The  unending two-wheeled parade of old women on bicycles shaded by paddy hats (chickens hanging on one handlebar and fresh produce on the other), young girls on trendy scooters with silk gloves that reach their elbows, and men who, between helmets and hospital masks, all look vaguely the same.

The way each street crossing is a little adventure.
The way it is so alien and exotic, different and new. A minute in the local market and you'd have thought you were in a whole other planet. Spinach-colored milkshakes, rice dyed the color of tangerines, cups of beans in condensed milk, fish and vegetables and fruit and parts of animals you didn't even imagine existed.

The dirty little labyrinthine lanes.

The couples slow dancing to French waltzes under pagodas in the park when the sun goes down.

(-Why I Love Saigon, a little bit)