I have a bit of a confession to make. I had completely suspended reality when I was envisioning what this dinner would be like. I had pictured a beatiful spread of dishes, Anthony Bourdain at the table, maybe an old man laughing. Instead, we got reality. Sue has two kids, we have one, so most of the night was filled with three adults chasing three small children, and occasionally snatching a bite of delicious spring rolls or grilled chicken (com ga).
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| Sue, chief baby wrangler |
Children aside, the meal was lovely, and it was extremely thoughtful for Sue to invite us over. But as Sue was in the kitchen cleaning up, things got a little interesting.
Everyone in Hoi An keeps their doors open at night. It's safe, hot, and not a malaria zone. Sue was no exception. However, the breeze wasn't the only thing that came in that night. As we were gathering our things, the biggest, fastest, nosiest flying insect that I had ever seen came in to the house. As terrified as I was, my paternal instincts kicked in. This monstrosity was in the same weight class as my daughter, and wouldn't have had much trouble flying off with her. So I picked up the closest rigid item, and knocked the bug somewhere into Central Thailand.
Or so I thought. Our assailaint, now injured and angry, flew right back into the house. I hit it again, but this time I couldn't get it out of the house. Just then, Sue came around the corner to offer us some tea. Aimee and I tried to politely accept, while keeping our full attention on Mothra's flight plan. "Uh huh, yep, delicious. Sue, are you seeing this?" She did finally notice the new guest at our dinner party. But of course, our host was unfazed, carrying on the conversation as if it were your standard fruit fly.
Sue, ever the tour guide, explained to us how the insect was in it's transitional phase, and would eventually become one of the cicadas we heard in the trees every night. I thought, "Well, maybe not this particular insect," as it lay on Sue's floor, motionless. Thankfully, Sue's younger daughter picked it up to give us a closer look. Repeatedly. Aimee shot me a look that said, "Shut it down, Myles. Shut it down now." But mercifully, our arriving taxi kept the entomology lesson to a minimum, and we safely escaped.
The next morning, Sue (who thankfully survived the night) picked us up for a quick trip to My Son (pronounce Mee Sone) before I went to work that afternoon. My Son is another beautiful trip back in time. Its a collection of Cham temples that are very well preserved, considering that most of them are nearly a thousand years old. Adding to their beauty is the rolling green hills that surround them.
The Cham people migrated across Southeast Asia from Indonesia at various points over the last millennium. They followed a derivative of Hinduism, and were master temple builders. Many of their hauntingly beautiful structures still stand in Viet Nam and Cambodia. But unfortunately, both countries have gone through decades of war in the era of aerial bombardment. In My Son, for example, there are bomb craters still visible from a 1968 campaign that leveled most of the buildings in the area (North Vietnamese fighters were thought to be using them for shelter). But several beautiful temples remain, and even more will be restored over the next decade. The only problem is that even with modern materials and techniques, international research teams still can't figure out how they were built. Several of the ruins are currently acting as test sites for various construction theories, giving the monument a distinctly living feel.
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| The lighter colored bricks were recently added, and will age to look like the rest. |
After an hour or so, Mimi started to breakdown.
It was probably the heat, but nothing Sue couldn't fix.
Mimi was just saying what we were all thinking. It was hot. So we headed back down the trail back to our van. It was a beautiful way to spend the morning, and another striking blend of ancient and modern history. This country really is something else.
