Follow up from Part 2: Dalat.
5.30am. The days are starting earlier and earlier. Today, the vehicle of choice will be the plane, from Dalat to Hoi An, via Danang.
I was half expecting the van drive to pick me up again and seize the opportunity to finish my night on the comfy backseat. But instead, I get a sedan with a driver half awake as I am myself… Oh well… I get to see the landscape I could only try to guess at night when I arrived and it’s peaceful enough to quietly transition into the day.
Once at the airport, I get to realise that in addition to the Weasel Coffee, there also seems to be some elephant coffee, made through the same process of having the animals digesting the beans before roasting, and their enzyme breaking down some of the bitterness. The urbanisation of development of the agribusiness in and around Dalat sent the elephants to another province more than a century ago.
The Wifi coverage is just insane in the area, even in the most remote corner of the airport, putting France to shame.
The plane we are boarding is a two-propeller one and, with the size of the airport, there’s some Indiana Jones traveling feeling. Cue the animated map!
The Vietnam Airlines uniforms are stunning – traditional day in light green and cerulean.
I find myself in the front row of the plane, next to a solo traveler named Javier, with a perfect US accent. We joke about how they put us there because of our size and leg-room requirements and kept talking for the whole flight. Well read and equally well travelled, he tells me stories of his adventures in Iran and his expectations about Vietnam. His flight to Danang is only a pit stop to catch the train to Hue a couple of hours later.
He also recommend reading a BBC journalist’s book called Vietnam – Rising Dragon and i make a mental note of getting this soon.
He shares a smart idea I wish I had for this trip: taking an old and broken mobile phone to use as a tethered modem with a local sim. Even if Wifi seems to be everywhere in this country, there are still moments when it’s not, and usually at the most critical time.
I snap an Instax of the post-landing, pre-break off coffee with Javier and hop on a cab to Hoi An.
The guidebook was unfortunately right about Danang – the whole place, as foreseen from the sky, is in full construction mode, from large hotel chains to retail space and luxurious apartment complex. The whole fo the coast until Hoi An is going full concrete and despite the “costal” location if the road, I don’t get to see the Southern China Sea which I haven’t seen yet up close.
The humid heat is almost unbreakable and the outfit I adorned to face the fresh Dalat morning and the plane’s AC is uncalled for now.
The more we progress toward Hoi An, the less concrete can be seen, which is a good sign.
The Ha An Hotel i booked is magnificent, from the front garden with water mist and fans to the welcome fruit juice and fruit platter I am offered upon arrival.
Arriving that early, I was not expecting the room to be ready before a couple of hours, so I drop my bag and update the travel log by the pool. They are incredibly efficient, though, and the room is ready before I can finish my update.
The room feels like a freezer and I strip in a second just to cool down. Once back at a decent body temperature, I realise just how nice the room actually is -spacious, with a high ceiling and a balcony, and rose petals spread all over. Loving the energy there.
I get going, exploring the neighborhood. The architecture and the vibes evidence the centuries of cultural exchanges that forged this city. While a lot of the historic functions of the various building have been converted to the tastes of the day, you are still able to distinguish how live might have been 300 years ago.
The first place I want to try from the guide leads me to a torn off building. Another sign of the time?
My next culinary attempt is Miss Ly. The food (white rose and Cao Lau) is good, yet the army of waiter supervised by an older lady, as well as the cash-only insistance, gives the whole experience a bitter after taste.
From there to the world-renowned Japanese Bridge.
It’s packed with tourists and touristy shops. Just walking into the city’s damp atmosphere, the weather gets me sweat-soaked in a moment. Iy’s only a 10mn walk back to the hotel yet I down a large bottle of water on the way, with a quick stop by Morning Glory, supposedly le best food and cooking school in town. While browsing through the class list, I am trying to figure out which class to take and what to do with my days here.
Back at the hotel, I quickly change for a refreshing and Salvatore dive by the hotel pool, a Singapore sling and a deeper dive into things to do.
- Tentative plans: cooking lessons at Morning Glory, photowalk in the afternoon and farm visit on Saturday.
- Actual activities: morning photowalk (as the weather is not conducive of walking in the afternoon heat), cooking lesson at Bay Mau (as Morning Glory is already full).
The night’s falling so early here – well, its is expected with a sunrise scheduled for 5.30am. This explain a lot about the Vietnamese schedule – early to rise, early to sleep. By 7pm, it already feels like 10pm.
I quickly run to Ba Ri, a bespoke daily, despite the mixed reviews. The store does not look much, but for US$350, I should be able to have a three-piece suit and a linen leisure suit.
Not holding a grudge for having their classes already full, I go back to Morning Glory. The heat of the night, adding to the crowd and stoves burning, renders the inside hot as well despite the industrial-grade ceiling fan. I’m told the wait will be at least 25mn, yet the patrons seem to feel the heat and speed through their dinner – ultimately, I barely have the time to order a refreshing beer before being hushed to my table – balcony view on the first floor: air flow and vantage point of view, i could not have asked for more.
The scenery is nice – to my right, a young French dude with a classic bro-face, his parents probably visiting for the first time given the nature of the information distilled by their son and, i suppose, his girlfriend, who does not seem to be speaking French. She does not take part in the family discussions and spends most of her time looking elsewhere, while the rest of the table addresses the waiting staff in a very directing way. I cannot help but feeling bad for her.
In front of me, a couple from Manchester. He must have been decent-looking a few years back but clearly let himself go. She looks pissed and cranky. They are on their honeymoon trip throughout Asia, and only are making a day trip to Hoi An in their hectic schedule. I am suddenly grateful to my past self to have put some sense in the scheduling of my adventures. He sports the biggest e-cigarette I have ever seen, it must be at least the size of my fist.
The pork-based dinner is really good – while my sweet tooth tempted me into a condensed milked dessert, I quickly regret it.
Before returning to the comfort of my air-conditoned room, I stop by a dive bar. Literally. On both counts. It is a classic dive bar, which also offers diving lessons in addition to, but presumably not at the same time, as liquors. Always a sucker for pun, the Rolling Stones’ song playing finishes to capture me inside.
I sip on a light and refreshing gin & tonic, while eavesdropping on the motley crew of expats and tourists occupying the large table across – it is definitely more entertaining than TV. Their conversation touches on free speech, and I feel the urge to intervene. But I’m not here to argue, demonstrate of convince. I am on vacation…
What was I thinking, signing up up for a 7am photowalk? Alarms are killing me, even on vacation! But I am psyched, despite the already horrid temperatures at 6am. The AC is clearly doing a great job sheltering me from the reality of the external conditions.
The hotel is already buzzing with activity, from staff to guests.I could have pushed it even earlier to witness the marketing opening, but it’s going to be a long day as it already is.
The phototour is supposed go 7-11am, before returning to the hotel for a 1pm pick up. Hopefully, this should leave me enough breathing room for yet another shower. While ‘ill be heading to a cooking class, I’m unsure about the possibility to eat in between, so i stock up on the breakfast table. While the hot breakfast cuisine seem heavy, the fruit platters, as always, are heaven sent. I gorge on mangos, pineapple and bananas, which ought to do the trick until whenever it will be.
While rendez-vous is only a 10mn walk, I’m ready for a new shower due to the heat and humidity.
The group is easy to spot on the large open terrasse – only westerners. Organizer Pieter Janssen, a Dutch expat, is also easy to spot with his gear. He’s been living in Hoi An for the last 13 years and married a local. Our group consists in a middle-aged Dutch couple of gigantic proportions, a London woman, an Italian girl from Milan and an Australian girl from Cambodian-Vietnamese decent visiting for the first time.
I am unsurprisingly the last one to arrive, despite being for once on time, and we start our introductions, while order some welcome cold beverage. The bottle of water I carried from the hotel is already a vague souvenir.
Then Pieter does through the quick basics of photography – the London woman is the only one not carrying an SLR and the levels of the people around me greatly varies, yet no one is too advanced. So the basics take forever.
We finally get walking. Pieter takes us to a small alley way, highlighting the importance of taking it slow, looking around, covering all angles and being patient – such as waiting for a bike to pass at the opportune time to great a foreground to your picture. Which should not be too long a wait considering the manic biking culture, as well as the presence of a day-care center at the end of the street. Parents are pouring in to drop as many as three kids riding with them on their motorbike. No helmet, but masks on. Safety first I guess!
As we progress along the streets, the Dutch man gets more and more reckless – with his imposing frame, he even walks into the day care center without announcing himself. Pieter seizes this faux pas to tell us more about Vietnamese people and their relationship to privacy and the relative lack of personal spheres – as I had already been able to witness at the airport. While it does not come as a surprise, it still remains a difficult concept to grasp, especially when photo walking.
Next step is the private house of an elderly couple. She’s curing banana leaves for rice cakes, while all that can be seen of him is a shadow in the dark, rehearsing some kung fu kata. Very dramatic scenery.
When he steps out, it is a bigger than life character who is introduced to us – long hair, fu manchu moustache, semi toothless andante sculpted face, with a young looking and heavily tattooed body. While he speaks English and we are able to discuss, he seems to relish in the attention. It’s a thin line, but it does not feel like a human safari experience. She kindly offers us rice cakes, while he offers cigarettes.
Next is the “house” of an elderly woman. Pieter tells us that she lives nay herself in extreme poverty and her so-called house is really just a roof posed on the space left between two other houses. What makes us so special to Pieter is her long hair. He mentions that he is trying to help her as a paid-model for the photo walk, and discusses the recent local (and international fame) of the lady Rehahn put on the cover of his latest book, which helped to provide her with a brand new fishing boat – “Trying to give back to the community.“
The tour is running late and everyone is sweating profusely in the alleyways. We witness regular homes turned into makeshift sowing factories, the back office of the prominent tailoring business of Hoi An.
As the tour finishes, Pieter offers us a debriefing at the coffee house we initially met. Most of the group departs there, but I need both coffee and shade before running back to the hotel, shower (yet again), change and attend the cooking class.
I bask in the cold comfort of the hotel air conditioning – feels like reloading the cold battery…
The minibus picks me up and it’s full of younger backpackers, mostly Dutch -two girls and one guy-, one girl from Québec and a guy from Israel.
The cab drops us by the meeting point… a mere 50m from the hotel. We could have saved some time and directly rendez-vous there. Another minibus arrives to complete the group, this time comprising of older couples, except for an Irish couple currently living in Dubai.
From the get-go, Bar, the Israeli guy, seems to be the most open of the group. All the younger ones are staying at the same motel, in 8-people dormitories – Bar and I seem to be the only solo travellers of the group.
He was in Dalat just before, where he injured his wrist somewhat seriously by falling from his scooter, making any cooking operation quite delicate, as well as the other two months of his three-month trip across South East Asia.
Bar seems incredibly well-travelled. As a non-religious Israeli Jew, he eats pork, which is fortunate as most of the food we will prepare will include some. I try to help him as I can, including by taking pictures of his ordeal.
Of course, the two of us being the only two single guys in the class, the cooking instructor, Nhi, keeps teasing us about marrying her. She’s just finished university, tourism studies, and working up to three shifts a day at the cooking institute.
The main chef is Ty, her mother-in-law. As Nhi was quite explicit about her unmarried status, I take it that her dad remarried. The dynamic between Nhi and Ty is electrifying, with the mother punctuating her Vietnamese-only instructions by well-timed “Gangnam Style”, “Sexy Lady” and other mimes.
They are explaining way moire than would be needed about the recipes. Some activities are also quite touristy, like the market tour in traditional hats provided for the occasion, but it is overall entertaining and instructive, like the grinding of the rice intro wet floor for cooking our next dish. Neither feels forceful or exploitative and the afternoon goes by pretty fast, punctuated by eating our preparations.
Nightfall arrives before we know it and it’s only 6pm. It feels much later. The passion fruit juice they have been serving all afternoon and the open kitchen on an island managed to prevent us from being drenched in sweat.
Nhi walks us back to our cab and rides with us back to the old two. It’s a fun ride with the hostel kids and we make vague plans to gather up later on, knowing it is unlikely to happen. Yet it keeps the illusion of being civilized.
I have to run and try the suits and take pictures of the old town at night before that – it is Friday night and it is packed. Performances occur at each street corner, from classic opera to live street theatre.
The walk to Ba-Ri is more painfully sweaty than expected. Inside, I somewhat suspect that they make everything possible with the lights to turn the inside as warm as possible as a marketing tactic and for customers to feel relieved when they finally handle a bottle of cold water and turn on the fan. Trying the 3-piece suit is excruciating in this heat.
It feels great to be back in the cold and dry confirme of the hotel room. It has been a packed day, not sure I want to repeat that rhythm tomorrow. As I am eating my Pho, Bar updates me on the hostel binging. On my end, lights out!
6.30am – as the alarm rings, I know straightaway that I am going to bail on the farming experience. For good measure, I check videos and realise that it would mostly be a tourist trap anyway. I send a quick email and the guilt of the last minute cancelation vanishes immediately at the prospect of a quiet day to myself, at last.
Hoi An on the week-end is a vastly different experience. The music playing constantly in the city’s loudspeakers on every street corner gives the ol’ Faifo an air of Disneyland.
I get to check the photo exhibition of French Hoi An wunderkind, Rehahn, entitled “Women of Vietnam” and which Bar mentioned yesterday.
Strolling along the river banks during the exhibition is also a nice way to discover Hoi An’s old town from another point of view. One can only imagine what the city was like in its heyday and before it got turned into a pseudo-museum.
The heat is already canned up to the maw and a cafe sua da is sorely needed, as well as some wifi to check what Bar is up to. My refuge is a local equivalent of Starbucks – Hoi An Roastery – which exhibits perfectly how tradition, modernity and customer service can seamlessly blend together. This is also as good a place as another to grab one of these solo espresso maker – while it is probably the same as in any other place, but is helping this local business. The fan and free wifi make this coffee break even more enjoyable and, while I’m trying to update my travel log, the large and loud Australian family are not helping me focus.
Bar slowly emerges from last night’s hostel pool party – we set up a meeting at one by Morning Glory, marking the firth time i’ll foot twice in the same establishment since I landed.
Lunch is great, both in terms of food and discussions. I’m putting Bar in touch with my UK-based doctor friend, Melissa, to discuss his wrist situation. While not reassured, the second (remote) opinion confirms that the Xray taken in Nathrang are not sufficient to exclude that nothing has been broken – Bar will need to get checked in a proper hospital in Hanoi when he gets there.
During lunch, Bar shares his experience so far on the road and his desire to work in some kind of diplomatic functions, and his disappointment with his fellow road buddies, who usually just want to get drunk, if possible directly on the hostel’s premises, play cards and hand among their own kinds (namely, Dutch and Brits).
Because of that, he still isn’t seen the Old Town. So I offer him the remaining tickets for the Old Town landmarks, as I only did two out of the five possible this morning and the crowd made the whole experience unsatisfactory at best. We also head toward the Japanese bridge and I can’t help laughing out loud when Bar starts shooting the modern bridge across the river – I kindly turn him around while emphasising that the full name is Japanese Covered Bridge, which should have been a clue.
Since we’re close by and he was the one who initially mentioned it to me, we also pay a visit to the Rehahn exhibit.
While he’s only travelling with his cell phone, Bar takes really great photos and has a keen eye for framing and set up. I encourage him to pursue in this direction and to reach out any time if he needs some advice.
One thing leading to another, I mention the photowalk with Pieter and we are soon on our way to the more secluded alleyways of Hoi An. We make a quick stop by an area in the old town, in between two crowded streets, where buildings have been demolished next to (yet another) pagoda. Twenty meters from the tourists, people live here with live chicken.
Inasmuch as I’m trying to remember the way we went only yesterday, and I can still tour some parts, I can’t seem to locate the house of the kung fu master.
Time passes by and my suits should be ready for pick up any minute. Bar walks along with me on this way back – the Ba Ri people warm at me in a second and half dressed in the blue leisure suit, we part our ways, vaguely committing to touch base in Hue in a couple of days. The road offers interesting snapshots of people, but rarely leads to commitments
Back at the hotel, the task appears complicated: how do i fit the suits, the souvenirs and the rest of my stuff in these two bags? Fortunately, and the next couple of days, I’ll only be traveling through ground transportation and don’t really have to juggle weights and volumes, or even liquids. So I cram everything I can as I can and it is time to leave Hoi An for Danang, for less than 20 hours. While initially planned by taxi, a shortly met local named Tram offered to pick me up at the hotel as she was in Hoi An, enjoying the beach with her friends.
However, after some reflection, it does not sound like a wise idea to get carried around by a semi-stranger with all my belongings. Especially when the driver is both young and the owner of a car in this country which is apparently taxing cars up to 300% of their value.
Next stop: Đà Nẵng