A different Hoi An in the unseasonal storm
We arrived in Da Nang early on June 12th when the sky was still clear, but dark clouds were beginning to roll in, casting a grey hue over the airport. The cool summer air from Da Nang airport to Hoi An was a harbinger of stormy days to come, with not a ray of sunshine in sight.
As our motorbikes were about 10km from Hoi An, a light drizzle soaked the road, dampening the mood. And just as the weather forecast had predicted, the rain began to pour down heavily as we reached the old town. The streets were completely submerged in a torrential downpour, stinging our faces and making it impossible to see the road ahead. Soon, water began to rise on the road, first just on the sidewalks and then quickly up to our ankles.
Danang scene before the storm
Danang Airport
The impact of storm Wutip caused heavy rain and strong winds in Hoi An.
On the night of June 12, Hoi An ancient town had heavy rain, many streets were flooded.
The bamboo grove beside the hotel swayed in the howling wind. Our hotel room - a luxurious penthouse on the top floor with a view of the lush green fields - now seemed like a lonely thatched roof in the middle of a flooded field. Our dream was suddenly shattered by the bleak and cruel reality. Rainwater from the eaves flooded half the room, water leaked from the ceiling and dripped onto the bed and chairs, the cold stains evoked a feeling of helplessness.
Holding two umbrellas, we left the hotel and crossed the flooded road to the old town. The bougainvillea trellises fell in the rain, the yellow walls were damp, the road was flooded, and there was no trace of the sunny and bustling Hoi An of June. The old town was deserted, except for the strange sounds of a few foreign tourists chatting from the lantern-making class I planned to visit. In the soft yellow light, I sat with them, learning how to fold paper, glue, and bend bamboo strips under the guidance of the staff. Outside, the rain continued unabated.
Lantern making classes in Hoi An have become a place for many tourists to avoid the rain and explore traditional culture.
That moment was the last bit of warmth I found in Hoi An - where I used to live 5 years ago. Like the social distancing period due to COVID-19, Hoi An became quiet and silent to the point of heartbreak. The only difference this time was the heavy rain, washing away all the laughter, footsteps and daily breath of an ancient town that used to be the bustling heart of Central Vietnam tourism.
Travel to Da Nang on the heaviest rain day
The next day, the 25km journey from Hoi An to Da Nang on the heaviest rain day due to the impact of typhoon Wutip was an unforgettable experience for us. The rain hit our faces and was stinging, and each gust of wind made the trees on the roadside sway as if they were about to collapse. Even the best rain gear was not enough to keep us from getting soaked. Along the way, I had to cross 4-5 sections of water that were half-wheel deep, and witnessed many people having to stop because the wind was too strong or they could not get through the deep flooded sections. The distance that usually takes only 40 minutes to 1 hour lasted nearly 2 hours, full of tension and fatigue.
I arrived at the hotel soaked from head to toe, and had no energy to go anywhere. I stayed in my room all afternoon and evening, listening to the howling wind outside, ordering takeout, and comforting myself with a hot bath.
Storms force tourists to stay at hotels, delaying their plans to explore Da Nang
During storms, the hotel becomes a place to relax, enjoy and rest after a long journey.
I have seen a Da Nang with bright yellow sunshine, airy roads, Dragon Bridge, and Han River Bridge shining in the afternoon sun. But this time back, the city was left with only gray skies and white rain. Luckily, the hotel was spacious, beautiful, and had many virtual living corners to help me enjoy and rest, regaining energy for the next journey to Hue.
Heritage train ride in the rain
At 7am, I left the hotel in a lighter rain than yesterday, but the sky was still covered in a sad, pale grey. We arrived at Da Nang station and boarded the 4th compartment of the Central Heritage train. Sitting in the quiet train compartment, I quietly watched Da Nang recede behind the water-soaked windows. My heart sank as my entire schedule in Da Nang had to be put on hold.
The train began to pass Hai Van Pass - a road I had always looked forward to seeing in the sunshine, but today it appeared with a sad and quiet look. The trees should have been green and rustling in the Central region's sun and wind, but now they were just wet leaves, silent under the gray sky. Yet in the midst of that rainy picture, a poetic scene suddenly appeared. Pure white flowers blooming on a dark green area, like a gift of consolation that nature sent to the less fortunate like us.
Gloomy Hai Van Pass scene in the rain.
Sitting in compartment 4, I could see the train head curving along the tracks, preparing to enter the tunnels through the mountains. We stopped to avoid 3 trains, I caught a glimpse of the faces of the people sitting on the opposite train as the train entered the tunnel and then exited. The train stopped at Lang Co station for 10 minutes, enough time for us to get off and walk around, breathe in the cool breeze after the rain, watch the sea and the sky that had begun to brighten. The journey continued to take us through the green fields, Cau Hai lagoon as smooth as a mirror after the rain, through the rice fields shimmering with water in Hue.
The beautiful scenery is like a gift of nature to comfort the travelers on the train.
We thought Hue would appear peaceful after the rain as if to soothe our tiredness, but no. The moment we stepped off the train, the sky poured down again. Another heavy downpour came unexpectedly, drenching both of us once again on the way back to the hotel. The dreamy land welcomed us with a pouring rain as if to test a little more those who still persistently searched for beauty in the not-so-nice days.
Meeting "poetic" Hue on a beautiful day
That afternoon, Hue was sad like a slow song. Space seemed to sigh with me, a traveler tired of the persistent rain.
But the next morning, Hue suddenly embraced me with the warm golden sunlight of a beautiful day. The sound of roosters crowing from the garden woke me up when it was still not quite dawn. I stepped out into the street, took a deep breath of the rare chilly air in the middle of Hue’s famously sultry summer, then stopped at a small roadside restaurant to eat snakehead fish noodle soup made by the owner.
Snakehead fish noodle shop opens early in the morning in Hue city.
About a kilometer away, where the gentle sunlight spread across the campus of Hue National School, I stood there silently watching, briefly feeling as if I had just returned to a time of pure youth, back to the mornings going to school, backpack on my shoulder, frolicking in the early morning sun.
The sun rose on the campus of Hue National School after the rain.
I took the opportunity to visit Minh Mang Tomb, Khai Dinh Tomb and Tu Duc Tomb - the three famous mausoleums of the ancient capital before the summer heat began to burn fiercely. Minh Mang Tomb, located furthest to the outskirts, welcomed me on a deserted morning. The space was as quiet as a period film, where time seemed to stand still in solemnity and tranquility.
Minh Mang Tomb is peaceful on a deserted morning.
That afternoon, the Hue Imperial City was unusually crowded, as if the recent days of persistent rain had never existed. People poured in, wearing traditional costumes, the brilliant Nhat Binh dress, and walked through the Ngo Mon Gate. In a rare beautiful afternoon after a stormy journey, the Imperial City was like an old page of history opening before my eyes. I walked among the crowd, letting the golden sunlight slant through my clothes, letting the breath of the past permeate my every step.
Hue Imperial City is brilliant in the afternoon light.
At dusk, I sat quietly by the Perfume River, admiring the strangely peaceful scenery. To the point of wondering if the days of pouring rain and strong winds were just a dream... The last half of the journey in Hue ended in the moment when the afternoon light embraced me in a warm and gentle embrace, just like the name "Lovely Hue" that people often mention.
The afternoon sun cast its shadow on the Perfume River.
I love Hue not only because of its gentle beauty, but also because of the times when Hue was wet with rain and silently endured. I love Da Nang, I love Hoi An - the places I used to be attached to, every year having to brace themselves against the unusual and harshness of nature. But it is this arduous journey that makes me believe more that this life will eventually give back what is worthy to those who keep moving forward. That the more bumpy the journey, the more brilliant the ending will be and worthy of all that we have overcome.
