Hoi An Custom Couture

Hoi An is one of those places you kind of love, kind of hate. I don’t usually like to complain that a place is too touristy. After all, I’m there, aren’t I, and why do I think I get to hog a good thing all to myself and not share with other outsiders? But Hoi An takes touristiness over the top. By all accounts, it could be a delightful little city. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site with historic old buildings and shophouses, all painted yellow, many punctuated by colorful flowers out front. The streets are lined by rivers and criss-crossed by bright lanterns. The shophouses are filled with stores selling trinkets to tourists, restaurants, and tailors. Sounds good, right? Well, the problem is that the locals took a good thing and ran out of control with it. Who’s to blame them, really, because the tourists were eating up what was on offer. Hoi An became known as the little town in Vietnam where you could get a custom wardrobe tailor made to your exact measurements for rock bottom prices. Where there was once a few tailors, there is now over 600 tailors, all asking you as you walk by to buy something, come into my shop, you want dress? You want suit? I can make you anything, very cheap! No time? No problem. The Hoi An tailors can turn around a entire men’s suit, with a shirt and tie to match, from scratch in less than 24 hours.

As you can imagine, out of the 600+ tailors, some are very good, some are very bad, and many are average. Sure, there are “couture” like deals to be had, but the reality is, whether you show them a picture or not, most of what they’re churning out is replicas of standard patterns.

Nevertheless, if you’re a fan of clothes and shopping, you’ve been wearing the same four outfits for almost a year, and you’ve got nightmares of job interviews dancing around your subconsciousness, you start thinking it would be kinda fun to get in on the action. So I did.

I had a custom suit tailored at B’Lan, modeled roughly after a JCrew picture I grabbed on the internet the night before. I debated about going to Yaly Couture, the shop in town with the best reputation for suits and with the highest prices, but I fell in love with a grey pinstripe Super 110 wool at B’Lan. The first take was not good. The pants, despite being measured rather extensively, could not even be zipped. And the jacket? Well, let’s just say whoever sewed the jacket must have been watching Star Trek the night before. After I got them to majorly tone down the shoulders and majorly widen the pants, the second take was better. All in all, I probably had seven fittings to get it right.

In the end, there are things I don’t love about the suit. You need to be very precise in what you want, right down to every little pintuck and button. For example, I paid more to have the suit lined. What I ended up with was a lined jacket and unlined pants. The response of the sales representative at B’Lan was that suit pants are always unlined. Since I have lined suit pants at home, I know that’s not true. Maybe in Asia, but not as a general rule. Plus when they offered me the lining option, they never specified it was for the pants. Then again, I never specified it was for both the pants and jacket. So there you go. They begrudgingly offered to remake the pants for a reduced fee, but in the end, I didn’t want to sink any more money into the suit. The pants are also a little straighter than I envisioned, but I realized I probably didn’t communicate what I wanted in a clear enough fashion. The sample suits I saw at Yaly look a little more finished, but overall, the fabric is nice and the suit is cheaper than what I’d pay at JCrew. The real test will be whether it holds up over time. We’ll see – right now it is still enroute from Vietnam to Pittsburgh. Hopefully it will get home in time for job interviews. Oh God I just threw up in my mouth a little.

I also had a casual dress made at a little shop I wandered by. The name of the shop is something like Hieu Vai Gia Dinh Family Cloth Shop. Many of the dresses on display in town are similar and rather flimsy, but I liked the fabric in the window. From a catalog of dress patterns, the tailor and I designed the dress based upon parts of patterns I liked. She whipped it up, with a lining, in something like 12 hours’ time. One set of tweaks, and it was good to go. I really love the dress and it was fun to design something from scratch without making a major investment.

Despite the tailors’ best efforts, Sean never gave into having a suit made, although he wavered once or twice. They were trying to sell to the wrong man; he already has a suit, and he wears the same suit to wedding, funerals, job interviews, and my old firm’s holiday parties. But he did end up having a suit made, albeit of a much different variety. I may have mentioned before Sean is obsessed with keeping our packs light, even to the point of recording our bags’ weights on his Ipod at the airlines’ weigh ins. He is so obsessed, he insisted upon using a pair of his shorts as his swim trunks. This worked fine when we were only visiting beaches now and again, but with a month of straight beach time coming up, he finally caved into wanting separate swim trunks. (But only if he could ditch the shorts, of course).

We saw a pair of swim trunks in the window of a tailor shop in Hoi An, and wouldn’t it be fun to have custom swim trunks made turned into actually having said swim trunks made. There was only three problems. (1) The trunks turned out to be REALLY ugly. I guess we’re bad designers. (2) At $15, the trunks were three times what he could have spent buying one of the thousands of pairs of board shorts sold on the streets. (3) The lining was rather, um, small. So the swim trunks never saw the light of day, and some hotel employee is now the proud owner.

In the end, getting custom clothes made in Hoi An wasn’t all it cracked up to be. It was fun getting something you designed made to your exact measurements, but I don’t think it is worth any major investments. Spreading out your purchases from different tailors definitely helps in case the tailor turns out to be a dud, but it also means you’ll be running all over town to fitting appointments. If I had to do it over again, I would have a fun casual dress made and maybe a going out shirt made from Vietnam’s beautiful silks, but that’s it. I wouldn’t have gotten the suit made. We’ll see how it fares, but I have the sneaking suspicion I’ll wear it a few times and then ditch it for a JCrew suit bought on sale. We’ll see; maybe I’ll be surprised. Or, ideally, I’ll have a job where I won’t have to wear a suit.

Total price: $190 (premium wool pants and jacket + silk/poly blend lining for jacket) + $15 (swim trunks) + $26 (casual cotton dress, lined) + $37 (3-4 month shipping to United States for suit, sandals I sent home, and four Vietnamese lanterns direct from B’Lan).

The Vietnam War from a Different Perspective.

The Vietnam War, as we Americans call it, looms large in American history. Thousands and thousands died in the war on all sides. Many thought the United States’ involvement in Vietnam’s affairs was a mistake, and the opposition to the war defined a generation. Most people our parent’s age grew up watching footage of a far away land on the news; younger generations grew up watching movies dramatizing the Vietnam War.

While we were in Vietnam, we took the opportunity to try to learn more about the Vietnam War. Just being where the war actually took place opens your mind to a different perspective. War becomes a lot more real when you met the “other” face to face and see the places with your own eyes. It also allows you to learn things that American history classes at home leave out. For example, before traveling through Southeast Asia, I never knew that the United States’ involvement in Southeast Asian affairs extended far behind Vietnam and included extensive side bombings of Cambodia and Laos, as well as implicit support for the evil Khmer Rouge government.

As part of our education, we visited a number of museums and exhibits. We toured the Reunification Palace, which is a time capsule of the way it was on the day the North Vietnamese army tanks rolled through the front gates in 1975 when the NVA finally captured Saigon; the War Remnants Museum, which tells the story of the Vietnam War from the perspective of the victors, i.e. the current socialist government; the Demilitarized Zone, the dividing line between North and South Vietnam; the Chu Choc tunnels, where a North Vietnamese village hid and lived underground for two years while bombs raged overhead; and the so-called Hanoi Hilton, where John McCain and other American prisoners of war were kept (and tortured) by the North Vietnamese.

As you can imagine, the current ruling Vietnamese government, as the victors of the war, have quite the different perspective on things. For starters, they don’t call it the Vietnam War; they call it the American War, or more bluntly, the American War of Imperialism. The War Remnants museum is peppered with references to the American aggressors and the South Vietnamese puppet government. It also shows many of the horrible effects of the war – but only those effects of acts committed by the Americans. Unfortunately, there is no shortage of acts to show.

All of the war related museums in Vietnam seemed to start out the same: with exhibits after exhibit showing the world’s opposition to the war. While there is no doubt there are many people worldwide that were opposed to the United States fighting in Vietnam, the captions on the pictures had their own spin, such as the one stating “American people demonstrated to support the Vietnamese struggle for independence and unification of the country.” Hmm, I could be wrong, but I don’t think that is quite what the Americans were protesting about.

The museums are full of references like these, to independence. At first, I was confused whose independence they were talking about. Whether the United States should or should not have gotten involved is a different matter, but I’ve always understood the war as being about the Americans and their allies fighting on behalf of the South Vietnamese to stop the North Vietnamese from spreading communism south. My wiser husband had to explain to me the obvious; from the current government’s perspective, they were liberating the South Vietnamese from the United States’ imperial ways and reuniting the country they never thought should have been divided.

Since the war-related museums were so extremely one sided, my antennae was up the whole time, and it was hard to trust what I was reading because I felt like much of the story was being left out or distorted. But, on the other hand, I felt there was an important lesson. How much of what we have learned in the past is incomplete or distorted? Learning about the war from the perspective of the Vietnamese government is a good reminder that there’s always more than one side to story: his side, her side, and the truth.

[Above: The Central Highlands hillside My told us the Americans bombed during the war.]

The Reunification Palace in Saigon

Inside the Reunification Palace, it is as if it is still 1975.

One of the first things that greets you at the War Remnants Musuem in Saigon.

The awful Agent Orange exhibit, showing the effects of the chemical used by the Americans during the war. One of the more thought provoking things in the exhibit was a recent letter written to President Obama by a young Vietnamese girl affected by Agent Orange. The letter asks the United States for reparations for the effects of Agent Orange, which still affect the Vietnamese to this day. The United States has provided assistance to the soldiers afflicted with Agent Orange, but has not offered assistance to the Vietnamese, including the children fathered by American soldiers. Should they? Or is it just an unfortunate casualty of war? Food for thought.

All of these children were born underground in the Vinh Moc Tunnels.

Sean telling me to hurry up before the French tour group disappeared. The most cost effective way to see the Vinh Moc Tunnels is to see them on a tour of the DMZ from Hue. We were signed up for one, but Sean felt really sick right when we were supposed to leave at 6:30 in the morning. When he felt better later that morning, we decided to go just to the tunnels and do it on our own, since it was the one thing Sean really wanted to see in Vietnam. There is no public transport to the tunnels and they are some distance from Hue, so we ended up paying for the unused tour AND a pricey private car to the tunnels. The tunnels are clearly set up for tour groups, and the mainly Vietnamese speakers at the tunnels gave us conflicting instructions on whether we needed a guide or not to see them on our own. When the English speaking guide they promised never materialized, we ended up following a French speaking tour group into the very dark and very narrow tunnels.

Me in the Vinh Moc tunnels. As you can see, they are extremely squat and narrow - and dark. (Sidenote - our thighs hurt from squatting for days - how in the world did a whole village live down there for years?!?!?!) At first, the French group didn't notice us since we stayed well at the end. But then the tour guide started giving us weird looks, and he'd halfheartedly shine a light on us as he noticed us in the rear in the dark, trying to make our way down the pitch black stairs. Then, the whole group noticed us when they abruptly turned around. They declared something in French, presumably "turn around and go the other way." Or at least we hope it was that, and not, "who are these idiot Americans following us in the dark?"

Outside the Hanoi Hilton.

Infamous picture of John McCain inside the Hanoi Hilton. This museum is full of references to the fun life the POWs lived while imprisoned. They learned more about the ways of the Vietnamese! They celebrated Christmas! They played sports! They got tortured! Oh yeah, the last one was conveniently left out.

Hog Tales, Vietnam Edition.

We didn’t plan on doing an Easy Rider tour, exactly, but when we wandered up to Dalat from Saigon, endorsements of others ringing in our ears, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that we’d end up on the back of two stranger’s motorcycles, zooming through the Central Highlands. You don’t find the Easy Riders; they find you. In our case, My and his sidekick Mr. Pepperman found us as soon as we stepped off the bus. They’re part of the Dalat Bus Station Easy Rider gang. Neither official Easy Riders nor an official gang, they roll around town with emblemed jackets and work for the same boss, one Mr. Lee. Despite being accosted minutes after we arrived in Dalat, we didn’t hold it against My (pronounced Me). My didn’t give us the hard sell and he seemed like a nice guy. We thought about it for a day, then gave him a call. We negotiated a three day, two night trip through the Central Highlands from Dalat to Nha Trang for $61 a day, including accommodation and fees but not food, which we split down the middle. A fortune in Vietnam, but somehow we kept finding ourselves talked into tours and things we wouldn’t otherwise do in other countries. They’re good salespeople, those Vietnamese.

For three days, we zoomed around the Central Highlands on the back of their bikes, an interior region filled with mountains and forests and rice paddies. The motorcycles turned out to be much more comfortable than riding on the back of any of the scooters we’d taken, although by the end, our butts were ready to say good-bye. During our journey, we learned all about agriculture and now know where silk, coffee, rice, cocoa, sugarcane, tapioca, peppercorns, mushrooms, pineapples and rubber comes from. We saw three different waterfalls, a temple (of course!), a flower farm, and countless scenic overlooks. We watched people make silk, rice whisky, bricks, and rice paper. One night, we even slept on the floor in a wooden house on stilts in a minority village with a minority family (although curiously we never laid eyes on the family).

My promised us an insider’s look at Vietnamese culture, and for the most part, an insider’s look we got. He’d march us into people’s workplaces in the middle of their workdays and say, Ah-mee, where’s your camera, there’s a good picture over there. Then the next thing I’d know he’d be interrupting people’s work, posing photo ops, and My would be saying, Come here, Ah-mee, and I’d be wearing a conical hat or making rice paper or Sean would be pushing a wheelbarrow of bricks or driving a farm vehicle. Although we never fully got over the embarrassment of busting into someone’s life and taking pictures or regret that we were interrupting people in the middle of doing their really hard jobs, it was a side of everyday Vietnam we’d never be able to see without My and Mr. Pepperman. It was nice to be far, far away from the towns where everybody you talked to wanted to sell you something. For three days, no one tried to sell us anything.

In fact, because we were with My and Mr. Pepperman, we even got the local’s prices. More importantly, we got the local’s food. For each meal, they’d order dish after dish, and we got to try Vietnamese food outside of what appeared on the tourist menus. Some of the tastiest food we’ve had was during our Easy Rider tour, once I got over my food and utensils being touched. Back home, someone else touching your food would be rude, but in Asia, communal eating is the norm. Each meal would be begin with My selecting our chopsticks from the crock on the table and rubbing them down with the paper-like napkins to eliminate splinters. He’d clean our spoons, sometimes with his thumb, and organize all of the sauces. Then, we could begin eating. Communal eating doesn’t mean dishing food out with a clean spoon onto your plate to eat. No, communal eating means taking food from the common dish with your chopsticks, putting the food into your mouth, and taking some more food with the same chopsticks you just put in your mouth. And communal eating with My sometimes meant him taking food he with his chopsticks he thought you should have and putting it onto your plate. I suppose I should be glad he didn’t try to put it directly in my mouth.

We, too, were responsible for our share of cultural differences. I kept asking My if he’d fought in the war (thinking of the blurb in the guidebook about most of the Easy Riders being ex-Southern army men). Sean eventually kicked me and told me My was way too young to have fought in the war and I should quit asking because I wasn’t going to get any war stories. Which, really, was best. For one, it’s always good to have periodic reminders to kick preconceived notions out of your head. For two, it’s always a little awkward discussing war when your country was involved. Like when we stopped at an overlook, and My told us matter-of-factly, your country bombed this hillside and burned the whole thing down during the war. It’s kind of hard to formulate an appropriate response to that.  Sorry just doesn’t seem to cut it.

Likewise when your Easy Rider guide apologizes for his county’s littering problem, or rather primitive bathrooms. One morning, after eating some tasty pho bo at a tasty roadside restaurant, I made my way back through the family’s home and used the restaurant’s bathroom, which doubles as the family’s bathroom. When I returned, My said he was sorry the bathrooms weren’t the same as what we were normally used to, and asked me what the bathrooms are like at home. Well, they usually flush by mechanics instead of pouring water down a hole, and uh, you don’t have to squat two inches off the ground or stand in a pool of let’s-pretend-it’s-water-not-pee to use them and, well, they have toilet paper and sinks with soap and hot water and, oh yeah, they’re not strewn with the proprietor’s dirty underwear or toothbrushes seemed like too much detail, so I just mumbled that they were a little different.

We’re not used to being around other people day in and day out besides each other, so My and Mr. Pepperman were an interesting addition to our traveling duo. As is usually the case with Easy Riders, My did most of the talking and Mr. Pepperman tagged along, eating an astonishing amount of peppers at every meal (hence his nickname) and every once in a while piping in with some broken English, like the time he showed us a picture of him as a young man fighting in Cambodia and bragging that he used big guns, big American guns! You never knew what was going to pop out of Mr. Pepperman’s mouth. Mr. Pepperman never stopped smiling during the entire three day trip, and as we’d come to learn, Mr. Pepperman comes prepared. At one of the lookout points, he suddenly busted out a warm can of Ba-Ba-Ba, a local beer, from his tiny bag and handed it to Sean, instructing him to drink. Later that night, after we’d finished dinner, he produced a guitar out of nowhere (albeit with only five strings) and crooned a series of ballads for the crowd.

My was much more talkative. When he wasn’t busy educating us on agriculture or telling us fun facts about the Central Highlands, he was practicing his skills as an amateur photographer – with my camera. Ah-mee, he’d say, give me your camera. This is a good shot! Sean and I had more pictures taken together as a couple during those three days than we did our entire trip. My’s favorite type of photos are jumping ones, and I could tell he had practice, as he got much higher than any of the rest of us. My periodically dropped us off to walk for a little bit, and on one of those walks, we came upon My and Mr. Pepperman posing for their own jumping photos, giggling up a storm.

Like anyone who has taken an Easy Rider tour before us, we found the three days to be a definite highlight of our travels in Vietnam. We saw beautiful scenery, got to know My and Mr. Pepperman, and saw Vietnam outside the tourism industry. If you’re thinking of going on an Easy Rider tour, do it. It’s definitely worth the money. We recommend My and Mr. Pepperman wholeheartedly. They were fun to hang out with, and very thoughtful, always making sure we were comfortable. They always went the extra mile, such as when they took us out to dinner in a cab to give us a rest from the bikes. We found them to be expert, safe drivers, which really, is the most important part. You can find My and Mr. Pepperman hanging around the Dalat bus station.  Or they’ll find you.

Just outside of Dalat in the midst of evergreens

One of the many examples of My's fine photography (and the Central Highlands' scenic outlooks)

Our first big happy Buddha

A woman unwinds the silk from the silkworm cocoons

Cheers at lunch, with Sean, My and Mr. Pepperman

Someone's house My lead us into

Born to be wild

Minority coffee plantation workers trek home from the coffee plantations

Sean and My outside our homestay

Mr. Pepperman sings the blues

Women work in the rice fields around Lak Lake

My puts me to work too, much to my dismay at having to interrupt this women's work and borrowing her hat for a photo op.

One of the awesome scenes along the way

Sean helps wheel some bricks for drying

Fishing boats just outside of Nha Trang

And...JUMP!

When you look up awesome in the dictionary, you’ll find New Zealand.

So our love affair with New Zealand continues, although our shock over the New Zealand prices has not yet subsided. I fear the price shock is causing us to spend more than planned. Because now when I see a $3 cookie, I can rationalize it by saying it is $3 kiwi dollars, which isn’t really $3 actual dollars, and if you don’t do the math, you never have to figure out that it is a really overpriced cookie.   But let’s not dwell on that, because guess what kind of overpriced cookies New Zealand has?  Cookie Time cookies, for serious cookie munchers.  And what am I but not a serious cookie muncher, especially after months of being deprived?  In Queenstown, the Cookie Time serves chocolate chip cookies warm, with milk from a draft pump.  How awesome is that?  Clearly worth any amount of kiwi or U.S. dollars.

So far we’ve learned that if something is marked as a scenic route in New Zealand, they really mean super scenic route, and if it is not marked as a scenic route, chances are it is going to be a scenic route anyway.  We pretty much spend all of our time cruising around in our campervan, stopping every five minutes for yet another photo.  Our vocabulary consists of ooh and aah and wow and amazing and awesome and other such words.  Because New Zealand?  Is totally deserving of all of those words and many more.  Not only is the scenery consistently beautiful, the country is totally neat and organized. There’s absolutely no litter, every lawn is immaculately landscaped (doesn’t anyone have a trashy overflowing front porch in this country?), and all of the roads are nicely paved with scenic lookouts just where you want them. Every town has an information center brimming with free information; I hope someone reuses or recycles the zillions of brochures that are threatening to take over our campervan. The Department of Conservation has conserved land all over the country, and each area is well signposted with historical, ecological, and logistical information. I hate to keep making unfair comparisons to Asia, but the differences between New Zealand and Asia are so wide, so profound, I can’t help myself.

I’ve been trying to figure out why New Zealand is so scenic, and I think I’ve come up with two explanations. First, there’s just not that many people here to screw things up or even to get in the way of your fabulous photos. The people are crowded into little towns and cities with tons of trendy cafes and wool shops galore, which much of the land is undeveloped and untouched, or touched only by sheep farms. Which brings me to point number two. There’s a ton of sheep here. We were certain there had to be more sheep than Ireland, and it turns out we were right. There are 8 million sheep in Ireland, but there are 40 million sheep in New Zealand. And you all know how I love sheep. Unlike Ireland, most of the sheep here are unpainted. And super fluffy. I’m thinking it is because it is almost winter, but who knows? All I know is the high fluffy sheep density is reason number 433 why I’m loving New Zealand.

We’ve covered a lot of ground already; we didn’t listen to our wise buddies over at the Road Forks and are trying to cram both islands into a month. Luckily New Zealand keeps you moving; no matter how much you’re enjoying where you are and no matter how much you feel like you could stay forever, you feel the pull towards the next amazing place around the corner. We’ve visited the little French town of Akaroa on the gorgeous Banks Peninsula; cruised down the east coast to the historic town of Omarau; stopped by the Moeraki boulders at low tide; ate a tasty but pricey blue cod lunch at Fleur’s Place by the ocean; explored the Otago peninsula but passed on pricey penguin and other wildlife tours; hung out in the college town of Dunedin and got some tasty produce and treats at its Saturday farmer’s market for cooking up in our campervan; meandered through the sunny Catlins coast and Southern Scenic Route; sped towards Curio Bay on zero gas in time to catch the yellow eyed penguins come ashore there for free; stayed in a campground wedged between two gorgeous ocean bays with a sea lion visitor; saw an amazing sunrise over our campground in Te Anau; cruised through the Milford Sound and explored the Fiordlands in the pouring rain and fog; gawked at impossibly gorgeous sunny Queenstown in fall, in April; gawked at others jumping off bridges and the like but opted only for the tamer jetboating through the Shotover Canyon; tasted a fantastic blackberry and chocolate muffin along with a long black at Ritual Espresso Cafe in Wanaka; drove through the Haast mountain pass, again in the pouring rain and fog (what is with this, New Zealand?); detoured to Jackson Bay to eat perfectly battered fresh fish and chips in a trailer by the sea; and now we’re in Fox Glacier township, about to explore a real creeping glacier tomorrow. Whew!

p.s. New Zealand is toying with our weather emotions. One day it’s freezing cold and winter-like; the next it’s a sunny fall day in April; the next it’s back to rain and fog. The weather really better pull itself together; from here on out, we’re northward bound. And in this upside down world, north is like south.  So I expect sunshine; you hear that, New Zealand?

p.p.s. After all this talk of gorgeousness, I bet you’re wanting some pictures, huh? Fear not; there’s so many, I’ll have to break them up in future posts. But if you can’t wait, you can see all of them through yesterday here because I am a photo processing rock star and current on my photos for the first time during the whole trip!

Chuc Mung Nam Moi!

When we realized we’d be in Vietnam smack dab during the middle of Tet, the Vietnamese New Year, I got a little concerned. Posters on forums warned the cities would be empty, hotels and restaurants would be closed, and everyone would be celebrating at home with their families. But just like our travels during Changwon in South Korea and Diwali in India, these dire predictions are way overblown. We had no trouble getting around during Tet. In fact, there were more buses available. While some restaurants were closed for the days before and after Tet, plenty of others were available. Hotels were open in the Mekong Delta and Saigon. About the only drawback was that the Floating Markets were closed on Tet itself, which unfortunately was the only day we had available to take a tour of the Delta. This meant no one was on the river and since most of the tour was on the big open industrial river instead of the quaint backwaters, our tour was so boring I actually fell asleep.

Any drawbacks were overshadowed by the feeling that we were experiencing a little taste of Vietnamese culture we wouldn’t have been able to see otherwise. Anticipation and excitement hung heavy in the air. From our first day in the country, we could tell a major celebration was just around the corner. Across all of the Delta towns, people zoomed by on scooters with armfuls of flowers or lucky kumquat trees towering in their baskets. Every home and business (and sometimes even parked cars) had an elaborate feast for the spirits set out front. In Vietnam, the spirits must be a little feisty, because we saw just as many cans of beer and packs of cigarettes as we did piles of fruit and traditional dishes. The smell of incense permeated the air, and red lanterns and flowers adorned shops and homes. In honor of Tet, we learned the phrase Chuc Mung Nam Moi! and used it often. We were greeted with either confused looks, making us think we were probably saying it wrong as we often do when we attempt phrases in different languages, or smiles followed by a hearty Chuc Mung Nam Moi in return. We celebrated Tet Eve in Can Tho by watching fireworks amongst a sea of teenagers and scooters. I really think we were two of twenty people over thirty and two of five white people. The fireworks were an elaborate display. Most were met with oohs and aahs or snickers and fake enthusiasm (the latter from a group of smartass teenagers nearby). The sheer number of people gave us our first taste of the raw energy that permeates the country.

When we got to Saigon, we found the main streets ablaze with lights and flowers in full celebration. We stumbled upon a parade in honor of Tet and posed by enormous light creations like the Vietnamese. In the streets surrounding our hotel, we watched people burn fake money in the street in the hopes of getting rich in the new year. I do suspect that Saigon was a bit toned down in the days after Tet. Each day we noticed increasing traffic and people infiltrate the city, and shops that were closed began to open. But we were able to see and do everything we wanted to see and do, and even a toned down Saigon is still an exciting Saigon.

So if your travel plans put you in a country during a major holiday, definitely embrace the opportunity!

Newly purchased flowers in Ha Tien

Scooter madness waiting for the fireworks on Tet Eve in Can Tho

It was on Tet Eve that I first figured out why squat toilets don't bother the Vietnamese.

Uncle Ho looking over the crowd during the fireworks in Can Tho

Lucky Kumquat tree in Saigon

Offerings in Ha Tien

Lights in the streets of Saigon

Yellow flowered tree in Saigon's post office

Burning money on the streets of Saigon