To Hoi An, with Love

Hoi An was a surprise. Other than images of tailor-made suits and floating lanterns, I had no reference points for the city before we visited. I’d heard contrasting reviews that it was both authentic, old world and a Disney-esque tourist trap. Some called it stunning and peaceful, while others claimed it was overrated and ruined by the influx of foreign visitors. 

Like people, places contain multitudes. Hoi An, located on the central coast of Viet Nam, was a fascinating blend of many contradictory traits. In full disclosure, we only spent about 36 hours in Hoi An, so I am ready to be surprised the next time we travel there.

Not long after arriving at our hotel on the outskirts of Hoi An’s commercial center, Old Town, we decided to bike 5km into the center of Old Town. The bike ride was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. We couldn’t believe the stunning vistas of rice paddies and waterways, the cows rolling under the thin shade of coconut palms, right next to the road. We also couldn’t believe the traffic and congestion as we cycled into town.

 By the time we were 2 km from the center, the tranquility of the rice fields was replaced by engine whirs and motor horns. Tourists milled around the streets while store owners tried to catch their eyes and ears, pointing to their handmade silks or cafe menus. When we found a spot to park our bikes, we were approached by a tailor. 

Hoi An is known as the tailoring capital of Vietnam, at least from a tourism perspective. Hundreds of clothes makers compete for customers seeking handmaid suits and dresses made-to-order at a fraction of the price many would pay in their home country, and without the cost of shipping.

Laurel and I were interested in getting something made, but that was the last thing on our minds when we arrived in town. Dripping in sweat and hungry, all we wanted to do was get inside and have some food. 

We were fumbling with the bike locks when Yen, a pretty middle-aged Vietnamese woman with a bounce in her step, approached us with a broad smile. Yen was sweat-free even in her denim jacket and long pants. We looked at her in awe as we melted in our shorts and tank tops. 

 Right away, Yen asked us where we were from, the conversation starter for most hawkers. Laurel and I exchanged quick glances, we knew where this was headed. We said we were from the United States, and Yen started her pitch. She’d been in the “cloth shop”  business for 28 years, which was astonishing as she looked to be 45 years old, tops. She works swiftly (24 hours from fitting to finished product) and the quality of her clothing is outstanding. For this part of the sale, we were shown several photos and reviews, several from Americans like us, she wanted us to know. 

We nodded and “oo’d” while Yen spoke but we both knew we were not going to be following Yen to get clothes made at that moment, as she was encouraging us to do. The idea of trying on fabrics made my sweat start to sweat. We were interested in finding her store later on, or even the next morning, but we needed to get relief from the heat first.

Yen was persistent and a  little heavy-handed, but sweet. When we realized the hotel manager had forgotten to give us the bike lock combination, Yen helped us call the hotel and spoke with someone in Vietnamese. This call saved us from walking around Old Town with our bikes in tow, looking as foolish as we felt. 

We told Yen we needed to get lunch. She asked to exchange numbers so we could confirm our appointment with her. After her help, we didn’t want to say no.We still liked the idea of getting something handmade, and Yen’s reviews were good (I quickly looked her up while she spoke with the hotel staff.)

 After eating and walking around the Old Town for a couple of hours, sunset was fast approaching and it was time for us to bike back to the hotel. We wouldn't make it to Yen's. In the meantime, Yen had peppered me with texts and warned us that our time was running out to get something made before we left Hoi An. She sent photographs of other happy customers, and screenshots of reviews. 

I took a deep breath and sent her the kind of text you send after a first date you’re unsure you want to see again. I avoided making a second date, but I did not entirely “friend zone” Yen. She handled it well. “OK. I hope to see you next time you are in Hoi An.” To our surprise, that was it. Yen was playing it cool.

That evening, Laurel and I worked up the nerve to rent a motorbike and ride it along the beaches near our hotel. It was a blast to ride through streets with no traffic and feel the ocean breeze. We ate at a restaurant on the beach where we were the only guests. It was so peaceful and private, it felt like a different world from the hectic Old Town energy from the afternoon. 

The next morning, after taking the motorbike for one more joyride to breakfast, we were sad to leave Hoi An, but comforted by the decision we’d already made to return. We would be back. We wanted to see the lanterns lit at night on the Thu Bon River. We wanted to take a ride in a basket boat. Most importantly, we had to see about a girl and her cloth shop