Street photography requires a photographer to be fully present as he strolls (often with no destination in mind) through towns and villages, attempting to uncover the essence of humanity. In this way, the practice is similar to meditation. Or mindfulness. Or prayer. Only instead of focusing on his breath or a mantra or sacred text, he focuses on his surroundings, becoming acutely aware of any movement or sound. As he focuses, the troubles of the world begin to pass through him and fade away. Visions of the Gaza Strip slowly dislodge themselves from his mind and crumble to the ground. He starts to forget how much he misses his son. He stops checking his watch and notices only the sun’s relationship to the horizon. He feels free. For a few minutes or hours (alone, always alone), nothing matters except the sensual cues in his immediate environment. If he is lucky, he achieves a flow state.

The ability to meditate, to move toward that flow state, in a place like Central Vietnam is a gift. From the former imperial capital of Hue in the north to the old trading port of Hoi An in the south, the thin strip of land that straddles the center of the hourglass-shaped length of Vietnam is unique. It has its own Forbidden City in Hue, at one time the crown jewel of the Nguyen Dynasty and the capital of Vietnam. In the royal architecture of Hue and the surrounding countryside where the intricate burial complexes of former emperors sprawl over forested hills, Hue still retains the air of a Confucian kingdom. Yes, the castle walls are pocked with bullet holes, but they are still castle walls, reminders of a regal past, and perfect settings for street photography.

One hundred kilometers to the south, the modern metropolis of Da Nang was home to a large American Marine base during the conflict in Vietnam. The countryside around Da Nang endured some of the fiercest fighting of the war and all of the region was dusted with millions of gallons of Agent Orange. The former Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) just north of Hue split the country in half until 1975 and owns the distinction of being the most bombed place on Earth. Hundreds of thousands of tons of unexploded ordinance (UXO) still litter the land. My Lai, where in March of 1968 nearly 500 civilians were slaughtered by American soldiers, is just east of Hoi An.

Given all this, many in the U.S. expect the Vietnamese to feel bitterness toward Americans. Friends and family often ask how a middle-aged American with a pack on his back and camera in his hand is received in this part of the world. I ruminate on the question for a few moments, a smile spreading across my lips as I think. I tell them, “Just fine.”

5:00 p.m.

To the west of Hoi An, men and women of all ages make daily commutes to and from work on one of two narrow bamboo bridges that span a small tributary of the Thu Bon River and connect Cam Dong Village to fields of corn, peanuts, lavender, chilis, and leafy greens. Most cross many times in a day. They carry farming implements, bags of fertilizer, and crops on their shoulders, in modified wheelbarrows, and on the backs of bicycles. The structure creaks and bows under the weight, but bamboo is strong and forgiving and will almost certainly survive until the floods of the rainy season. When it finally does fail, farmers will cross the river in sampans until the village can raise the money to rebuild.

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Dong Ba Market

The Dong Ba Market in Hue is one of the largest wet markets in Central Vietnam, nearly 50,000 square meters. Vendors rent space inside and out, often spending 16-hour days selling fish or produce. As customers pick through garlic and examine fruit for bruises in the part of the shop that faces the street, the interior provides a quiet spot where sellers can rest.

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Duy Hai 1

The Duy Hai Fish Market at the mouth of the Cua Dai River east of Hoi An is one of the most important seafood markets in Central Vietnam. The selection is vast. As a result of technology, we see fewer and fewer markets like this. Consumers can haggle and place orders directly to trawlers via smartphone now. Often an entire catch will be sold before the boat hits the wharf. It’s a win-win for everyone but photographers. And that’s okay.

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Duy Hai 2

An institution of the Duy Hai Market, this woman walks the sand beside the docks, looking for spilled fish she can collect and sell. If she cannot collect enough for a meal, locals will make sure she eats.

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Fencing

A fisherman pushes off with a load of bamboo poles to shore up aquaculture fences in Tam Giang Lagoon, the largest semi-enclosed or “brackish” lagoon in Southeast Asia. Tam Giang Lagoon is one of the most biodiverse ecosystems in Central Vietnam, home to nearly 1,300 different aquatic species and providing food and flood control for over a million people. Still, communities dependent on the lagoon struggle to find a way to balance fish farming with sustainability.

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Ice

Physical labor cares not a whit about gender in this part of the world. This is true at construction sites as well as fish markets. At Duy Hai, much of the heavy lifting is done by women. If a crew of women can fill a truck with crates of seafood on ice in 30 minutes and maintain a sense of humor throughout, that crew will always have work.

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Mang Den

Three children from the Xo Dang ethnic minority—one of 54 recognized ethnic minorities in Vietnam—pass time at the Tet Holiday market in Mang Den, an emerging hub of tourism west of Kon Tum.

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My Khe Before Dawn

On a Sunday morning before the sun bursts over the Son Tra Peninsula and small round boats hauling men and seafood from trawlers have plowed through the water and ridden a strong wave to shore, vendors from the Man Thai Market ponder life. In 15 minutes they’ll be haggling with sellers, and in 30, they’ll be welcoming shoppers.

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Quang Nam Corn Farmer

In the countryside west of Hoi An, a farmer stops for a portrait in the shade beside a nuoc mia or sugar cane juice stand. When the weather is hot and sunny, Vietnamese cover up. This is especially true of farmers, who often wear baseball caps or wrap towels around their heads to soak up sweat under a non la, a traditional Vietnamese conical hat.

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Soya Cake

A restauranteur pushes his kitchen and dining room past one of the ancient yellow walls in the Old Town of Hoi An. A UNESCO World Heritage Site (along with Hue and My Son, one of three in Central Vietnam), Hoi An sees more tourists than any other city in Central Vietnam.

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Spinning

In Thanh Ha Pottery Village, a potter trained in the old ways helps a student shape a bowl on a wheel spun by her assistant’s leg. Some potters prefer this method to using a mechanized wheel because it gives them more control over the artistic process.

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Tall Grass

The afternoon skies darken over Quang Nam Province as a bemused farmer pushes her bike down the last few meters of a bamboo bridge toward home. After making dozens of trips to this small village to photograph these farmers over the past few years, I have nearly reached a status almost every Western street photographer in Vietnam dreams of: uninteresting.

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Family

A fishing couple works the shallow summer water of Tam Giang Lagoon. The net in this photo weighs around 17 kilograms, or more than 37 pounds. The fisherman rocks back and forth on the bow until he harnesses enough momentum to make a full spin. At the end of the spin, he casts the net as high and wide as possible while his partner stands on the stern to balance the boat. Under the roof, a toddler on a blanket plays with toys.

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Wheels

From beneath the brim of her non la, a woman pushing cargo through the old town of Hoi An notices the photographer and glances in his direction, not paying much attention. Human-powered carts and cycles are often the most efficient way of moving goods short distances on streets and alleys too narrow for trucks.

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Ben Quick is an author, photographer, and university lecturer based in Da Nang, Vietnam. His essays and photos can be found in Orion, Mekong Review, The Journal of the Plague Years, and elsewhere. Many years ago, he won a Pushcart Prize. To learn more about Ben or order prints of any of his photos, visit his website at graphicprose.org or view his Instagram at benquick_vn.