Author: kingsleyflett

We rolled through the village not long after the rising sun had started to glow through the orange-brown filter of smoke haze. What photographers and film-makers call the 'golden hour' of beautiful light just before dawn and dusk, lasts until eleven and starts again at two in India. We passed a throng of men huddled … Continue reading Pictures only stored in my mind

We drove the quiet streets of NaTrang at dawn. Twelve hours on the battered highway from DaNang and we fell out of that mini-van barely able to walk. In a concrete Russian built hotel across the street from the beach, that soft bed should have been the most delicious thing in the world. But, as … Continue reading Nha Trang

There is some dispute about how we met; but Hera has had so many other adventures that the one she had with me is probably in the shade, so I reckon we go with my version. Checking in for a flight in Singapore, something makes me glance down to see what this blondie has on … Continue reading The Brave One

I'd been watching these two play chess in the afternoon for a few weeks. For someone who loves taking photos of people I lack the pushiness that's required to stick a camera in a strangers face uninvited. But this afternoon I just walked up and asked if they'd mind me taking their picture. They made me … Continue reading The Grandmaster and the Galah

It begins with the far-off sound of drums. Fading in and out and washed my way by the same breeze that’s rustling the rice stalks like a sweeping hand. Then as I walk towards town, the beat gets stronger and under the high-pitched rat-tat-tat that's traveled the furthest, there's the boom of the heavy drums, … Continue reading Burning the demons

  Drinking a supposedly sealed bottle of water in the back-blocks of Vietnam had me a sick as I can remember being. Sitting on a toilet in Dalat with a bowl in my lap, spewing and shitting from the same muscle spasm has to be one of the low points of my life. I was … Continue reading You never know what miracles are around the corner

We used to train under one floodlight on those near freezing mid-winter nights at Kupara park in Katanning. I can remember hearing a call ‘Ming! Ming!’, all I could see through the gloom, was a set of white teeth and kicked it straight to Vince. It might have been instinct because I couldn’t ever count … Continue reading Changing the tune