Hoi An

Unable to cope with the thick, filthy air of Hanoi (actually Ha noi, as the Vietnamese language is apparently mono-symbolic) we caught a late flight yesterday to Hoi An, a one time Portuguese colony with the colonial style plaster buildings and cobbled roads to prove it.

We explored the city aboard rented ancient single-gear bicycles. Markets brimming with colorful vegetables and fruits, as well as a variety of squid and fish (intact) line the streets that border the river. Rice by the giant woven basket and piles of galangal, ginger and dried spices are sold in abundance by women in traditional clothing and conicol hats; small children dart about everywhere playing and laughing and waving and tourists. Bicycling did not return to me in the manner so oft quoted: but I managed not to run myself into anything too painful.

This is a city of dressmakers and shoemakers; and, for the first time this trip, Nora and I have given into the temptation to shop. We are having a few custom articles of clothing made, miraculously, overnight to stow away tomorrow before we venture further south.

This beautiful city is full of color: the plaster walls have been washed a sunny yellow or a mellow turquoise and as they chip and crumble, lichen and moss grow in bright greens and yellows. And, since cars are not allowed in town, only motos and bicycles disturb the narrow streets. It is an altogether different experience than Ha noi. It is a physical and mental relief.

School, looms, however as I wonder how the first day went without me.