Hoi An

In the future, if youre treated to fish in tamarind sauce, know that this is where Andy learned how to make it.
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“Gawd, whaddya DO with it?” They’re standing next to us. We’re in the breakfast room of the capacious Hoi An Hotel, stirred into a broth of package tourists. (What do you expect? This is a food journal!) We’re standing in front of what we can only describe as the glutinous rice table. Intriguing triangular banana leaf packets hiding their contents, cheeky little see-through gloppy-globs encasing mini shrimp, languid sloppy folded-over rice pancakes sprinkled with “an unknown quantity,” and bold round green and cream ricy-looking pikelets hold their ground in the face of the cereal and toast crowd. On the next table is every variation of pressed meat and beyond that, pho with all the trimmings. A riot of tropical fruit assaults one at the door, a challenge to those who need a name for every food they put in their mouths.

Most restaurants in Hoi An are within minutes of the market, which gets fish straight off the boat for instant sorting and selling.
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That goes for so much in this country. Last night, we bought a packet of six brightly colored “tablets” in the market. Unwrapping it, we discover each white “tablet” is actually two, and is wrapped in bright cellophane, hence the multi-colored appearance. Each unit looks like an oversized Alka Seltzer and tastes like a chalky, hard-packed meringue-flavored Pepto Bismol. Hmm, not so bad. We try a couple, declare them  morish, and then they are gone.

“Gawd, whaddya DO with it?”

Green banana. Yellow banana. Ripe banana. Mini banana. Just not Joke Banana.
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This is our resting place, after a hectic couple of weeks of new experiences and locations almost every day. We are a little whipped and, with the temperature in the mid-90’s, we have no trouble taking a zizz in the middle of the day and taking it easy for the rest.

Hoi An, as the guide book confesses, is in danger of becoming a theme park. It is an ancient town preserved not in aspic but in tailor shops and tourist lairs. Tourists are flocking here as a roosting spot between north and south, and also for the beach and its luxury resorts which come at such bargain prices. This is neither our interest nor where we’re staying but still, as a result, it’s hard to get further than five yards from the hotel gate without being offered a ride to the beach, a cold drink, a conical hat, or a tip to the best tailor in town. In the market, in fact, I am introduced to “Forget Me Not” who promises to know that tailor. She grabs my arm and is narrowly missed by a scooter, picking its way around the fish and between the mango stands. Harking back to our Hanoi guide, I say, “You want to eat the green banana!” meaning, basically, “That was a close one!” She looks shocked. “Why you say I want to eat the green banana?” I explain about the tradition of offering green bananas and incense when someone dies. She slaps me on the cheek and declares that, in fact, I am the one that will eat the green banana and have bad luck in Vietnam. Clearly I’ve crossed a line and she didn’t get the joke. I’m amused and slightly shocked myself, given that the Vietnamese way is generally among the most gentle and polite I’ve ever encountered. Even more, she was willing to give up a potential business transaction from this person who committed such a transgression. Whoops.

Sponsorship Vietnam style. Gigantic spirals of incense are bought, displayed and lit in the pagoda, presumably to help with upkeep.
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There are many others to fill her shoes, however, and we don’t escape until we’ve added two hats, 3 t-shirts, and a bag to our baggage.