July 23rd 2025
Just a few clicks south of Da Nang, an American stronghold during the Vietnam War, lies Hoi An. Hoi An did not see much action during the war, but the intact bunkers in a park in the central part of town feel ominous, and chilling. Now the only invading force is battalions of tourists, mostly Vietnamese, a squad of Aussies, and a smattering of Americans gone AWOL. You’d never know there was conflict here. It’s as peaceful a place as you’ll find.
Still in the coffee shop at 11am, feeling relieved that they finally turned on the air conditioner. Three kittens scampering around jumping in and out of the numerous plants that adorn the walls and harassing the Dachshund. Bourbon is her name and she occasionally reciprocates in the play. I’m thinking, “Damn, that’s the longest wiener dog I’ve ever seen. No wonder the kitties are all over it!” The locals trickle in just to say hi to the animals and catch a cup of fine coffee on the fly. Tropical Cafe and Bistro is the joint. It has a groovy, spiritual feel to it, that we noticed the minute we walked in, but why is as of yet escaping my abilities to articulate. Just a vibe, as they say. It’s day 4 in Hoi An and we don’t wanna leave. The Baristas know us now and they even anticipate our drink orders. We spend part of each day here and, like Hoi An, we don’t wanna leave.
I had the good fortune of spending a half hour with the co-owner the other day, Quinn. She’s Vietnamese and has spent her entire life here spanning intermittent travel abroad, now in her late 30’s. She has beads of perspiration accumulating across her brow and on her upper lip from the heat and the hustle. My own sweat running in rivulets down my back. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s sweating! She’s attractive with an all-business aura and a roundish face built for seriousness and hard work but outlined by wisps of escaping hair that stick to the perspiration on her skin. Her face is equipped with a devastating and soulful smile that softens you like biscotti dipped in a hot latte. Her partner did the construction and interior design, impeccably, and her grin turns impish as she mentions him. She runs the business side of things in addition to a yoga studio and retreat just a few kilometers from here. I had been wanting to talk to her for a couple days, and worked up the nerve while she was juggling plates and giving orders in her sing-songy voice. Good timing, JP! She dropped what she was doing, not literally, and squatted next to my table as jealous animals came skittering across the floor bidding for her attention. I watched through her eyes as the coffee shop tasks and logistics receded into the back of her mind: she deliberately engaged in the conversation. In the moment, she held my eyes the entire interaction, like a yoga instructor might.
I asked what it was like doing business in Vietnam, hinting at the socialism aspect. She informed me that it was very hard at first and that she and her partner have, since covid, made a connection with an individual who “understands” the government well. That they arrange all of their business dealings through this person and he has made things much easier since then. I can only imagine the chaos of what a free market economy emerging out of a communist structure must be like. How tenuous that must feel. The suspicious parts of my mind doing cartwheels, wanting to ask more questions and knowing I might push her away if I do. She smiles often, but doesn’t fidget, doesn’t shift her weight, just sits in a deep pose-like squat, seemingly comfortable volleying my questions, in superb English.
Hoi An has a Sedona-like draw. Spiritual in a sense with as many tourists, though fewer roundabouts and at 1/50th the price tag. And you can escape the lines and the chaos in just a few steps. The town is busy but clean, the beaches immaculate and less crowded than Da Nang to the north. The sort of place that one could settle into, remain active and playful, and do it affordably. And the people, like Quinn, kind, attentive, personable and ultimately, happy.