“F-ck you,
take it easy.”
We had only
been at our guesthouse on the beach outside of Hoi An for an hour, but there we
were, sitting at a beer bottle-littered lunch table with our host, Hoa, who was
regaling us with stories from the years he fought in the war with the Marines
and imploring us to “take it easy”. In the North of Vietnam, the US was the
enemy, but here, in the South, it was different. Hoa had joined the Marines
when he was not much older than a child and had grown up surrounded by war and
soldiers, as evidenced by his deep love of four-lettered words.
“In the
Marines, we were f-cking rock and roll,” explains Hoa, as he nods to me to
refill his beer glass.
“People ask
me: Hoa, what does it mean, Rock and Roll? I say, ‘Rock and Roll, it means
f-cking take it easy.’ We didn’t give a shit- we just wanted to have a good
time. What does it mean, the Marines? It
means rock and roll.”
I'll admit that before coming to Vietnam, I didn’t know anything about what
the Vietnamese refer to as “the American War.” It was an important
event in cultural history that defined my parents’ generation, but the only stuff I knew about it was what I had learned from watching Forrest Gump. Not Apocalypse
Now, not Platoon. Forrest Gump. Now
that’s rock and roll.
Sitting
with Hoa, hearing him talk about his “brothers” from the Marines, some of which
have come back to Vietnam to visit him, drove home not only how pervasive the
war was in this country, but also how much has been forgiven. I asked Hoa the
same question I had asked a moto driver that morning: Are you angry? Are the
Vietnamese still angry at us?
And the
answer was no. Maybe I would have received a different answer in the North, but
here, the popular opinion seemed to be that what’s done is done. It’s the past.
Let’s move on. Which, for someone who comes from a country where a good portion
of the population still thinks that France “owes us for saving their asses in
World War Two,” this willingness to forgive and forget is refreshing.
I’d be
lying if I let you believe that our stay in Hoi An, which is on the coast in
the center of Vietnam, was all cultural understanding and appreciation for
history. It wasn’t. The vast majority of our time was spent on an endeavor that
was decidedly less politically charged: Shopping.
You see,
while Hoi An is a mandatory tourist stop for its lovely colonial architecture and
charming old town, it is also renowned for its tailoring industry. There are
literally thousands of tailors and dressmakers in the city, offering a relapsed
anti-consumerist unlimited opportunities to have clothes custom made on the
cheap.
I was a
woman possessed. It had been such a long time- 10 months to be exact- that I
hadn’t shopped or thought about shopping, that once I was confronted with this
abundance of fabrics and patterns providing countless combinations to create
exactly what I wanted, I just couldn’t get enough. I went from stopping my
clothes addiction cold turkey to what was essentially a four-day shopping
bender.
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| Vincent looking like a homeless guy in a stolen suit (and a technical t-shirt) |
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| That look on my face? Thinkin' about ALL THE DRESSES! |
We did do some other activities while in Hoi An: we rented motorbikes, took a
cooking class, ate a bunch of street food, explored the winding little streets of the
old town that were lined with colorful stucco houses, got our ears cleaned
at a local barber shop (huh?).
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| Attacking banh xeo- crispy filled pancakes wrapped with greens, chili and rice paper- at the market |
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| Elodie and I found the perfect appetizer on the sidewalk |
But all of these escapades were basically just
time fillers between fittings at the tailor. I won’t go into the details of our
purchases, but I’ll just say that when we left the shop for the last
time with our new goodies, the tailor actually gave us each a free gift to
thank us for our substantial business.
Beyond the
frenzied consumerism, Hoi An was a wonderful place to end our time in Vietnam.
Its colorful historic quarter was truly lovely, providing a tranquil, aesthetically
pleasing place to wander around and get lost.
The town has one of the best
culinary scenes in a country known worldwide for its cuisine, so we indulged
as much as we could (keeping in mind that we still had to fit into the clothes
we were having made for us). We ate some incredible street and market food and
learned to make some of those same dishes during a private evening cooking
class we took at one of Hoi An’s restaurants.
The cooking
class was excellent: we had a great time learning to make, and subsequently
devour, several delicious regional dishes. Our teacher, a hilarious fast-talking Vietnamese
lady, taught us the ins and outs of dishes like beef and papaya salad, shrimp spring
rolls, and fish baked in banana leaf. In
addition to learning to make these dishes, we also learned that if something
tastes good in Vietnam, you should say “yummy,” not “yumm,” as the latter
apparently means that you are horny. I kept peering into the dish that our
teacher was making and saying, “Yumm,” until the little woman finally turned to me and exclaimed,
“Stop doing that- it’s makin’ me nervous!”
The course
ended with a meal of the dishes we had learned to make, as well as others that
were equally amazing. We left the class with full bellies and the recipes of
the dishes we made so that we can recreate them when we get home. Wherever “home”
is going to be…
Hoi An’s
history-seeped architecture was stunning during the day, but it was at night
that the old town really came alive. We were fortunate enough to be in the city
during the annual moon festival- a celebration that I can’t even begin to
explain simply because I never figured out what it was all about. Although the
religious background of the fete is beyond me, I could easily appreciate the
party aspect.
In the
evenings during the festival, Hoi An’s streets were completely dark save for
hundreds of colorful lanterns that hung from every doorway and balcony. Street
lights were darkened, restaurants were lit by candle light, the narrow streets
were closed off to traffic. But don’t think for a second that it was a peaceful
scene: the streets were positively packed with people. The entire population
seemed to be out enjoying the atmosphere. Along the river, bridges were
lined with lanterns that reflected colorful light off the water, while children
sold little paper boats with candles in them to float down the current. The
scene was breath-taking, if slightly frenetic.
The
lanterns weren’t the only indication of the celebration. Weaving through the
crowded streets were gangs of young boys dressed in Chinese dragon costumes and
beating drums. The dragons comprised of two guys: the head and front legs, and
the backside, moving in synch to create a beast that jumped and danced to the
beat of the percussion. It was very cool to see, so much so that we didn’t even
mind when they came to ask us for money after their performance.
I’ve spent
a good ten minutes trying to think of an appropriate segue to this next bit,
but nothing I can think of can take me from lanterns and dragons to ear
cleaning and Vincent’s beard. There really isn’t even that much to say about
either, except that Vincent grew a pretty impressive beard over the span of two
months and finally shaved it off, along with all of his hair, in Hoi An. The difference
after he shaved was so shocking that when I first saw him I freaked out and
wouldn’t touch him. Sounds harsh, but the dude went from Tom Hanks in Castaway to Tom Hanks in Philadelphia in one afternoon! As our
cooking coach would say, he was “makin’ me nervous!”
I don’t
have a good “after” picture of Vincent, but here’s one he took during his
shave.
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| That is one serious beard |
The
barber shop responsible for Vincent’s transformation also offered ear
cleaning, which involved a (hopefully) trained professional who dug in our ears
with various metal tools, poking and scraping out any offending wax. Think of a
trip to the dentist, but for your ears. It was pretty uncomfortable and I felt
a little jipped because there was hardly anything to pull out of my ears anyway.
Vincent, on the other hand, was a veritable gold mine of ear gunk. The guy
cleaning his ears would use long, pointed tweezers to pull out a hunk of
something gross and would wave it around proudly to anyone willing to look.
While seeing what lurks within my husband’s ears is quite possibly the last
thing my marriage needs, I humored the man with appreciative “oohs” and “aahs” at every new discovery.
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| Pretty miserable during my ear cleaning |
After Hoi
An, it was time to say goodbye to Vietnam, and by extension, to Elodie. The
three of us flew to Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) where Elodie took a
plane on to Singapore and V and I stayed a night before heading back to The
Beach in Cambodia to work for a month. We only spent one night in Saigon and
didn’t take any pictures, so I really don’t have a lot to say about the city. The
main highlight was that we celebrated our 10 year anniversary (over one third
of my life! AUGH!) at a wonderful French restaurant where the chef, who was
appropriately from a small town near where V and I met in France, makes his own
cheese and serves unabashed French specialties like scallops in lobster cream
sauce and wild venison with home-grown vanilla. The food was
punch-yourself-in-the-face good and the chef had an awesome mustache, so it
was a pretty great night.
How this
blog went from traveling in Vietnam to all things facial hair, I will never know...
