Markets change in shape and location, but they share the same vibe. The first thing I do in a new place is wander around a market. In this case, Châu Đốc has a central market that stretches from the interior out to the riverside. Here, people hop on small boats to reach the other side.

The late-day mood is familiar—someone is having lunch, a few are starting to clean up the space to transform it into their bedroom, where the need to rest takes over the will to sell. Hammocks appear all around; a mother stares at her phone and, with one hand, swings the hammock beside her, trying to lull her child to sleep—it feels like a daily gesture, ingrained in the muscle memory of her arm.

I step outside the market and a temple appears in front of me. I remember my mum’s wish to have an incense lit for her, so I decide to step in.

The heat from the candles and the intense smell of incense hit me all at once. I need to move out and find something to cool me down. A sugarcane kiosk appears in front of me. You know all those images of oases appearing in the desert to save lost souls? That’s more or less how it feels right now.

I sit, enjoy the fan, and take out my book. I haven’t read since the flight, and I last less than 10 pages before deciding I need to eat something and rest before the boat trip at 3 PM.

I get a local boat to take me around the river and show me life along the canals. What unfolds in front of my eyes is a patchwork of metal sheets, bricks, and wood—floating on the river or stacked on top of concrete stilts that lift people’s lives just a few meters above the water.

Very few fishing boats are out, which clashes with my expectations of seeing fishermen returning home. But I still enjoy the ride, especially when we stop by a rice field and the guy explains that we’re exactly one rice field away from Cambodia.

I ask if I can fly the drone, but he tells me the border patrols wouldn’t be happy about it. Luckily, on the way back, we stop at a floating café where I finally get to test the drone. Before leaving for Vietnam, I wasn’t sure whether to bring it—but now I know I made the right choice.

Evening arrives, and with it, the need for dinner. I pick a street food kiosk and sit down with a bowl of phở. The people working there are super friendly, and somewhere between picking up my book and finishing the second page, I find a kid sitting across from me saying hello, while his mum prepares a bowl of phở. Needless to say, they stayed until I left. The moment felt so welcoming that I decided to gift them a lottery ticket. Everywhere I’ve been so far, people are walking the streets selling those tickets, and I figured it might be a way to make two people happy.

Walking back to the hotel, I think about just two days ago when I was questioning whether it made sense to come down here for such a short time. Now I can say: it was worth the journey to witness this area. Tomorrow, it’s time to leave already—a flight to Hoi An is waiting for me at Saigon Airport.

Till tomorrow,
— M