Hoi An

After a night's sleep in an unexpected giant bedroom, complete with floor to ceiling mahogany panelling and a bath tub, we set out to explore Hoi An's romantic old town. Limited to pedestrians and bicycles for the most part, a peaceful silence filled the air and we were free to amble without fear of being mown down by marauding scooters.

The lanes were bordered by close-knit French colonial architecture, painted sunny yellow and white with wooden shutters of dark brown or sky blue. The buildings housed tailors, jewellers and book shops that invited you into their long corridors of wares. Flowering vines and colourful lanterns hung overhead as cyclists in conical hats peddled past. In places the plastered exteriors were blistered and the shutters worn, adding to the town's ageing romance.

The town's history as a trade hub has led to lasting influences beyond French colonialism. We crossed the creaking boards of the town's covered bridge, originally built by Japanese migrants in the 16th century. An ancient musty scent filled our noses as we peered out through the tiled windows. Afterwards we wandered through the brightly coloured sculptures of the Cantonese temple before quietly viewing an ancient home still used by its family's 7th generation.

Resting under shade, we gulped cool water whilst watching young smartly dressed Vietnamese couples pose for wedding photos at scenic spots along the river. Wu had explained that in Vietnam couples get their wedding photos taken before the wedding day and visit Hoi An for this as well as getting their suits and dresses made by the town's renowned tailors.

Whilst contemplating this we were approached by a polite local, who asked if we could help him by appearing in a film about the harm of smoking. Wary but intrigued, we agreed and appeared as foreign tourists who coughed and held their noises when a local sat down nearby and began to smoke. We were thanked with shy smiles and bottles of lemon tea for our efforts. Whether the film, or us in it, ever sees the light of day in Vietnam or elsewhere is anyone's guess.

On a cafe's first floor balcony, we ate banana blossom flower salad whilst looking out at the terracotta tiled roofs above and peddling cyclos below. Rumbles of thunder and darkening skies steered us back to our hostel in time to avoid the afternoon downpour but by evening the storms had scattered and our way to dinner was lit by the warm glow of hanging lanterns. The tastes of mint encased in spring rolls and honey-garlic marinated chicken lingered as a stream of foot and cycle traffic flowed past our view.Read more