Hoi An

It took three dollars and over four hours to move the short distance from Hue to Hoi An. An hour or two of that was driving. The rest was spent at a hotel and restaurant on the outskirts of Hue. It was a charming place in own small way, and I'm sure the bus driver's brother is quite proud of it, but it was hardly a necessary stop. Welcome to this part of the world.

You don't hear of Hoi An nowadays, but it was once quite the place. Here, a major river met the ocean—think an Asian New Orleans. Traders from all over the east piled in for a four-month-long trade fair. They built Chinese mercantile clubs, Indian trading houses, and Japanese homes and bridges. All of this has left Hoi An a charming jumble of architectural styles, dominated mainly by the yellow walls and gently sloping tile roofs of Old China.

In recognition of its unique character, UNESCO has designated Hoi An a World Heritage Site, an awesome distinction that is intended to preserve places of cultural interest. Instead, it has had the perverse effect of drawing millions of tourists who might potentially destroy it.

In Hoi An, though, the crush of tourists actually works to the site's advantage. It was a bustling market center, and the thousands of visitors return it to its original purpose. The heavy wood Chinese houses, the narrow streets filled with foreigners, and the Vietnamese hawking wares are somehow more authentic than otherwise.

So what do you do here? Tour Vietnam style. You buy a ticket, and wander through houses, museums, and temples. At every one, you're greeted by a person who clips your ticket, sits you down, and then, in the most astonishingly impenetrable accent and diction, starts to tell you about the place.

"Welcome to theees hoose," a girl says, "live in this place blah blah blah wood walls blah blah blah marble blah blah blah China, impenetrably nonsensical stuff that goes on for no less than ten minutes, and then you hear, to your immense relief, 'Follow me.'"

From what I can tell, the Vietnamese speak excellent French, but their English is largely theoretical in nature. Their tour guides memorize long scripts which have been quite artfully constructed, with anecdotes, recurring jokes, and other important literary devices. Then the scripts go through a strange metamorphosis, first to French, and then to a kind of English that no human being has ever spoke or is likely to speak. In this form, it is memorized by a Vietnamese guide, who delivers it faithfully to you, even though he or she hasn't the foggiest idea what the words mean. The result is a painful ordeal for both teller and audience. I'm sure it will improve with time.

In other words, we're quite enjoying ourselves. They like to serve beef wrapped around cheese and fried won tons smothered with garlic tomato sauce. They smile a lot; we smile back. It's a very welcoming place.