I am the traveller - the peregrinator, moving through Ho Chi Minh City as if carried by its heat and light. The city rises in layers: old Saigon beneath the new, French echoes threaded through Vietnamese breath, a place where history lingers like the aroma of roasted beans in the morning air. Slow drips in metal filters, bitter strength softened with condensed milk, cups balanced on tiny stools as the world rushes past. We wandered from café to café, each one a small universe, a doorway into the city’s memory. These tracks are my way of holding those moments still. Music as a map, leading back to Ho Chi Minh’s pulse, its quiet corners, its restless dreaming, its beating heart.

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