Vietnam Short Trip – Part 1: Hoi An

When people talk about Vietnam, most of the time it’s about Hanoi or Ho Chi Minh City. I get it, those are the big names. But for me, the place that really stuck in my head was Hoi An. It’s not huge, not loud, but it has this vibe that makes you slow down without even noticing.

Beautiful old building

Funny thing is, I didn’t even plan on loving it that much. Hoi An was more like “oh, I’ll just stop there for a couple of days.” But somehow it ended up being one of those places I still think about after coming back. During the day it feels calm, maybe even a little sleepy. The old yellow houses with peeling paint, wooden shutters half-open, bicycles parked against the walls—it’s simple, but it pulls you in. There’s a river cutting through the town, moving at its own lazy pace, and you sort of fall into the same rhythm.

I liked just wandering without a plan—sometimes I’d stop for coffee, sometimes I’d duck into a shop. The streets are narrow, so cars don’t really dominate, and that makes it nice to walk around without rushing.

But once the sun goes down, Hoi An changes its face. Lanterns light up everywhere, strung across streets, hanging in front of shops, reflected in the water. The whole place glows. I’ve seen pictures of it before, but standing there in the middle of it felt different. It’s busy, yes, full of tourists and sellers, but also strangely magical.

Like everyone else, I ended up taking the little boat ride on the river. It’s almost impossible to say no when you see the boats lined up, with their small wooden seats and people calling out offers. So I went. The lady rowing handed me a paper lantern with a candle inside. I lit it, placed it gently on the water, and watched it float away. I was supposed to make a wish, but honestly I was just thinking how pretty it looked surrounded by dozens of other little lights. It was fun, almost childlike, though at the back of my mind I also wondered—what happens to all these lanterns afterward? Hopefully someone goes out to clean them, because otherwise the river must be filled with them by morning. That thought didn’t ruin the experience, but it did sit with me.

After the boat ride, I spent hours just walking the streets. Hoi An is full of shops—lantern makers, tailors, souvenir stalls. What stood out most for me, though, were the leather shops. Bag after bag after bag, all handmade, all displayed in these little stores. The smell of leather hit me the moment I stepped in. The quality looked solid, and the prices were surprisingly good.

Somewhere in the middle of all that wandering, I came across a small museum. The entrance was free, and since I was already nearby, I went in. It wasn’t big—just a couple of rooms with photos, old clothing, and some cultural displays. Still, it was a nice reminder that Hoi An isn’t just a pretty lantern city. There’s history and heritage behind those glowing streets.

By the time I finally left the old town that night, I felt like I had lived two versions of Hoi An in one day. The slow, almost timeless town under the sun, and the vibrant, glowing festival of lanterns at night. Both are equally beautiful, just in different ways.

Hoi An might be small, but it left me with big memories. Sometimes travel works like that—the places you don’t expect much from end up surprising you the most.