Just south of the city of Danang in Vietnam, there is a small town called Hoi An, the former port city of the Cham Empire.

On a sunny afternoons, hot tropical breezes from the South China Sea roll through the Old Town of Hoi An, rustling the leaves in the trees along the winding lanes of colonial buildings, beckoning you to visit the nearby beach. By night, paper lanterns and fairy lights twinkle outside of the art galleries, restaurants, and homes along the waterway.

But many visitors do not come to Hoi An for the charm of Old Town or to see the ruins of the Cham civilization in My Son.

They come to Hoi An for the shopping.

Away from the waterfront, crammed into all the open front shops, dozens and dozens of tailors lie in wait, scissors and needles on hand. An army of mannequins line the streets, flaunting ready-to-wear designs. A crush of visitors descend upon the shops, eager to fill their home closets with custom clothing and shoes.

Upon entering each shop, I was seated and served hot tea. Several catalogues were promptly deposited on my lap and any number of very attentive sales people began to interrogate me about my tailoring needs.

In one shop, two friendly sales ladies bargained me into several purchases, all ready within 24-48 hours of having my measurements taken. Somewhere between looking at swatches of shoe leather and being shown recent wedding photos, I was talked into purchasing new shoes, pants, shirts, and a dress.

I will admit the end results were mixed. One pair of shoes never fit properly, but the other were the best pair of sandals I have ever owned. My linen pants were a staple travel wardrobe item for the rest of that year, but the seams were poorly finished on my summer dress.