Reelin' In The Years

February 29th
Hoi An

Aside from the history and quaint beauty, people visit Hoi An for one reason: to have clothes made. In addition to leaving architecture and wontons, the Chinese left expert tailors to go along with the fine silks that were once Hoi An's prime export. You can't walk 3 feet without passing a tailor and the inevitable cat call "laydeee you buy suit." As I've done my research, I came prepared with a couple of pages torn from Vogue's spring preview in hopes of a custom Lanvin silk knockoff, among other things.

My first stop was BiBi Tailor, which both Lonely Planet and Rough Guide report as being reliable and solid. I found it, but decided this was not the place that was gonna make the best copies, mainly because I didn't like their silk prints. I did, however, find a few nice cottons and linens, so I got measured up and ordered 4 dresses. This whole process took awhile, and the inevitable questions started popping up. Where you from? You have boyfriend? How old are you? With my answer to that last question, a look of horror passed across the girl's face, and she had to call her friend over to share the breaking newsflash that I was indeed 34 and also unmarried. She then told me I looked much younger and started combing my hair. I left thinking I got a compliment and hoped she wouldn't alter my dresses to be more matronly.

My guest house recommended a second tailor, and this was the spot for my knockoffs. The staff was a bit more professional and their silks were finer. The young lady doing my fitting spoke better English, so I hoped I was getting what I ordered, which was 2 dresses. She also told me I "no look so old," as she noticed my nailpolish was chipped. She recommended that I go see her friend at the salon. Sounded like a fine idea to me, maybe it would take off a few years.

The nail girl was nice and really wanted to practice her English, so we chatted a bit. Where was I traveling, why was I alone, did I have clothes made, where was I staying. She saved the big question for last. "How old are you," she asked. "34." She paused, like I had just told her she had cancer. Then she let out a high pitched squeal, "No! YOU OLD LAYDEEEEE!!!!!" The banana cart lady outside popped her head in to see what the commotion was all about. They exchanged some words in Vietnamese and the banana lady stepped in to get a closer look, and confirm it for herself. I was happy my polish was nearly dry so I could get the hell out of there.

The next day, defying reason, I rented a bike and decided to ride the 4KM out to the beach. I have not been on a bicycle in 4 or 5 years. It was a straight, flat ride out to Cu Dai beach, so I figured it would be okay. And it was. The ride back was a different story. It was rush hour (if you can call it that. nobody rushes to do anything here.) and the streets were busy. My rusty riding skills and ancient bicycle were no match for for the thousands of motorbikes that surrounded me. I didn't fall, but after stopping at a red light and getting beeped at from the left by a bus and from the right and behind by several motorbikes, I almost fell. I also almost plowed into another cyclist who came out of nowhere. She was 4 and had her 2 brothers on the bike. Nobody yells here, but they certainly were shooting me dirty looks from beneath their face masks. Then a bus came whizzing by and I got caught in its slipstream and almost ate it again. I got off the bike and walked it the last kilometer back to my hotel, pedals and chain knocking against my legs the whole way. I arrived greasy and bruised, feeling every bit of my old age.