A family of four, perched precariously on their moped, buzzes along the water's edge on a beach in Vietnam.
A farmer ushers his herd of water buffalo onto the sand; the beasts crunch shells under hoof as they amble to fresh pastures.
As the sun begins to set and the heat of the day subsides, families with young children hunt for crabs in the shallows. The fishermen lay their nets out to dry on the sand or slap another layer of waterproof on the coracle they use to reach their boats moored off shore.
About 90 minute's drive north along the highway from the central coastal city of Nha Trang, a side road leads through the salt marches to Doc Let Beach. Here, the 4km stretch of sand offers a glimpse of a disappearing way of life.
In many Southeast Asian tourist hotspots, families who have made their living from fishing for generations have sold up and shipped out to make way for luxury resorts and holiday homes. Villagers have either decamped to towns in search of a new livelihood or been shunted off by powerful developers to a less hospitable bit of coastline.
While the suntan-lotion set has arrived at sleepy Doc Let Beach, the ocean still sustains a thriving community here.
I am staying at Paradise Resort, a collection of beach bungalows owned by a gregarious 80-year-old Frenchman. To say he owns this resort is only 49 per cent true. Under the country's property laws, foreigners can buy land only if a Vietnamese national is the majority owner after the transaction. Our host solved that problem by marrying his then 25-year-old girlfriend in 1995. Today, he manages his large Vietnamese household (including his two young sons) through much good-natured shouting and waving of arms in a cacophony of French, Vietnamese and English. Meanwhile, he says, interest from developers is pushing up the price of the surrounding land.