The Loneliest Adventure
My rickshaw driver was unable to see clearly, was continually adjusting his ill-fitting glasses, and with dusty accidents on clogged traffic roundabouts, I suspected he was half blind. But every day Duc was there to pull me through noisy back alleys to the market for a breakfast of sweet yellow mangoes, his familiar Hello Kitty doll dangling from his handlebars.
He was my go-to for all the sights around Saigon; and the mangoes were like huge pearl drop earrings, splayed apart and squeezed and devoured until the juice ran down my arms and formed puddles in the folds of The Saigon Times.
Photos are of river life in Ho Chi Minh City.
April 1994
ยี่สิบเจ็ด. A Blossom in the House 二十九. Hong Kong Handover