A WEEK OF PRELUDE

The raindrops form the rhythm and birdsong sings the tune. Getting lost in unmarked alleyways, casually sitting by the lake or on the sidewalk drinking bia hoi (locally brewed beer by a Czech recipe as a token of Communist solidarity, apparently), walking through a very wet wet market, sipping on Vietnamese distilled coffee with condensed milk while sitting on a balcony overlooking the busy leafy street, good cheap hearty amazing food every day while hanging out as fours or twos or one (interlaced with green rice flake ice-cream breaks), pleasantly surprised by a long boat trip around the glorious Halong Bay, kayaking among fishing villages, sitting at the back of the motorcycle for the first time and through the jungle and cave and along the coastline we go; swimming all day, swimming together, or alone to the furthest floating platform and watched the ships sail by, in a big beach, or in a small secluded beach that belongs only to us; a half-failed midnight dip later we looked up to a skyful of stars, the sea lit up by fluorescent planktons. To be tanned and to be drenched. To remember the breeze in my hair, the blue hour as blue as your eyes, the lazy morning light, the glow of the afternoon sun, distant thunderstorm, the fragrance of jasmine and incense suffusing the air.

Independence, freedom, happiness.

This is the end of the beginning.

xx