SE Asia 2014: Day 9

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We wake up to a drenched world. It has rained torrents overnight. This morning we are supposed to visit My Son, an ancient Cham religious site that was lost in the jungle for centuries before being rediscovered by the French. I was really looking forward to this excursion, but we find out after breakfast that the rains have caused flooding in that area and the site is basically under water. A disappointment, but travel itineraries are never guaranteed.

Some of our group opt for for various alternative activities and tours, but Violet and I decide to spend the morning laying low, recuperating, and (for me) working on the accursed blog.

About 11:00, we check out of our rooms and say goodbye to the resort, a most attractive location. We load everything on the bus and head off to lunch in Hoi An. The restaurant is called the Secret Garden and is indeed secluded, hidden down a twisty alleyway. Standout dishes are the sour beef salad and salted grilled calamari. Pretty much every meal we have had is a variation on a standard template: soup and/or salad and/or spring rolls to start, followed by a couple of protein dishes (typically beef or chicken), then one final dish that serves as the centerpiece of the meal, served concurrently with a vegetable dish and white rice. When you see the rice, the meal is done except for the dessert, which is usually fruit, although we have also had bread pudding and creme caramel.

After lunch, Kien informs us that the situation in My Son has not improved, so that excursion is definitely cancelled. The group decides to revisit the Hoi An old quarter for free time and shopping. The bus deposits us on the west side of the old town and the various couples strike out on their own. Violet remembers seeing a shop advertising large-size T-shirts as we walked to the market yesterday, so we make refinding that shop our quest. With the help of a tourist map, we succeed and, yes, they have 5XL shirts that look acceptably humungeous. Of course, along the way we visit a few other shops that catch our eye. Violet also buys a ladies' top. She is a hard bargainer. Basically her technique is to start at half the selling price and not budge. Of course, you have to walk out of the shop before they run out after you and finally capitulate, but Violet usually gets her way. (Big surprise.)

The original supper plans have been discarded because we are no longer traveling from My Son to the airport. But a happy alternative has been arranged. Apparently, the father-in-law of T.V., our guide of yesterday, used to have a famous restaurant in the old town. When the rent skyrocketed, he retired and remade his house into a restaurant catering to private functions. We walk to his place through a winding maze of alleyways. We have a great opportunity to see local life off the tourist drag. As I mentioned, the Vietnamese do not maintain the same distinction as we do between indoors and outdoors. Everyone's home, from palace to hovel, is wide open to our inspection as we snake along in single file.

We are greeted warmly at the home. The father-in-law is just firing up the grill. And we are in for the best meal of the trip! We enjoy prawns and "elephant" ribs (extra-large pork ribs), and a fish known locally as "chicken shark", all BBQ'd to perfection with fantastic homemade sauces. And, of course, there's rice and vegetables, and a luscious fruit cup for dessert.

At the end of the dinner, our host serves his own rice wine, which in fact is like a brandy and very potent. T.V. teaches us the Vietnamese drinking chant: "Mo, hai, ba–Jo!" (my transliteration), which basically means "One, two, three-–go!" We drink "from Hanoi to Saigon," which means the whole glass in one shot. I have to admit that several people demur, and so I have a few more shots than some.

Finally, a special treat. We meet T.V.'s wife and his 11-month-old son. They are both adorable, of course.

After profusive thanks to our hosts, we retrace our steps back to the bus and thence directly to the Danang airport. Hoi An is a special place, and the fact that we missed My Son is simply one more reason to return here some day.

It's a 1-hour flight to Hanoi. There's no local guide waiting for us when we land, because this is Kien's home (although he was born in a more northerly province) and he will serve as our city guide. With an hour-long bus ride from the airport. It is about 11:30 pm by the time we reach our hotel in downtown Hanoi. It's actually a suite with a full kitchen and–do our eyes deceive us?–a washing machine (no dryer)! We struggle to get it working because, for some bizarre reason, the instructions and interface are exclusively in Spanish. But we ultimately succeed in getting a load going. By now thoroughly exhausted, we stumble to bed well after midnight.

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