Days 137 – 138: Hoi An

Photos: http://princeton.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2059947&l=3ae2b&id=1101094

I caught an overnight bus north to Hoi An, and this one was far less restful. Would someone please explain the need to stop at midnight for dinner and turn on the interior bus lights for half an hour? And don’t get me started on the A/C issue again.

I arrived in Hoi An around 7am and checked into a guesthouse with an Argentine girl I had met on the bus. I napped for a bit and managed to get a few solid hours of sleep, and then headed into the Old Town, which was centered around the Thu Bon River.

Hoi An was at one time an important port, visited by Chinese, Japanese, and even European traders. As I wandered through the narrow streets of the Old Town, I saw evidence of these foreign influences—a Japanese covered bridge, a Chinese temple, and Chinese and Japanese characters on many of the buildings. And when I visited an old house that was once owned by a Vietnamese merchant, I found Japanese, Chinese and Vietnamese architecture all in one house.

But today Hoi An’s status is much diminished, and the Old Town is now little more than rows of yellow colonial buildings, most of which house silk tailors. There must be several hundred silk tailor shops in Hoi An, which is all the more shocking when you realize that the population of the town is 75,000. I’m a little mystified as to how all these shops stay in business, though I’ll admit that every tourist I saw (except for me) was scooping up hand-tailored clothes with both fists. I would have been right behind them if I’d had the faintest idea when I’d next need fancy clothes on a daily basis.

Wandering around the quaint Hoi An center was quite pleasant, especially after the hustle and bustle of Ho Chi Minh City, and even of Nha Trang. Life in Hoi An seems to move at a slower pace than elsewhere on the Vietnamese coast, and the hassle was diminished as well; while I did frequently get asked if I wanted a motorbike ride, not even one tailor asked me to come into his store. But maybe that was because they all looked at what I was wearing (faded t-shirt and torn jeans) and decided that I clearly had no interest in buying new clothes.

I visited a few temples, one of which was built by Chinese immigrants, as well as a colonial home and even a museum that detailed Hoi An’s architectural history. Though nothing in particular struck my fancy, the overall peace and laid-back attitude of the town made the day one of the most enjoyable that I’d spent in Vietnam.

And that night it got even better. I ate dinner with my Argentine friend at a restaurant overlooking the river, and we sampled some of Hoi An’s traditional dished: white rose (a fancy name for shrimp dumplings), fried wonton topped with shrimp and vegetables, and cau lao (flat noodles, croutons, vegetables, and pork in a tasty broth). Though none of the dishes sounded particularly exciting on paper, everything was excellent, and besides I was grateful to get a break from my usual pho routine.

After dinner the real fun began. It was the first full moon since the Lunar New Year, which meant that the town held a festival along the river. Stages were set up for traditional singing and dancing, and though I had no clue what was going on most of the time, I enjoyed the sudden liveliness that swept over the town and its residents. I even participated in some sort of lottery that involved singing; apparently each person selected three words, and then as the singer in the middle of the circle sang, we checked off our words as he sang them. The first person to hear all their words sung won; needless to say, that person was not me.

Toward the end of the night the festival moved onto the river, and children began lighting candles, placing them in paper floats, and sliding them out onto the water. Coupled with the row boats that glided through the water carrying young Vietnamese lovers, the whole thing made for a wonderfully romantic scene. I toggled between smiles and snickers, though in the end I must admit that I enjoyed myself even in my state of singleness.

After the festival I went for a few beers with the Argentine girl, and at her urging we switched exclusively to Spanish, which gave me the chance to remind myself just how bad my language skills are. I really must live abroad sometime soon or I’m destined to be monolingual for life.
The following day I had planned to rent a bike and ride to the beach, which was 5km outside of town, but I awoke to clouds and rain and spent most of the day working on my Foreign Service application. For those of you who keep track of these things, I take the test March 6th in Jakarta.

By the afternoon the clouds had cleared and I wandered around the Old Town a bit more before visiting the central market (always a delight in Southeast Asian cities) and then going for pizza at a restaurant run by an Italian immigrant. By the time I returned to my guest house, I had grown quite fond of the town and its relaxed ambience. And I’d learn to miss it even more once I encountered Hue’s weather and Hanoi’s whirlwind.