a roundabout with a huge golden lion to a resort which echoes the Shangri La we took refuge in in Borneo. However just along the coast there are also more independent setups where loungers, cold beers and local food are available for a fraction of the cost. It's a nice little operation and we spend a nice day by the beach, but Sihanoukville struggles to live up to neighbouring Vietnam. We get a taxi back to the ship from Andrew - again I doubt his real name. He's thirty-two but looks about twelve, so presumably his two young children look positively embryonic. He tells us in excellent English that the country is only now recovering from the effect of the Khmer Rouge, where any and all educated people were killed. They have had to wait for a new generation to grow up to replace doctors et al that were obliterated in the killing fields of the 70s. It's a situation you can't really comprehend, and all we can do is wish Andrew well and leave any change we have with the children begging in the main square.

Tomorrow will find us in Thailand, a country which was never colonised or ravaged by senseless wars or senseless rulers, although it currently has problems of it's own. Trips to Bangkok are subject to last minute confirmation as the protests for and against the former owner of Manchester City continue.

Other news finds itself drawn once again to the world of showbiz, and this time the crew's revue show in the main theatre. The stage was well and truly stolen by a young Welshmen usually found to be dispensing internet advice to those for whom Ebay is a distant land. Camp as a row of tents, it was with a degree of inevitability that he took the stage to the opening bars of 'Does your mother know?' (I think we all do love) and proceeded to gyrate in a manner that brought the house down. He was genuinely a bit good, X-Factor boot camp material, although the fact that he knew he was good did detract a little.