Once in a Lifetime

It was our first night in Hoi An. For many of us, it was also the first time we had the opportunity to explore Vietnam outside of Hue.

One group followed a dirt path and found a restaurant nestled among decades old houses. It was the Sleepy Gecko, the most wonderful establishment in all the country. It was run by an ex-pat and filled with ex-pats. All night long, stories were traded and the food never stopped coming. Potato salad, hot off the grill barbecue, and even pizza were to be had, and due to the generosity of the host all of it was free. The hours flew by with the tastes of home and the company of newly made friends. Australians, English, American -all were brothers and sisters at the Gecko. It was the most unlikely paradise to be found in this small corner of Southeast Asia.

The other group walked across the bridge into the city proper. By coincidence, they met the tour guide along the way. He brought the group to a restaurant where the drivers of the tour bus were already waiting. Each had a seat at a table and each ordered the same. Chicken with rice, a small bowl of soup and a cold glass of iced tea. There was a certain wistfullness and even nostalgia in the air even as the group partook of the simple, but good meal. Would such an experience ever occur again in the group's lifetime? To eat as the locals ate, to drink the drink of the locals, to sit together and figuratively break bread. It was like being home, except the group's home was now Vietnam, if only for the duration of the meal.

Afterwards, the second group continued to wander the city. From the middle of the river to the air above the streets, lanterns hung festively. The shops beckoned with their wares. How many decades or perhaps centuries had some of these shops been standing? How many generations had worked at perfecting the production of the finest cloths and tailoring? People wandered carefree. The city struck the perfect balance between bustling and overcrowded. It was majesty of a lost era.

On the way back to the hotel, the group found a cafe set up in the playground of a school. The branches of a tree bedecked with lights provided enough cover for all the tables. At the cost of fifty cents each, the group had deliciously sweet flan in little tin containers and refreshingly sour yoghurt drinks chilled with ice. To sit on little plastic stools in the near dark and enjoy the some of the greatest and most inexpensive snacks of the group's lives, this was the Vietnam they had searched for.

The two groups met back at the hotel pool. The cool waters washed away the heat and exhaustion of the day. Stories of their experiences were told. The first group proclaimed the Gecko as heaven on earth. The second group expoused the beauty of the city and the simple wonder of yoghurt and flan.

Plans were made. The next day, everyone would tour the city, enjoy some sweets, and then retire to the Gecko. It was to be the greatest night of summer.

Then it rained all afternoon, and everyone holed up in their rooms with nothing to do but study.

Or if you, dear reader, do so wish, you may choose to believe that the rain cleared up and the show went on without a hitch.

Or perhaps what really happened was a compromise between the drab rain and the wonder of Hoi An.