It was early morning, hardly seven o’clock, yet the city was alive and pulsing.
I left the air-conditioned and sanitised confines of my five-star hotel and ventured out into the cacophony of noise that was Ho Chi Minh City.
The mere act of walking down the street outside my hotel was a feast for the soul, a sensory overload of sights, smells and sounds.
Thousands of scooters glided and screamed their way down the narrow street in an orchestrated ballet of noise, movement and bustle, narrowly missing pedestrians and other motorists.
The constant toot of shrill horns filled the air, each one a warning to watch out and take care.
Smells of Vietnam
The air was steamy, the humidity rising. Diesel fumes mingled with the smell of cooking oil frying as the street vendors cooked omelettes and pho over open fires or small gas burners.
People were seated on low plastic stools, eating their breakfast, slurping slippery rice noodles and soup out of small china bowls.
I saw her first as she crossed further up the street, heading my way.
The Vietnamese woman was slightly built; faded black trousers and white shirt covering most of her body, flat worn shoes on her small feet. A conical bamboo hat hid most of her face.
As she balanced her bamboo pole across one shoulder, the ends of the pole bounced rhythmically up and down under the heavy weight of the two trays of fruit that she carried.
She seemed too tiny and fragile for the task she bore, yet she moved quickly and agilely through the crowded street. The vivid yellow of her tray of bananas and the bright orange of her other tray of mandarins, caught my eye.
In the frame
It seemed a perfect photo opportunity – the texture and colour of the fruit provided sharp contrast and her menial labour spoke of another era.
I had found my quintessential shot of Vietnamese street life to enlarge and hang on my suburban wall, a scene straight out of the old Indochina.
I followed her, darting in and out of the pedestrians and the shopkeepers milling on the pavement, assured and confident that eventually she would pause for a moment and I could take my shot. I eagerly hoped she would stop somewhere that would enable me to frame her body juxtaposed against a more modern scene of the fast-developing Saigon streetscape – the old, side by side, with the new.
As I dodged vendors thrusting pamphlets for massages in my hand, the shouts of others assailed me. The ubiquitous “You buy? You buy?” rang in my ears. Everyone was intent on selling me something. I shook my head, focusing on the conical hat, bobbing up and down.
I lost her for a moment, forced to balance on the edge of the roadway. Finally, the traffic ebbed enough for me to cross the street. I scanned ahead for her. A pang of disappointment came and went as I spied her in the distance.
Shot down
This time I picked up my pace and sprinted along the edge of the road, out of the way of most sellers. As I ran, I held onto my camera, clasped close to my chest.
I caught up with her as she propped on the next street corner, resting her load on the ground, while an old man purchased a few bananas from her basket. Money changing hands. Perfect. I would capture a series of quick shots and sort them out later.
Quickly I raised my camera to my eye, but in that instant, she turned her head, raised her face and stared back at me, eyes full of pride and a hint of defiance.
Guilt washed over me. I was callously using this unknown woman for my entertainment, for my pleasure. I lowered my hand, letting the camera dangle from my wrist.
Ho Chi Minh City had softened my heart and perhaps redeemed me.
Do you take plenty of photos on holidays? Have you ever felt uncomfortable about the subject matter? Why not share your experience in the comments section below?
Also read: Five lesser-known places to visit on your next trip to Vietnam
