You, I Do For Free

It was nice to be able to sleep late without interruption by Richard and Bitch. Finding a cobbler was the task of the day, as well as a return to the tailor for a fitting. As we walked out of our hotel, the woman across the street started yelling to us, “Hey! Hey! Rent bike.” Generally we ignore people who yell at us as we exit our hotel, and it happens all the time, but we decided that we did want to rent bikes instead of walking the mile to the tailor. Each bike cost us about $1.00 for the day, and gave our feet a break.

We peddled off to the tailor, dodging pedestrians and motorcycles that do not stop at cross streets. Fortunately, Phyl's 3 shirts fit her perfectly, requiring no additional alterations. Well past lunchtime, we stopped at a restaurant on our way to the cobbler. We were outside of the main tourist area and only 1 couple was eating at this restaurant.

P- We'd like 2 Saigon beers and a margarita pizza.

Waitress – Sorry, no pizza.

G- Ok, how about the pasta?

Waitress – Sorry. We don't have that either.

P- Can you tell us what you do have?

Waitress – We can make you basic dishes. Our cook is about to have a baby very soon and cannot cook complicated dishes. Can you order something from this page.

G- Um, ok. Can you give us a minute to decide? (after waitress walks off) WTF?

P- What are they going to do when the cook has the baby and cannot cook? Will the restaurant be closed?

G- I have no idea. Ha! It's the strangest thing to have a restaurant open but the customers can't order anything.



Not THE bed, but one just like it.

 P- Do you want to go somewhere else?

G- No, we've already started drinking our beers. Let's just order something simple. How about the grilled vegetables.

P- I guess we're eating white rice whether we want to or not.

G- You need it. We haven't eaten any since last night. I think the shakes from the withdrawals should start soon.


P- I was hoping to have a rice free lunch. Ok. Get the grilled vegetables & rice.

After lunch I went to use the bathroom, requiring me to walk through the restaurant section and into the home of the owners. The poor cook was in a room, lying down on the typical low, wooden bed, covered only with a woven mat, no mattress. She was enormously pregnant. No wonder the poor woman can only cook simple things. The other room, probably the family room or den, contained a small TV and another wooden bed. The bathroom, clearly the family's only bathroom, was narrow and about 8 feet long with the toilet at one end, a shower head in the middle and a sink on the far end. On the wall next to the sink was a plastic shelf holding shampoo, body wash, toothpaste and toothbrushes.

It felt strange to be inside the restaurant owners' private home and bathroom and I wonder how they felt about customers parading through their private space. It is, of course, common, and this is the norm across Southeast Asia where the lines between public/business space and private space is blurred. Still, I felt a wave of sadness.

When I returned to the table, Phyl was talking to the waitress. Phyl was telling her that prices in Hoi An were higher than we expected. She told us that tourism had increased prices, creating difficulty for the locals because wages had not kept pace with the increasing prices. She said that menu prices had increased twice in the last few months, but her salary had not increased. She lived about 5 kilometers outside the city where prices were a little cheaper, but still on the rise. We told her about the Vietnamese pancakes we had eaten in Saigon and asked her if she knew of a place in Hoi An where we could get them; a place where locals eat. She gave us a recommendation named Balle Well and put an X, on our city map, telling us it was down an alley and difficult to find.

We rode our bikes one more block to the cobbler that had been recommended by our tailor. The tailor had called ahead so we were expected. As we looked around the shop, the lady told us that her husband makes the shoes and also works for a very expensive shoe store in the middle of the city. We showed her what we wanted, making subtle changes to her samples, then selected the leather, soles, and heels. A price of $25.00 per pair was negotiated, and the shoes were to be ready in 2 days.

She took out a piece of paper, placed Phyl's foot on it, and traced around her foot like a child would trace around a hand to draw a Thanksgiving turkey. She took a few measurements, made notes around the outline of Phyl's foot, then did the same with the other foot. My feet were done next.

G- (to the lady) The shoe will be much wider than this, right? I don't like tight shoes.

Lady – Yeah, yeah.

G- (pointing to the outline of my foot) I want the shoe to be at least this wide. We're going to be wearing thick socks.

Lady – Yeah, yeah.

P- Let's go over the materials one more time. I want this style, with this heel, this leather, a zipper on the side, and tabs on the back.

Lady – Yeah, yeah.

G- And I want this style, with this heel, this leather, also a zipper on the side and tabs on the back. Be sure that it is lined on the inside, like this boot.

Lady – Yeah, yeah. You pay half now. You come back tomorrow after 4:00 pm.

G & P – Ok.

We rode away on our bikes talking about the cobbler.

G- I'm very disconcerted.

P- I hate that we just have to hope that she has everything right because we cannot read what she has written down.

G- I hate the way we are always patronized. I hate being told 'yeah, yeah'.

P- Me too. It's like she's telling us, “Yeah, I got it, just shut up.”

G- Exactly! I'm sick of 'yeah, yeah', then being ignored. I do not want my shoes to be tight. I wish we could just tell her the size we wear and have them make the size we wear.

P- I guess they know what they're doing since they make shoes.

G- I hope so, but we can't be sure they do a good job.

When we reached the big market, we stopped to decide what to do next. As we talked, hawkers called to us to buy little figurines, flowers, boiled peanuts, water, cigarettes, and t-shirts. We ignored them until one woman asked if we wanted foot massages.

P- I could use a foot massage.

Lady – Yes. Foot massage. Come this way.

P- How much?

Lady – 5 dolla.

P- $2.00.

Lady – 4 dolla.

P- $3.00.

Lady – No. 4 dolla.

P- Never mind. (to me) Let's go have a beer. (We began talking about going to White Sail.)

Lady – Ok, ok. 3 dolla.

We locked up our bikes and followed her into the maze of paths that wound through the market.

Lady – You sit. (pointing to 2 little plastic chairs)

G- Is there a toilet around here? Also, maybe a place to buy 2 beers?

Lady – Yes. (to Phyl) You sit here.

She lead me to the toilet used by the market workers. Revolting would be a good adjective, but I had been in Asia long enough not to be phased by disgusting toilets. Hell, I have certainly been in my fair share of revolting toilets in America, and now I even preferred the squat public toilets. As usual, I was extremely careful to not to touch anything. She was waiting outside when I exited and took me to a woman with 2 cold beers in a styrofoam cooler. The beer woman even wiped off the tops of the cans with some 'Asian' paper towels (really tissues).

We walked back to Phyl and I sat on the other little chair as the lady called 2 more women. One began massaging Phyl's feet, while the other one began massaging mine. My masseuse totally sucked, so I was glad to only be paying $3.00. The main lady inspected the hair on my legs.

G- I know. My legs need to be shaved, but I want to pull the hair out with thread and just haven't had the chance. I had it done in Cambodia.

Lady – I do for you.

G- Ugh! This was supposed to be enjoyable, now I'm going to have my hairs ripped out?

P- Do it.

G- Oh yeah? Your mustache could use attention too.

P- No way.

Lady – Yes. Do your legs and your mustache, 10 dolla.

G- 10 dolla? No way.

We negotiated some more and settled on a price of $12.00 for everything, including the foot massages.

Phyl's foot massage continued, but mine ended abruptly and the ring leader lady and the crappy foot massage lady began yanking the hairs out of my legs. Damn! I wish I had an ice chest of beer. When they had finished the fronts of my legs, I shifted in my chair so they could do the sides, but as they worked their way around to the back of my legs, they began to twist me as though my hips were like owl necks.

G- Hey! I don't bend like that. Give me your stool and take my chair.

For a change, I was giving instructions. I stood on the stool and faced the other way.

G- Now. You don't have to hunch over and I don't have to be twisted like a pretzel.

Main Lady – Good idea.

P- She's the idea girl.

The hair pulling resumed and we continued our discussion about our trip, our thoughts on Vietnam, our home, and how the ladies were related. They were cousins, and a crazy trio. We knew they were talking about us and they were cracking themselves up. We always wished we knew what people were saying, but maybe it's better not to know. At some point it became apparent that they were talking about Phyl's boobs. Phyl & I looked at each other and raised an eyebrow.

G- Amazing, aren’t' they.

The women looked a little startled that we knew what they were talking about, but then laughed and shook their heads, yes.

P- Asian women, especially Vietnamese women, seem to be very fascinated by my breasts. I even had a Vietnamese woman touch them as I was walking on the beach in Nha Trang.

Main Lady – Vietnamese women want big boobs.

P- You don't want them. They're very heavy. Even if you do want them, what made that woman think it was ok to touch them?

Main Lady – She just likes them. Yes. We want them.

P- I don't care how much she liked them or how much you want them, it's not ok to touch them.

Phyl's masseuse was eying them like one might eye melons at the grocery, trying to decide which one to squeeze for ripeness. After the beach incident, I was ready to intercept her hand if she reached out to cop a feel. I eyed her suspiciously. Phyl also had her left arm up in a somewhat defensive position.


One of the other ladies said something to the ring leader, then they laughed.

Main Lady – She said she give you boob massage.

P- No! But if I did, I guess that would cost me a fortune. (pointing at me) $2.00 for her and $20.00 for me.

Phyl's masseuse – (Who hadn't spoken any English until now.) 10 dolla for her (pointing at me) you for free.

G- No boob massages.

P- Don't any of you touch my boobs!

As my legs were being finished, Ms. I'll-massage-your-boobs-for-free yanked out Phyl's mustache. We rode our bikes to White Sail where we had beer and dinner.