Classrooms packed to the gills with batshit-crazy children.
A sea of chugging motorbikes spewing palpably viscous chunks of exhaust down scarred lungs and up red-raw, dripping sinus cavities.
Pudding-thick tropical air stirred once a day by torrential downpours.
A nascent relationship sprouting between us and tennis.
A pink-tipped, wedding-cake ornate pagoda viewed from our bedroom window. Its denizens solely female. A forgotten Monastic order that clings to peace in the midst of this chaotic megalopolis.
A spacious, clean apartment placed somewhere above the city. An incongruous wonder of modernity when juxtaposed with our neighbors' detritus-strewn rooftop hovel.
An ostensibly simple cuisine to those who don't get further than Pho, yet rich in simple complexities when the intrepid muncher ventures from the well-worn path.
This is HCMC.