Fleeing a flooded Hoi An: An ancient town that refuses to drown in despair
Carolyn Chia
My relaxing holiday in Vietnam's most picturesque town took an unexpected turn when I woke up to find Hội An almost unrecognisable, submerged under muddy, swirling waters.
The transformation happened in barely two hours 2 hours on Oct 27.
When I first arrived two evenings earlier on Oct 25, everything felt charmingly normal.
There was a slight drizzle, but I could still wander freely along the lantern-lit streets, enjoy the local cuisine, coffee and indulge in the nostalgia of the ancient town.
I was looking forward to exploring the UNESCO World Heritage Site on foot the following morning, but little did I know how quickly the situation would change.
That first evening, despite the drizzle and the rising riverbanks, unfazed tourists continued shopping and strolling along its colourful streets as usual. But within 48 hours, after a full day of heavy rain on Oct 26, the Hội An I knew vanished.
I woke from a late-morning nap on Oct 27, stepped onto my hotel balcony on the fifth floor, and froze. What had been a dry street just hours earlier was now a brown, roiling river. Knee-high water swallowed the ground floor. Shops, cafés, and motorbikes vanished beneath the flood.
Locals kept calm and carried on
Locals rushed to salvage what they could. Motorbikes were pushed onto nearby bridges. I saw a man shifting his stash of Huda beer into his home.
Feeling a little worried about whether I could get out of the area and make it to my next hotel in Danang city on the following day, I decided to check with the hotel staff.
The lift stopped functioning, so I walked down to the lobby to ask them what would happen if the waters continued to rise.
They calmly explained that a motorised boat would arrive the next day at 1pm to evacuate hotel guests to drier ground. Their composure steadied me a little, though in my mind, I was fearfully imagining the Thu Bon River bursting its banks and engulfing the entire hotel.
Outside, the scene was strangely peaceful. Rescue boats replaced bicycles and motorbikes on the streets, which had turned into streams of teh tarik.
From my room, I could see cars lined up along a small bridge like sardines. Shopkeepers shifted goods to higher shelves. Families waded through chest-high water to buy necessities. And in the midst of it all, children splashed around, delighted by an unexpected break from school.
Forced to leave by boat
This was my third visit to Hội An — but the first time I had to leave the town by speedboat.
By Oct 28, large parts of the ancient town were inaccessible.
That afternoon, I joined a small group of anxious tourists and climbed into a speedboat from the flooded hotel lobby. My biggest worry at that moment was that my favourite Lego cabin bag would topple into the water and disappear.
After a nerve-wracking five-minute journey through waterlogged alleys, I transferred to a vehicle waiting on higher ground.
One moment of kindness stayed with me the most. On the first night of my arrival, I fell and cut my knee. The vivacious young lady who treated me at ABC Pharmacy, Thao, checked on my wound almost daily through WhatsApp.
Even after her pharmacy was submerged, she continued to monitor my recovery. When I returned to Singapore, she was still sending messages to ensure the wound was healing well.
She told me then that Hội An had gradually returned to normal and the floodwaters had receded — but that situation may have changed.
A Nov 16 report said the ancient quarter flooded again late on Nov 15 after days of intense rain forced upstream hydropower reservoirs to release water, submerging much of the UNESCO-listed town overnight.
Floods test more than infrastructure; they reveal who people are, and the heart they show in difficult moments.
Hoi An showed me that resilience does not shout. It lives in small gestures — in neighbours showing up for one another, in hotel staff staying calm for anxious guests, in a pharmacist checking in long after closing time.
When I left central Vietnam on Nov 1, I didn't just leave behind a flood. I left with a renewed respect for a community that meets disaster with grace, humour, and grit.
Here's what I learned from being caught in the Hội An floods:
- Trust the locals. They know the terrain and have the right contacts. Let the hotel staff make arrangements instead of complicating matters by trying to arrange your own Grab or private transport.
- Make sure you have a "go bag". It should include your passport, phone, cash, medication and water.
- Stay put and stay informed. Don't try to "see" the flood; flood conditions can worsen within minutes.
- Avoid walking barefoot or in deep water. Hidden debris can cut you easily, and infections are a real risk.
- Be patient and grateful towards the service staff. A smile and a thank-you go a long way when everyone is under stress.
- Check the weather forecast before you book. Some months are far riskier for sudden floods.
- And if you're kiasu, and can't swim, pack inflatable armbands. Boats don't always have enough life jackets to go around.
Carolyn Chia is the Lead for Organisation Development and Change Management in the Office of the Editor-in-Chief at SPH. She is also a visual alchemist who doodles for joy.
