The Thu Bon River no longer reaches the sea as it once did, when it opened a passage for merchant ships sailing into the river port of Hoi An. There, Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese, Indian, and European traders converged—many of whom settled and recreated fragments of their distant homelands through Chinese temples, Japanese bridges, and French-influenced cuisine. Over the centuries, the river has accumulated sand, preventing large ships from entering, leaving the port suspended in time. Yet the city endures, its streets aligned along the river and framed by beautiful wooden houses, waiting for the awakening brought by tourism.
When I first arrived in Hoi An, it felt almost like a ghost town, echoing with the presence of past lives and the shadows of wartime. Today, the town has grown, with new constructions spreading over lands once covered by rice fields. Those fields have receded, yet they still encircle the city like a guardian—or a mirror reflecting the passage of time. Despite this growth, Hoi An retains its magic. Its residents have grown accustomed to the pale faces and wide eyes of visitors, while its streets invite discovery through their old houses and ancient temples.
I walked along the riverside street and noticed that what was once a palm grove had become a lively new village, its energy blending seamlessly with the rhythmic dance of fishing nets cast across the water. The thùng chai, small round boats, are the traditional vessels of local fishermen, drifting like floating baskets on the Thu Bon River—the city’s central artery, though no longer deep enough for larger ships.
A Vietnamese legend tells of floods and natural disasters that once struck the river. It speaks of a monstrous creature whose head lay in India, its tail in Japan, and its body in Vietnam. Each time the creature moved, earthquakes or floods would devastate the region. According to the legend, this is why large ships ceased to enter the river, leaving only small fishing boats to navigate its waters.
At the market, I encountered freshly caught seafood, vegetables from nearby fields, and the iconic conical hats. The atmosphere shimmered with life—laughter mingling with daily bargains—while traditional flavors intertwined with Chinese, Japanese, and French influences.
As I continued wandering through the streets, I noticed how carefully the buildings had been preserved, with cars restricted to maintain harmony. I crossed the Japanese Covered Bridge, an emblem of Hoi An’s mercantile past, built by Japanese traders at the end of the 16th century to connect the Japanese quarter to the west with the Chinese quarter to the east. Constructed from wood and stone, with a reddish façade and gray tiles, it spans a tributary of the Thu Bon River. This architectural jewel is both charming and romantic, often chosen by Vietnamese couples for wedding photos. Inside, I admired traditional lanterns, stone guardians—dogs at one end and monkeys at the other—and an altar dating back to 1719. Locally known as Lai Vien Kieu, or “Bridge from Afar,” it is considered both mystical and revered.
I later visited the Quang Dong Assembly Hall, built in 1786 by merchants and sailors from Guangdong, China. Its exterior resembles a pagoda or temple from nearby Hue, the former imperial capital. Inside, it serves as a place of worship for the warrior Quan Cong and the sea goddess Thien Hau.
To deepen my understanding of this magical city, I visited the Sa Huynh Culture Museum, home to funerary urns over 2,000 years old, and the Phung Hung House, a residence that belonged to one of the city’s wealthiest families for over eight generations. Their trade revolved around wood, spices, silk, and porcelain. I also explored Tan Ky House, the city’s most famous, preserving 17th-century architecture, as well as the Quan Thang House, now a shop, and the chapel of the Tran family, an influential Chinese-Vietnamese lineage, where ancestors are honored within the home.
Time moves slowly in Hoi An, and I savored every moment. I then traveled by car to the My Son Sanctuary, a cluster of Hindu temple ruins located about 40 kilometers away. Built between the 4th and 14th centuries by the Champa Kingdom, this archaeological site once comprised more than 70 temples, though only a few remain standing today.
The following day, I took my bicycle—my constant companion in town—and rode through sunlit rice fields. I visited a small fishing port, where I learned that fishermen paint eyes on the bows of their boats, believing it protects them from water spirits and monsters.
In the rice fields, I discovered that every part of rice is used. Beyond the grain, it forms the base of banh dap, a rice cake cooked in a wood-fired oven and served with sauce. Rice is also used to produce a strong local liquor, often made at home.
I reached the beaches of Hoi An, with their crystal-clear waters, white sand, and tropical climate. Sometimes calm, sometimes with waves, they remain quiet during the day and crowded at night. This is due to the local ideal of beauty: fair skin, leading many—especially women—to avoid the sun.
Craftsmanship is also central to Hoi An’s identity. Walking through the old town, I found countless small shops housed in narrow, two-story buildings, offering silk garments, tailored suits, paintings, and handmade objects. Most striking are the city’s colorful lanterns—unique in Vietnam—which illuminate the streets at night, predominantly in red, a color symbolizing joy and loyalty.
The Marble Mountains of Da Nang
After Hoi An, I continued toward the Marble Mountains, a group of five peaks known as Ngu Hanh Son, located between Hoi An and Da Nang. These mountains are a popular site for spiritual retreat and pilgrimage, each representing one of the five elements: Hoa Son (fire), Kim Son (metal), Tho Son (earth), Thuy Son (water), and Moc Son (wood).
Upon arrival, I was struck by these 500-meter peaks rising dramatically from the plain. They house Buddhist pagodas, remnants of the Champa civilization, and natural caves shaped by erosion, water, and time.
Thuy Son, or “Water Mountain,” is the largest, featuring caves, pagodas, and two viewpoints offering spectacular views of Da Nang and the coastline. Composed of three rocky peaks arranged like the Big Dipper, it is dominated by Tam Thai Peak, home to the Tam Thai Pagoda. I climbed 156 steps on the western path, though the eastern route has only 108. Since 2011, an elevator has facilitated access for visitors and pilgrims.
At the summit, I explored the Linh Nham Cave, where beams of light filter through openings, creating a dramatic interior. I visited the Tam Thai Pagoda (dating to 1630) and the beautiful Linh Ung Pagoda with its Xa Loi tower. I ventured into Huyen Khong Cave, with its massive stone altar, and finally reached Am Phu Cave, known as the “Hell Cave,” whose steep entrance is said to descend from heaven into the underworld. Inside, sculptures depict skeletons, demons, and scenes from Buddhist hell.
Moc Son, or “Wood Mountain,” is the only one without pagodas or caves and is not open to visitors. Kim Son, or “Metal Mountain,” located along the Co Co River, features the mysterious Quan Am Cave, where stalactites and stalagmites resemble Buddhas and dragons.
At Hoa Son, or “Fire Mountain,” two streams once flowed from the summit to the sea, said to form the yin-yang symbol, bringing harmony to the area. Here I visited Champa ruins and the Pho Da Son Pagoda, which preserves an inscription commemorating Emperor Minh Mang’s visit to meet his sister, Princess Ngoc Lan.
Finally, Tho Son, or “Earth Mountain,” the smallest, was once used as a Champa military base. Its reddish bricks remain, and its rectangular form is said to resemble a sleeping dragon. I explored a tunnel used during wars against the French and Americans, as well as the Long Hoa Pagoda, built in 1992. Nearby stands a 30-meter rock column, believed by locals to resemble Buddha.
Eventually, it was time to leave. The soul aches when departing a place so welcoming, where I felt embraced by kind people. Walking through its alleys, speaking with women who had lived through colonial times, wars, and the transition to a peaceful life, was like reading a living book—one that transported me through time.
Hoi An remains in my mind as a home, a paradise in a country that always welcomes me as one of its own.
When to Go
All year round. The tropical climate is pleasant, though summer brings rainfall in the late afternoon.
How to Get There
Flights are available from Siem Reap (Cambodia), Hanoi, or Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam.
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Text and photos by Patrick Monney
