My relationship with Hoi An got off to a rocky start. Getting there was a nightmare, one of the worst travel days I've had. It was expensive, complicated and frustrating. I arrived in town before sunrise. I was wandering around trying to find a room just after sunrise when I saw something surprisingly rare in this part of the world: a traffic accident.
Motorbikes are the preferred mode of transportation in Vietnam. (I'm told there are six million motorbikes in Saigon alone, and having been there, I believe it.)
Bicycles are also still common. At any given moment dozens of each will be crossing an intersection. It all seems chaotic and dangerous to American eyes. But then you realize these people aren't talking on their celphone, drinking a cafe latte, programming their iPod and smoking a cigarette while they're trying to drive. They're actually paying attention to the road.
In the early morning a moto driver came around a corner too fast and crashed into a woman on another moto. The two of them crashed into a young girl on a bike. The driver who caused the accident was unharmed, of course, but the other moto driver was unconscious in the street. I couldn't figure out why the girl was sitting up in the road until I realized that her left leg had snapped below the knee and was folded under her.
I was standing on the other side of the intersection with my backpack on. Luckily I didn't have to do anything because dozens of people appeared instantly. One of them went to fetch a minivan from a travel agent. They loaded the girl and the woman (who had come to) into the van and drove away.
I thought perhaps I should heed the omen and get the next bus out of town. But I didn't. I am so glad I didn't. Hoi An is my new favorite town.
I had arrived in part of town where there were a number of guest houses. But everything was closed. I arrived before sunrise, so the area looked desolate. I didn't know if I was in a good or bad part of town. (It turns out it was right where I wanted to be, just a five-minute walk from the riverside.)
I was incredibly fortunate to find a nice room at a nice price at 6:20 a.m. The girl at the front desk was nice enough to let me use the room, even though it hadn't been cleaned. Most guest houses won't let you check in until noon.
It was early enough to book a tour to the Cham ruins at My Son for that morning. Since I was already up I did it. (I'll talk about the tour in a separate post.)
I was hot, sweaty, deliriously tired and starving when I got back from the tour that afternoon. I stopped at a food stand to get some pho (pronounced fur, but like a question, and without the hard American 'r' on the end.)
Pho is a Vietnamese staple dish. It's a noodle soup to which you add fresh greens and condiments. As I understand it locals eat it for breakfast but you can get it anytime. It's cheap, filling and you usually know what you're going getting.
Usually.
This was easily the worst meal I've had in Vietnam. It was terrible. On occasion I've had to ask for fresh greens. Maybe some places don't serve them to tourists because they figure we don't know better? Who knows.
I asked for chili. She didn't have chili. I asked for veggies. She didn't have any. It was greasy broth with what tasted like store-bought noodles and a few pieces of stringy meat. I don't know what the American equivalent would be. Maybe screwing up toast and butter?
So Hoi An and I were off to a rocky start. I still hadn't seen the town. I went back to my room for a shower and some rest. Then I went out for a walk. That's when I fell madly, deeply in love with Hoi An.
What a great place. Perhaps the simplest way to explain it is to note that the 2002 film adaptation of Graham Greene's novel "The Quiet American" was filmed here. The film, for which Michael Caine received an Oscar nomination, takes place in Vietnam in the early 1950s. Hoi An in 2009 looks the way you would imagine Vietnam did at the time.
It's a small town, with a population of about 80,000. The historic riverside area has both traditional and French colonial architecture. Trees and flowers line the streets. Stores selling silk lanterns add to the colorful tableau.
Cars are not allowed along the riverside. You have to dodge motorbikes and bicycles but all in all it's a pretty stress-free place to go for a stroll.
Even though my first meal there was atrocious, the food in general was some of the best I've had anywhere. There's a block with a covered pavilion divided into different restaurants, and by "restaurant" I mean a small portable kitchen and a dozen tables per establishment. It was crowded with locals and tourists, so I thought I'd have a seat. But at which restaurant? I made the logical decision to pick the one with the prettiest cook.
It's too bad she's already married because I would have proposed on the spot after my first meal there. She made some of the best food I've had anywhere in the world. If you're in Hoi An go see Miss Lien and try her cao lau, a noodle dish which is a Hoi An local specialty. Also try her banh xeo, a sort of pancake-crepe with bean sprouts, shrimp and pork that you eat rolled up in rice wrappers with fresh greens. Outrageous.
I ate there every day but I did try other restaurants as well. The food wasn't quite as good as Miss Lien's but it was still pretty darn tasty.
Another thing I saw in Hoi An, which I had also seen in Saigon is "fresh beer", what they call draft beer. Most places sell it for 4,000 dong per glass, which means that you can have four beers for a dollar and get change back. It tastes like dishwater and you'd have to drink a keg to get drunk but, hey, the price is right. You can get a plate of Miss Lien's cao lau and a beer for the equivalent of $1.08.
But wait. There's more. I rented a bike for the day (less than a dollar) and rode about 20 minutes to the beach. It was a gloomy day and actually a bit chilly, but I think it must be wonderful on a sunny day. It's a big beach, mostly undeveloped, with the islands of the Cu Lao Cham Marine Park just offshore.
In fact, the beach continues virtually uninterrupted all the way north to Danang 30 km away, where a stretch of it was the famous China Beach, used by American military for R'n'R during the Vietnam War.
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