I couldn't remember the last time I travelled with my family, much less willingly. You'd know it when age caught up with you and suddenly you're thinking straight, so straight that you take the initiative to play tour guide to 6 family members who thankfully happen to get along with each other.
So over the long Easter weekend, my sister and I got on the plane to Hoi An, Vietnam, with our beloved 77-yr old maternal granny (Ah Ma rocks!), our parents and 2 aunts, and left our poor cats with our fratello (who is their least favourite person in the house, haha). The Silk Air flight took just over 2 hours and we were at Danang's mini airport in a flash, greeted by the driver holding my name in large letters and the sweet Vietnamese hotel receptionist 'Dal' waiting with a bunch of fiori.
Everyone was excited, including our retired dad who was posing with the flowers in front of our private van. In many ways, I realised we took after him - he's a natural linguist (speaks Thai and curious in other cultures), independent (rides a motorbike in his younger days), nature-lover (born-fisherman) and is a tanned Pan-Asian (we can pass off as Thai, Viet, Lao, Filippino etc). In many ways, we also look up to our mamma for her resilience, resourcefulness, generosity and strength - she's the iron pillar in our family. As we grow older, we actually want to spend more time with them and treat them to our kind of adventurous travelling experiences, which they are game for.
Then there's our dear Ah Ma who is always full of humour and cheer, outward-thinking and has a grande appetito for life. She's always the darling granny for all her devil-may-care-less ways; chain-smoking and playing mahjong for as long as we can remember. When we were little, she had a way of spoiling us with toys, bad-arse jokes and her glorious homecooked food. Blessed with green fingers (and always has time to smell the roses), Ah Ma is also a very warm and sociable natural born traveller. The few times I travelled with her, she never complained and took everything in her stride. She never displayed shock, disgust or disappointment to new cultures - ok maybe one time when I dragged her on a horrifying roller coaster train ride at Disneyland Tokyo which saw us screaming our lungs out and pissing in our pants! Still, we had a good laugh and stuffed our faces silly after that.
My dear aunt M (eternally youthful at 48!) initially had reservations about Vietnam - hearing horror stories from my mom's colleagues and her silly workmate who mocked her why one should go to a third-world country. Hello! These people need to be bundled in a rice sack and fed to the blood-sucking leeches in the Mekong River! Obviously they have no keen interest in the world around them, especially in heritage, history and culture. Nowadays when I travel, I deliberately seek out culture shock. The more adverse it is from our own, the better. Why would I want to escape to another polluted loud city for senseless consumerism? We should challenge ourselves outside our comfort zones and open our mind to embrace diversity.
Even my aunt-in-law EM (married to my mom's brother) who seems most likely to shy away from the unfamiliar was warming up to Hoi An quickly. After a breezy hour's ride from Danang, we reached our boutique hotel Thien Thanh (
www.hoianthienthanhhotel.com), dropped our bags and hopped into a cab (US$1) to Brother's Cafe 5mins away for an early dinner! Housed in a charming colonial building by the river, the elegant restaurant was one of the best (and expensive) places in town for a local feast. We went mad and ordered chunky fried calamari, fresh rice paper rolls, specialty translucent 'white rose' dumplings, steamed whole fish, stir-fried morning glory and bbq spare ribs with porcelain bowls of white fluffy rice (US$105).
Stuffed, we burnt the calories with a
passeggiata, passing thro' the compact Old Town for our first glimpse of the UNESCO site by moonlight. It was very dark and our eyes had to adjust to the dim streets and lantern-lit shops. Still we could make out all the quaint ancient shophouses which Hoi An is famous for. Hailed as a world heritage destination, it was once an important international trading centre in southern Vietnam in the 16th and 17th century - servicing foreign marchants ships, from the French to Japanese, along its riverscape.
www.hoianworldheritage.org 
Here cosy restaurants were filled with international diners while locals sat on low seats sipping on sugar cane juice looking out into the tranquil dark waters. We couldn't help but notice all the cute little dogs who were watching the world go by outside their shops and homes. These furry busybodies were nonchalant to us and are more interested in other canines trepassing their territory.
The next morning, we got up extremely early at 5.30am without any rude alarm as the sun was already shining on our arses! We also slept early; me and my sister felt so snug like princesses under the mosquito net. A hearty brekkie awaited us at our open terrace overlooking the lush vegetable field and mooing brown cows. Ah Ma and parents ordered almost everything on the breakfast carte - which was a tad embarrassing - but they also didn't waste anything including the fab French baguette, noodles and omelettes.
I learnt that the baguettes came from the small bakery across the road which was perpetually busy around the clock. Inside, the air was hefty with soot and the bare backed bakers arranged the dough in neat rows and prepped them for the hot ovens (we bought 5 delicious loaves for S$1!). I love the warm loaves with their slightly charred crusty exterior. They are a taste of nostalgia as my mom used to send us to buy bread from a neighbour whose home was always perfumed with freshly baked buns.
Our first stop today was the bustling Hoi An Central Market by the Hoai River - easily my favourite place at any part of the world. All the women, shielded from the hot sun by their triangle-shaped straw hats - were peddling fresh flowers with roots, vegetables and fruits of all kinds along the sidewalks. Every corner was lined with pineapples, jambus and huge green melons that were in season.
My folks enjoyed a chat with the pineapple ladies and a taste of their sweet, rich harvest. Inside the market, there were more heady smells from the meat, eggs and noodle stalls. A lady was busy shredding flat sheets of oiled white rice noodle with a noodle-cutting machine while nearby more ladies sold piles of local yellow Cao Lau noodles.
Further along there were fish-sellers parading their fresh catch from plates of tiny baits to large swordfishes gleaming under the sun. My dad the fisherman was eyeing their catch like a hawk, while mom inspected the poultry section for the live chickens and docile ducks with sad bounded feet. As much as I'd love to linger on, the rest of our party was eager to get away from the chaos.
We found ourselves at a nearby Hainanese meeting hall which made dad really happy as he could chat away in his own tongue to the caretaker while the women bargained for necklaces and bracelets from a heap at the door. I snapped the colourful silk lanterns and a lazy cat in the garden for my upcoming cat photo exhibition. The locals were so friendly and hospitable here, unlike some of the more money-grabbing city dwellers in frenzy Hanoi.
Besides being compact, Hoi An was surprisingly very organised and relied on a tourist coupon system (US$5) that allowed 5 stops among a museum, ancient family houses, Chinese meeting halls, art performance theater, Japanese Covered Bridge or Quan Kong Temple. We popped into the Fujian meeting hall (since Ah Ma is Hokkien), the 100 year-old Phung Hung house (lived in by 8 generations) and the 16th century Japanese bridge before their attention span panned out under the stifling heat.
At 11pm, the weather was a killer so we seeked respite at a local restaurant for more 'white rose' dumplings, fried wantons and Cao Lau noodles - our second breakfast before noon. Cao Lau is a dish unique to Hoi An, featuring rough thick yellow noodles with a pasta-like texture. Apparently the secret lies in the water used to make it which comes from a 'special well' in the city (who knows if one uses it right?). These thick strands are then topped with slices of roast pork, squares of crispy dough fritters, heaps of fresh herbs and vegs. It didn't do much for me, even after my second attempt (I always try any local specialty twice just to double-check).
We easily covered most of the lanes soon enough or perhaps every old shophouse was beginning to look the same under this glorious sun. The elderly gang decided to head back to the hotel for Viet massages (US$10), while my sis, aunt and I trodded to easily the poshest tailor, Yaly, at Tran Phu Street for some well-deserved therapy (
www.yalycouture.com there are 2 stores). If there's one thing you must do in Hoi An, it is to make an impeccable tailored garment or pair of shoes (si, anche le scarpe!).
We sat among shelves and rows of assorted fabrics and poured over the fashion magazines and filed cuttings for designs to point out to the young salesgirls dressed in their brilliant flowing
ao dai. Most of them were patient and experienced enough to handle indecisive customers like us, trying to imagine our dresses in this material and that cut. Since it was great value (from US$12 for a top to US$60 for dress), I had 6 pieces made for US$180 at 2 tailors! My personal attendant Jane at Yaly was very helpful and made useful suggestions with my designs.
The other tailor was Cloth Shop Phuoc near our hotel where the chatty saleslady put aside her half-finished dinner and took our measurements for dresses and shoes. Her 3-year old daughter Ah Ying watched us with doeful eyes as we picked out the colourful linen, satin and chiffon for our clothes, and leather and heels for boots and shoes. We'd return the next day to try the goods and allow them time to make the final alterations. Express tailoring is stupendo!
Our mission today was to tour Cebu city on our own - an adventure given that we had no idea what to expect and dreaded more horrible taxi drivers ahead. Honestly we'd love to go on the jeepneys again but we waited 15mins for our metered car and bargained with the driver settling on 250 pesos for the 40mins ride to Ayala Mall at the city centre. 
And we got egged on more when the kind tourist info lady told us 'Maams, Carbon Market not safe.' To prove her wrong, we flagged the first cab (which went by the meter, hurray!) and zipped to the frenzied mercato, not before pulling over at the Cebu Moument aka the Parian. We had to repeat the 'Cebu Monument' so many times to the non-English speaking driver but he couldn't understand even when we jabbed at it on the map. In the end, I told him to go to the Paa-riaaan in my best Filippino accent and it worked becos' he went 'Ahh, the Parian'. 
When we got there, N and I stared at the monstrosity for 2secs and gestured for him to move on. I was already dying from the heat when we got off at Carbon Market and immediately we were waylaid by 2 trishaws and scruffy-looking boys. The surrounding streets were chaotic and we tried to stay alert while deperately blending in. What gave us away was probably me snapping away at the dried seafood stalls and the other fresh produce. 
The ladies were busy shredding the vegetables, cooking and packing the tiniest individual garlic cloves into clear plastic pockets (most bizzare). N bought straw bags and these greenish olive-looking fruits seneguelas which were bitter while I contemplated how to lag back all the pile of ripe glorious mangoes. We didn't stay long but managed to tour most of it before we jumped into a cab. This time, we WANT the f@cking mall, the air-con comfort and safety net of cleanliness and order! 
But we decided to check out the fort and basilica since we figured we won't be coming back to Cebu city for the rest of the trip or ever. The fort was deserted, save for the trio of blind performers and the vendors there. We could imagine it must be quite a towering feat in the old days - standing guard over the coastline - but now it is just a shell for bored shopkeepers and locals.
Next we strolled past a public singing arena in a park where the contestants were belting out evergreens under the bloody hot sun while we gained little moisture from the green mango. Luckily the basilica was not far so we survived the blinding heat and fought the crowd of street vendors at its gate. There were all these aunties wearing similar flowy outfits (not sure what is their role) as the faithful made their way into the serene cathedral. 
It was a cool relief from the sun and reminded me of all the countless beautiful churches in Italia, especially my favourite Baroque-style one in Torino. As I was preparing to shoot one of the old oil scenic paintings, a cute little boy came into the picture and smiled a toothsome grin, posing for me under the big frame. The kids here are gorgeous; all doeful eyed and lively. After half an hour, we grabbed a cab back to Ayala Mall where lunch await. 
Cebu is known for its lechon, which is a national dish of whole roast pig on spit. The version here is apparently different from the other provinces so we had all these hungry expectations. When we got to the food court, we found a stall devoted to lechon with its glass window splattered with the fatty juices as the server nonchalantly chopped up the meat. Nice. Peeping at the pig's head, we braced ourselves for porky delight, which was rather porky. Actually just porky. N took a deepfried curly intestine and spat it out. 
So much for lunch. At the supermarket, we packed our trolley with dried mangoes (best!), banana chips (da bomb!), otap biscuits (Shamrock brand), cute baby-sized toiletries, chewing gum and una bottiglia di Lambrusco per me, before calling it a day and caught a cab back across the bridge to Mactan isle at sunset.
