It’s 4:15 AM (yes, you read that right) and I have 30 minutes for a shower and to pack the drone and some other stuff. I thought it was going to be difficult, but so far , so good.

I step into the van , and there are two other fellow photographers joining the tour. The start is smooth — we stop by a coffee shop to inject some caffeine and share some chitchat to get to know each other. We arrive at the destination , and the show is about to begin—fishing boats are driving toward the dock.

In a matter of minutes, the air fills with buzz. People scream and carry boxes full of fish from the river to the streets—it feels like an everyday dance where everyone knows perfectly how the scene will unfold and what their role is on this stage.

At 7:22 AM, the shutter count is at 703 photos. I recognize that I have quite a heavy finger this morning. Probably my brain is still half asleep and prefers rushing into the situation rather than thinking things through before gently pushing the shutter.

The morning dance unfolds in front of my eyes until the place settles into the mood I’ve gotten used to over the last few days—the chaos fades out, leaving space for cleaning and chitchat: the trades are done.

I’m back at the hotel by 9:06 AM, and the shutter count has reached 959 photos. Editing today will be hard.

Now that I’ve had a power nap and regained a bit more clarity, I have to admit that I enjoyed the buzz and chaos of the early morning market. Probably , I was trying to downplay the situation just to be at peace with not having enough willpower to wake up early the past few days.

I meet Etienne, a French photographer who has lived in Hội An for more than 15 years, and we spend the afternoon together among rice fields, peanut plants, and everything in between.

As everywhere, people are warm and welcoming, and Etienne seems to fit completely with the mood of this country. I’m glad I booked the afternoon with him—it was a different experience interacting with locals through someone who speaks the language.

While writing this, my mind wanders to the fact that I’m halfway through this trip , and it’s already time to move to the next city. Tomorrow , I’ll grab a scooter and head into the countryside toward Huế, where I’ll catch a night train to Ninh Bình.

All of this , not to make spoilers , but to reflect on what it means to have only limited time in a place. It’s an exercise in prioritization and choosing the things that matter the most; there will always be something that needs to be left out of the plan. Quite challenging for someone like me , who always tries to do everything—and sometimes ends up hindering the quality of the experience.

Now, I hit send and try to finally get eight hours of sleep.

Till tomorrow,
— M