Last day in Vietnam. I wake up with the calm of a bear in hibernation. I slowly make my way out after witnessing an ugly Golden State loss to Houston—last time I’ll enjoy live games for breakfast.

First stop, before coffee, is a nearby spot where I photographed a family yesterday—do you remember when I wrote about an incursion into someone else’s home two days ago? That was it. The last photo delivery of this trip is done.

Coffee. Immediately. Now!

I sit down in the stereotype of modern cafés: minimally hipster, the kind of place you could find in most big cities around the world. It has AC, so for today, that’s the best I can hope for. It’s interesting how AC isn’t as widespread here; most places rely on fans.

I take this time to give a final touch to a new spin-off—Postcards from Life—and I head out for a walk to the post office.

I stroll around, stop at another café, and then hit up a street food stall. New spot, new dish, new soup. Feels like a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to taste all the dishes Vietnam has to offer.

The post office is empty—just me and a couple of other Westerners trying to ship treasures back home. As for me, I discover that each postcard needs three stamps. Three big stamps. For a tiny card full of words. Tetris time.

After handing over the postcards, I take one last walk around Hoàn Kiếm Lake and through the Old Quarter. On the way, I stumble across a barber tucked into a small corner. I decide my beard needs a check before flying out. This might become a ritual for future trips—find a local barbershop and get a beard trim.

Before my last scooter ride of the trip, I sit down by the lake, eyes lost in the still water. Everything feels peaceful, and I feel deeply connected to this place. It feels like I’ve been here for years. In reality, just four days—but it feels so homey. Probably because I lived this Saturday as I would any Saturday back home: wandering, coffee-hopping, taking photos.

My thoughts are interrupted by a kid. Her “Can I sit and talk with you?” brings me back to reality. Same thing happened last night—a kid just coming over to chat. At first, I thought it was a scam—dumb me. Her English is good. She tells me she learned from English movies her parents downloaded for her. She asks about Italy, about politics. She’s genuinely curious. After saying goodbye—time’s running out—I ask ChatGPT if this kind of thing is common. Turns out, it is. It’s a way to be welcoming, to practice English, to learn more about other cultures. Something so simple, yet so far from what I’m used to experiencing in daily life.

Now I’m at the airport, the gate just opened, and I need to hit send.

This is the last missive sent from Vietnam. Tomorrow: the closing one.

Till tomorrow,
— M

PS: I finished my first roll of film with the new camera—but as you can imagine, I won’t be able to share those photos in this missive.