Hoi An Tailor

August 8th - 10th

We had high expectations for Hoi An, a French-Vietnamese colonial port city, before we arrived. This was mostly because everyone we met on our trip who had been there loved it. We knew it was supposed to be “traveler’s porn”, as another traveler described it, with a historic town center made up of charming mustard yellow buildings, ornate roofing and cheerful bougainvillea. It also is known for the predominance of tailor shops that you could have a custom made silk suit made for under $200. We were not disappointed.

Since our hotel, The Sunflower, had a swimming pool and lounge chairs, we decided to spend our first morning lazing about; a decision made easier by the lazy feeling we had after eating at the sizeable buffet breakfast we got free with our room. Our next order of business was to meet with a tailor to have some suits made for Pearce. I was hesitant about spending money on having clothes made for either one of us because there are plenty of bad tailors amongst the good, but since Gordon had already vetted the shop, called # 09, I felt much more confident. Especially since Katelyn teaches home economics and gave her stamp of approval.

We entered the shop through an open front room which has a sampling of the clothes they can make hung on the walls and on mannequins. When they realized we were serious shoppers we were brought to the back of the shop which consisted of two rooms, each covered floor to ceiling with bolts of different types of fabric. We were implored to sit at a small table, given bottles of cold water, cooled with fans and generally made as comfortable as possible before getting down to business.  The three women who worked there hovered uncomfortably close and made commentary as we tried to make our way through tomes of clothing catalogs.

The head tailor was a take-charge woman who was a master of the art of sales. In our discussions of what Pearce should have made, the types of materials, etc. her favorite phrase to say over and over again, was “why not?” Should we get the more expensive liner?…why not?! Should we buy four more shirts?…why not? You get the picture. Pearce and I try to use this expression whenever possible now.  This existential argument was peppered with complements such as “You sexy man!,” “you very beautiful,” and “you look good in that too.”  Pearce was first fitted for dark blue suit with pin stripes and was convinced to get another suit of gray.  We threw in some fitted shirts and would have to come back in two days for the final adjustments.  As for me, it would have been very easy for me to provide a few pictures from the internet/magazines, but I declined getting any clothes made as I didn’t have a real need being a masters student.

After suiting Pearce up we were lead next door to the cobbler, who was affiliated with the tailor. Where we were again ceremoniously led to a table and deluged with a ton of “designer” books. After some urging from Pearce, I picked out a hip pair of deep brown leather ankle boots and promised that they would look exactly like the picture; unlike the suits, this was not exactly true –they were leather and they were shoes but that is as far as the comparison goes. Even so, it was a fun experience and I can officially say I was cobbled.

Leaving the designer world behind, Pearce and I strolled deep into the Old Town, looking at the traditional (tourist) lanterns and orange clay figurines as we passed. The Old Town is a rare place in Vietnam with much of the French Colonial architecture, we only glimpsed in Hanoi, preserved with low and long row houses painted with good restoration.  It was also much quieter than Hanoi as the streets were restricted to motorbikes and sometimes only pedestrians.  This led to one of more memorable, peaceful and beautiful strolls we have had in Asia. Crossing over the Thu Bon River we entered a peninsula called An Hoi, which shifted from tourist-centric to glimpses of real-life Vietnam: children playing soccer, a man meticulously cleaning his rooster with the care you would treat an infant, and people and scooters piled high on boats headed home for the day.

Serendipitously we found a row of very cute food stalls, each named after their proprietor i.e. Mr. Bang. We ordered two delicious bowls of Cao Lau, a Hoi An specialty consisting of thick noodles, pork slices in broth and fresh herbs. It is topped with crush fried wonton and optional homemade chili sauce for heat.  It was there we have a little dog redemption: there was the tiniest of puppies playing the in area adjacent and we played with him. (no harm came to him.)

After dinner we strolled back towards the river near sunset and found a small café that over looked a small street and the bank of the river. The café was a nice French place where we splurged and bought ourselves a bottle of red wine. The whole scene with the gentle breeze, the partly cloudy sky with one of the those rare pink and violet sunsets, the wine and of course the company made for one of those unforgettable moments in life.

Refreshed with a wine induced slumber, we spent the majority of the next day checking in on the results of the cobbled shoes (epic fail) and strolling through the Old Town and milling about through the infinite shops with their wooden carvings, lanterns, paintings and even bought about ten silk ties at $2 per tie to go with all this suit buying.  We ate at a place called the Bobo Café for its choice of name (Bobo being one of our shameful couples’ nicknames) and had some more traditional and local fare: Banh Xeo, shrimp and pork savory pancakes and a curry dish.  We spent of of time here with the WiFi and caught up.

Later in the afternoon we made our way to an island across the river called Cam Nam.  We were searching for a famed bar called Sleepy Gecko.  After a little hunting down barren and muddy roads we found the oasis twinkling with lettered lights promising good times as reward for happy hunting.  It is a place known for its good and familiar service, as we are suckers for a places with named and known owners especially when their name is Steve. (see Allyson’s father, Pearce’s uncle and a bar in Pearce’s birthplace St. Simon’s Island called Poor Steve’s)  We arrived early as is our habit as the youngest, old people you will ever know.  We thought the hour was the reason we found the place empty save for the bartender and ourselves.  The personal service was welcome as the Aussie bartender was friendly and fun and even let us “sample” the local rum twice.  It was delicious as was the very cold beer and Irish whiskey.  We made use of our drinking and made several surprisingly coherent travel decisions and reservations, securing travel and board all the way down our itinerary to Bangkok.  There was a well timed torrential downpour we watched comfortably from the second floor covered balcony that probably prevented any one else coming to the bar.  We ended up closing the place down as the titular Steve politely asked us to leave.  Not as old as we thought!

We walked through a night market that was shutting down for the night and otherwise the place was very empty and quiet.  We found another inebriated couple who happened to stay at the same place and caught one of our few cabs we have used in Asia.  The next day we had an expected late start but went to the tailor to get the adjustments on the suits.  The fits were perfect the quality good to our untrained eyes.  This led to some more shirt orders and many happy exchanges between us and the employees.  We had to ship the suits and some of the purchases, including gifts, we have accumulated back to the States.  We went to the hotel because they had claimed that the people from the post office would come to the hotel and would do everything for us: boxing, packing, wrapping and delivery.  We were a little suspicious of this given our reference of the U.S. postal service, our natural traveller’s paranoia and the presence of many scams in Vietnam.  But darn it if they didn’t come and do exactly that with all evidence of legitimacy and efficiency.  They packed our things far better than we would ever had and there was no service charge.  As we learned later this is done because the official post office has to compete with the other third party outfits.  Fascinating. 

With our things being shipped, we had a quiet night and packed up ourselves for our travels to the beach town of Nha Trang in Southern Vietnam.  We had arranged a sleeper bus…