5/20/14 - 5/27/14: Hoi An, Vietnam
Of all the South East Asian cuisines I think Vietnamese food is my favorite. At least, it was while I was in Vietnam. It’s fresh and flavorful with unexpected spices and tangs that delight my palate. And there was no better way to explore those flavors than in Hoi An.
Hoi An can be found halfway up the coast of Vietnam, its eastern boundary kissing the South China Sea. It was once a bustling Asian trading port between the 15th and 19th centuries and many of its original buildings still stand in astonishingly good condition. Now the city caters to tourists seeking a stroll back through time. For this reason it has pedestrian-only hours where no cars or motorbikes are allowed. This is an excellent idea since the ancient narrow streets don’t provide much room to avoid collision.
On our first night we drank up the charm of the city. Lanterns lit up the streets as we walked to the oldest restaurant in town: Miss Ly. Her “white rose” shrimp dumplings and zesty mango chicken salad did not disappoint, much like our entire respite in Hoi An.
We continued our culinary tour the following day with one of my favorite pastimes: tea drinking! Reaching Out Tea House can be found in the heart of old town. The staff is comprised of speech and hearing impaired individuals who communicate with patrons through gestures alone. No music plays, only the gentle rhythm of small fountains babble around you in a rustic open-air setting. Every aspect of the establishment created a uniquely tranquil experience.
After teatime we visited their sister handicrafts shop where persons with disabilities create jewelry, ceramics, glassware, and textiles. We immediately became enamored with a silk quilt woven by a group of women who are deaf and mute. It was superbly crafted and equally expensive, but we were happy to pay the price. It’s not hard to splurge on something so skillfully woven. That quilt sits on our bed to this day.
During our time in Hoi An, we visited five different historic “houses,” as they’re called, most of which were passed down through generations. They’re stoutly built in thick polished wood, often engraved in artful motifs. Their interiors have an open feel, with courtyard gardens and cross-breezes flowing through the middle. One home had been converted to a Buddhist shrine and another offered a full Vietnamese cultural show that included singing, dancing and even a little opera.
Sitting alongside the river, many of these houses showed signs of numerous floods over the centuries. One marker indicated the water had reached as high as the second floor. Remarkably, these structures have survived nature’s onslaught. They now embody the elemental beauty of a wilting flower, with water stains streaking their walls in earthen grays and greens. The damage only added to their beauty.
Bale Well restaurant was off Hoi An’s beaten path, but globetrotters rate it so high we went out of our way to experience it for ourselves. The menu is so simple you don’t actually need a menu – everyone eats the same grub at Bale Well. All you do is sit down at a table and they drop it right in front of you.
We chose a table in the “fresh” air of the alleyway behind the kitchen. Motorbikes whizzed past and families chattered as we scratched our heads and stared at the copious amounts of food coming our way. Thankfully, the waitress showed us how to eat our meal. I’d go into detail but Katie explains it quite well in the video below. Let’s just say it’s like a Vietnamese version of a taco and we loved every bite of it. That is, until we couldn’t fit anymore in our bellies. In the end we ate 3 “tacos” each and barely made a dent. Though, somehow, we managed to squeeze in a little watermelon and mango mousse. The entire meal cost $5.50 U.S. each.
When it wasn’t dinnertime in Hoi An it was Bingo time. In the evening, locals would gather in the town center for some outdoor Vietnamese Bingo. Katie and I watched a few rounds to sort out the rules. Each participant receives a paddle with three symbols on it. When a symbol is called that matches your paddle you get a little yellow flag. If you get all three symbols you’re a winner! We decided to give it a go and had a blast playing in the cool evening air while the hosts sang songs and called out instructions, all in Vietnamese of course. We definitely would’ve been confused if the game had been any more complicated. And, surprise, surprise, Katie won. Of course she won! She has the luck of a leprechaun, I’m telling you.
After discovering such food-joy in Hoi An, we thought it would be the perfect place to learn how to create some of these newfound dishes. Our Vietnamese cooking class started with an excursion to a wet market that was packed with stalls selling produce, grains, and animals (both alive and dead). It was disconcerting to see raw meat being butchered on slabs right in front of you. I can’t say it felt sanitary (especially when the butchers were handling money), but the meat was certainly fresh! We gathered all the necessary items before hopping on a boat, traveling up river, floating along a canal, and ending up at a covered area surrounded by water coconut trees. That’s where the cooking fun began.
Our teacher was a merry middle-aged woman named Ty who made us laugh, but who also didn’t suffer fools. She’d call you out if you weren’t following her instructions. Or rather, her translator, Han, would call you out since Ty didn’t speak any English. We created four dishes that day. The first was one of my favorite appetizers: shrimp spring rolls. The second was a Vietnamese classic, banh xeo, which is like a thin omelette without the egg. We made it with rice milk, coconut cream, shrimp, pork, and green onions. We then rolled it up and dipped it into our homemade sauce. It was possibly the best thing I ate on the entire RTW trip.
The final two dishes were bun and pho. Bun is seasoned beef and rice vermicelli tossed with greens, nuts, and a spicy sauce. Pho is probably the best known Vietnamese dish in America. If there’s a Vietnamese restaurant near you I guarantee it serves pho, which is a soup with rich broth, thin slices of meat, rice noodles, and fresh herbs you can add to taste. I’m a lover of soups, so you’d think I’d be super into pho, but every time I eat it I’m shocked to find it only so-so. I thought making it fresh would change my mind but, once again, I found it to be just OK. I know all you pho connoisseurs out there are shaking your heads right now, but what can I say? My taste buds run the show.
All-in-all it was a wonderful class in surprisingly comfortable temperatures for an outdoor venue. And the best part was it ended with a fantastic meal. (You may be wondering if we ever made these dishes again. It only happened once, and it was so much work getting those ingredients that we’ll probably never do it again.)
When the heat got overbearing during our time in Hoi An I’d take a dip in the hotel pool. But being so close to the ocean, we thought it would be a shame not to spend a day there. So we borrowed two hotel bicycles and rode them to An Bang Beach. We’d heard this stretch of sand was less touristed than other areas, and that seemed to be true…to a degree. While we were some of the only tourists there, the businesses along shore certainly were poised to greet hoards of travelers at any moment.
Staring down the beach, we saw hundreds of lounge chairs stretching in either direction, as far as the eye could see. The vast majority of them were empty, which is probably why we were immediately accosted by women calling out to us, imploring us to stop and enjoy their hospitality. We moved along, hoping for a less aggressive option, but as we walked new women would suddenly appear. It became clear these lounge areas were attached to the establishments behind them; restaurants serving the beachgoers basking in their coveted shade.
Resistance was obviously futile. We weren’t going to reach a spot that wasn’t dominated by this tourist trade. By now we were extremely hot and ready to pay for comfort. That’s when we heard a woman shouting, “Police coming!” We glanced up and saw her in the distance waving her arms. She seemed to be signaling to us.
“Police coming!”
Police coming? Where? Why? I wondered.
“Police coming!” she continued, running at us like her house was on fire and we had the hose. We stopped and thought for a moment, trying to sort her out, and then came to the realization of what she actually was saying: “Please come in!”
It seemed we’d found our spot. Her confusing sales pitch and vocal desperation had won us over, not to mention her effort – she was shouting at us from fifty yards away!
We went straight to her and she was ecstatic. Clearly people didn’t usually make it this far down the beach. We were a rare find. She set us up on padded lounges with thatched umbrellas bristling overhead. We paid a small fee and happily collapsed. It was extra thrilling to find out the sea was refreshingly cool. Unlike in Thailand, where the ocean was the temperature of a warm bath, I found myself wanting to get into the water to cool down. And when I wasn’t swimming I was reading in that glorious shade, luxuriating in the breeze flowing over me.
Our wonderful saleswoman offered us menus. We pointed to what we wanted for lunch. She wrote the price in the sand. We nodded and the deal was struck. She worked hard for the money, that lady. Whenever she saw anyone coming from way down yonder she’d rush out and yell, “Please come in!” I’m fairly certain it was the only English phrase she knew, and she used it with gusto. Sure enough, she was able to hook a few other fish on her line.
That afternoon was absolute heaven. Reading, swimming, drinking from a chilled coconut, reading, swimming, eating banh mi, reading, swimming, what’s that dark cloud on the horizon…?
“Katie, look.” I pointed to the northeast where an ominous sky was quickly stealing daylight. The air was turning cool, the breeze picking up. A storm was bearing down on us.
Quick as a flash we packed up our bags and gave our new friend a big tip before rushing to our bicycles. Would we make it back before the storm hit? We didn’t know. All we could do was peddle and pray.
As we pushed forward the wind pressed at our backs. I’m not sure if it was irony or luck that the first comfortable temperatures in all of South East Asia were happening while we worked up a sweat! The first drops of rain landed as our hotel came into sight. We peeled out, parked our bikes, and rushed to our room as a deluge came crashing down. Thunder cracked overhead like a heavenly whip, shaking the building. We lay on our beds panting and laughing, thrilled to have won the race.
We had grand plans to visit a temple on our final day in Hoi An, but wouldn’t you know it, we somehow found ourselves strolling down An Bang Beach once more, listening for a frantic voice shouting about police coming.
She gave us hugs when we arrived, like old friends.
