Dear Readers

We apologize for not keeping up with our posts! Scott and I got back from Vietnam, and I had to immediately start my second year in medical school (I arrived 2 days late). Since then, Scott has also started medical school up in San Francisco, so we have both been busy trying to study and manage our schedules. However, we will be continuing to post pictures and journal entries from the rest of our trip, which was absolutely incredible. We can't wait to share the rest of our adventures with you. We hope that you continue to read throughout the next few months!

-Scaudrey

Day 2 in Hoi An

Day 2

Scott and I had to wake up at 4:30 am to catch the tour bus to My Son, ancient Champa ruins from the 2^nd century and older than Angkor Wat in Cambodia. It was our first experience on a tour. We had done our best to avoid them until now because we preferred to do things on our own, but Bac Di recommended that we just do the tour because it is easier—rather than renting a motorbike and trying to find the place. I stepped onto the bus, and it felt odd. Here I was in my safari getup—polyester shirt with multiple pockets and breathable underarms, Northface hiking pants, and a safari hat. Women on the bus were wearing miniskirts and flowered tanktops; so much of their skin was exposed. Didn’t they know the dangers of mosquito bites and Dengue fever. Moreover, sometimes it’s hotter to be wearing short sleeve versus long sleeve. The sun beating down on bare skin can be very uncomfortable.

Scott and I fell asleep for the one hour bus ride and woke up to the bus pulling into the site. Everyone disembarked, and followed the tour guide in. She was a short, tan woman in her 20’s with short black hair. She didn’t look Vietnamese to me, almost Cambodian. Then again, people from every region of Vietnam looked different, and to me, there was no true “Vietnamese” look. The guide explained that there would be 3 main sites we would be going to. During the Vietnam War, the communists used My Son as a base camp to hide away. America bombed the camp, and in so doing, left it in ruins—no pun intended. We walked in and could see huge craters, greater than 15 feet across, making its presence known amidst the ruins. The first group of temples was stunning. The ruins were restored back in the 18^th century when they were first discovered, and the restored bricks were more dilapidated than the original. The mystery of the ruins is the brick. No one knows for sure how Champa people put the brick together, but there is no mortor. Each brick edge is touching its neighbor without the gray, grainy mortor in between. Several theories exist, but no archealogist has been able to prove them. The original brick remained a bright red-orange and in great condition, a stark contrast to the brick that was laid down 16 centuries later. Maybe there was a time when magic existed. The temples where the god, Shiva, was once worshipped were beautiful and eerie. Thousands of years ago, people walked these grounds and lived a life. Here we were, taking pictures of what was left. 

My Son

Amongst the forest

Put in perspective

Scott is a little bigger than your average Champa

Beautiful and to ourselves

The mini museum

Statue of Buddha with our tour in the background

Because we were on the 5 am bus, we had the place to ourselves, and it wasn’t yet overcrowded with tourists. Scott and I wondered into the different temples and took many pictures. The group moved to the other 2 sites which were in much worse condition, and we couldn’t see much but what looked like piles of brick under shrub and overgrowth. We also learned that 58,000 American soldiers died at this site. My Son was seeped in history. Not only was it the site of Champa temples, but it was also a bold reminder of a war that happened not too long ago. The tourguide didn’t say much more and told us that her focus was on the temples. We took a long hike back through a pathway of tall trees. A small foxlike dog was leading the way the entire time. Scott and I got back on the bus and fell asleep on the way home. We got back at 9:30 am, the time we usually wake up.

Scott and I planned out the rest of our day and wanted to go to Cua Dai beach. We rented bicycles from the hotel and made the 5 km journey to the beach. It was a fun ride, though it was hot. It felt good to be active and moving again. We arrived at the beach, and so many people were lounging under the shade of the coconut trees. Between the shade and the water, there was a stretch of white sand that was scorching hot. To get to the water, one had to walk on fire. Scott and I, basically burning, ran and jumped into the refreshing water of the South China Sea. The sun was really beating down on us. The water was clear and blue and calm. We laid out on the beach and tanned for an hour, sporadically jumping into the water whenever we were overheated. I later found out that this was the same beach that my grandfather took my mom and the immediate family to vacation during the Vietnam War. Was I lounging where my mother once built sandcastles as a child? It is strange to think about because Vietnam seemed so impossible to visit for the longest time—a country far away that left my family refugees in America. Before this summer, I wasn’t sure if I would ever visit Vietnam, and there I was, tanning on Cua Dai Beach.

Scott and I started getting hungry, so we took the long bike ride back to another restaurant we had read about on Tripadvisor. It was called Mango Rooms, and it was trendy. The interior was colorful and tropical and reminded me of Costa Rica. We sat out back and ordered some colorful and fresh mixed drinks and appetizers. In fact, they were probably the freshest and best mixed drinks that I have had. There were passion fruit seeds floating around in mine, contrasting the color of the fresh watermelon cubes. The full meal was too expensive. For the main course, we went to another place that turned out to be a disappointment, and their Hoi An specialties, such as white rose dumplings, were not nearly as good as Ms. Ly’s at Morning Glory. We pulled another bus-to-Dalat fiasco and realized that we were short on cash. Luckily, we weren’t too far, so Scott had to bike home, grab our ATM cards, and get money. What’s worse, we were only short 75 cents.

After lunch, we went back to our room to rest and shower. It was time to go pick up the suit and the dress! We were anxious about it, since we had heard horror stories about shops cheating customers or refusing to fix the clothes if they did not fit properly. Sometimes, you just don’t know who to trust in Vietnam. Vendors are very good at sweet talking. We first went to buy tickets to visit the sites in Old Town. Many of the original houses, temples, and assembly halls were still standing, so tourists can buy a ticket for entrance at these sites. We then apprehensively approached the tailor shop, not knowing what to expect and knowing that we had already paid 80% of it. There they were, suit and dress waiting for us. Scott tried on his suit, and it was beautiful. The color was a sandstone, and it matched Scott well. We had to make a few minor adjustments, such as making it slimmer and changing the buttons, but other than that it was quite wonderfully made. I tried on my dress, and though it was not quite how I wanted it, it still showed off the pattern of the silk how I wanted. It was a little big for me, so some adjustments were made, and we were to pick them up later. We biked to see the Museum of Trade Ceramics (not really worth mentioning) and the Assembly Hall before dinner. Since it was almost closing time, no one was checking for tickets, and we just wandered into both places, and no one else was there. We did our picture-taking thing and left. Scott and I made reservations for dinner at “The Lighthouse,” the same restaurant that had eluded us the night before. We biked in the dark across the bridge and turned right onto a darker and smaller pathway along the river. Waiting for us at the end was a house lit up by lights, or the “Lighthouse.” We took a seat upstairs, and I felt like I was in a restaurant in France. We had a beautiful view of the river and Old Town Hoi An, and a table in the middle of what looked like a yellow villa. As we sat down, there was a noisy beetle or flying cockroach buzzing around, which scared me a little bit. I tried my best to hold it in, but I had to let out a small squeal. Dinner was tasty, but not the best we have had in Vietnam. We tried their white rose dumplings, shrimp in tamarind sauce, and stuffed squid. All the dishes were the right amount of Vietnamese savory, but it was lacking a certain gourmet feel that the interior of the restaurant had. After dinner, we took a nice bike ride back, our stomachs content. We stopped to pick up the tailored suit with its adjustments before heading home. Once again, we felt like we had accomplished so much in just one day.

-Audrey 

 P.S. See all our full-size photos on flickr (sorry for not linking these ones):  http://www.flickr.com/photos/sbauer810/sets/72157627410333976/

Portrait fun

Posing at the Hoi An temple

Like we owned the place!

Playing around with more abstract (ie blurry) photography