Bui Vien is the central street in the backpacker district of Ho Chi Minh. At night, the street heaves with the coming and going of motorcycle and taxi traffic, which have to literally push through the body of people that line the pavement and road. There are small, re-purposed shops that sell tourists and locals…
Hundreds of families live on building sites in Ho Chi Minh. Vast amounts of money are pouring into the famous city of Saigon, from Taiwan, China and Singapore. This money manifests itself in the form of new skyscrapers and residential buildings to cater for the emerging middle-class in Vietnam.
There’s something in the hazy details of the buildings in Budapest that made me think I was walking into a film-set. Nothing looked quite real. Mostly because I’d never seen such consistently beautiful architecture, street after street.
This was probably my favourite photograph of the whole trip. I wish WordPress allowed larger pictures (although I totally understand why it does not) because the detail in this picture is great. There is something very unfamiliar about this picture and it reminds me just how different Vietnam was.
The very intricate workings of the bare trees on a crisp early afternoon.
What’s better than a cat on a pub stool in moody black and white? Taken in a pub I’d walked past hundreds of times. Finally went in. There was a cat, and later someone started playing the piano. Sold cheap beer for somewhere so central.
Wandered through Lincoln’s Inn early last year and was struct dumb by the hundred-year- old trees draped in mesh. I’d never seen it before, but apparently it’s something that happens quite often…
Will this man ever look at my blog, and see himself there, asleep on a chair on the street? I doubt it, but you’re here, you’re here.
Found in the courtyard of a Catholic church. To the right of this there was a large shrine. There was only one piece of this board and it sat against a very grey, dilapidated backdrop. It was quite eerie, definitely beautiful.
I Monte Carlo, New York, New York Built in 1854, this spire with crows, tight jeans and rusted coasters. Smells of eggs, donuts, salty chips. Single boat stranded, afloat on the sand, grand blue boat, tilted. Reflection of council flats in wet holes. Thick haze, thinner there, water and sky, immersed in…