Thursday,
01/11/2012 – 140 A.D.
Hoi An: the difference a decent hotel room makes…I
woke up feeling like a million dong. That’s about 30 quid, but it’ll do.
Breakfast was fine – nothing too great to report there – and we filled up our
laundry bags for collection later that evening. So far, so normal.
In fact, it was on the whole a very normal
day. The main threat was more rain. I’m not sure if it’s the tail end of that
storm from the Phillippines, or whether Hoi An is going through a rainy patch,
but the clouds were grey and the air was a little chilly. That said, I noticed
that every other bloke at breakfast was wearing shorts, I was the only one in
trousers. Is there some unwritten law that because you’re a western male in
south east Asia you simply must wear shorts or you’ll spontaneously combust,
even if the temperature is tickling ten degrees? Don’t get me wrong, you’ve
seen me in shorts in enough pictures to complete several photo albums, but I’ll
dress to the weather, maaaan. And so what did I decide to hit the town in? Shorts.
It had warmed up a couple of degrees, so what the hell. Who wants individualism
anyway? This is a socialist republic, after all...and it feels more liberal than most democracies!
As mentioned yesterday, Hoi An is a UNESCO
World Heritage Site because it is an excellent example of an old fashioned port
along the Vietnamese coast, with history stretching back 2,000 years. It was
made great by the Cham people, who I hadn’t heard of either, but there are also
very strong Chinese influences in the streets that make up Old Town, i.e. the part
near the river that is protected by UNESCO against any ker-azy new eyesores
being built. Unfortunately Old Town is now a great big tourist trap, full of the
kind of souvenir shops that you get all over the country, but at least the classic
architecture remains untouched. It is also the tailoring capital of Vietnam,
but more on that later.
The morning was spent walking around the
quaint little streets of Old Town and politely telling the souvenir stall
owners that we did not want to buy anything. Nor did we want to hire a
motorbike. Nor a boat. But the hawkers here are smarter than in Saigon – here they
walk up to you and say things along the lines of, “Hi, where are you from?” We
naturally get talking and they walk along with us for a while, before revealing
that they know an excellent tailors shop that can fit us out with a fantastic
suit. But more on that later. For now we’re just dismayed that they don’t want
to say hello and practice their English with us like our followers back in the
park. In fact, it becomes particularly annoying over lunch where several young
girls come to our table (with products for sale carefully concealed) and ask us
where we are from. When they hear the word, “England,” they robotically say, “Lovely
jublee!” Gawd knows what they come out with if you say you’re from Wales!
The morning and early afternoon were
constantly interrupted by scattered showers, which unfortunately put a bit of a
dampener on the whole Hoi An effect. At one point we stopped for a game of Shuttlecock,
but without any disturbances from passers-by wanting to play. This helped us to
realise just how appallingly bad we are at the game! Still, like most things
in life, there are three things one must do to get better at Shuttlecock – 1. Practice,
2. Practice, and 3. Practice. It was lucky the rains came again to move us
along, but at least the droplets cooled us down.
Now, back to tailoring. Tim has made noises
ever since we arrived in Asia about getting a suit made-to-measure, so as we’re
in Hoi An (the tailoring capital of the country), he decided to scope out a few shops. Well, it’s not that easy, is
it? As soon as they get you inside, they think they’ve got a sale in the bag, so
when Our Kid gives it the old, “Thanks – I’ll have a walk around the block and
think about it,” the smiles on their little tailoring faces quickly fade. However,
it was only so long before he caved in and decided to go for the full-on barter
and get the best price for a top quality whistle-and-flute that an Englishman
had ever achieved this side of Cambodia. It was a pure joy to watch.
[Tim conducts his clandestine haggling by the entrance so he can make a run for it if he offends by suggesting an extremely low price.]
["And suck it in..."]
["No thanks, luv, I don't go in for impromptu massages."]
[And a thousand and one potential captions beckoned...]
I’m sure Tim loved getting measured up for
his suit, and while he was getting felt in all places by the assistant, I went
for a quick wander to see if I could get another of those 100% cotton tops that
I’m fast becoming the poster boy for, but this time in my own colour of navy
blue. I failed – they either didn’t have the colour, didn’t have them in long
sleeved, or didn’t understand what the Ho Chi Minh I was saying. One guy
ignored my request and gave it the old, “Where are you from?” England.
Liverpool. He seemed very impressed by this, then said something about how he
was writing English literature and wanted me to have a look at it and make
corrections where necessary. Are you
serious, mate? Yes, he was, apparently. Now, this could be one of two
things: 1. A similar scenario to the students in the park who are genuinely
keen to learn and I may get a coffee or something stronger out of it and the
chance to hang out in a traditional Vietnamese household. Or it could be 2. The
classic Vietnamese scam where they get you inside, invite you to a game of
cards, which is rigged, make you lose lots of money and then demand you pay up
pronto. Either that or they suddenly come on wth tales of sorrow of family
members needing operations and can you help them out with some cash. I may
sound cynical, maybe even cruel in my words, but the guidebooks are littered with
warnings for scams of this kind. So I just walked on by and wondered if Timbo
had had his crotch measured yet.
Tim’s crotch was fine, as I’m sure you’ll
be pleased to hear. The younger Gray Brother even stopped to get a haircut on the
way home – a bit too early for me right now (even though I’m getting a little
shaggy at the back) so I walked on back to the hotel. Today is the 1st
November, tomorrow is naturally the 2nd. On the 2nd
January I return to work and was required to give two months notice in writing (as
per career break policy) to say I would indeed be returning on said day. This essentially
constituted sending an email to my line manager. Should I do it? Should I return
to work as planned? It wasn’t too late to just disappear off into the sunset
and never return to an office environment ever again for as long as I lived…
…as if! Of course I sent the email! But it
was difficult to put my request into “office speak” after so long writing in a
free and easy style in this blog. Anyway, it’s done now – signed, sealed,
delivered – I’ll be back in Smedley Hydro come 2nd January. And the
skies won’t blacken, and the Earth won’t tremble, but if the next two months
are as good as the previous four have been, I’ll arrive in that office totally
fulfilled.
It was a pretty quiet night after making
that monumental decision. I borrowed an oversized golf umbrella from the hotel,
but didn’t end up needing it. We did end up eating in a small place called Café 43
which was recommended by the website wikitravel, which is a valuable Godsend
for us right now. However, when places are recommended by wikitravel (and
guidebooks) it’s usually a licence for them to hike up the prices, but not in
this case. Very good food at a very reasonable price (even by Vietnamese
standards), and you see the beers we're about to drink in the photo below? They
were down on the menu as “fresh beer” and came straight from a tap on the
premises. Price? Ten pence each.
Slight taste of gravel, but didn’t have to
pick any solids from between my teeth. We even stayed for a second. However, my
only concern was the W.C. provided for the customers was essentially the family bathroom used by
the people who ran the place…
…note the toothbrushes! What a gross invasion of privacy!
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