The bus honks as you swerve on your bike, your friend on the back keeping balance as the Cau Lau from earlier swirls in your stomach. Contrary to what the teacher said bikes seem a lot scarier than scooters. The thought of Cau Lau dominates your mind, it was just so damn good. You think ahead to the tailoring of your $94 suite, you think to ask questions about how it’s so cheap, about how the workers are there for seemingly 12 hours straight but the thought of looking so dapper in a fitted suite changes your mind.
Women are hunched over in the rice fields.
The wind is cool against your skin.
The beach appears after one last hill, chill sands, green blue water and white people everywhere. There are a few locals but most work at the beach, or desperately try to sell you nick nakes. Like the ex-pats and eery shadow looms over you; the beach looks a lot like colonial photos, the clothes are different and there is a Scandinavian couple with two adopted children.
Could an Egyptian adopt a boy from North Dakota?
But man that Cau Lau was good.
The bike back is easy, another fitting then Banh Mih that in laymen terms nocks your socks off, you buy another at twice the price as the lady reminds you of the soup nazi.
Hoi An is filled with seemingly more white people than locals, it feels nauseating, till you think of the Cau Lau and Banh Mi… you look forward to a new city where maybe you won’t cover half finished thoughts with food.
But fuck man that food was good.