Hue

Rambutans are red coloured and hairy on the outside, like a very odd testicle or strange hairy egg. The inside is creamy white and though I used to compare it to a lychee it is surprisingly – given how many I have eaten since I arrived in Asia – only today that I realise how different it is. The flesh is far firmer like a squid, and so much sweeter...in fact I keep tasting hints of homemade strawberry jam (in turn making me think of my Dad, who makes excellent strawberry jam, pots of which I cherish as though they represent pieces of time I missed) mingled with the unmistakable taste of something exotic. This phrase makes me laugh – what is exotic after all? What a cop-out too...but I cannot find words to describe it when other ones are already taking the space needed in my brain.

For some reason I really like Hue. Arriving in the early evening from a long (I lie, only 4 hour) bus journey where the air conditioning was little more than a thin drizzle of cold dog breath (buses here are rarely as advertised: never leaving on time – well, not the time you're told – never stopping at the scenic places they're supposed to, the air/light consoles above the seats nothing other than a courtesy to design,) and finding a reasonable hotel, I walk along the river to the railway station. I love and am intrigued by the feelings you can get from a place. Like people, whose personalities surely play a part and are therefore far more understandable as a source of getting a vibe from them, though I don't think it is the only factor in it, places also seem to send out signals and you can like (or dislike) them on first arrival. Some places grow on you over time...others you may never like, however hard you try. There is something about Hue. It just feels good to me, not like home necessarily, but it resonates somewhere within me.

I am tempted to stay an extra day without having even really seen anything of the city but book my train ticket to Hanoi for the 10th as planned. I'm excited about the prospect of taking a train in Asia, especially as I am taking the day train... over 12 hours of travel: lots of things to look at! Things that, no matter how many photos I may take or words I might use, I don't think I will ever be able to properly portray. This is one of the bittersweet facts about traveling – everything that you'd love to share with friends and family that you can't, because those things are in the air, in the every day experiences you have, in the way lots of Vietnamese people have of breaking out the most endearing, heartfelt smiles; in the diminutive plastic chairs and tables set out in eateries and cafes as though for a herd of dolls; in the people who set up cooking pots or ice buckets in the middle of the pavement to sell grilled meat, rice, drinks; in the incessant stream of bicycles and motorbikes streaming around you as you cross the road; the dust in the air; the bitter, tangy taste of greenery at the bottom of a bowl of noodles and meat or inside hand-rolled rice paper pancakes; the lush green hills in the distance contrasting with the parched sandy earth beneath your feet; the continual calls asking where you are from, how old you are, Manchester United, Vancouver...alright mate, eh?

Maybe some of these good feelings come from the temperature when I arrive. Having come from Hoi An (a town near the coast to the east of Hue) that I thought I would love and continually tried to get the energy to explore more than the intense heat and humidity would allow – and I thought Thailand and Laos were hot! - it seems somewhat cooler here, though that may simply be the time of day. Hoi An is a beautiful town with small streets strewn with tailors, souvenir shops, old buildings and eateries all lit up at night by atmospheric paper lanterns where many tourists go to buy custom-made clothes. I must admit that it was not my intention to make any such purchases while there, however I saw too many things that caught my eye (and were available for crazily low prices, compared to how much they'd cost at home anyway) that there is yet another parcel winging its way to me. My bag however, has somehow gained even more weight and mass than before...I blame it on gifts, which I don't want to send in case they don't reach their destination.

Either way, I spent most of my time in Hoi An relaxing and feeling an underlying tremor of guilt that I should be doing and seeing a lot more than I did. My experience was enriched, however, by following one of the hawker cries that I usually ignored. I was in the market, having just come back from having my second coat fitting and the prospect of a $1 pedicure lured me deeper amidst the wooden stalls selling knock-off, made-to-measure shoes, traditional hats, jewelery that all looked the same, and all manner of knick-knacks and souvenirs to a small stall sweltering beneath a corrugated iron roof, a lazy fan trying to stir the fetid air. Pedicure under way (soaking toes in a decorative bowl, the dirty water, once emptied onto the dusty concrete floor is flicked dry before being carefully stacked back into the pile for sale), Mi starts asking the usual questions. “Where are you from? How old are you? (Answer to this one always seems to surprise people, but I cannot tell if it is genuine or a ploy to win my affections) Are you married?” However, Mi is very friendly and has really great English, so talking with her gets beyond these salient points (conversation in Viet Nam is dependent on a great many factors, including seniority, which is probably why so many questions are asked) and in the end she offers to show me around the town a bit. We go to the beach in the evening where mats are laid out with flickering hurricane lamps on each one, a network of lights leading to the moon. Then it is off to drink ice tea (as in the rest of S.E. Asia, Vietnamese women are very rarely seen drinking alcohol). The next evening we go swimming before heading to her house for dinner the off to a pop concert. Entering the amphitheatre to throbbing bass and a dancy beat, I was starting to think it might be a big party until a break-dancing competition of sorts starts up on stage (rather impressive some of them were too) followed by various singers standing like abandoned kittens in the centre of this huge stage, singing Vietnamese pop songs to a young audience. Reminiscent of the heyday of Top of the Pops, several of them seem to be channeling Michael Jackson with gloves, dances and all... however the majority of them have good voices, although I have no clue what they're saying. Mi is hilarious, commenting on how dup jai (handsome) some of them are. Recently broken up with her boyfriend of 8 years, she is, however, not on the search for another handsome man: all she wants is love (preferably in the form of a Canadian or Australian man, she thinks they are the most attractive – no clue where this preference comes from).

Even though I didn't get to see the sights I had planned to, I did get to experience a slice of Vietnamese life that I may never have seen had I not followed my desire to get rid of the old scratched colour on my nails for cheap. Moral of the story – there isn't really one. Just have fun and see where paths take you.