This time last year we were in Vietnam. We didn’t spend long there, only about ten days, so we stayed in the South, Saigon and the Mekong Delta. We hired a guide and explored the tiny islands and obscure towns of the Delta, staying in uncomfortable but friendly and fascinating proximity with a local family, having cooking lessons and playing with coconuts in the front yard. We got up punishingly early to visit the floating markets, bought doughnuts from a vendor outside a pig farm and shared a ferry with a cow. I could write more about it, and perhaps I should, before the vividness of the tastes and sounds and smells fade like yellowing prints of Edwardian ladies at the seaside.
Because the trip is fading, slipping from my present into my past. Not so long ago, I knew what I was doing this time last year almost on a daily basis. Now my life is moving on, as it should, and it’s filled with work, friends and London. It wouldn’t be healthy to live the rest of my life as the person who’s just got back from travelling. But for today, my head is filled with pho and dentists and cockerels and communism and paddy fields and motorbikes and evening exercise in the park. One day, we’ll go back.
This post was written for Photo Friday at Delicious Baby