Greetings from the historic town of Hoi An, the unofficial home of custom made clothing.

Our bus terminated seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It was mid-afternoon, that kind of sticky hot that makes every slight movement an effort, and there was not a lot in sight structurally besides what we were led to believe was the towns bus station (a desk with a bored looking man sat behind it in an empty rectangular room around the size of a garage, outside of which sat a few other bored looking men). Beyond that there were dusty brown streets strewn with plenty of local men, smiling broadly and offering forth their services and that of their beloved scooters. The thought of the two of us, plus the driver, plus our bags, on the back of a small scooter wasn’t a thrilling proposition however, although I’m certain the driver would not have seen a problem and indeed pulled it off somehow.

We eventually negotiated a reasonable fare with a taxi driver that we managed to flag down and headed around 10 minutes or so back towards what looked like the actual town and The Duy Hung Hotel.

The area was ok. Even more quiet than Hue, and complimented by an evidently relaxed feel. The hotel was situated a short 5 minute walk from the historic old town but even here there were tailors shops spread out along the road along with a few street stalls offering up cheap Pho (noodle soup) and other local dishes.

After checking in we headed out and took a walk down to the old town, through its narrow lanes and passageways that offered a glimpse at what Vietnam may have looked like a hundred years ago. The main reason we had come here - as with so many others if the sheer number of foreigners is anything to go by - was the tailors shops and the opportunity to purchase some custom made, fitted clothes at affordable prices.

We were roaming from shop to shop, with one of the delicious coconut doughnuts from the many stalls in hand when the rain started. Again. The condom suits were to hand this time though but we still decided to made a hasty retreat to the shelter of the hotel.

Mainly due to the rain we hadn’t bothered going out for anything to eat so it was decided a little later that I would go out and find some kind of takeaway to bring back to the room. Id like to say it was a joint decision but id be lying. I didn’t bother changing and headed out in what are effectively my bed shorts and a coat. I concluded the walk to the old town without coming across anything resembling takeaway food when again, typically, came the rain. Just when I was far enough away from the hotel to get a proper soaking I may add. A soaking is exactly what I got as well as a few groups of Japanese tourists passed me, beneath brollies and poncho’s, grinning at the soaked and miserable looking European, strangely wearing bed shorts and marching through town with an insane look in his eyes.

I was damned if I was getting wet for nothing. Food would be found now at any cost, if only to at least give me some kind of satisfaction to cling on to. I walked along the main road. Nothing. I tried the back streets in both directions. Still nothing. Not even the coconut doughnut women (even she wasn’t stupid enough to be out in this weather). As the clock approached 9pm and the closing down of many of the shops and restaurants I remembered the one place I had seen on route - a young fellow selling chicken Pho from the street corner up the road from the hotel - and headed back there as a desperate, final resort.

Yep. He was gone as well.

So, to recap, I’ve spent around 40 minutes wondering the streets in my bed shorts, in monsoon conditions - much to the amusement of many a smug looking Japanese tourist - with the sole aim of finding food. Nice food. Hot food. Any food. And now everything was either closed or in the process of closing.

After admitting defeat I rather depressingly purchased the only thing left on offer and went back to the hotel, sodden and frankly un-amused.

For dinner that evening we had a Snickers each and half of a small tube of original flavour Pringles.

The following morning the rain seemed to have given way for the time being so we headed back to town and one of the tailors shops in particular that we had visited the day before. I had decided to have a coat made based on the fact that I didn’t actually own one at all and the cost of having one custom fitted and made - within 36 hours - was around 20GBP. You choose your own design, either from a host of Next catalogues that they all have in stock, or from any picture that you have located yourself, and then go from there, choosing the material, colour and any changes you would like if any, from the original design. If you have a good solid idea of what it is you want then this place is perfect. The place of many a female fantasy if ever there was one.

Unfortunately for us we didn’t have a good solid idea of what we wanted. It was all a bit flaky to be honest although I did finally make a decision. Aimee on the other hand took another 24 hours before deciding on having what I am reliably informed is a full length ‘wrap-around’ dress made up. As dresses go, I think it’s a good one.

After placing our orders with the ever smiling girls at the shop we carried on through the old town towards the main site of the area, the Japanese covered bridge. Built in 1593 the bridge looks every bit its age, with the old looking dark wood and traditional Japanese designs, although is in remarkably good condition. The bridge itself is very short in length and has a strange stone statue of a dog at one end and an equally odd looking monkey at the other. The story goes that construction of the bridge was commenced in the year of the monkey and completed in the year of the dog, hence the strange statues to mark these dates.

After taking a few pictures and cunningly avoiding the woman checking the tickets (apparently you have to pay, although this is not always enforced) we continued across the river to explore the other side. That was the plan anyway, but that was before we spotted a sign at the very first café at the other side of the bridge that read:

“Fresh Draft Beer 4000VND”

That is roughly 14p. This was a new record low and an occasion not to be passed up lightly.

The beer was nice and surprisingly strong, arriving in what we refer to at home as a ‘Seth Mug‘ (basically a beer glass with a handle). We sipped at the beers overlooking the river front, watching the variety of people going about their day. Tourists wandering from shop to shop, or browsing the many menus in search of food. The locals in their fishing boats in the river or hawking along the river front selling everything from local newspapers to tubs of Vaseline and tiger balm.

After what seemed like a good while we paid the hefty bill of around 28p and headed back across the river.

During the course of our wandering around the town we had passed a couple of book shops and so, with a couple of our completed books to hand we headed into one with the idea of swapping them. One thing you will notice about books in Vietnam is that they are pretty much all copies. Fakes. Literally photocopied from the one rare original that they came across, most likely from a tourist. Not that you should be at all surprised in the counterfeit country of the world.

Anyway, we had a look around and eventually Aimee located a book that she wanted (Twilight). It was a photocopy. Not the best either, but readable. We then approached the podgy, greasy looking woman who ran the shop and told her that we would like to exchange our two books (originals I might add) for her (photocopied) Twilight. We expected it to be a formality. She was getting the better end of the deal here.

“120,000”. Stated the podgy woman after thoroughly scrutinising our books.

“Pardon?”. I replied, confused.

“The book is 180, minus 60 is 120”. Came the flat reply after indicating to us on the calculator.

“I’m sorry, so your giving me 60,000 for these TWO originals and you still want 120,000 on top of them in exchange for this?” I said in the best astonished tone I could muster.

A nod of the head from the podgy woman.

“That’s 4 English pounds, for a book that only costs 7 brand new in addition to the two books that you would be gaining - and this is a photocopy”.

“This is new”.

“It’s a new photocopy. Ok, 50,000. And that’s still robbery”.

“120”. once again came the flat reply as the podgy woman shook her greedy head.

After a lengthy discussion on the difference between a new book and a photocopy we left the shop along with our two books and minus the photocopied Twilight. That was the same treatment that we were confronted with at the other bookshop in town. They should all be decked out in masks and stripy jumpers. Seriously though, the tourists that come here must be complete mugs if they are paying these prices for photocopied books, and they must be. Someone must be for the shop owners to be so unwilling to negotiate.

Along with the fading daylight we headed out of town, deciding to try one of the guidebooks recommended local restaurants for dinner. It happened to be just around the corner from our hotel and for the record, was called Truc Vien. The guidebook claimed that the elderly lady who cooked there was the proud creator of fantastic Pho and Cao Lau dishes in particular.

Its not the most enticing place to look at as you approach, but then some of the best places never seem to be, do they. We ordered a small feast, including Pho Bo and grilled squid. All for no more than a couple of pounds including drinks.

As we sat out the front of the restaurant we could see the little old lady hard at it in the kitchen at the far end of the indoor area, lovingly preparing the delights that were to follow.

The younger man (who we believed to be the old ladies son) placed the dishes on the table in front of us a short while later. He was quickly followed by the cute little old lady herself as she then swiftly and instinctively instructed us how each dish should be eaten for maximum taste. She then just stood and watched, with a big smile on her wrinkled face, waiting to see our reaction as we took the first bites. It was a little unnerving to be honest, seeing her stood there in front of us but well, we carried on, happy to humour her but at the same time praying that we didn’t throw up over the table. Please be nice. Please be nice.

We needn’t have worried. It was divine. I can honestly say that the portion of grilled squid I had there was the nicest squid I have ever tasted. Possibly the nicest in the world. Ever. From the perfectly cooked texture of the squid itself to the simple accompaniment of fresh lime and a salt and pepper mix. The Pho meanwhile was simply a work of genius. Words cannot describe the wonders contained within that broth. A broth created by the fair hands of the small sweet little old lady with the huge smile from the Truc Vien restaurant in Hoi An. As we both tucked in for the first time her smile seemed to expand to the point where it filled her entire face. It was obvious that she was immensely proud of her food. I felt honoured to eat it. To be in her presence. The presence of greatness.

A short while later her granddaughter wandered in to see her. I felt immediately jealous. This child could have all the Pho and grilled squid she wanted. Damn you child.

What is it with grandmas and cooking though? Is there some kind of sub-human ability to cook that only afflicts a woman at the point of becoming a grandma?

Whatever it is, If you ever find yourself in Hoi An and in search of food, make a visit to Truc Vien and this particular grandma your priority. You shall not regret it.

We actually visited Truc Vien twice more before we left Hoi An. By the end of our final visit the old lady was hugging us and asking when we would be back. I wished she did deliveries. International ones.

We booked ourselves onto a sleeper bus from Hoi An to Nha Trang that left in the early evening, arriving at 6:30 the following morning. As we boarded the bus outside the Duy Hung hotel we immediately realised that this would most definitely not be a comfortable night. Unlike the sleeper train, in which you had a horizontal bed, on here you had what can only be described as bunk bed dentists chairs. Leather and everything, with that kind of plastic cover that they all seem to have at the head to protect it from sweat or something. You also had little compartments in which to store your shoes or bags. Unfortunately the compartment of the person in front of you was also where your feet were supposed to go as you lay down, so if you were more than 4 feet tall, you were, well, screwed.

After settling into our dentist chairs - which were situated next to the on board toilet - we set off towards the seaside town of Nha Trang. Our lives offered into the hands of a Vietnamese bus driver once again…