It was noon. The sun, directly overhead, shone fiercely, brightly, unforgivingly. I felt sweat pooling under my arms, as I worried about its evidence showing up on the white fabric of my cotton shirt, for all to see. The back of my shirt was already damp. Condensation beaded on my temples and trickled down my face. I continued walking through a slowly strolling crowd in phố cổ Hoi An, my sticky shoulder brushing against strange, sticker ones, while I whispered a shy ‘excuse me’ here and there.

The throngs of tourists didn’t surprise me. Central Vietnam’s Hoi An is as alluring as fellow travellers describe. Its mustard yellow-painted and dark wood-pillared Ancient Town weaves its charm around you, transporting you to the era of the Silk Road. Known as phố cổ (old quarter) in Vietnamese, Hoi An Ancient Town is a well-preserved trading hub that was bustling with activity between the 5th and 19th centuries, a melting pot of culture and design styles of the Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and French. And with its UNESCO World Cultural Heritage Site tag, phố cổ invariably finds its way into must-see lists of all who want to explore Vietnam.

Making it through the crowd in Ancient Town can take a toll on you. Throw in the sapping heat and humidity of central Vietnam’s coast, plus the unending pleas of street vendors coaxing you to buy snacks, fruits, and souvenirs, and you’re left with a near-empty personal fuel tank. With every step, the cacophony leaves you feeling less charmed by Hoi An’s picturesque cobbled streets and architecture, and more frustrated at choosing to visit what some call a ‘tourist trap’.

I could feel the April heat waves snaking up from the cracks in the dark tar road. Gripping my legs first with an uncomfortably, hot embrace, a discomfort moved swiftly across my body. I felt dizzy.

But I didn’t stop. I dragged my feet through Trần Phú Street, in search of a tea house that, years ago, caught my eye on a friend’s Instagram post. I passed many old buildings-turned-souvenir stores, tailoring shops, and cafes, their yellow, brown, and red pigments slowly fading, like the memories of their original inhabitants.

‘You have arrived at your destination.’

The familiar sing-song alert from Google Maps made me look up from my phone. I stood at the threshold of an unassuming, dark wooded house with open windows. Unless you’re looking for it, it’s easy to miss Reaching Out Tea House, because of how well it disguises itself in a seemingly drab facade amid the bougainvillea fringes and amber walls of its neighbours.

What’s so special about a tea house?

The second you step in, the cacophony of Hoi An’s streets ceases. It’s cool inside. The pastel green walls offer your eyes a much-needed respite from the bright buttery yellows of phố cổ’s walls. It’s as if you can almost run your hand through it—the wave of peace that gently washes over you— as you take your place at a table either within the Tea House or in the little garden area at the back.

The best part? You hear nothing.

Well, except for the light clinking of cutlery against cutlery, the soft gurgling of tea being poured into glass cups, the hushed shuffling of soft footwear on wooden floors, and whispered conversations that are the closest we can get to ‘pin-drop silence’.

Reaching Out is a Tea House with a Purpose

On the pale green walls hangs artwork, all with the same theme – silence.

The story of Reaching Out Tea House begins with an accident, and not the happy kind. It was started by Binh Le Nguyen and his wife, Quyen Mai. Binh had undergone a painful time in his life before he met Quyen—a Hoi An native. A medical mishap in a Da Nang hospital rendered him physically disabled, and mentally disheartened. He often questioned the meaning of his existence after the incident. But when he met Quyen, he began to feel the sparks of joy reignite in his life, and they soon married.

Before she met Binh, Quyen wouldn’t have paid much attention to the challenges that people with disabilities face—a shielded and bubbled outlook on life that most of us have. Her relationship with Binh changed this outlook. The couple therefore founded Reaching Out in 2000. It was a handicrafts enterprise back then, providing inclusive work opportunities to disabled locals.

After running the store for a few years, they opened Reaching Out Tea House on one of phố cổ Hoi An’s busiest streets. The Tea House is run by a staff of speech-and-hearing-impaired female workers, who have turned the harshness of silence for the self, into a haven of peace for those who crave it.

Lesson 1: The Power of Silence

I’m no stranger to noise. I used to live in a city known for its thriving pub culture, eclectic music scene, and centuries-old cosmopolitan makeup. It’s also known for traffic jams that can last for hours, shopfronts that spill onto busy footpaths, and the unending chaos that’s hallmark of the IT capital of India.

When I travelled to the central coast of Vietnam, I was without a job. I had chosen to be employer-free, thanks to deteriorating mental health, and a feeling of worthlessness that stemmed from a toxic work environment. While this choice gave me some semblance of mental wellness, it left me with a fast-depleting bank account and an unshakeable fear—that I’m not, nor ever will be, good enough.

I was constantly surrounded by noise—online and offline—that left me feeling like I’d accomplished nothing in my life so far, that others had moved on to bigger, better things while I was stuck—jobless, talentless, penniless.

I didn’t realize how desperately I needed a break from the dissonance within and outside myself. And I found that break unexpectedly, in a tea house in the heart of phố cổ Hoi An.

I sat at a table next to a window; as I looked out, the noise in my head eased and quietened down. The silence inside the Tea House wasn’t heavy, alien, or uncomfortable. It felt like I was getting back home after a rough day at school or work. Like the first monsoon shower after a brutal summer. Like long-overdue relief.

As the silence built within me and the din started to thin, I felt what I hadn’t felt in a long time. Clarity. I was able to unravel the impossible yarn of thoughts in my mind. I reiterated to myself what I always knew but often forgot—that my journey is my own, that comparing my life to others’ will only leave me dissatisfied and discontent with all the blessings I have in the present.

In this silence also came true enjoyment of the traditional Vietnamese offerings at Reaching Out Tea House. The tranquil atmosphere allowed me to genuinely appreciate how the rich, earthy-brown and aromatic coffee slowly dripped through the phin (Vietnamese for filter), taking its time, neither hurrying nor harrying. I savoured the experience of a slow pour of local jasmine tea from a beautifully crafted kettle, its delicate floral fragrance immediately lifting my spirits. The hushed ambiance allowed me to focus on just one thing—the simple pleasure of having a cup of cold coffee on a hot summer day.

Lesson 2: The Importance of Contrast

It took me a while to pinpoint why I was in such deep appreciation of Reaching Out. The silence and the ability to slow down and savour the moment, I realized, was only possible because of one thing.

The chaos outside.

There’s an unignorable contrast between the hypnotic raucousness of Hoi An Ancient Town’s streets, and the veil of serenity that envelops you within the Tea House. While we are often inclined to criticize one and praise the other, we fail to realize that one cannot exist without the other.

Lesson 3: The Forgotten Art of Slowing Down

When in Vietnam, have coffee the Vietnamese way!

I decided to fix myself a cà phê sữa đá—iced coffee with sweetened condensed milk. My order of Local Coffee—a medium roasted blend of Arabica from Cau Dat and Robusta from Ea H’leo—soon arrived in intricately painted and carved serveware.

With only myself for company, and nothing to do but sip on a rejuvenating cup of coffee, I felt time slow down—a rare occurrence today.

Instant gratification is the norm, slowing down isn’t an option. I’m often guilty of succumbing to the need for speed. But I know I’m not the only one who believes that this fast-paced existence fuelled by unending wants is depleting our soul’s currency.

Similarly, we often find ourselves travelling from one place to another at a pace like never before. Social media has us believing that our lives and experiences are somehow less significant unless we visit ten different places or do fifteen different things. A culture of unhealthy urgency has seeped into our daily lives.

I couldn’t help but observe that there is a hunger for the trendy and the eyeball-grabbing, fuelled by algorithms that push and perpetuate the same things. This vicious cycle hacks away at our sense of self—‘Am I doing enough? Am I travelling enough? Am I enough?’—whether you’re a consumer or a creator.

Why are we in such a hurry?

It may be a privileged statement to say, but where do we have to reach that’s anywhere but where we’re all going to end up eventually? Our destination is the same, our time here is limited.

Why do we spend it rushing, worrying about not getting somewhere fast enough?

So, I seek to slow down, in travel and life. Many like me can’t take up full-time travel, or explore just one place for weeks each time. We have jobs to show up for, and families to support. That doesn’t mean slow travel is impossible for us. Social media can be wonderful, uplifting, entertaining, and inspiring. It can also perpetuate unrealistic trends. It doesn’t display people’s failures or bad days, nor does it show how long it took someone to get to where they are. Accepting that we can’t have it all, is where it starts. We can then identify places to see and things to experience that truly bring us joy – where would I travel if I couldn’t share it online? That’s where I ought to be.

And when it comes to sharing our experiences, we can do so mindfully to get the best of both worlds— engagement from our audience (or friends and family, in my case) and a sense of having contributed meaningful value.

At Reaching Out Tea House, you sit in silence with your beverage of choice. You take comfort in the peace that surrounds you. You slow down your thoughts, you push your myriad of lists aside, you ignore the fast and the trendy.

And you do nothing else.

Life is too short to always be in a hurry. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.

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More about Reaching Out Tea House

Reaching Out is a great addition to your list if you wish to explore Hoi An slowly.

What can you get at Reaching Out?

How do you place an order?

The Tea House staff is hearing and speech impaired, so Reaching Out provides ample tools to communicate with them. While common gestures work, the Tea House has communication cubes placed on each table. Simply show the cube of what you need to the staff.

To order, you’re offered a menu card, where you can tick the option(s) you’d like. It’s as simple as that!

Google Translate goes a long way when communicating in Vietnam. I found it especially helpful at Reaching Out Tea House to ask for directions to the bathroom and some craft shop-related questions.

The Tea House accepts cash in Vietnamese Dong (VND) and USD, and major credit cards and debit cards.

Where is Reaching Out Tea House located?

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It may not be a must-do in Hoi An, Vietnam. But, if you find yourself craving solace, a treat for the senses, and a few moments of undistracted calm, add Reaching Out Tea House to your list.

I hope it teaches you something valuable, just like it did for me.