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Published: December 15th 2012
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There is nothing like being somewhere heart breakingly romantic to remind you how unutterably alone you are. In the evening I walk down into the old town of Hoi An.
Its a picture postcard of how I like to think Vietnam looked in the 18
th century. A little golden bridge arcs a milky green river strung with different coloured lanterns. In the water villagers offer rides from old wooden rowing boats, and crouching on the banks they sell paper lanterns with lit candles inside for people to float down the water for luck. I sigh audibly. I can't remember when i've ever been somewhere so pretty, I can't remember the last time I missed being in a relationship so much and wished I had someone along side me holding my hand. The water is awash with the gentle amber glow of the floating paper lanterns. I go for a meal on the water's edge and have another speciality to Central Vietnam. Succulent (for a change) grilled pork with rice paper rolls and a sweet broth with peanut sauce, washed down with some beer .
Hoian is famous for being able to get clothes made very cheaply. Having had so
much money stolen I veto the bright green chffon dress ive found that she's agreed to sell me for 20 dollars. Lets face it its not the most practial thing to carry around in a backpack, but ever since last xmas i've had a yen for one - since I holed up watching Cyd Charisse dance in “singing in the rain” one gloomy rainy saturday.
Still I do get two cotton summer dresses made up for $20. You have to barter and they are strangely resolute at not going below a certain price. I may have been able to get mine cheaper but at just over 6 pounds a piece I don't mind too much.
Ever since I met the artist Yuri in Houay Xai in Laos i”ve been inspired to buy some artists materials to keep a pictoral journal of my voyage as well as this blog and my photographs. However i've found it difficutl to find anywhere to buy paper and ink/ or paints.
The old town is filled with tourist shops hawking Vietnamese cloth, little figurines and ink paintings on rice paper. I stop in one little shop that sells the latter and ask the man inside if he knows where I can buy any paint and paper. Instead he shepherds me inside.
“I don't want to buy a painting just paints” I explain.
"I understand" he says " Sit down."
I sit down at his work table in a dimly lit backroom - the outline of his mother (?) is just visible lying horizontal on a mattress further in. He gets some scraps of rice paper out of his newspaper. I start to look around the shop – outside he has brightly coloured acrylic and oil canvases in sunsetty colours of traditional Vietnamese scenes - women in their elegant long flowing shifts and trousers, and conical hats wading through paddy fields.
He dips his paint brush in the black ink and starts to paint on the scrap of paper. A sea, some bamboo in the foreground, a little rowing boat with the pointy hats of the men just discernible and a fishing line.
“Now you!” He says handing me the brush.
“Oh no!” I protest. But as i've asked for artist materials and he seems to think i'm a painter – I can't really refuse. I take the brush and diligently start trying to paint a similar scene: sea, bamboo, boat, people.
“Quicker!” he says.
“No wrong...” he says taking a brush again and deftly pushing the fat body of the bristles down to make a bamboo stem in record time.
Then he does a lady – with three or four simple quick strokes.
“Easy. Do quicker. No wrong."
He means there is no such thing as wrong. I try again, making just a few confident bold strokes and get a little better. Then he takes some more paper and shows me the symbol for LOVE in Chinese and Vietnamese – and then how to paint the characters – the numbers.
At first i'm still holding the brush like a pencil but he encourages me to push it down flat and make big fat strokes. After a happy half an hour painting with him he gives me one of his sketches as a keepsake and I leave for some food.
I used to love art – it was always one of my best subjects at school until the glacial Miss Sage put me off it for the next two decades.
“Is this o.k?”
I'd ask her – not sure if i'd got whatever technique we were learning, down correctly...
“ well that's about all it is, isn't it” she'd say with about as much warmth and humanity as an arctic wolf.
She had a penchant for stripey parisian style cardigans and culottes, one hazel eye and one blue (both able to pierce you to the spot along with the froideur of her ice cold sarcasm) along with a nasty case of short (wo)man syndrome.
Don't choose your subjects because of your teachers -they tell you. Well I did – and subsequently left my art career behind at 15.
If there is one thing i've learnt since about creativity and how to nurture it back to life – its this. Failure is essential. We don't get anything right first time and we don't learn anything by trying to be perfect. Contrary to everything Miss Sage might have thought – Wan my Vietnamese artist friend has it right – there is No WRONG.
I get back to my guesthouse and as I walk past the couple sitting in reception I think I recognise those husky Spanish accents. I stop and take a closer look. Its the Argentinian Martin, and Amparo – the Spanish girl I shared the back of a bus with from Vientiane in Laos to Hanoi. I can't work out whether or not anything is going on between them but I don't want to make any one feel awkward so I say a quick hello and dive upstairs to my room.
Later Martin messages me inviting me out for a drink – so i guess there isn't, but I decline as i'm already tired and out of sorts. I've had a dispute with the other Argentinian Nico, who i met in B.A. (Yes i definitely discovered my "type" when it comes to men...)
He has referred to some women at a party he was at as "elephants." I say i don't appreciate unkindness. He says that he believes there should be no bounds on what is and isn't possible when it comes to humour - nothing should be censored or out of bounds and cites Ricky Gervais' controversial subject matter.
Nico and i share a very black and sarcastic sense of humour - its one of the things i found most attractive about him but I think there is a difference between a professional stand up comedian making well thought through and thought provoking or just even very funny jokes on controversial subject matter and what amounts to no more than name calling for a cheap laugh.
I don't know, once upon a time maybe i would have joined in. As i recognise and accept my own imperfections more the less and less jugemental i become towards others. I don't want to become one of these anodyne 'everyone is great" tree huggers - but at the same time there is less and less room in my life for bitching unkindness. Can i retain what i like to think is my sharp and sarcastic wit and the edges to my slightly jagged skew whiff personality with out it. I hope so.
The next day I bump into Martin again as we are checking out at the same time and he invites me to lunch. We have another wander around Hoi An with Juan and Amparo and then I get the overnight train to Ho Chi Minh where we discuss hooking up again. The usual traveller route is to stop at N'trang beach after Hoi An but i've got plenty of time for beach holidays later and hey – i'm a city girl. The sights that i've done so far in Hanoi and Central Vietnam have embarrassed me about how little I know about the country's bloody history and i'm determined to learn more. So I decide to take an overnight train to Ho Chi Minh and sit out the remainder of my visa learning about the former Saigon.
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