Humphrey McQueen, the pompous old pseudo-historian, described Tokyo in the late 80's as The New Byzantium. This because all the worlds' artists, commentators, (McQueen included), wannabe fashionistas and I-wish-the-west-was-betterists were making a beeline for the land of the rising Yen. But none of the aforementioned attractees were the real reason for Tokyo's zeitgeist. It was plain old expat critical mass. Anybody with a vague knowledge of the English language (I even include Americans) could make a deposit on a house back home teaching randy Japanese housewives how to say, "I'm fine, thank you." I know. I sold my expat soul there for two drunken years, and had a great time doing it.Tokyo was just one of a long line of expat get-togethers. And don't imagine I'm being pluralist and multicultural here. By "expat" I mean white and Western, preferably English speaking. Okay, we might give the French a guernsey, but only if they agree to do the cooking.
Other entries in this list would include pre-war Shanghai, Venice in the 18th century, New York anytime it's affordable, Bali sometime long ago, Paris when Beckett lived there, London in the 60's and 70's (I include the 70's because that's when I made it there, even though it was a decidedly fading), and Istanbul over a couple of millennium AND for a few years until very, very recently. Which makes sense, I guess, Istanbul being the real Byzantium.
I was lucky enough to visit a friend in Istanbul - yes, a beloved friend, because I don't bother with any other kind - a couple of years ago. I walked through the now infamous Taksim square several times a day, and the old foreign quarter around Istiklal was - hmm, cliché called for here - "cookin'". I hope it all survives the current troubles. Tear gas in the beer would be a tragedy.
The recipe is, to this white Westerner, pretty simple. Take lots of foreigners, preferably embedded (in the CNN sense) into the local population. The "preferably" is optional in the case of places like Vietnam, where long-term visas are hard to come by. Did I say foreigners? Hell, make that expats (you know, the white, Western ones I mentioned). Throw in a vibrant, artistic local culture. Add some sort of disparity in exchange rates - someone had to have a shitload of what someone else wants. An acceptable climate is highly desirable. Ageing, pleasing to the eye architecture helps, especially if the rent is low. Cheap alcohol is an essential ingredient. Mix it up and bake for a year or two, without attracting the attention of local authorities.
The result? The time of your life, even if there's always that uneasy feeling that someone is getting exploited. We'll brush over that - expat scenes always do.
Which brings me to Hoi An. I sat in a wine bar this evening, and saw everything an old white Westerner could wish for on the street outside. Laughing, polite children on roller blades and bicycles, couples in love, families who should have gone to a resort up the coast. Well-dressed middle-class locals out for a stroll, and an old woman by her trinket stall, asleep where she sat. Tall Europeans brandishing oversized cameras, and tiny, beautiful children selling silly toys to ensure their next meal. Peanut sellers looking for a victim, tired - oh, so tired - market women heading home after god-knows how many hours living to make a living. Beautiful, textured old buildings, crammed with ephemera to attract the passing trade, and women sewing late through the windows of the tailors opposite. In short, it's cookin'. Energy and mass, the candle that attracts us. It's awful and it's splendid.
Ah, maybe I'm just over-complicating this. What really makes Hoi An so special? Smiles are easy to come by, my own included.
I go home on Friday. I don't want to.