The monthly celebration of the festival in Hoi An is sort of like a magical affair that leave tourists with happy memories.
Every
month on the 14th day of the lunar calendar, Hoi An lets the moon take
centre stage- the UNESCO protected old town switches off all superfluous
lighting and motorcycles are verboten on the centuries old streets.
Candles are lit and lanterns sway in soft breeze that blows up the Thu
Bon river, which once allowed merchants and traders from China, Japan
and Europe to sail into Hoi An – 400 years ago this was a thriving
international hub hence the sublime architecture, which has thankfully
been preserved and helping the town to once again flourish this time as
one of Asia’s most magical tourist destinations.
Yes,
every second house seems to be a shop, a restaurant or a tailor but the
authorities have laid down strict regulations to ensure the charm of
the architectural heritage
is not compromised. Each houses’ façade retains an original appearance.
The dimming of the lights and lighting of lanterns only adds to the
town’s beguiling character.
This is why I always prefer Hoi An
after the sun goes down. Locals and foreign tourists who have been
hiding indoors or flopping round Cua Dai – the nearest beach
to town – suddenly emerge in droves as a coolness descends on the town.
No matter how many times I visit Hoi An, I always enjoy ambling around
nibbling on the many tasty morsels on offer in the local eateries. With
no traffic to irritate your senses, it’s a pleasure to sit out on the
street down by the river.
You’ll know the festival is about to
start when local boys emerge to perform a dragon dance. The cavorting
dragon jumps to restaurants and shops in the hope of earning a small
gratuity from the proprietor.
As the streets start to get crowded
in anticipation of more performances, I slip up to the second floor of a
restaurant overlooking the river and order a bowl or cao lau, a
delicious dry noodle dish made with silvers of pork, bank da (rice
crackers), a handful of local herbs and a blob of chili paste.
I also
order some white rose dumplings – tasty pork-filled morsels. Both of
these dishes are local specialties and should be on everyone’s list of
“things to devour in Hoi An” along with com ga, a simple but scrumptious
take on chicken on rice, and the crunchy banh my pate sandwiches.
Down
below by the river I can see women making and selling lotus-shaped
garlands which come with a tiny candle. Tourists can row out in a boat
and release the flowers onto the river while praying for happiness,
luckiness and love. It’s a beautiful sight to see the flickering flight
float off downstream.
When I descend to street level, the state
next to An Hoi Bridge is surrounded by a throng of excided punters. A
game called bai choi is underway. A band of musicians included a
percussionist, a bamboo flautist and a two-chord fiddler sit waiting for
people to but VND5,000 “cards”, which are not sort of like ping pong
racquets. Basically, the cards have an inscription and the band performs
depending on what cards they are dealt by the audience.
An MC helps
structure the event and explains the rules. Foreigners may at first be
slightly mystified but will enjoy the spectacle with pleasant music and
buoyant atmosphere.
Winners are awarded with silk lanterns or a
CD of bai choi music opera. Sadly mu luck desserts me and after forking
out VND30,000 I leave empty handed and head for the corner of Bach Dang
and Chau Van Thuong streets and begin a session of retail therapy.
Hoi
An is awash with gorgeous silk products, which are a result of the
cross-culture created by the Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese
and Cham people in Hoi An during the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. The lanterns are perhaps the most iconic local symbol and
make for nice decorative gifts.
Afterwards, I pass by the ornate
gate of Fujian Assembly Hall, built by Chinese people from Fujian region
over 400 years ago. This was firstly a traditionally assembly hall of
Fujian people but later became a common temple for both Chinese and Vietnamese residents who came here to honour Lady Thien Hau, a goddess of the sea who protects sailors from danger.
On
the night of the full moon, the temple looks splendid with red lanterns
hanging above. All around town, altars – often placed out front – are
laden with fresh fruit, flowers, votive papers and incense as homeowners
and entrepreneurs make offerings to their ancestors and gods and pray
for good business.
By eleven o’clock the streets empty out. Peace
and quiet returns to Hoi An. The scent of wet aloe joss stick hangs in
the air. The shops and restaurants have closed and only a handful of
bars remain open.
On the black roofs of ancient houses, dark green ferns
and weeds quiver in the breeze. A mild, refreshing drizzle is falling.
As I stroll back to my hotel, I can hear the sound of keys turning in
bronze locks and wooden bars being drawn across as the town collectively
heads for bed. I see one single lantern left hanging outside as I walk
down an otherwise dark street and I imagine this is how the town might
have appeared hundreds of years ago when these houses were first built
and Hoi An was a proud and affluent port town.
Then
singing is typical of the Tay and Nung ethnic groups, living mainly in
the north-west, and is presented at important events of the community. 
