The Secret of Nam (3/11/2009)

After dawn, the Americans landed at Danang. The coast was to the east, the highlands to the west. The breeze softened the coastal heat. They looked around, excited and tingling as their vessel rolled in; this, they realized, wasn’t Kansas – or Singapore – anymore.

And, 44 years after their countrymen first hit shore, the young Americans had their visas stamped and proceeded into their erstwhile nemesis. Hail to the victors.

We spent the weekend in Hoi An, Vietnam’s ancient harbor that bore comparatively little carnage during the French or American wars. It is a beach- and riverfront town that (cheers, UNESCO) maintains its ancient charm while catering to and profiting from mass tourism. Hoi An’s old town is a remnant of its colonial past – gorgeous, decadent French and Indochinese architecture with merchants hawking wares and clothing – oh, the clothing! – in each. The touchup paint has long since chipped, the stone faces crumbling, but the serenity and timelessness of colonial Asia still lingers.

The city, whose glory days have long passed, maintains an old-world charm with a new world Vietnamese economy. The town’s vivacity was amazing; Everyday life bustled around the tourists unlike anywhere I’ve seen in the world. Little was for show; go souvenir hunting down by the docks and be assaulted by hawkers of statues, “silk,” and jewelry, all while dodging farmers selling their goods to locals. You’re here, hi, but out of my way, I need some ochre. Head down streets lined with tailors (specially cut suits for $60, shirts for $10, dresses for $30. I am five slick shirts richer.), and see women in conical hats scurrying beans, rice, sprouts, and other goods home on their backs. Watch motorbikes for five minutes and see them carrying stuff which Vespa didn’t calculate; chicken coops, children,
and … beds.

Hoi An introduced us to the soul of an ancient country which existed long before it dominated dour headlines. Communism, while a red herring, is practically nonexistent. Uncle Ho is present but not overbearing; his likeness and quotations dot a few propaganda posters into town. Hi, Ho. Hi, Ho, but capitalism is the new nom du guerre: the most amusing juxtaposition of this came from the customs official who stamped my passport – a communist star on each collar; between them, a Nike swoosh.

While Vietnam’s past, both true and exaggerated, is well-documented, Hoi An provided an excellent first impression of a proud nation and promising future. Plus, who can argue with a day’s toils when the crashing of the South China Sea lulls you to sleep.