Hoi An will charm your socks off.
After the adventurous, but somewhat stressful bike trip from Ho Chi Minh through the Central Highlands to Hoi An, I was in desperate need of a little bit of recovery time. Sitting on a stoop enjoying a morning coffee in front of the pedestrian only street, watching fruit sellers and handicraft-ers setting up shop for the day, in no rush whatsoever, I did my best to soak in the calm before the hard-selling of the day began. You can buy all things kitsch in Hoi An, though it’s best known for the multitude of tailors that line nearly every street in the old town. Beautiful suits and silk dresses are on display in shops, on locals, and in bags of satisfied tourists. Come nightfall, glowing silk lanterns hang over alleys, bridges, and doorways, guiding a path through the maze of colorful facades and back streets. For me, Hoi An is synonymous with colors. The warm hues of yellows and reds on storefronts, the bright blues and greens of the lanterns, and the glowing candle boxes of every color that float down the canal each evening.
Hoi An is a photographer’s dream, a shopaholic’s Atlantis, a foodie’s paradise, and an introvert’s nightmare. You will be the victim of a sales pitch. And you will buy something. Maybe a lot of things. Like a suit. And two blazers. And a few dress shirts. And a couple ties. And lanterns. And bracelets. And scarves. Oh, and chopsticks. I’m speaking hypothetically here of course. No intrepid traveler like myself would spend so much time and effort on clothes and gifts and souvenirs. Never…
The food was on point as well, made even better by rooftop decks and terraces, giving the diner a bird’s eye view of the quaint town below. Following in Anthony Bourdain’s footsteps, I sampled the best Banh Mi sandwich in Vietnam, for about 95 cents by the way, as well as the delicious Cao Lau, a thick rice noodle dish only prepared properly from one of the 5 water wells in the city. Down one alley, I found the gold mine of noodles drying in the morning sun, ready to be chowed down for dinner that evening. I made two trips to an alley way restaurant named Bale Well, where the same set meal has been served every evening for the past 20-something years. Somehow, the owner knew that I was new around these parts and became my personal Spring-Roller, as she threw together rice paper rolls stuffed with greens, shrimp, rice pancakes, sprouts, and some mystery sauces. It was all delicious. I think she may have expected me to make my own after the first two, but there’d be none of that. Six or seven rolls later, I was sufficiently stuffed, and had made a new Facebook friend.
Any weariness from the buzz of tourists in the town can be mediated immediately with a quick ride out to the nearly-empty beaches, through sprawling rice fields tilled by water buffaloes and ogled at by those looking on. The Marble Mountains loom nearby as well, a set of limestone formations with caves built into them, inhabited by shrines and Buddhas, and some much-needed cooler air. With so much time, I found myself getting more and more lost in the town. Avoiding the afternoons and early evenings, I often had the streets to myself, save for a slew of triangle hat wearing farmers and rickshaw cycling hustlers.
As I hopped on my motorcycle on my way out of the city, I was rejuvenated and grateful for the much needed respite.
…and the new suit.