A story about places that change, and others that try to hold on
Modern tourism destroys precisely that which it is searching for: authenticity.
This idea, from the book Grand Hotel Europa by the Dutch author Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer, stayed somewhere in my mind while I travelled. Not as a warning, but as a quiet echo while moving from one landscape to another. Some places felt steady and rooted, others were already shifting, and a few seemed caught somewhere in between.
In Ha Giang, in the far north of Vietnam, daily life still follows routines that have been passed down for generations. People work the steep terraces, grow rice and corn, weave hemp into fabric, and wear clothing that shows the tribe they belong to. The rhythm felt steady, yet the signs of transition were easy to notice. New roads cut through the mountains, and a sign with visitor guidelines stood at the entrance of a village, hinting at a place adjusting to change. Even our homestay owner, Mr. Thien, spoke about how tourism was being organised so the income could be shared more fairly. Change felt close, but so did the wish to keep things intact.
Further south, in Hoi An, that balance shifted more noticeably. Early in the morning the town moved at its own pace: shop owners sweeping pavements, buying vegetables at the market, lighting incense in their doorways. As the day progressed, the atmosphere changed. Tourist rickshaws filled the streets, people posed for photos from the seats in front, and loudspeakers on round basket boats echoed across the river as visitors were paddled through the palm lined canals. The traces of the night before were easy to see the next morning, when clusters of discarded paper lantern boats drifted in the water. Two versions of the same town, each appearing and disappearing within a single day.
Travelling through these places made me more aware of how fragile a place can be, and how easily my presence becomes part of the same tension I was noticing. I still do not know what to do with that thought. Perhaps the photographs are my way of paying attention to the balance while it shifts.
