...And back to the sea again

We spent just two nights in Dalat. "The city of eternal spring" turned out to be the spring that we as native Englanders are all too familiar with. Grey sunless skies, perpetually damp earth, and constant icy drizzle. But again, as native Englanders, we weren't going to let a bit of rain dampen our spirits, and the next day we were up early with a picnic packed and four (almost functional) bicycles rented.
It wasn't until after we had rented the bicycles that we realised there was an error in our planned picnic/cycling trip. Most of the sights the mountainous region has to offer aren't accessible by pushbike unless you're a tour de France polka dot jersey holder. We were limited to Dalat's (unfinished) "crazy house" and a waterfall nearby that I cant remember the name of... Not that it matters, because I certainly won't be recommending a visit unless you like to watch brown water trickle slowly over brown rocks or enjoy riding ponies spray painted as zebras for extortionate prices. We bypassed the garish attractions and spent a lovely afternoon playing cards and picnicing in the spring-cool gardens nearby. To retain our masculinity after that sentence i'm also going to mention that our picnic consisted mostly of meat, and that not one of us actually used the word 'picnic' that day.
After only two days away from Nha Trang, we were already feeling pangs of nostalgia. Not only for the warm weather, picturesque beaches and vibrant nightlife, but also for our hilarious Irish friend (appropriately named Fergal Slattery) we had left behind there. The decision to return to Nha Trang was unanimous, and after another relaxing day on the beach and another cracking night on the town, we maintain that it was a good one.
We left Nha Trang the next day (at 7pm, after a full day's recovery this time) and arrived in Hoi An early the next morning. Dressed in vests, shorts and flip flops, we were greeted by more Dalat style frosty drizzle, and quickly found refuge in the first reasonably priced hotel we came across. The room is spacious and well equipped, but we have nicknamed it 'the prison cell' due to the absence of all natural light. On the positive side, the lack of a window means that when we wake up, we aren't immediately made aware of the miserable weather that awaits us outside every day here.
The town is beautiful nonetheless; cobbled pedestrianised alleyways run between old stone buildings, and the huge covered market has a particularly authentic feel. This is principally due to the extremely low tarpaulin ceiling... It's perfect for the locals, who can stride easily beneath it, but the taller members of our group are forced to hunch over and stagger along gracelessly like clothed gorillas.
Hoi An is famous in the tourist trail because of the abundance of tailors, who boldly claim that they "can make anything". A customer is invited to sit down at the computer and browse the web for any piece of clothing or shoe that they would like made.
It's really quite a good service, although if I have one criticism it's that they should take the measurements before agreeing a price. Ed decided to get some leather shoes made, and after a round of intense haggling a good price was agreed. Seconds later the tailor went to measure his foot and was appalled to find that his monstrous size 13 feet would require a lot more leather than she expected. She could demand more money all she wanted, but Ed refused to raise his already fair offer.
Well you know what they say about men with big feet... Big shoes.