Mountains that kiss the clouds. Orange & blue roofs along dusty dirt roads and row crops, so many row crops. Lakes set perfectly in the crevices of the valleys and ranges below. Then the dirt is suddenly covered in concrete and tar that leads to a humble city, the city of lakes.

Roaring, flooded rivers of motor scooters dancing.

The sweet smell of cardamom wafting from large steaming pots of Pho.

Twisted roots of Banyan trees crawling through the broken pavement.

Roosters in wire baskets, dogs chained to trees.

Plastic swan boats float back and forth, back and forth escorting a young couple across one of the many small lakes of the city.

The day’s dirty dishwater tossed away, splashing across the black tar.

Shopkeepers sweeping the sidewalks with their grass broomsticks between passerbys.

Children laughing and screaming, playing soccer in the courtyard.

Villagers squatting beside their fragrant, colorful baskets full of bananas, citrus, tubers, dragon fruit, and fresh herbs.

Loud chatter and the sound of a billiard hall fill the alleyway.

A skinny, rickety 3 story hand-laid brick building neighbors an elaborate French colonial memento.