We arrived on a Friday night when the lanterns were already lit, and the whole town looked like someone had turned the saturation down and the warmth up. I understand now why every photographer who visits comes home insufferable.
Saturday was tailors and coffee. Sunday was the bánh mì — the famous one, yes, and it deserves every word written about it. I ate two standing on the curb and thought seriously about a third.
The trick to Hội An, I think, is to stop trying to see it and just be somewhere in it. The town does the rest.