Our last full day in Hoi An had originally been planned to be a hang out day at the resort. We were staying in a very swish establishment by the beach and had been so on the go, we hadn’t even had time for a dip or to enjoy the lavish buffet breakfast which was on daily.

As it turned out, the couture clothing bug had bitten us the night before and I had commissioned not only my wedding dress but 3 pairs of shoes! Nick was also on the hunt for a handmade wallet and was of course due back midday to the shop for his suit and shirt fittings. So a lazy day it sadly was not to be, it was going to be a busy day running from store to store. However, we decided to try to take advantage of the fact we were in a resort by waking late, breakfasting slowly and leisurely and taking a morning dip before we hopped on the shuttle bus into town.

Cold hard reality had set in at about 4 AM when I had awoke with a start and began contemplating the crazy decision I had made to have my wedding dress made on the fly. I had spent the grey hours of the morning googling things like “wedding dress disasters hoi an” and “tailor reviews”. The internet, in these situations is never comforting with too many stories to back both the successes and the failures. So when Nick went in for his suit and I saw how great everything fit him, I was heartened. They had done a pretty damn good job in 24 hours on his suit and as I sat waiting for him to get changed back into his street clothes, I watched ladies skip out in cocktail dresses, guys in couture suits and felt reassured.

The ladies had had no idea when my first fitting would be and requested our mobile number so they could call us if we were close by. It was then going to be a long day given we had no idea when we’d be called.

It was about lunch time but we weren’t hungry having eaten a late breakfast, so we decided a snack was in order. The night before a guy had thrust a 10% off coupon for an ice cream store in my hands which had proudly boasted it had the largest variety of ice cream in all of Vietnam. We figured that was an attraction at the same time, so we made our way there.

When we arrived, we found it was a self service deal. In the spirit of trying new things I took a scoop of avocado, pandan and a scoop of the intriguing coconut & coriander ice cream. Nick, more conservatively, chose salted caramel, salted peanut butter and chocolate sorbet. The ice cream was a great way to escape the heat.

We wandered out, ice cream finished and by a stroke of luck on the way we bumped into Melbournians, Jen and Daniel from yesterdays class who were taking in the sights. We stopped for a chat and mentioned our quest for a wallet. “Oh, there’s a great street for bags and all those things just around the corner,” Jen said. So we said our good byes and found a shop- actually the ‘bag’ version of my shoe shop- who were willing to whip up a wallet for Nick in a few hours. One thing out of the way. It was due for pick up later that afternoon.

A few hours to kill before Nick’s second fitting we walked aimlessly but again, by a stroke of luck we bumped in fellow Sydney-siders Alicia and Nick who were bravely cycling the streets! They mentioned that they had just had a massage and my ears instantly pricked when I heard the name of the spa- it was a reputable and cheap place, but when I had looked at a map, it had seemed very far away. “Wait, are you saying it’s nearby?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Alicia. She stuck her thumb down the road. “It’s like 3 minutes away.”
So we said our good byes and headed for the spa. Turns out it was more like a 3 minute bike ride, ten minute walk, but not so bad and we killed an hour relaxing with a massage.

Nick’s second fitting was due and it was now 3:30 pm. It looked great and just needed to be cleaned and have the silly loose threads cut. However, they still did not have a fitting time for me, so I was very anxious. Nick’s suit would be ready for pick up when I had my first fitting and again, they said they’d call me when it was ready for that.

We turned our heels now and went for my shoe fitting. They were nearly perfect but needed a bit of tweaking so we were asked to return later tonight. Like I said, a LOT of running around there was to be done.

By now we were starving so we started roaming the streets in search of food. Nothing seemed to be appealing, but the benefit of our stroll was we found a whole other section of the old town we hadn’t explored. We finally found a famous Banh Mi store and as we were ordering, a call came for me to come for my first dress fitting. My anxiety hit the roof and Nick promised he would collect the sandwiches and come after me, meeting me at the tailors.

I ran around the corner to the shop and to my surprise, Mai the sales rep said the dress was at the tailors not the shop front and she would take me there. On a scooter! I was excited!
“I’ve never been on a scooter before!” I exclaimed. I noticed she wore a helmet and didn’t have a spare for me, which worried me a little but off we zoomed into the night and it was only as we went around the corner I realised Nick was expecting me to be at the shop…

We rocked up to the tailors and my euphoria at being on a scooter for the first time dissipated really quickly and my heart dropped when I saw the dress. Not in a good way. This, I told myself silently, is exactly why people DO NOT get their wedding dresses, of all freakin’ things, made in cheap Asian countries. It just didn’t look right. I’m not a seamstress at all, I couldn’t tell you what was wrong with it and there was nothing technically wrong with the dress- the stitches were neat and straight, no weird zippers- but given I had tried the actual dress on, I just knew it wasn’t right.

I think Mai knew I was disappointed. She tried to reassure me that it didn’t have the boning, that it would need a bit of taking in and I vaguely sort of said, “Yeah, ok.” We walked and got the beading for it, but my heart totally wasn’t into the experience.

“Are you alright?” She kindly asked when we arrived back in the store.
“I’m fine. We’ll be back at 9,” I responded, which was when my second fitting was due.

Nick knew instantly I was unhappy and I had a sooky moment with him after we left the store. I was bummed now and after we picked up my shoes-which thankfully were perfect- we decided to head back to the hotel via taxi, even if it was only for 2 hours or so because my mood was quite bleak. “It’s just money,” Nick soothed but I felt pretty rotten. I could only think about how much could I try to re-coup if I sold the dress on ebay.

We hung out at the hotel for an hour and a bit and I was called in again for my last fitting. It was now 9 pm. Nick picked up his suit which was in spiffy shape. I hopped back on the scooter. The dress, on second viewing was…. better. It fit and looked better, but, it still frankly looked like a cheap wedding dress and I was not sure I would want to wear it on the Big Day but I thought to myself perhaps the chances of selling it had increased. The boning was in so it had shape and structure, but the beading wasn’t on it.
“What time are you leaving?” Mai asked.
“Tomorrow…. at 6 am?”
“Aiiiiiiii!” She cried. It was going to be her job to do the beading. “Can you pick it up on the way to the airport?”
“No, we’re going by shuttle, we can’t divert.”
She gasped. “Ok, I deliver it at 5:30 am. Reception will call you.”

We had an early check out, so we hopped to bed early. I managed to sleep this time, probably because I at least knew my dress was a piece of shite.

Today we were going to be doing our second cooking class of the trip. Thankfully, this time we were being picked up from a hotel by Van, the teacher of the cooking school and the day would be starting with a morning tour of the market where we would all buy our ingredients.

Nick and I were the first to get picked up and a more pleasant bunch of people couldn’t be found! As the van picked up more and more people we all got chatting, swapping stories, making recommendations and getting tips on what to do next. There was a lovely young couple Harriet and Tom from London, intrepid Eve who was travelling solo from China, bohemian Tanya and Pancho from the US and quite a few Aussies- Nick and Alicia, Jen and Daniel. Van introduced us all and gave us the happy news: we had all, quite by coincidence picked different dishes. This meant we would all literally be cooking for each other and getting to taste another ten dishes on top of our own. We all beamed at each other, in mutual happiness of the feast to come.

In a bit of a cheesy move, Van gave us all Vietnamese hats to wear to the markets. They actually proved quite useful as we could spot each other easily and they were light and shady. I could understand the appeal. The market was a great experience. Nick and I had actually whizzed pass on our bikes yesterday on the last leg of our trip because the local jetty pulled up right at the markets. At the time it had been late in the day and raining, so there wasn’t much to see. This morning though, the market was bright and bustling- a hive of activity.

We stopped off first to buy herbs, spices and veggies. Again, funny how you get sort of isolated in your mindset you can get. Things like lemongrass, five spice, fish sauce, Vietnamese mint- are not at all new to Nick or I. I kind of assume everyone knows the same thing so I was really surprised at how many people in the group didn’t know what these things were.

Next stop was the wet market where fish and meat were sold. I had been nervous about this part of the market because of smells and god knows whether we’d see headless chickens running around! It was all, however, surprisingly, civilised. The stalls were small and seemed niche in that people seemed to only sell the one product e.g. only shrimp or only clams. The produce was also amazingly fresh. Like crazy fresh- it was bizarre- there were no flies and no smell. Van showed us how to pick a good fish and as she pointed out, everyone sold things in small portions which kept things nice and non stinky.

All our shopping done, we sat down for a cup of Vietnamese filter coffee which the majority of us had hot but Nick, always daring to be different, added some ice to his to have an iced coffee. Then, it was off to Vans house for cooking!

Van turned out to be an amazing multi-tasker. All up with eleven dishes, she had everything timed so well so that we were all preparing our own dish and the when you finished, you could help someone else whose dish had more prep than your own. Nick, who was cooking pho, was super special, his having the longest cooking time, so prepared first and eaten last.

Once preparations were done, the cooking began! People whose dishes were quicker to cook went first and obviously dishes like Nick’s went on bubbling in the background. So the pace of the day was the person who was up would cook their dish with Van’s supervision and everyone observe/ have a go stirring, mixing, grilling, then we would plate up and eat. And this literally went on from midday to 4 pm. Eating and cooking for FOUR HOURS. It was the best four hours ever as we were all chummy and encouraging however I also felt like I was going to burst because as we worked our way from spring rolls to lemongrass stir-fry shrimp, caramelised pork belly to Vietnamese pancakes, from around dish 8 or 9, couples started sharing. We were seriously stuffed and believe it or not, for the first time of the trip Nick and I couldn’t eat dinner. We skipped it, that’s how serious things were.

After the class which finished late because there were so many of us, we were deciding where to let the bus drop us off. A part from being an ancient, preserved town, Hoi An is known in Vietnam for it’s many tailors. A few of our friends from the cooking class were heading to various fittings and Tanya and Pancho spoke with particular enthusiasm having had success having several things made for themselves over the last few days.

“Why don’t you come along to our tailor?” Tanya suggested. “They’re quality is very good and it can be overwhelming at first, so they have loads of books, magazines, a laptop you can look at.” We had been discussing that Nick and I hadn’t had a chance to explore the town and that I had been egged on by some friends as to why I wasn’t using the holiday as an opportunity to get my wedding dress made cheaply in Asia.

When she mentioned the name of the tailor, I had heard of them, which was somewhat reassuring. There are something like 5 or 6 well-known, established tailors in Hoi An and for every happy customer, the internet is awash with plenty of unhappy peeps who feel they got ripped off, their clothes were rushed, poorly stitched, fell apart etc. etc.

So Nick and I went along with Tanya for her fitting- she was having a cute, casual grey blazar fitted. I hadn’t planned on buying anything and with only a full-day left in town, what could I possibly get made?

As I sat there, a seamstress came up to me. Not really thinking she would say yes, I said, “So can you do wedding dresses? In like a day?”
“We can do that.”
And then, in a sheer moment of madness I thought Hey- yeah! Why not? What could possibly go wrong with a third-world seamstress making my wedding dress in 24 hours?!

Mistake one was not sticking to my guns.

I showed her a picture of an unusual style of wedding dress, one I liked. It was, for me, a risky suggestion. I hadn’t ever tried this dress on and at a $2000 US price tag I wasn’t likely ever going to. I had figured maybe a chance to ‘try’ it on would be to get it made. As it was, she shot it down, in typical blunt Asian style. “It’ll make you look shorter. And bigger.” There wasn’t much compromise going on here, no tactful “what if we changed this bit here?” as you’d expect from a wedding dress tailor.

It was hard to gauge whether she genuinely felt that way or whether it was a style of dress that just belonged in her “too-hard” basket. So I chose a safe option and asked if they could replicate a dress I had tried on and liked back in Australia.

Nick, meanwhile, had found himself ‘just browsing’ and was now being measured up for a suit!

Tanya had been flitting in and out of the tailors shop, sweetly checking in on us, while also going to other fittings at a few other tailor shop as she had a few dresses waiting too. “How’s it going with the dress?” She asked, “What price did you get it for?”

Tanya was a rock- solid haggler who loved doing things old school.
“No, too much,” she’d say, then move away. Pancho, who admitted he was soft touch and would pay full price for everything if not for Tanya, would shrug ruefully, “wife says no!” and he’d move off too. She’d have the stall owners running after her, crying “ok, ok, ok!” She was good at haggling and loved the challenge it presented to her.

So I related to her what happened.
Mai, my seamstress had looked at the pictures of my second dress. “I think about $900 US,” she had said.
I wrinkled my nose. “Really? Because in Australia, I can get this dress for $1000.”
It was half true. I was pretty sure when this dress went on sale- and it would eventually surely as old wedding dress stock- it would probably fall first to $999.
“Hmmm. Let’s measure you up and we’ll see how much material used then.” She said vaguely.
So after being measured, Mai said: “Ok. $600 US.”
I rearranged my features and tried to look, thoughtful and considerate.
“Can you go lower? We’re buying a suit. And I don’t want as many layers in the picture. And I’m short. Less material.”

Mai leaned back in her seat. Quietly she asked, “How much you think then?”
“500?”
Her eyebrows shot up. She carefully and slowly wrote on a piece of paper 580 and handed it to me.
“$550.”
“…. I’ll ask my manager.”

So it went through at $550.

Tanya was proud, although I could see she was thinking I probably could have squeezed more, but she reassuringly told me they were a harder establishment to budge on their prices. Afterwards, I did a bit of googling and she seemed right. They weren’t the type to chase after you, begging for the sale, so I was pleased.

After our big spend, the four of us walked down to see the lanterns of the old city and went to a small night market. It was a one of those night markets where every stall kind of sold the same thing, but it was also small and not too crowded, so we hung around. We found a necklace stall with an energetic owner. His stall had a sign which said something like: “look for free, no pressure to buy!” He was very friendly and watching Tanya bargain with him was good entertainment as she vied to get a 200 000 dong necklace down to 150 000 dong. “I got to make a living you know! Seriously… Ok, ok, I like you. Now take a free bracelet there before I change my mind.” He turned to Pancho and said, “Your wife- she a tough lady!”

It was my turn next. The hard work already been done for me, I got one necklace for 150 000 dong and then tried to get another down to the same price. He looked wounded when I asked.
“Nooooo, that one is real jade! Quality! I can’t! Expensive!”
“Really? Are you sure? Because jade is only really expensive when it’s very dark green,” I said with measured confidence (thanks for the trivia mum!).
“Ahhhh! Ok. 190 000 dong ok? I can’t go any lower. Really!”
“185 000 dong?”
His face broke and he was about to cave when Nick came and ruined everything by insisting I give the man 190 000 dong because Nick had wrongly assumed we didn’t have the small change anyway. The stall owner looked thrilled at Nick’s intervention. “Ah, he’s on my side! My man, my man! Take a free bracelet both of you.”

“Thanks for cock-blocking me,” I muttered to Nick as we walked away.
“You realise you’re arguing about 25 cents right?”

And so he was right. Well, what can I say, Vietnam brings out the stingy arse in me big time.

Today Nick and I were venturing into rural Vietnam for the aptly named “Real Vietnam” tour- a whole day bike riding fiesta. We awoke a little late, but I wasn’t concerned as our meeting point for the tour was a short ten minute cab ride away. So, we scoped out the brekkie buffet, albeit briefly.  I munched on a small bowl of jook (that’s congee/rice porriage for you Aussie folk), made myself a wannabe Banh Mi roll and had some dim sims, which I then washed down with a cup of tea.

Incidentally, tea here is not nice, mostly because the milk is not nice. Milk in general in Asia, is not nice. I’m beginning to understand the whole “Bring me cheese!” thing Yee Yee espoused.

Anyway! Nick’s eyes light up at the smorgasboard in front of him. Despite the last two days indulging in continental breakfasts of eggs and bacon, he grabbed bacon, bread, dumplings, a cheesymite scroll (they have vegemite!) and two glasses of juice. He was very happy.

Then, we decided to grab a cab.

Remember how I was talking about the best laid travel plans going awry? Yeah, it happened today. Today was Teachers Day, a pupil free day for the kiddies! Traditionally, the kids are supposed to visit their teachers and bring them flowers. So firstly, kids were everywhere, riding their bikes up and down the streets which were lined with makeshift flower stalls. Worried our cab ride was slowly eating time, I urged Nick to ring the tour office, to let them know we were running late.

Then, there was a funeral procession going on. Not just any funeral procession going – apparently the manager of the local monastery had died so there was a funeral parade going on!!! A whole freaking parade blocking the one route in. Although I didn’t know this at the time, Hoi An is a historic town and there are quite a few roads where cars are banned. So effectively, there was no route in. I was torn between wanting to watch and wanting to tear my hair out! I felt horrible, thinking of all the people waiting for us.

Our taxi driver turned to us. He had been on the phone a couple of times, speaking in Vietnamese. He passed me the phone abruptly. It was a lady. “You get out here. We come and get you.”
“Uh… are you from the bike tour company?” I asked.
“Yes! We’ll come get you.”

We hopped out, confused and in a crowd of people watching the parade. We were concerned we had just been abandoned and suspicious that the lady on the phone hadn’t used the bike companies actual name. So, we thought we’d call the bike company, just to confirm they had actually spoken to our taxi driver and that he hadn’t just fobbed us off into the too hard basket.

Unfortunately, the lady who answered this time had no idea what we were talking about and it didn’t help we were standing in the middle of a parade! So we stood, there, looking dumbly at each other until a girl in a traditional hat and wheeling a bike came along.
“Are you on the bike tour?”
“Yes!”

As we walked along, I asked Hoa, our guide “How did you know how to pick me in the crowd?”
She laughed. “I saw your surname so I had an idea where you are from. And you have a bright pink shirt, stands out.”
I was relieved to find that no one else had booked in for the tour- it was just Nick and I and Hoa, so no one else was inconvenienced by our tardiness. We adjusted our bikes, like dorks, opted to have helmets and head off for the jetty to catch a private boat.

As we putted along for the next hour, we had a nicely friendly chat with Hoa who had grown up in nearby Danang and studied tourism. She was interested in where we had been, where we were going and also very knowledgeable, pointing out fishermen and the techniques they were using, native animals, plants and parts of the landscape. She was quite the joker too. “Crocodiles in this river. Don’t want to capsize.”
“Wha-? Noooo. No!… Wait, really?”
“Ha ha ha! No. You have all the crocodiles!”

After an hour of boating we hopped onto our bikes for our first real long ride! It was a grey day but perfect for riding, warm without the glare of the sun. We went through little villages where the children shouted, “Hello!” at us and the adults smiled, openly curious at us a few yelling, “where you from?!”

I should preface this by saying our bike ride was through villages, rice paddies, fields, bamboo bridges, so there were very few cars or even motorbikes encounters. Just some bikes, ducks and cows. I still managed to fall though. Like 3 times!

Every now and then, Hoa would stop and pull us into a locals house where the person was working on their livelihood. It was a lovely experience, because it felt like it wasn’t a big “show” for tourists (though who knows I guess?!). The places weren’t made up with cheesy Vietnamese straw-hats or anything like that- just spartan and functional. It felt like people were just going about their usual routine but allowing us to observe what they were already doing and indeed while we were there, a few locals came in to buy their food supplies, stayed to watch us have a go and laughed at us when we did awful, awful jobs. They asked a lot about me- apparently quite a few thought I looked Vietnamese and as is usual in the custom they were asking our guide whether Nick and I were married, how come not, how long had we been dating etc.

Our first stop was a lady who was making rice noodles.

The next a lady who processed rice for a living. We also took a short drink break at this shop where an adorable kitten was. I had to pee and unfortunately had to use the dreaded traditional toilet which I had been avoiding in KL like the plague. But when you gotta go, you gotta go and you’ll be pleased to know my aim was true- indeed truer than any man, I’ll wager!

It started to rain for a bit, so we got out sexy, garbage-bag like ponchos and rode on, stopping for lunch at a locals house, which was delicious and so authentic that it definitely required a Travelan pill. It was caramlised chicken, rice and fried morning glory which is actually a weed in Australia. The little master of the house was 2 years old and very cute. He enjoyed pointing his finger gun at Nick and shouting “Boom!” while Nick would pretend to faint. He was, sadly, an only child and the product of what Hoa said was a common scenario, “bad man moves in with woman, they not married, then woman gets pregnant then man says it’s not his and run away. Then woman move home again and people talk, talk, talk.”

Master 2 followed us around for a bit, apparently wanting Nick to play soccer with him, but he kept getting chased away by Hoa. He finally, brought me a chair to sit on and then ran to hide behind a pillar, peeking out at me and then hiding when he saw me watching him. We got a peek-a-boo at a typical house, including the attic where everyone runs to when the place floods, which it does habitually. In November of all times! Lucky us. “We take the television up first. Grandma last,” Hoa joked.

We then nipped around the corner where they were weaving sleeping mats, with Master 2 and his mum following us and I badly slowed down the production line by trying to ‘help’ weave. Nick, unsurprisingly was quite good, fast and speedy!

It was here I realised my butt was sore. It was almost unbearable to climb onto the bike, but climb I did. I also had given myself a nice blister on my right hand, no doubt from clinging fearfully onto the handlebars. “Yes, I noticed you were holding tightly. Relax your hand, relax, relax!” Hoa said as she peeled off her two layers of gloves and offered me one pair. “Got a boo-boo, do you?” Nick teased, who had been effortlessly gliding along the pathways and little jumps the whole way.

Our next stop a rice wine making house. It was funny how everything was recycled- when we first walked in, there were pigs and I thought, “how odd, why are there pigs here with the rice wine?” Turns out the pigs eat the fermented rice, once as much liquid has been siphoned away and then their poop is used as manure to grow more rice, which is then fermented and… well you get the picture. A lot of the places we stopped at had similar cycles like that- all parts that came out of a process were always somehow reintegrated back in.

Our favourite experience was the basket boating experience! A gentleman was weaving rounded boats out of bamboo, the gaps filled with cow dung, then the whole thing lacquered. The boat’s odd design came about because back in the day, the French (it’s always the French. Or the Americans!) would tax the locals heavily on boats. So, if you could make a boat which looked like a basket you could say, “Hey tax-man! I don’t have a boat! All I have is a great big basket.” The cool thing of course was that they are also multi-directional. The bad thing is, they are ridiculously hard to paddle straight as I found out while I drifted off to sea….

By the time we left the boat it had really started to pelt. Like ridiculously so and ponchos or not, my sneakers, for the second time this trip, were getting squelchy and yuck. A couple of locals laughed at us for riding in the rain. We probably looked pretty funny.

Our next two stops were a gentleman who was the only person in Hoi An who did inlaying of mother-of-pearl works. He wrought the shell so finely into, flowers, trees, water buffalo- fascinating to watch!

Finally our last stop was the making of the standard Vietnamese wooden boat- expensive by their standards but lasting up to 20 years. Hoa pointed out that all Vietnamese boat had eyes and we suddenly realised she was absolutely right- they all had eyes and we hadn’t noticed. Why the eyes? Three theories she offered but apparently there are loads more. One- there are monsters in the river and by painting eyes on your boat, you’re proving you’re an even bigger monster, so stay away! Two- the eyes are like luck, guiding you to the safest harbour to shelter in, guiding you to a place of prosperity. Or three- if you’re drunk, you’ll find your way home!

We finally cycled to another wharf, this time a local one and everyone literally crammed on- bikes, motorbikes, waaaaay to many people for it to be safe and for there to be equal number of life jackets. I forced a smile on my face. I’m pretty sure these were the crowded boats that sunk, being way too full!

Luckily we made it. Dripping wet, we decided to veto a walk around town and said good bye. We got back to the hotel and I waddled across the road in my bright yellow-poncho to pick up the laundry. Interestingly, in my hobo gear, no one bothered me to buy dinner or go to their dayspa. Then I waddled my way back to our fancy-arse hotel, where the staff smiled as I announced my arrival by the poncho rustling in my wake. Can’t say I won any awards for the fanciest gear at that moment!

Back in the room, I showered and fell asleep for 3 hours. When I awoke, the rain was still going and Nick was hungry and we went down to the ‘western-style food’ restaurant, amused that the premium meats were of course Aussie beef. Nick, ever the burger connoisseur got his wagyu hamburger while I opted for an angel hair pasta with crab and capers. The crab turned out to be a crab stick and it’ll suffice to say Italian is not Vietnam’s forte!

Despite my three hour nap, I was exhausted and sore. I fell asleep deeply and quickly.

We said our good-byes to Hanoi and flew to Hoi An.

One thing I have been reflecting on was the idea of domestic flights. Dad had poo-poo’d the idea of flying to Penang while we had been in Malaysia stating it was much more interesting catching the train and Bach had made a similar comment when we had told him we were flying to Hoi An. “You’ll miss so much!” He had said.

I could see his point. People fly because it’s meant to save time, but I wondered if this was true. Nick and I would have to rock up an hour before the flight which meant leaving out hotel 2 hours before our flight anyway. Was it really saving that much time?

Here’s the other thing too: I don’t even really like flying. This dislike is not quite phobic, but I am definitely uncomfortable. Good friends know that during take-offs and landings I like to hold hands. Morbidly, I don’t do it because it calms me down- I do it because I have resigned myself that if I am going to die in that moment, in a fiery ball of flame and debris, then it would be nice to know I am touching someone I love.

In short, I am thinking in the future it might be worth taking the time to catch a train. I hate planes, people seem to think trains are better, so why am I hopping on and off so many planes? Bah.

As we were starting ‘the relaxing’ leg of our trip, Nick wanted a smooth transition and had organised a driver from our fancy resort to pick us up from the airport. When he told me the price (which I will not put here, lest we are judged!) it would cost, to have an english speaking driver pick us up from the hotel I fairly foamed at the mouth. “Are you kidding?! That’s going to cost wayyyyy more than any taxi driver trying to scam us,” I argued. But he had his mind set, seemingly traumatised by our first pick up and wanted no hassles. So we agreed to it and that was that.

It was certainly a very different experience to our first pick up. A well-spoken young lady in a smart-looking dress greeted us as we exited, helped get out bags and introduced us to our driver who also had very good english and kindly took the time to point out local attractions on the way. The traffic in Hoi An was lighter too, so there was less honking, swerving about on the streets… it all seemed very sanitised.

Then we arrived at the hotel. It had palm trees in the front and the building was beautiful. Tall glass windows, polished marble floor, dark wood accents and high, airy ceilings with trendy basket looking lanterns hanging from them. Soothing piano music was piping out from invisible stereos and I could see the pool and the beach from where I was standing. I felt so out of of place and instantly uncomfortable. I looked at Nick. He was loving it.

It felt too fancy after where we had been. I jokingly teased Nick, “Why don’t you make them shine your shoes, boss-man?” Then I realised they really did offer shoe shining- complimentary.

The first thing I wanted to do was my laundry, particularly when I opened my bag to find my shampoo had leaked everywhere. I googled that there was a good laundry lady right outside our resort so we gathered our things and walked down the driveway. Well, that walk really sealed the guilt- no sooner had our silhouettes appeared toddling down the driveway, a number of restaurants across the road started shouting at us, “Dinner?! Looking for dinner?!”
“No, no, just laundry,” I called back. They looked disappointed and I scurried from the laundry after leaving my things there.

While in Singapore I had observed to Fei that everyone seemed to work such long hours. Stores were open until 10 pm – sometimes later- and Dad had told me in Malaysia that if your boss asked you to stay back in the office, then you did as you were asked. No time in lieu, no excuses, no overtime. In response to my thoughts, Fei had coined the mocking catchphrase “Do you want my money? Do you? Do you?!” And we had all had had multiple laughs over this phrase during our week in Singapore, in the context of how Fei had into a hardened, money-grubbing Singaporean.

Well it turns out, this catchphrase had rubbed well off onto Nick. I expressed my guilt at us eating at the resort. “Shouldn’t we find somewhere cheaper in town?”
“You can’t eat somewhere just because you feel sorry for them! Plus, those business across the street- they were well off! Didn’t you see their neon lights?!”

Such, charity, truly, from the guy who said to me the other day, “I don’t want to donate. I don’t have a conscience- I don’t need one, you’ll do it for me!”

We finally decided to have dinner at the resort. It had turned dark by now, I was tired, we had an early start tomorrow and I reasoned there would be time for a town dinner because we were going to finish our activity in town tomorrow night anyway. So we sat down in a swanky dining room and ordered hotpot and cocktails (mocktails in my case) and then dessert before walking our pampered butts back to our comfy, sumptuous, ocean-view room.

I figured I might as well enjoy it- guilt free. Tomorrow was going to be a particularly un-pampering day.