The town is famous for its lanterns, but at six in the morning they are off, and the street belongs to bicycles and the sound of broth. I eat noodles at a stall with no name and watch the river carry the first light. By eight the day-trippers will arrive in boats with coordinated itineraries. By nine the lanterns will be back on, a little sad in the daylight, doing their job for the cameras. I leave before that. The Hoi An worth knowing is the one that wakes up slowly, the one the brochures have never seen. It has no name on the door, but it knows your face by the second morning.