Hoi An Flood Diary: The Second Wave (Part 2: Days 7–9)

Just when we thought the worst had passed, the rain came back.

After six long days without power or clean water, Hoi An was finally drying up...until another storm arrived and the river rose once again.

This second wave tested not only our endurance but also our ability to stay calm, kind, and connected. It reminded us, once more, that no matter how much we plan or prepare, nature always has the final say.

If you’ve read my previous diary about the first flood, you’ll know how we survived those long days of waiting, uncertainty, and darkness.

By Day 6 (Part 1), I truly thought it was over, that I could finally sit down, have a cappuccino, and write my reflections.

But nature had other plans.

Day 7: Electricity and Water Back On

And here I am, writing what I thought would be my six-day flood diary to share with you, finally with a decent cappuccino in hand (por fin, finally).

I drove and walked around town to see how the locals were recovering. Some places were still covered in mud, with people scrubbing and cleaning what was left, while others had already reopened. Tourists were out again in raincoats and umbrellas, even though the sky still looked uncertain.

Just as we thought things were getting back to normal, another flood warning came. Yet no one seemed to prepare. Some locals laughed it off, saying, “Ah, it’s okay.”

I hoped they were right.

Day 8: When We Thought It Was Over

4:00 a.m. I had been waking up on and off all night, listening to the constant rain, both soothing and worrying at the same time.

Then came the sound of dripping. A leak through the glass ceiling. I peeked out from my balcony. Again?

I rushed downstairs to wake up Uncle Manh. Water was seeping in. The two of us, now the only ones left in the hotel, lifted furniture, packed what we could, and moved everything upstairs to the dry area.

“Man, I’m not ready for this again,” I thought. But there wasn’t time to think.

The water kept rising. And then, phutt, the power went out again. At least, this time, it eventually stopped raining.

In that quiet darkness, I felt strangely calm. Maybe because I already knew the rhythm of it: the fear, the waiting, the surrender. I sat there and just let my thoughts flow.

As the night deepened, I stepped out onto the balcony again. The town was silent, except for the gentle hum of a patrol boat passing by from time to time. Above me, the clouds were finally breaking, revealing a faint glimmer of stars.

Apparently, not all of Hoi An was in darkness. From a distance, I could see the other side of town still alive: lights flickering, quiet movements, life carrying on.

Despite everything, I still felt hopeful, grateful even, thinking about all the exciting things waiting for me ahead. New projects, new beginnings, and the beautiful unpredictability of life itself.

I looked up and smiled. And that evening, I kept that smile for as long as I could remember.

Day 9: Sunlight Returns

Déjà vu. From my balcony, I watched the familiar scene unfold once again. The muddy streets, the neighbours sweeping, the shops reopening, and life slowly returning.

The town was alive again. And so was I.

Coming back to Vietnam after two years abroad, I was still learning to find my rhythm again, navigating the quiet waves of reverse culture shock. Thank you, Hoi An, for welcoming me home with two literal waves of floods and, in return, teaching me the art of flexibility, patience, and resilience.

I thought of my plans, and I laughed. None of them included this. My friend Ioana once said she’s used to my kind of “normality”, that unusual things tend to happen to me (or for me).

And my friend, Uncle Mark from the UK, once commented, “I thought you’d say that… you like to experience all of life’s challenges and pleasures.” Maybe he’s right. But I don’t call these moments unusual.

Whatever arrives, I just ride with it. What else can you do? You’re either in it or against it. There’s no good or bad experience; it just is.

Now, it’s time to update this blog, catch up with work, and prepare for a busy November ahead.

Lessons Learnt

This experience reminded me how fragile life can be and yet how unbreakable the human spirit truly is.

No AI could have helped us through one of the most devastating floods since 1964, when the Thu Bồn River reached a record 5.48 metres. This year, it climbed even higher to about 5.7 metres, marking the worst flood in 60 years.

But through all the uncertainty, something remarkable surfaced. Neighbours helped neighbours. Strangers shared food, flashlights, and power banks. Humanity shone through, even in the mud and chaos.

And in the stillness that followed, I learnt something deeply personal.

Resilience isn’t just about staying strong during the storm. It’s about having the courage to begin again as many times as life demands. To rebuild from scratch, even when your plans wash away. To face what comes next with a softer heart, a clearer mind, and a deeper faith in your own adaptability.

Because every time you start over, you come back a little stronger, (hopefully) a little wiser, and a little more grounded in what truly matters.

Nature reminds us that there are things outside of our control, and that’s not something to fear but something to learn from. To adapt. To let go of expectations. And to grow with.

Maybe that’s what life keeps trying to teach us: to move with greater grace and more compassion, and to always appreciate the simple things in life: being human.

Written from Hoi An, November 2025: a reminder that every storm eventually passes, and every challenge carries the seed of growth.