During my time living in the bus, I decided to take a trip to Vietnam. I had travelled to Thailand twice before, and both trips had certainly given me stories to tell.

The first time I visited Thailand, I came across a physical domestic altercation involving a local couple. I tried to intervene and break it up and ended up being st@bb#d twice, once in the head and once in the back. I needed stitches, but thankfully neither wound caused any serious or lasting damage.

On my second trip to Thailand, I ended up being dr%gg#d and robbed. Despite those experiences, I still loved travelling through Southeast Asia, so this time I decided to try somewhere different.

Vietnam.

Looking back, this trip probably demonstrates better than almost anything else just how powerful the pull of m#th@mphetam!ne had become. Before I had even left Australia, one of my biggest concerns was how I was going to deal with coming down while I was overseas. I knew what the crash could be like. The exhaustion, depression and overwhelming desire to sleep were something I desperately wanted to avoid. Instead of recognising that fear as a sign of how dependent I had become, I started thinking about how I could make sure it didn't happen.

I had pre-ordered a "ball" of m#th@mphetam!ne, and I made the incredibly stupid decision to take it with me. This wasn't a case of not understanding the consequences. I knew Vietnam had extremely severe dr%g laws. I understood that serious dr%g offences could result in extraordinarily long prison sentences and, in some circumstances, the death penalty. I had actually thought about what could happen to me and still decided the risk was worth taking. That is probably the part that frightens me most when I look back.

At the airport in Australia, I was tense and terrified. I knew what I was doing and knew how badly it could end. Every part of me should have been screaming at me to stop, but fear wasn't enough to overcome the addiction. I won't describe exactly how I attempted to get the m#th@mphetam!ne through the airport, because there is nothing clever or admirable about smuggling dr%gs across an international border. What matters is that I got onto that plane knowing I was gambling with my freedom.

Arriving in Vietnam was even worse. Walking through the airport towards immigration and customs, I was painfully aware of what I had done. The officials looked incredibly serious, and some were carrying machine guns. This wasn't Australia. I was in a foreign country with extremely harsh dr%g laws, surrounded by armed officials, knowing exactly what I had brought in with me. I was tense and terrified. I watched every official I passed, wondering if they were looking at me, if they somehow knew, or if I was about to be pulled aside. My heart was racing, and I remember thinking about just how badly this could end. I knew the consequences could be enormous, yet none of that fear had been enough to stop me taking the risk in the first place.

Eventually, I made it through the airport and walked outside. The relief was enormous. At the time, I probably saw getting through as a victory. Looking back now, there was nothing victorious about it. Standing in that airport surrounded by armed officials should have been enough to make me realise just how far addiction had distorted my judgement. Instead, I was just relieved that I had gotten away with it.

Once I was in Vietnam, I was surprised by how accessible substances appeared to be in some of the places I visited. From what I personally witnessed, m#th@mphetam!ne seemed frighteningly easy to find. It challenged some of my assumptions about Australia's dr%g problems and showed me that addiction certainly wasn't confined to one country.

Outside of that, Vietnam was incredible. To this day, it remains one of the best countries I have ever had the privilege of visiting. I loved the people, the food, the countryside, the noise and chaos of the cities, and the feeling that there was something completely different around every corner. But one experience stood above everything else.

I went on a three-day motorcycle trek through the Vietnamese countryside with a local guide whose name, believe it or not, was Phuck. It was just the two of us on motorcycles, heading away from the usual tourist areas and into places I never would have discovered on my own. Those three days became the highlight of my entire trip.

Phuck took me well off the beaten track, through small towns, villages and rural communities where I was able to spend time with local people rather than experiencing Vietnam from behind the window of a tour bus. I remember being out in the rice fields with elderly Vietnamese women, joining them as they cut rice by hand. I probably wasn't much help, but being welcomed into their world, even briefly, was something I'll never forget.

We rode through countryside that seemed to change constantly, passing rice fields, lakes, villages and landscapes unlike anything I was used to seeing back home. At one point I rode an elephant through a lake, another experience that felt completely surreal. There were moments during those three days when I would look around and think about how far away from ordinary life I was.

There was also plenty of stupidity. While riding through one rural town, I decided it would be a great idea to pull a wheelie. The local police disagreed. I was pulled over, and suddenly Phuck became more than just my motorcycle guide. He became my negotiator. I stood there while he spoke rapidly with the police, having absolutely no idea what was being said or what was about to happen. Somehow, after a bit of sweet talking, Phuck managed to get me out of the ticket. We climbed back onto the bikes and continued on our way.

That three-day trek showed me a side of Vietnam I would never have experienced otherwise. It wasn't the hotels or tourist attractions that stayed with me most. It was sitting with ordinary people, riding through remote communities, cutting rice with women in the fields and seeing the country through the eyes of someone who actually lived there. The Vietnamese people left the strongest impression on me. I found them warm, welcoming and incredibly resilient. I was only a visitor passing through their country for three weeks, but there were moments of kindness and hospitality that have remained with me ever since.

There was also a much darker part of Vietnam's history that was impossible to ignore. The repercussions of the Vietnam War were still visible decades later, particularly the effects associated with Agent Orange. Seeing some of those consequences in person was very different from reading about them in a book or watching them on television. History didn't feel distant when you could see that people were still living with its effects.

There was an uncomfortable contradiction in the entire trip that I couldn't see clearly at the time. I was travelling through an extraordinary country, meeting beautiful people and having experiences that I would remember for the rest of my life. Yet hanging over all of it was the fact that I had been willing to risk my freedom just to make sure m#th@mphetam!ne came along for the holiday.

That is one of the deceptive things about addiction. Life doesn't necessarily become terrible overnight. You can still laugh. You can travel. You can have incredible adventures and create some of the best memories of your life. Meanwhile, addiction can be quietly tightening its grip in the background. For me, the warning sign couldn't have been much clearer. I couldn't imagine spending three weeks overseas without m#th@mphetam!ne.

After three weeks, it was time to leave. I boarded the flight home with some of the best memories I had ever made overseas. Vietnam had been everything I hoped it would be, and I knew I would never forget the country, particularly those three days riding through the countryside with Phuck.

What I didn't properly appreciate was what the trip had exposed about me. I had been prepared to risk consequences that could have changed my life forever, not because I was chasing some great adventure, but because I was terrified of coming down. At the time, I didn't dwell on that for very long.

I had made it through. Another ridiculous risk taken. Another consequence avoided. And after three unforgettable weeks in Vietnam, it was time to return to Australia and climb back into my bus.