It must be the people – isn’t travel usually about the people – the human scale and eye contact, the nature of being part of society which causes me to curse each and every four wheeled vehicle I see, which is, unless a taxi, almost certainly a Lexus, Toyota, or Mercedes, an impossibly large SUV, an, invariably, black.

Stepping around another pile of rubbish in the street where one is forced to walk by the gaggle of plastic stools and moto scooters parked on the inadequate footpaths; holding my nose as we walk past an open sewer or outlet into the lake, it’s banks and shallows littered with all manner of rubbish I worry that the relatives who are about to pay us a visit will recoil in horror at the lifestyle we are embracing so keenly.

Certainly, it is easy to have a sanitised view of life here choosing to stay in western-style hotels, eating in air conditioned comfort at tables with chairs and menus reliably translated and with few surprises such as ‘farmed turtle’ and who have prices listed in US dollars, which might seem reasonable compared to Western European or American prices, but are inflated by a factor of ten or more, for inferior tasting food, dumbed down for western palates.

My sister will be visiting first, flying in from a break between teaching schedules in Hong Kong. She has been here for conferences a number of times before, and reportedly enjoys the shopping, something we have little experience of apart from the more prosaic items for living.

Her youngest daughter, my 19 year old niece will join us during the university break after exams in Sydney, and, while she and some school friends had a European odyssey during a gap year in 2007, I’m concerned that this may be something of a culture shock. No house music, night clubs or cocktails are in our daily orbit.

Equally exciting is that Bobs’ number 2 nephew, Paul and his nephew, Sam will be joining us during the Sam’s school holidays in mid-July. It will be both Paul and Sam;s first overseas trip, and the strangeness of the food, chopsticks and general mobility around the place will be something of a challenge.

Now, each time as I calmly walk into a road, teeming with hundreds of moto scooters, push bikes pedalled by ancient men, women and school children, or piled high with baskets front and rear full of fruit, or cardboard, or with concrete cinder blocks weighing down the rear axle piled on either side, a thought bubble pops into my head about having to explain to Sam that one drives or rides on the right hand side of the road, unless of course it’s more convenient to ride on the left, or on the footpath.

Streets are often one way, but this doesn’t count if you want to go the other direction. Where there are traffic lights, red means stop if you want to, but don’t worry too much about it. So if there is a green pedestrian symbol, take just as much care crossing as if there is no light at all.

Just as I have refined my version of the ‘Vietnamese salute’, slightly flexing my wrist and raising my hand in an unambiguous, international symbol of “no” when my eye is caught by one of the Xe Taxi (Moto Scooter Taxi) or food vendors on the street, so too have I refined my road crossing skills to mimic that of those born here. I wade into the roadway seemingly oblivious to the traffic swirling around, however keeping a close eye to both sides of the road, and walk across keeping a predicable pace and route, adjusting to the speed of fast accelerating bikes weaving their way through and overtaking.