The Backpackers' New Clothes

24 August 2009

Continuing our tour of duty in 'Nam, we've driven south in yet another air-con private bus from Hue down to Hoi An, one of the rare places that we managed not to bomb the crap out of during the war. This makes it uniquely lovely in Vietnam, with it's old town really intact. Of course, loads of tourists also know this...I miss the glamor of being the only white people in a given country. In addition to being known for it's ancient importance as a port city, a fishing centre, and existence despite American imperialism, Hoi An is also famous for new clothes.

Every other shop is a tailor (and all the ones between the tailor shops are either cobblers or sweatshops producing goods for said tailors and cobblers). The accustomed thing is to pick one at random—Louise and I opted for the only one which did not send someone chasing us down the road imploring us to just have a look—go through their random old Next catalogues and Vogues, point at what you want, and return the next day to collect your new wardrobe. Our chosen happily-indifferent Vietnamese lady measured us, made some cursory notes, nodded disinterestedly, and send us away, all at about 11am on Sunday. On Monday at 3pm, back we came. Am now proud owner of bespoke tan linen shorts, black linen wide-leg trousers, green silk sleeveless top (very Shanghai hooker in the 1930s), pink cotton floral full skirt, purple silk wrap skirt with woven gold Lao-esque detail, and a blue cotton sundress. All for the equivalent of $50. Brilliant. And David got shorts.

Hoi An's old town has some worthy historic Chinese assembly halls, a few ancient house museums, and a Japanese bridge that's been there since the 16th century. Of which we didn't really see much except the bridge, as it is remarkably hot and humid in Hoi An in August. Personally, I quite like hot and sticky weather, but even I was a bit warm for sightseeing. Instead we sat around a lot in the lovely cafes, bought some t-shirts, and ate. Entire fish cooked in a lovely ginger and garlic sauce one night at the Blue Dragon, for all of $4 with rice and veggies. But the culinary star of Hoi An (so says the guidebook and every lady selling it) is cao lau, the local specialty, which must (as you know) be made with water from a well in Hoi An to be counted as legit. It comprises a bowl of thick rice noodles in a little broth, with a bunch of green herbs and bean sprouts on top, what are called croutons but seem more like little shrimp crackers, and slices of roast pork (or chicken, beef, etc.) Every restaurant serves cao lau, but in particular there are a bunch of tables at the end of the market, each run by a single owner (Miss Thuy, Mr Ho, etc.), and all selling bowls for 15,000 dong—less than $1. “Fresh” beer, called such because there's no preservatives (or brand), can be had for 4,000 dong a glas. This is about 25 cents. Awesome.

On Monday, as I struggled to re-find all my photos (people who make and spread computer viruses should really roast in hell, fyi), David rented a motorbike to go out to the Cham empire ruins at My Son. We also bombed these, so the nicest ones are not actually there anymore. Oops. A group had gone out at 5am the day before, but we're just not that kind of people. Anyway, he ended up practically in Da Nang instead, so came back and we took the bike down to Hoi An's other gem, the beach. This is part of China Beach (as in Dana Delaney et al), and is just perfect. Rapidly being populated with very posh western resorts, but for now, still gorgeous. White soft sand, warm completely clear water, almost no surf, and loads of sun loungers along the sand, yours all day for the price of a bottle of water. And, as a bonus, he managed not to kill or maim either of us!