Rainy Days and Mondays

Wednesday 13th January 2010, 5.45pm, Halo Guest House - Hue

It's raining. Not drizzle, not just a light sprinkling, it isn't spitting, its not that fine rain which soaks you right through. It's pouring, coming down hard and fast and heavy on the streets of Hue today. The rain started, or rather we caught up with the rain, on Monday morning in Hoi An and we have followed it here to Hue city. It would undoubtedly be entirely unfair of me to group these two places together in any other blue skied and warm climed situation, but rain has that unforgiving bestowing quality of making everywhere look the same, that is - wet, unkind, closed.

The more observant amongst you will notice that my last blog entry was written on the bus on my way to Hoi An at 2am, no, I didn't get much kip on the "sleeper" bus. So we arrived at our new destination, seriously sleep deprived, wearily pounding the streets with our backpacks in search of accommodation, to find the town cast under a veil of grey mist. I'd heard so many great things about Hoi An and they were all merited. A quaint, antiquated old town set on a river, the buildings are wooden, ornately engraved, balconied, crawling with overgrown ivy and teeming with character from a bygone era of French colonisation and architectural aesthetics. The roads are narrow and cobbled, the market abundant in local handicrafts and jade jewellery, conglomerated on street corners sit groups of old men huddled over chequers boards and coffee with condensed milk, and the attribute that really characterises Hoi An, the reason it has become such a famous and frequented stop-off on the tourist trail - the tailors.

Any time you ask someone who has been there about Hoi An I guarantee that the first thing they will say is 'great for getting clothes made.' Hoi An is as famous for tailoring as Sheffield is for steel, as Yorkshire is for mining, as Cornwall is for pasties, as Essex is for white stilettos, as Milwall is for violent football fans. Every other shop, and on some streets, every shop, is a tailor's. Pick a design from a catalogue, from fashion websites, from catwalk stills or simply sketch your own creation, get measured, pick your fabrics, and voila! Hand picked haute couture is yours within 24 hours. But it was raining. I had forgotten what rain can do to a place and a mood, even in a perfectly pretty little fashionista playground such as Hoi An. In this instance rain acheived the remarkable - it made me not feel much like shopping.

I was, however, cured of this rare and fleeting ailment when I arrived in Hue this morning, soggy in flip flops, leggings and a thin-knit sweater and so bitterly cold that I felt aged by the brittling of my bones. Blue-lipped and wet-nosed I have done today what I could not quite muster the enthusiasm for in Hoi An, I went shopping, not for haute couture, but for clothes that will prevent frostbite setting in. I should mention here, save you thinking me a completely unprepared moron, that when I came travelling I did bring with me a beautiful, snug, fleece lined hoodie as well as a pair of retro neon-fantastic Nike Hi-Top trainers. For reasons owing to my forgetfulness and haphazard way of mooching around the globe, my trainers are at a friend's apartment in Bangkok, and my hoodie - if you can believe this - is living with another friend in Melbourne, Australia. 'But you haven't been to Australia yet Grace?!' I hear you say. Yes, you are correct, I have not, my hoodie has made it there before me; it's nice that my possessions are getting a holiday too isn't it.

I have fixed this little problem though. I am now the proud pneumonia-free owner of sneakers, Adidas leggins, thick knitted socks, a Hollister hoodie, a red Nike waterproof jacket and black combat pants, a scarf, and my utmost favourite item... a wooly bobble hat embroidered with the words 'I Love Snow'. I am currently wearing all of it. I look like I'm about to round up my huskies and ride a sled to the Arctic Circle (damn I should have bought gloves), but I do not care, because I am no longer cold. The realisation has just dawned upon me that people I am sharing dormitories with might take offence at my new wardrobe choices - it may appear that I'm insinuating distrust. 'You all look like theives. You shall not be stealing my belongings though, for I have devised a cunning plan in which I wear everything I own all at once so that there is nothing left in my backpack for your greasy little fingers to pilfer, ha ha!'. I hope you are enjoying the mental image as much as Ella is stood before the abominable snowman monstrosity of it. I jokingly asked her earlier if she would still be happy to walk around and be associated with me if I continue to wear every warm item of clothing I have at the same time and she laughed, nervously. If she ditches me tomorrow then I'll blame the hat. It's probably the icing on the cake, or the bobble on the idiot as it were.

So there you have it, an unfortunate but unavoidable bias against Hoi An and Hue. Both places completely undeserving of so harsh and rash a judgement but I will openly admit that if I had seen these towns in bright light then my fairweather reporting would have given a drastically different verdict. This forecast is only temporary though, the North of Vietnam and our next couple of planned destinations will also be cold but after I have had sufficent pay-per-wear benefit from my new purchases we will be back to the reliable heat and humidity of Southern Thailand. Where I imagine I'll throw out all my new things because I'll be moaning about how heavy they are in my backpack, and then inevitably will get to New Zealand in March, have to buy it all again, and complain that nobody warned me glacier hiking might be chilly.

The Carpenters were right, about everything actually, there is nothing that Karen Carpenter could sing with that voice which I wouldn't believe, and yes, sometimes Solitaire is the only game in town. Rainy Days and Mondays always get you down. What The Carpenters neglected to mention however, is that it's nothing a new bobble hat, a cup of coffee and the promise of sunshine can't cure.