There are places in the world that don’t just charm you — they completely disarm you. Hoi An, Vietnam, is one such place. Nestled along the Thu Bồn River, this ancient trading port whispers its history through crumbling yellow walls, wooden boats, and the glow of a thousand lanterns.
My first steps in the Old Town felt like wandering into a dream. The scent of lemongrass and incense filled the warm air, and every alleyway seemed to hide a new delight — a silk shop, a small temple, a woman selling lotus tea from a cart. I stayed at a family-run guesthouse with pale blue shutters and a terrace covered in bougainvillea. Each morning, the owner’s grandmother handed me a fresh bánh mì and smiled like we’d known each other forever.
Hoi An is a place of small rituals. I drank egg coffee while monks chanted in the distance. I rented a bicycle and rode past rice paddies where water buffalo stood like statues in the haze. I learned to make fresh spring rolls with a local chef who swore by fish sauce “from only one island.”
But the town truly comes alive at night. As the sun sets, the river glows with floating candles and paper lanterns. I stood on the bridge, lantern in hand, whispering a wish before letting it drift downstream. Around me, people from all corners of the world stood silent, caught in the same wonder.
Hoi An is not about doing — it’s about being. It’s about drifting slowly through beauty, listening carefully to its quiet stories, and letting it reshape the way you move through the world.