12th May 2015

The alarms woke us promptly at 7 am, and before long, we were downstairs for breakfast. A thunderstorm had rolled through during the night, but while Sue slept soundly, I was roused by four or so concussions before drifting back to sleep. From our bedroom window, we could see that the streets were damp, but the sun was up, and it wouldn’t take long for them to dry out.

Unlike our previous mornings, the breakfast room was quiet, with only a handful of guests, who appeared to be from Fiji. In contrast, the reception area of the sister hotel was bustling with a noisy group of French travellers, seemingly preparing to depart, perhaps, we mused, for some Greenpeace whale-watching expedition.

Fortified with a hearty breakfast, we set off on our planned route to Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum. The route itself was straightforward enough, but navigating Hanoi’s chaotic streets proved a different matter. With an endless stream of near-suicidal chicken runs at the junctions blocking our progress, we somehow managed to stumble upon the Literacy Museum instead.

As we paid for our tickets, we decided to hire a guide to show us around the site. She was a lovely lady, dressed in traditional attire, and mentioned that she had visited London and Birmingham last year on a lecture tour. She spoke excellent English, and we had no trouble understanding her.

The museum is dedicated to Confucius and his teachings, which is why teachers hold such a revered position in Vietnamese society. At this point, we mentioned that we were teachers, and she was suitably impressed. Nice.

Fortunately for us, it was the end of the term for schools, and the complex was alive with colourfully dressed children and older students celebrating their graduations. Groups of them clustered together, posing for photos with broad smiles. Whenever they spotted us, they enthusiastically called out their cheerful “Hello’s,” adding to the festive atmosphere.

Our guide spent about an hour walking us through the exhibits, explaining the significance of the artefacts and their cultural meanings, making the experience genuinely fascinating. Once she had finished and taken her leave, we couldn’t resist doing the classic school trip routine and ventured into the museum shop.

Naturally, we picked up a few souvenirs, but not before Sue worked her haggling magic. She managed to negotiate the price down from what was already quite reasonable to what could only be described as a “near-starvation level” for the poor family relying on the shop’s profits.

After a brief stroll around the Royal Lake on the opposite side of the road, we made our way back to the hotel. The traffic had noticeably increased since our outward journey, requiring us to be even more cautious. We mastered the art of staring down moped riders, giving the distinct impression that any collision between an Eastern scooter and a Western torso would spell doom for the mechanical polluter.

Back at the hotel, we packed our belongings, took a quick shower, and then spent some time reading a local English-language newspaper. Our airport pick-up was scheduled for 1 pm, but we were ready and waiting in the reception area by 12:10 pm. The driver arrived at 12:45 pm, and with our luggage safely stowed in the boot, we set off on the 40-minute drive to the airport.

Arriving early for our 3:55 pm flight, we decided to sit down in the airport restaurant for a light lunch before browsing the gift shops. The flight departed on time and lasted just an hour. This time, our baggage was among the first off the belt, and we were swiftly greeted by our driver as we exited the arrivals hall.

The journey to Hoi An took approximately 40 minutes, starting with a drive through Da Nang before following the scenic coast road to our hotel, the Boutique Hoi An Resort. The hotel, which we would describe as medium-sized, lived up to its five-star reputation upon check-in. After being shown to our room, we found it to be comfortable and well-appointed.

Eager to explore before the light faded, we skipped unpacking and headed straight through the grounds towards the beach. The setting brought back fond memories of the Regent Cha-Am in Thailand for both of us. Twinkling neon lights from fishing boats on the horizon, designed to lure fish to the surface, shimmered between the palm trees lining the white sandy shore. We couldn’t resist dipping our toes into the water before making our way back to the hotel via the swimming pool, where a few determined late swimmers were still doing laps. No prizes for guessing their nationality.

We took a moment to check out the hotel bar and the small tourist shop before venturing outside to explore the little businesses clustered around the entrance. These shops reminded us of the village outside the grounds of the Regent and the charming little restaurants we used to frequent there. With the evening winding down, we eventually returned to the hotel, ready to settle in for the night.

After freshening up, we decided to take a nostalgic approach and dine in the village. We picked a small restaurant that already had a couple seated inside, a reliable strategy, as it usually indicates the food is decent or, at the very least, any bout of food poisoning won’t go unnoticed by the authorities. True to form, the owner was beckoning us over even before we had crossed the road.

Once seated, we ordered our drinks and food and were soon joined by other like-minded tourists. While we ate, a street hawker approached with a basket of wares. She was polite and unassuming, methodically displaying her items without any fuss. If we showed no interest in something, she simply moved on to the next. In the end, I purchased a small lacquered toothpick holder for £2, not because I particularly needed it, but because I knew that even such a small sum could make a meaningful difference to her evening.

Our meal consisted of fresh pineapple juice, two draught beers, sweet and sour shrimp, two bowls of rice, a serving of French fries, and a dish of chicken with lemongrass, all for just £12. For affluent Europeans, it was a modest expense, but I couldn’t help reflecting on how significant such an amount might be to the lives of the Vietnamese. They are a polite and gentle people, though history has shown they are not to be underestimated.

After our meal, we returned to the hotel and settled in for the night, pressing some new pillows and enjoying the comforts of our room.