In Which I Arrive in Ho Chi Minh City (still generally known as Saigon)

So, I just got to the hotel a few minutes ago. Apparently to punish me for a series of excellent rooms (my favorite being Hanoi), I've now got a windowless room which will never have the smoke fully aired out. Also: dirty. In both senses of the word. One of the tiles in the shower is actually a photo of Cindy Crawford, circa 1990, in a tiny bikini, looking "seductive."

Hoi An ended up being a bit of a bust. My cooking class was more of an experience in helping to cook dishes, along with the two other people in the course. Do I feel like I could make the dishes on my own? Probably not without carefully studying the recipes. Do I want to? Possibly no. We "made" a stuffed mackerel wrapped in banana leaves (really disgusting: the fish completely overpowered the herbs used to stuff it), a nicely seasoned calamari dish (which the other two pronounced "too spicy," despite the fact that no chilies or peppers were used in preparation, vegetarian spring rolls (fried, sadly, although the technique of frying long ones and then cutting them into handheld versions is one I might replicate), and wontons with sweet and sour sauce. A word about the wontons: we didn't make them! We just made the sauce. The recipe given to us actually calls for 6 pre-prepared wontons. So, a cooking class like no other.

Oh, and I am forced to report that there is another tourist in the group that I find intolerable. It seems irrational, because she is largely harmless. Yes, she's kept us all waiting three times this week, while she's done extra shopping or decided to change clothes when we're on a schedule, and she's not particularly bright (which makes her fit right in), but those things normally wouldn't awaken this level of distaste. The real problem: she persists in asking to smell things. Like my food. Or the food that we're preparing in the cooking class. And not at a safe distance. More like, before I've had a spoonful of soup, she's asked permission to smell it, which entails her picking it up and lifting it a couple of inches below her nose. Disgusting. And, frankly, freakish. I would trade her for the 25 year old hedge fund guy we parted ways with in Hanoi in a heartbeat. Among his many good qualities: snarkiness. Fortunately, he and another one of our fellow travelers (charming, but not quite as bright) have been stalking us all through Vietnam.