Hoi An, Vietnam

Taught never to overstay her welcome, it was time for Vietnamee Mommy to hand back her babies and hit the road.

tell her what she’s won, Diane!

To beautiful and sunny HOI AN, VIETNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!!!  Twelve days, eleven nights, tucked away in the charming Tra Que Vegetable Village……… where she’ll enjoy a double bed, her OWN toilet, and most importantly, wind through her hair as she bikes to work on a BRAND NEW BEAAACH CRUUUISERRRRR!!!!!

Hoi An, Vietnam: next stop on the world tour.  Known for custom tailoring, hanging lanterns and an 18^th century Japanese covered bridge.  The once-vibrant spice-trading port still oozes old-world appeal, with tourists flocking to Ancient Town to snatch up a custom-made blazer (from one of the 400+ tailors standing by), take a sweet pic in front ‘a some hanging lanterns (that are on every street cuz they bring luck, happiness & wealth), or cruise the Thu Bon River with a fishing pole.

You can suntan in a basket boat on An Bang Beach or take a cooking class & learn how to make banh xeo rice pancakes in a local herb garden……… you can crack open an ice cold, 65-cent LaRue while strolling through the Night Market or try to understand the plot of a water puppet show (as the narrator puppet screams Vietnamese phrases and looks like a shirtless Mickey Rooney with pigtails).  Culture-rich, budget-friendly, and hallelujah, the tank tops in my backpack make sense again.

vietnamese fishermen paint eyes on their boats so they can see (and catch) more fish

it’s unlucky for a woman to touch a newly-built boat before a man christens it

banh xeo rice pancakes are divine

basket boats and patriotism

On the hunt for oddball adventures, my time in Hoi An was spent working at Jack’s Cat Café – a cat sanctuary doubling as a hip café, allowing patrons to pet kitties while they enjoy egg salad sandwiches.  Home to 70 cats, Jack’s Cat Café:  1. Rescues cats off the street, 2. Provides medical care to sick kitties, 3. Finds adoptive homes for them, and 4. Educates the public about the harsh realities of cat abductions and the cat meat trade.  The first of its kind in Central Vietnam, Jack’s is trying to spread the word that cats are friends.  Not food.

think carefully about what you say next

Now, I’ve never been a cat person.  I’ve never OWNED a cat or had a strong BOND with cats.  Maybe it’s because my sister’s black cat likes to crawl on my chest while I’m sleeping……… and burn holes in my eyelids with his devil-stare, as he waits, silently, for the moment he’ll get to scratch my eyes out.

I don’t DISLIKE them.  I just don’t UNDERSTAND them.  Do you love me?  Do you hate me?  Do you want to cuddle…… or kill me?  Do you want me to pick you up or leave you alone?  Do you want to be the center of attention or do you want to hide in that cardboard box for three days and pretend I don’t exist?  What are the rules for eye contact?  How do I show my affection?  How do I know when to enter a room?  Am I not popular enough?  Am I offending you?

In order to answer these hard-hitting questions, I knew I needed to live amongst them.  To volunteer my services at a cat café, to study their behaviors, and to learn what makes them tick (as I dished out coconut curry tofu wraps to the paying customers, in between shifts of mopping and painting).

Here’s what I learned from my time there:

1.  I can do ANY task if there’s good music playing. Cleaning, scrubbing, mopping, spraying, wiping, sweeping, gagging, rinsing……… all to the smooth tunes of yesteryear.
2.  A freshly-squeezed fruit juice should garner MUCH more applause. Do you know how much effort and elbow grease goes into ONE 12oz glass of orange juice?
3.  A Vietnamese iced coffee (my drink of choice for 4 straight weeks in Vietnam) is made with 1-2 fingers of thick, condensed milk that looks more like milk ICING than actual milk. I might have to reassess my daily intake.  Or not.
4.  Painting is not as romantic as the movies make it out to be. It’s always newlyweds, painting their first home together, BOOPING each other’s noses with paintbrushes before having sex on the dining room rug (after a chase through the house).  Which is why I never thought my first painting experience would be white-washing the spare bathroom of a Vietnamese cat café, while 5-7 cats judged my technique.
5.  I. LOVE. SERVING. CUSTOMERS. (But I have little to no serving experience.)  One of my work-study jobs in college was a barista in the engineering building (where yours truly accidentally pumped an extra shot ‘a vanilla on more than one person’s pants) and I luuuuurved it.  Mostly because my very Philadelphian mentor, Brenda Tribiani, taught me that dipping a Philadelphia soft pretzel in Philadelphia cream cheese was the most delicious treat……… and because I got to escort the uneaten pastries and sandwiches, across campus, in a three-wheeled garbage truck.

if only you were street legal.  swoon.

Those ten-minute, three-wheeled transports were the highlight of my LIFE.  Every day, crouched in that truck majestic carriage.  Every day, desperately wanting someone, ANYONE, to see me.  Until finally.  One day.  My roommate Jacquie was walking through the quad and spotted me.  I thrust my entire arm out the window, swooping it back & forth with the intensity of a window washer on a deadline………… and she did not wave back.  She did not make ANY indication that she knew me because and I quote, she was ‘embarrassed FOR me’.  hahahaha  Omg that still makes me laugh out loud.

Sorry, where I was?  Ah yes, lessons learned.  You might’ve noticed I didn’t mention cats.  Not even one time………… and that was intentional because I didn’t learn a DAMN THING.  After infiltrating their lair for almost 2 weeks, I learned absolutely NOTHING about cats.  Just that they’re weird.  And don’t pose for pictures.  And do whatever the f*ck they want to do.

Like flop on the ground, fold two legs behind their head, and lick their privates while we have company.  Like stand in a group, stare at a wall for hours on end, and glare at anyone who questions them.  Like sit on a laundry machine, or a cereal box, or an air conditioner four inches from the ceiling.  Like jump on my back, curl in a ball, and fall fast asleep right in the middle of afternoon cleaning……

i like to dress like a blueberry when i clean

what do you two know that i don’t know?

don’t look at the clock, look at me.  LOOK AT ME, JANET.

Thanks Emma, Rachel, and the entire team over at Jack’s Cat Café – keep fighting the good fight and keep up the tireless (and thankless) work of caring for those cool cats.  Like Maddie and Tony and Luke and Thumper.  And Freya, Ming, Jam, Coco, Chili, Poop, Creeper, Indie, Crouchy, Scooter, Grey (or Hitler), Caligula, Rollie, Weird Uncle Indie, Ella, Miu, Little Legs, Layla, Dracula, Flip Flop, Pongo (or Stevie Wonder), and all the other ones I called ‘cutie’.  (Side note: Pongo was the only one who didn’t judge my painting abilities.)

i’m the captain now.

back away.  and turn around.  ps. you missed a spot.

During my free time, I enjoyed all that Hoi An had to offer.  I booked a free bike tour through the Kim Bong Carpentry Village (we watched local carpenters make boats!), the Cam Kim Village (we learned how to make rice noodles!) & the Duy Vinh Village (we helped make colorful sleeping mats!); I orchestrated my very own banh mi sandwich crawl to compare the three top spots in town; I ate com ga (chicken rice), cao lau (noodles with pork & mint, soaked in ancient well-water) & white rose dumplings; and I picked two local tailors (with outstanding reviews) to not only make me fun, patterned items for a fraction of the cost, but to give their honest opinions about my fashion choices.

Hoi An is a true shopper’s paradise EVEN for the anti-shopper.  (Too many options overwhelm me, I’m indecisive, and I need Anthropology to tell me if something’s fashionable……… or at least a forceful friend to tell me THIS is cute.  THIS is your size.  Try THIS on.  Buy THIS.)  Which is why Kimmy & Maya Design were perfect shopping experiences for me.  Neither held back on telling me a fabric ‘make me look bad’ and neither budged on the price.

‘The price is the price’ is music to my ears because I’m the worst negotiator of anyone I know.  ZERO negotiating power.  Zilch.  (‘Lower price?  No?  OK thanks.’)  Last year at the open-air Maasai Market in Nairobi, my friends were negotiating FOR me (because they know me……… and they’re good friends).  I lost them for TEN MINUTES and came back with five birdhouses.  What!?  How does that even happen!?

no one knows

My un-banh-lievable banh mi crawl(s) to Phi Banh Mi, Madam Khanh: The Banh Mi Queen, and Banh Mi Phuong (Anthony Bourdain’s favorite banh mi in all of Vietnam), hailed one clear winner.  One sandwich with the boldest flavor, the freshest bread, and the perfect aftertaste of heat.  That, my friends, was Banh Mi Phuong.

It took me six sandwiches (I did the crawl twice in the name of science) to pick the one that Anthony Bourdain already recommended.  But for $2.64 a crawl (88-cent sammies), thankfully it didn’t break the bank.  Only the new waistband of my dress……

come to momma

Wanting to feel like a lady after all that roasted pork & pâté, I booked a spa package at Hoi An Day Spa.  Mani, pedi, massage, facial = the WORKS.  I wanted to treat myself for no reason in particular.

The only customer in the 2-story building on a Saturday afternoon, I received five-star attention from the entire staff.  The manager gave me restaurant advice (where to go for the best com ga!) while my pedicurist kept shifting positions to get a good angle on my calluses.  My manicure couldn’t have come at a better time, as I had a superglue incident the day before.

I tried to superglue the frame of my new(ish) Hong Kong RayBans (because the frame cracked in half) ……… and ended up supergluing four of my fingers together (without managing to get any superglue onto the glasses).

But that’s neither here nor there.  EYE was headed upstairs for my first-ever hot stone massage.

I thought it was odd that we started with the mani/pedi before the massage, but who am I to judge?  My suspicions were confirmed when my middle-aged masseuse, Maxelle, grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and lifted it over my head.  UP-SEE DAISY!  Then she did the same with my SPORTS BRA as I lifted my arms and thanked her for her service.

I’m just thankful she didn’t pull down my pants because I ran out of underwear three days ago and my homestay is taking their sweet time with laundry.

Have you ever gotten a hot stone massage?  I had no idea what to expect.  It started off with a very long back, arm & leg massage with oil (where her fingers didn’t feel like fingers 80% of the time – more like that tilt-a-whirl carnival ride where everyone vomits, but you know, nice as a kneading massage if that makes sense).  Then hot stones were rubbed all over & placed neatly on my body for safekeeping (including my entire chest – neck to belly button.  ‘Hello boobs, this is Maxelle.  Maxelle, my boobs.’).

Then it was more massage, more stones, back massage, shoulder massage, neck massage, EYEbrow massage, FOREhead massage, EARlobe massage, followed by a pressure-scratch scalp massage.  (The only thing missing was my Dad’s infamous sideburn massage that makes me pee my pants.)

It felt like I was up there for-evvvvverrrrrrrr.  A never-ending torrent of facial & head massages (the chin massage was ok, so long as she didn’t dip down into the chin undercarriage where my dou-blay sleeps) that flowed seamlessly into my European facial.  Have I never had a facial either?  I guess not because nothing seemed familiar.  Smooth stuff and grainy stuff and stuff that smelled like my Mom’s night cream……… then blasted by a gurgling clothes steamer, face-painted with a child size brush (‘Maxelle, are you about to chase me through the house?!’), and then suction-cupped with this fancy pen (no doubt one of those 5-year work anniversary pens that you never use cuz they’re too fancy).

After 10-20 more eyebrow and earlobe massages, Maxelle motioned that the ride was over, and it was time for me to put my arms through the two arm holes she had made in my sports bra.  Thank you so much, Maxelle, I’ll take it from hee……… no?  You want to pull it down, adjust the straps and help me straighten it??  Thankyousomuch.  Two thumbs up for thoroughness.  (Or rather, two arms up cuz hereeeee comessss my shirt!)

A quick glance at my cell phone confirmed that it had been 4.5 hours since I arrived at the spa.  But wait!  My $43 package came with a free shampoo and blowout!  20 minutes later, after an 18-minute scalp massage and 2-minute shampoo, Maxelle brushed a happy meal toy-sized knot out of my hair and we laaaaaughed.  Then she dried my hair for a full three seconds before the hairdryer caught fire and Maxelle could NOT stop laughing through the fumes.

Welp, that’s my cue to leave!  Thanks for everything, Maxelle!

SUCH a good one.  profiiiiiiiiile piiiiiiiiiic!!!!!

OK, I know this post is too long (like every post on this blog, ha!) but I’ve gotta tell you about one more thing.  My last. Night. In Hoi An.  And coincidentally, the first & only night I’ve gotten drunk this year.

You see, earlier in the week, I met a couple from LOGAN SQUARE (non-Chicagoans: that’s a 10-min drive from my old apt) and after biking with them through remote villages, I felt like I’d known them for yearsssss.  Like my friends from home were here with me.  (Allison & Kevin- you complete me……… and you better let me in when I bang down your door, back in Chicago, because we’re hanging out whether you like it or not.)

I met the Chicago connection for a few beverages (and dazzling conversation) in Ancient Town, before taking them to meet the rest of my coworkers from the cat café at Cham Island Diving Center (nicknamed ‘Dive Bar’, specializing in strong cocktails & classic rock).  After a couple mango mojitos and almost-free LaRue’s, Selma and I were handed flyers that read ‘Why Not Bar: Free Cocktails’.

Sooooooooo, Why Not then??  Who knows how long Selma (my favorite 19-year-old Danish coworker) and I were sipping on those college-party-bathtub cocktails before the helium guy walked in.  The Helium Guy in Hoi An can be compared to the Tamale Guy in Chicago.  He only comes out at night……… you never know if he’ll come to YOUR party……… and the specialty he’s slinging is catered to drunk people.  In Chicago, tamales.  In Hoi An, $1 birthday balloons.

Someone said it was helium (but our voices didn’t sound like Cinderella’s seamstresses).  Someone said it laughing gas (but we weren’t laughing).  God knows what was in those $1 balloons because for one, whole minute, Selma & I altered our perceptions of space and time.

I walked Selma back to her hostel around 4am to make sure she got home safely, and that’s where things got confusing.  We made it through the hostel gate, but then Selma sat down in the hostel stairwell and refused to tell me which room was hers for a very long time.  Determined to get her into a room and off my conscience, I patiently waited while she took artsy selfies………… as well as pics & videos of ME, after I’d fallen asleep standing, waiting for her to tell me WHICH ROOM WAS HERS.

That is how I spent my last hours in Hoi An, Vietnam.  As the lead actor in a documentary (her words) exploring the age-old question on everyone’s minds: ‘is it a water buffalo……… or is it a woman?’

this takes years of practice

and the determination of ten men

i’ll wait all night if i have to

sorry to my family

you can watch clips of the acclaimed documentary on my instagram @shegone.girl

love you, lady.  and your 4am stairwell photo shoots.

(don’t forget to send me the info for that woodworking workshop!  xoxo)