While in Da Nang I was informed it was once considered one of the most luxurious beaches in all of the world, and most certainly all of Vietnam. This dilapidated town resembles more of an Atlantic City that once was with it's sad building facades, empty lots and endless neon lights, but I bit, and vowed to have a beach day.
The day started bright and early with a jog down by the beach that was more scenic and calorically beneficial and en route back to the hostel I stopped at a local Vietnamese bodega for bread and juice. I have discovered fresh, healthy foods are often missing from stores such as these and had to make due with Oreos and orange Fanta. While internally justifying my purchase a fellow whitey invited me to coffee with a thick German accent and, not wanting to be rude I admitted I didn't drink coffee (especially in Vietnam where the tradition is to process the coffee beans through the intenstines of weasels- you do the math!) but that I would be happy to sit down and have a chat.
While sitting in the warmth of the early morning sun I thought to myself - this could totally be me meeting the man of my dreams. A fellow traveler of similar age. Employed. At least partially English speaking. This could totally be it. Then, and thoughts of rainbows and unicorns danced through my head like a Lisa Frank montage I thought - if only. If only I felt any sort of human connection or remote attraction to this man who is not only lacking in classic beauty but also in an acceptable dental regime. If only he were not him, or maybe if I were not me. Oh well, better luck next time.
Shortly thereafter we were met by his friends, one of whom is married to a Vietnamese woman and in the country visiting her family for new year. As an uptight white person like myself, he explained that he had recently had a conversation with his 'Vietnamese family' about the concept of privacy - a theory they simply could not comprehend. That explains so much...
Before being seen spending too much time with fellow foreigners I politely excused myself and went to freshen up and head to the beach, filled with families and interracial couples. After paying 30,000 dong for a lounge chair I laid down, put on my shades, and dug into my book (the 3rd on this trip) - which I have been rationing for fear of a lack of English reading materials for long train and plane rides. I am not sure if the ocean is laced with tryptophan or what but I was fast asleep - woken up by the lapping waves and my ever intensifying tanorexia.
By this point, with the sun sliding down the blue wall of sky I was famished and in dire need of something other than chocolate and peanut butter Oreos to tide me over. I went for a walk along the beach, hoping the water front eateries would be opening around this time and came across 3 Englishwoman trying to catch the last rays of light. As I approached, asking of they had any suggestions as to where I should eat, the most vocal of the bunch responded with a guffaw detailing how she figured I lived here and she was just about to ask me the same thing. Repeating 'you thought I lived here?' with a curious puppy tilt of my head she replied - well you just look so at ease.
It's always so interesting how strangers view you.
With nothing but local seafood as far as the eye can see, I was growing frustrated and weary. I happened upon a restaurant currently serving an affectionate young Asian couple and, when reading an entire page of Ga (chicken) dishes I figured this place was my salvation.
It was not.
An elderly woman brought a bowl of peanuts in their shell and quail eggs in the same to my table while proudly displaying a bottle of beer and a bottle of coke, indicating I was to choose one of them. I made the non-alcoholic selection and when the young male waiter approached I pointed to the chicken page and hoped we could gesticulate our way through the ordering process.
We could not.
He repeated chicken, but when I sympathetically asked rice? noodles? I was met with a blank stare. He elicited the help of his fellow staff, mostly being laughed off, and when the cook came out the routine began all over again. Even the young couple were laughing at me at this point and, though I don't embarrass easily, I'll admit I felt a bit like an ass.
I quietly got up and left, leaving the quail eggs untouched.
Realizing I would have to walk the 45 minutes back across the bridge to the 'new town' (the only criticism on hostels.com about this lodging was the distance to the action) I headed back to Sea Wonder Hotel, showered, put on a gauzy floor length dress, chucks and hoops and began my sojourn in search of sustenance.
The bridges in Da Nang at night look like carnies have set up permanent residence on the water and I was in love. Bright colors and flashing lights. I was like a kid in a candy store.
It turns out there is a nightlife in Da Nang in the form of a succession of coffee shops that line the waterfront and play techno and Abba exclusively. Because of Tet there was the additional draw of more beautiful floral displays and some sort of Star Search Asia set up along the board walk. I watched one duet. The man had the most delicate wrists I have ever seen.
With all open establishments seeming to offer weasel ass coffee and juice I opted to head back to Quan An Thai Lan, where I had dined the day previous and where the owner remembered me and my penchant for spicy - providing me with the most taste-bud scalding papaya salad I have ever experienced. My pineapple fried rice came with some sort of seafood in it, but by this point I was so hungry I just closed my eyes, opened my mouth as put it is. Dirty, I know. The presentation was lovely and the meal was both filling and affordable. If I ever find myself in Da Nang again I will most certainly make my way here.
The long walk home brought me past the busy sidewalks filled with children aggressively yelling 'hello' in my face with a mix of curiosity and disdain and allowed me the opportunity to purchase some cotton candy for 10,000 dong for which I was grateful not to be charged an inflated tourist price.
When I came home to my 4 bed dorm it was occupied by my solitary roommate - Cheryl, a young woman from Canada currently living and teaching in China, and two of her friends on holiday. The 4 of us chatted for a couple of hours as they drank Vietnamese vodka that look suspicious and smelled even more so, mixed with orange soda and Mountain Dew. When it was time for bed, my mind - per usual - was racing, but as Cheryl's soft snoring became stronger I surrendered to sleep.
Before the sound of my alarm roused me from my satin sleep sack, the sound of Communism did. The elementary school, clearly back in session from the New Year holiday was having their morning phys-ed hour and the pre-recorded sounds of government sanctioned activity wafted over the loud speakers and into our room. No bother, I needed to be up anyway. I was leaving today, and wanted to get my things in order.
Packing and repacking each night can prove annoying, but I am always so glad I don't make myself too much at home. I suppose this might leak into my real life too...
Carrying my bags down the 5 flights of stairs to the lobby I indulged in their pancake breakfast - consisting of 3 mushy crepe like concoctions served with home made bitter honey. Yesterday when eating this I was skeptical, but today I was hungry and sweet breakfast food just sounds better than a bowl of noodles. Informed that the breakfast was included in my stay was an added bonus - the fact that another girl had neglected to tell me this as I paid full price the morning before was quickly forgotten as I climbed in the backseat of my private car that was to take me to Marble Mountain before depositing me in nearby Hoi An.
Marble Mountain was a feat and I opted to utilize my ancient ass in the ancient art of stair-climbing and passed up on the clearly much newer lift designed to transport the old and lazy to the top of the hill.
From what I can surmise this is an old hill with lots of spots for worship.
It was the first time I really felt like I was in Asia. There were pagoda's beautifully detailed at every turn and you were able to look out over the city to the ocean. The piece de resistance, however, was a large room carved into the side of the mountain housing 3 temples at which to worship, one that sits directly under the filtered midday sunlight leaking through a hole at the top of the cave. There is no way my photos (or video) do it justice, but trust me when I say it was awe-inspiring.
With a driver waiting and my body covered in a full sheen of sweat from climbing a mountain in Converse, I descended the mountain in search of a driver who I think was maybe wearing a pink shirt and possibly driving a silver car who was maybe parked at the end of this street and who was in possession all of my wordly possessions belongings perhaps we should have made a game plan before parting ways.
I deftly negotiated a small marble something special for a loved one back home and was one again back in air conditioning and heading to Hoi An - a city which every one kindly recommends.
The moment I arrived Aaron Spelling's Sunflower Hotel I knew this was not the place for me. The foyer is lovely, with a full restaurant, free wifi and a pool in the back, yet the clientele is clearly auditioning for a nighttime soap and brought their bathing suits and STDs along with them throughout Southeast Asia in hopes of making it big and discovering themselves.
Good lord, please don't let Amanda pull my hair or throw me in the pool.
I did what I do and I sat down to connect to the internet and eat. A bowl of noodles, 2 glasses of watermelon juice and an intense text message conversation with a good friend from back home, resulting in the obligatory tears for the day, and I was back on foot, wandering the streets of this 'ancient city.'
It didn't take long before bumping into Kim, a very convincing seamstress who somehow tricked me into following her on a 15 minute walk back to her business to sell me on some handmade clothing. It was on this walk that she commented on my skin in the sun, while she was covered head to tow in what had to be 80+ degree weather. She said, in no uncertain terms - in Vietnam if you want a boyfriend white skin is good - black skin is bad. I love international lessons on racism. But she thought I was in my 20s, so I totally let it slide.
Allow me to explain something here - Hoi An is a town of tailors. I had been told by many I have encountered in my travels that they had shirts or suits made for cheap when visiting this tourist destination - but I didn't realize that literally every shop on the street houses gorgeous dresses displayed street side, luring in the vulnerable female (and male) traveler.
I never buy much when I travel. I keep it cheap and small - limiting it to a postcard for myself and a couple of pairs of earrings, but Kim got me and she got me good. My made to order slacks and blouse will be ready by 3 tomorrow. Now, adding insult to injury - for anyone who knows me SLACKS and BLOUSE are not even words typically permitted into my vocabulary, let alone wardrobe. I have been thinking for several years, maybe it is time to own a grown up pair of black pants, as leggings are not all weather or business appropriate, but how I ended up commissioning these in Vietnam of all places is still beyond me. There is a sucker born everyday and on February 6th, 2014 her name is Briana E. Heard.
Receipt in hand (and purchase completely made) I was back out on the road ready to be accosted by more pushy salespeople. And that I was. At least Kim was kind and told me I looked young, gesturing to my not yet developed crow's feet. People sell here and they sell hard. It was explained to me last night that when people call cities in Vietnam 'ancient cities' what they are really saying is 'old buildings filled with shit to buy.' That is what Hoi An is, one big outdoor mall, masked as a cultural experience with straw hats and motorbikes. I attempted a walk through the marketplace but quickly re-routed when women seemingly came out of the wood works with services and goods for what were exhorbitantly priced.
As I made a B-line for the river things quieted, and so did my mind. The white faces faded, as did the noise and mayhem. At the end of a long road heading to nowhere was an outdoor eatery and when I saw it bordered the river, with beautiful fields of green farmland on the other side being worked in the bright yellow sun I sidled up a tiny plastic chair and intended on simply ordering a beverage but fell, once again, victim to the power or Asia persuasion.
The young waitress brought over a menu with 4 or 5 items. First, she mentioned a dish and pointed to a nearby table. It looked like someone had emulsified baby fish and spit it into a bowl. I passed. Next she mentioned Cao Lau, elaborating with - its the best food in Hoi An. Fine, sold. What I was presented with was a small bowl filled with think yellow noodles, sprouts, some sort of meat product and something fried. Adding hot sauce makes every dish better and that is exactly what I did while sitting by the river and digging into my traditional dish. It was surprisingly yummy and made even sweeter as a little girl, there with her entire family for lunch, made friends with me. The language barrier caused some confusion, my guess is mostly on her part, but we were bonding. I was reading and eating and then - she was puking. All over the floor. Projectile vomit of what I can only imagine was some sort of silken tofu at one point in it's life. Suddenly I lost my appetite. Luckily the bill for the meal and soda was only $2, so I did not feel terribly bad leaving the remains behind with the memory of her doing her best Linda Blair.
The walk home was a field lined with landmines of temptation. All of a sudden I really needed that leather bag (which I sort of do) and those pants - how could I live without them. I had walked into this town with the mindset that I would allow myself to purchase the one staple in all traveler's repetoire in Southeast Asia - the hippie pants. Hammer-inspired, these loudly patterend and brightly colored pants provide room for movement when biking, lounging or drinking copiopis amounts with your underage travel mates in an attempt to really soak up the culture. They are cliche and ridiculous and I wanted them.
I was embarrassed that I wanted them - but I did. And somehow, I ended up with slacks. Wonder what that means.
Alas, a trip to My Son has been booked for tomorrow ( I have so far been quoted 2 separate prices) and I can look forward to a few hours void of consuming anything but the beautiful history of Vietnam.
I only have a handful of days left in this country and though I am not looking forward to returning to the ominous Polar Vortex. Clean clothes and my queen sized bed don't sound so bad.
