Hoi Ann, February 1-3
Sometimes it seemed there were more tourists in Hoi An than locals. The old city, once the residence of wealthy traders, was lovely and relaxing. Many of the temples, private residences and assembly halls have been restored. Some are in their original condition and can be visited, while others have been converted into hotels, restaurants and gift shops. The old town streets are also closed to most vehicular traffic. This makes for very pleasant walking, although you must still watch for the occasional speeding maniac on a motorbike - it is Vietnam, after all.

I stayed near the waterfront, which was lined with restaurants on one end and a lively covered market on the other. Despite all the tourists it was easy to walk north from the old city and in a few minutes be the only westerner on the street. This I found is where the custom-fit clothing that Hoi An is famous for are crafted. I could see people laboring at sewing machines through the windows of many houses.

I vowed I wouldn’t buy any clothes in Hoi An saying to myself, "The last thing in the world I need is another shirt." I already have a closet full. That, of course, didn’t stop me from looking.

The first day I walked by a shop where I noticed an attractive black shirt with a gold and red dragon embroidered on the front. When I found out it only cost $8, I forgot my vow - I figured it would be perfect to wear when I showed my Vietnam pictures back in snowy Michigan. "Oh, one shirt won’t matter," I rationalized to myself.

So I ordered one: I had my measurements taken, was asked what kind of cuffs I wanted and where the top button should be. After I left a small deposit, I was told to come back to pick it up in the morning.

Next day after breakfast, I walked over to the shop. I spent a few minutes talking to the young woman, Lien, who worked there. Then, I tried on my shirt: it fit fine but it had no breast pocket and was a little too long. This I was told would be fixed by lunch. As I sat talking to Lien I decided I could use another short-sleeve travel shirt. So, I picked out some fabric, was measured again and left another deposit. "That's it," I thought as I went about my business.

The next morning I rented a car and driver ($25) for a morning trip to see My Son (say Mee Son). From the car park I was driven in a jeep back into the quiet jungle where I visited the 12th century Indian-influenced temples on foot. It was a lovely hour walk through the lush forest past vegetation-covered brick temples - the remnants of an ancient burial site.

Back in Hoi An, I went to check on my shirts. I found a British couple trying on their new hiking pants. As we talked about how cheap the clothes were in Hoi An, I decided it would be stupid not to have my favorite travel pants duplicated - the ones with the cargo pockets and zip off legs. I was told it would only cost $14.

So, I headed back to my hotel to get them. Back at the shop as Lien was measuring out the fabric and the guy who was going to sew them asked sewing details, I decided to have a pair of shorts made too. See what a slippery slope it is?

All this was delivered the next day. By then I had spent three days in Hoi An and, with the exception of My Son, I had done little other than walk around taking pictures and sit in the cafes and bars talking to fellow travelers. Usually I tire of this activity quickly, but I could have easily wasted several more days in Hoi An. Luckily, I had an air reservation back to Saigon the next day, which forced me to keep moving. Now I just wish I had bought two more pairs of pants and another shirt - they were so cheap.

 

Saigon, February 4-5
Being a solo traveler I usually head to a bar in the evening. It’s a place to meet people, some interesting and some boring, but usually any company is better than none. In Saigon I found a little place called the Boss Café one block from my hotel. It was on the corner, open to the street and had a great view of the traffic. I loved to sit there with a beer, watching the flow of humanity as I record my recollections of the day.

After a couple of visits the owner came over to join me. He was a Vietnamese man in his late 50’s who spoke English with a French accent. He had long gray hair and usually dressed in white shirt and trousers. We sat talking and eventually the ‘American War’ (as the Vietnamese rightfully call the ‘Vietnamese War’) came up. I had deliberately avoided visiting any war sights or museums. Although I didn’t serve, the whole period has a distinctively unpleasant memory for me and I didn’t want it to color my trip.

The owner told me that he was a student when the US got involved in Vietnam, after the French pulled out. He was sent to France, he told me, to finish his studies and didn't return for a while.

After Saigon fell in ’67 the new government wouldn’t let him back - he was western-educated and, I guess in their eyes, contaminated. So, he created a life for himself in France as a teacher - that explained his accent - and traveled widely in both the US and Europe. Eventually, when Vietnam reopened in the mid 90’s he decided to come back to visit his mother, who he hadn’t seen in 30 years. He told me he originally planned to stay just 3 months. Well, he was still there happily running his little bar.

I explained my own war experience as draft dodger/war protester in the 60’s and how I had first avoided serving with work and then student deferments. Determined not to go I contemplated moving to Canada but finally was granted Conscientious Objector status. The decision, at the time, was very difficult - the first adult decision in my young life. Being in Vietnam now I felt wonderful: I had a clear conscience - I hadn't participated in the vicious war that had inflicted such misery on this wonderful country. I also felt sorry for those who did have to server - many against their will.

Anyway, relaxing in the Boss Café with the owner I waved toward all the economic activity evident in the street: the little shops and stands and the new construction. "We don’t think of this as communism." I mused and after a short pause, "In fact, it isn’t." "No," he agreed, "It isn’t." I guess that was part of the reason he had stayed. After all the years of the west fearing communism, it simply turned out to be no threat at all.

Ann Arbor, Michigan
March 2005

Part One: Hue & Da Nang
Part Three: Travel Details

Read more of my travelogues

Send your comments to: