Here in the charmed village of Hoi Ann the men, when they reach an age about 60 are issued a stylish hat (sometimes a rumpled fedora and sometimes a felt bowler), a natty little suit and rickety cruiser bike and are sent out to peddle slowly around the narrow streets with infinite dignity. They are allowed breaks only to smoke cigarettes with other old men sitting on park benches down on the riverfront. When the townpeople see the old men ride by in the market it causes them to rejoice and throw their herbs and vegtables up into the air- lemongrass and cilantro, avocados, sugar cane, long beans, chilis, ginger, giant tubers, gourds, pineapples, shallots, snap peas, garlic, mangoes all come raining down around the stalls and are eaten by small dogs that grow and become strong enough to do battle with the giant rats that reign in the marketplace after dark. In this way the town is preserved as it was 100 years ago save for the european tourists who flock here, confounded by the casual style of the old men on their bicycles, unable to outshine them with their well-coordinated outfits.

The town is infested with tourists, but for obvious reasons and not because of a carefully worded misdirection, like some other phoney hamlet recommended by the lonely planet.

Were staying in a guesthouse that is 180 years old. It's made of black teak wood and mottled plaster. It feels like living in an ancient temple. Cant wear shoes on the second floor, im afraid to step too hard or ill fall through the floor.

Genevieve is getting a pedicure and a hair removal technique done with a length of sewing thread and im killing time at the internet cafe, playing a retarded puzzle game because the internet so excrutiatingly slow and listening Sole on headphones- "Truth is I only rap cause i aint smart enough to write a book." sounds about right. holler.