From Hanoi, we boarded the night train on September 18, down south to Danang, where we'd planned to take a one hour bus to Hoi An, in total a 13 hour trip. Well, the train we were supposed to be on was sold out so our travel agent put us on the next train but failed to tell us that it was not the Express. The bucket of bolts we boarded was noisy and stopped in every station for the remainder of the journey. At the time, however, we were not aware that we were not on the train we thought we'd paid for, commenting on how surprised we were that it was not as nice as we'd expected and wondering why there wasn't a restaurant car.
After a satisfying dinner aboard of baguettes and Laughing Cow cheese that we hurriedly bought from the vendors in the station, we settled into our narrow bunks and had a great night's sleep, thanks to ear plugs and Jenna's magic sleeping pills, excited to wake up to only a few hours of travel time before arriving in Danang. Oh little did we know.
Refreshed from our uninterrupted sleep and eager to arrive already, imagine our shock when we found out that we were still many many many hours from our destination. 13 hours turned to 14 then 16. The words "Gulag" and "Shawshank" were thrown around in fits of laughter as we had to start rationing the food we had left for the longer than expected journey. A strict limit was placed on water consumption for those who refused to use the not-so-clean train toilets. We did an emergency food run at one stop, where the only edible things you can buy at a train station besides dried squid and candy were crackers and thank god, more laughing cow cheese, which coincidentally needs no refrigeration. In desperation, Val starts to squirrel away more food by buying a fish cake patty from the food cart on board. Fish cake patties, already a sketchy item here in Vietnam, let alone one bought from a train cart is a sure sign of dire straits. To our surprise (not the good kind), the conductor came by with free trays of food: kind of like airplane trays of food, only more like it came from a prison cafeteria. More fits of laughter as some of us sampled the food, Val being the only person able to identify anything in any of the trays besides the rice. Jenna, the resident vegetarian was mortified, and actually so was Val, but in times of famine, one has to remain strong. Good times, good times.
We pressed our sad litle faces up against the metal bars of our train windows, patience wearing quite thin at almost 20 hours, when our train finally pulled into the Danang station at 3:30 in the afternoon on the next day. Unable to tolerate another hour of public transportation, we sprang for cabs(the gypsy kind)into town, a nice perk of what Jenna calls "executive backpacking."
The small charming town of Hoi An is set on the banks of a brown river, and lives up to our very first expectations of the romantic Vietnam: colonial architecture, balconies, lanterns, ceiling fans and surprisingly good food. We were especially pleased to finally be somewhere. Lots of tourists here, but oddly comforting because it means creature comforts are more readily accessible. Our hotel has a pool and free worthless internet access. Which should explain our long blog silence.
Hoi An is known for their custom tailors - you can't miss them, every other storefront is a tailor, promising to make a suit or anything you want in as quickly as five hours. After conferring with a French couple we'd met in Halong Bay who were there at the same time (they had about 30 pieces made between them) we succumed to peer pressure and had to see what the hoo-ha was all about.
Michael had one pin stripe suit, a pair of pants, pin stripe shorts and two shirts made. Val had a heavy winter coat made, all for around $200. They look beautiful. Tomorrow we leave for the beach town, Nha Trang, a 9 hour train ride south. Good times.
For photos of our miserable train journey, go here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/31967627@N00/sets/72157594301499699/
For photos of Hoi An, go here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/31967627@N00/sets/72157594301513226/
For photos of the My Son Ruins, go here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/31967627@N00/sets/72157594301485988/
