Om and Nom

I realise this morning that we are travelling in the wrong direction around the world. At least, as far as jet lag is concerned. When travelling in the opposite direction, westwards, I am more alert in the morning and only have to struggle through a few bleary hours for the first few evenings before collapsing into bed. Travelling eastwards, however, my mind refuses to shut down at night, as my body is convinced that it is mid-afternoon. With only a few hours' sleep, rousing myself in the morning is nigh impossible. Because of this, it is an heroic effort this morning to mobilise myself to get to the 10:30 yoga class we had planned to try out.

In theory, the Sivananda yoga sanctuary is a 15-minute walk from the flat. In practice, we run the gauntlet of motorbikes and mopeds down the busy streets surrounding Tan Dinh market. Unlike other markets in HCMC that cater predominantly for tourists, Tan Dinh is purely a market for locals and it seems that everyone is doing their shopping on Sunday morning. We arrive miraculously unscathed though the bustle that K has described aptly as "safe chaos". Regrettably, the morning's class is in Vietnamese only and, as a newcomer to yoga, I am unconvinced of my ability to follow even English instruction. Fortunately, we are invited back for the 5pm session, which we are assured will cater for our needs.

We divert to Tao Dan park - an oasis of calm in the middle of the city and, on Sunday, home to a multitude of rehearsals for youth dance shows and stage productions. We spend a time sat in the park, watching the people and displays, while breathing in the calm atmosphere. The park is a cultivated display of cacti and practised topiary (both dragons and elephants emerge from the box hedges), but I find myself oddly fascinated by the contrast between the common or garden grass traditional to European parks and the 'fat' grass favoured in the Asian outdoors.

After a restorative iced coffee sweetened with condensed milk (I can feel an addiction forming), lunch is an orgy of Indonesian fare in an ex-pat haunt that shows signs of faded colonial glory. The name (La fenêtre soleil) should have told us that this was not likely to be an authentic experience. The restaurant is an airy space in the first floor of a colonial-era building. Bare brick walls and mismatched furniture complete the kitsch look. The food was presented almost apologetically and our attention drawn to the items on the menu more acceptable to Western palates. When it was clear that we wanted to try Indonesian flavours, our waitress was keen to describe each dish for us.

Nom. We were not disappointed. Starting with a healthy selection of steamed and raw vegetables dipped into a traditional sambal, we sat back and let the tinkly piano music wash over us. I feel guiltily as though we aren't entering sufficiently into the spirit of travelling without enduring hardship, privation and rat-on-stick dining. Surely this level of comfort is contrary to the ethos of the backpacker. Well, at a little over £4 per head for an eat-till-you-burst lunch, I can suffer this a little longer before I have to assuage my conscience.

To follow our healthy starter of crudités, we opted for a tofu-laden omelette on beansprouts smothered in a savoury peanut sauce (I'm sure the native term for this dish is much more succinct), plus rice, and some deep-fried tofu pockets stuffed with vegetables. Both were supremely tasty and demonstrated the robust flavours that we can expect when we arrive in Bali early next year.

We rolled happily from the restaurant back to the yoga sanctuary for a gut-busting introductory class. Perhaps such a heavy lunch wasn't such a great idea. The two of us comprised the sum total of the English-language class that afternoon. We were led through the sanctuary and up to the top floor, which looks out over the surrounding chaos but is a perfect haven for peaceful practice away from the hustle and bustle below. Laying on the mat, a cool breeze passed through the open windows and served to intensify the relaxed state I was encouraged to achieve by the instructor in preparation for the rest of the lesson.

Om, she chanted - the universal sound. We joined her in the chant, which she followed with a brief sing-song prayer of thanks, before outlining the philosophy behind the style of yoga taught by the school. Five principles underlie the teachings, among which 'proper eating' (read: vegetarian) features, although I'm not sure that Swami Sivananda had deep-fried tofu in mind. After some warm-up stretching, we progressed to three basic positions, each working on a different part of the spine. I drifted briefly off to sleep during the warm-down, as it had turned dark outside the windows. My body felt good after the session and we immediately signed up for the beginner's course over the next three weeks. I have until Saturday to shake my jet-lag before a gruelling 8am class.