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 for the famous bánh mì, and yes, 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.