Hello, sir, madam

"Hello sir, madam!" It's the refrain you hear every few steps along the streets of Hội An's old town. It's the steady rhythm of the commercial catcalling, and it reminds me of streetlights passing your shadow along to the next as you drive, the echo of one leading to the next. Around every corner vendors beckon, undeterred by the drizzle, their voices mingling with the drum of raindrops and the hum of bicycles that shouldn't be riding down the walking paths. The rain hasn't let up since we arrived. Each drop magnifies the lanterns' glow, their reds, blues and yellows dancing across wet cobblestones.

Despite the bustle, a lone man sits quietly in front of a kaleidoscope of lanterns, as if the world beyond his small circle of light doesn't exist.

There's a warm humidity in the air, softening the edges of everything you see and feel. The centuries-old architecture, bathed in neon, feels both timeless and on the verge of transformation. It's a curious contradiction: a town so polished in its tourism yet so genuine in its nightly rhythms and hustle. You can't help but be drawn to the earthy smell of rain-soaked stone, the gentle clatter of wooden shutters, and the lanterns swinging in the wind, reflected in the puddles.

Perhaps it's the simplicity of a man content to watch the world go by, or the resilience of a city that wears its weathered corners with pride. Whatever it is, there's a magic here that transcends the tourist pitch.

Hội An's old town

Hội An sits near the mouth of the Thu Bồn River. From the 15th to the 19th century it was a small trading port that dealt with Southeast and East Asia and with the rest of the world. Its trade fell away in the late 19th century, and that decline is the reason so much of the old town survived. UNESCO listed it as a World Heritage site in 1999.

What's left is 1,107 timber-frame buildings with tiled roofs, standing side by side in tight rows along narrow streets. The street plan is the original one: streets running parallel to the river, crossed by streets and lanes at right angles. The houses face the street for their customers, and their backs once opened onto the river so goods could come straight off the boats. UNESCO describes the town as local building mixed with outside influence, mostly Chinese and Japanese, with European touches that came later.

Hoàng Văn Thụ Street is one of those cross streets. It starts on Trần Phú Street at the gate of the Chinese Assembly Hall and runs south to Bạch Đằng Street on the river. Before 1975 it was called Thành Thái Street.

The old town also charges admission. In May 2023 it brought back its entrance ticket: 120,000 đồng for foreign visitors, about US$5 at the time, and 80,000 đồng for Vietnamese visitors.

The lanterns

According to Hội An's heritage centre, lanterns first turned up in the town in the 17th century, when it was a busy port. Chinese and Japanese merchants brought them, and local people soon began making their own.

The method hasn't changed much. Bamboo is boiled, soaked in salt water for ten days or more, dried and split into thin ribs. The ribs are tied onto wooden rings to make a frame, and silk or satin is glued over it and trimmed.

The souvenir trade grew in the 1990s, as foreign visitors began to arrive. One maker, Huỳnh Văn Ba, is recognised as the first in Hội An to make a lantern that folds. He says an Australian tourist's lantern was too big for the luggage, so he spent about six months on a frame that works like an umbrella. Holes at the ends of the bamboo ribs let them pivot, so the lantern packs flat and opens again once it's hung. According to Saigoneer, his technique has since spread to every lantern maker in the town. I'd guess the wrapped lanterns in the basket beside this man are folded ones, ready for someone's suitcase.

"Hello, sir, madam"

Selling on the street is part of how the old town works, and the town says so. When Hội An ward set out to clear its pavements in April 2026, officials called street vending "an integral part of the cultural experience that defines Hoi An", and a living for the people who do it. Vendors would keep trading in set zones in the old town, while shops moved their signs and goods back toward their own fronts.

It's also a long-running complaint. In January 2024, Tuổi Trẻ News reported vendors following tourists after they'd said no and pushing goods at them, sometimes at several times the usual price. Hội An had licensed 52 souvenir stalls in the old town, and the paper said the vendors causing the trouble were unlicensed.