A long tunnel of railcars winding at the mercy of tracks that lead up North. The carriages are lively: children play, the elderly read, and couples lean shyly on each other. The ceiling fans churn ineffectively and everyone is drenched with sweat.

The windows are rolled down as far as they can go, revealing a panorama of paddy-fields and mountains. The fearless few stick their limbs out, but the rest get creative with staying cool, fanning themselves with whatever they have.

The only visible foreigner, LAURENT (late 20s) is slumped between two seats - dead asleep. Swaying like the wind, the train snakes through lush valley crevices. Without warning, the railcar hits a bump and knocks his suitcase onto the floor. Shook by the impact, the young man awakes.

Notebooks, a stethoscope, light medical supplies, and a pack of cigarettes spill onto the floor. Laurent gathers his belongings, putting them away but retaining the notebook.

He scribbles out his address and scrunches up the paper.

Laurent exits onto the deck and lights a cigarette. He takes in the view.

The muddy Red River swiftly pours down south. The route to cut across is the Long Bien Bridge, over a century old, rust and iron in full glory. A landscape of mud and metal, gleaming under the scorching sun.

The train veers past metal-roof slums as it approaches the city. The engine decelerates and the train squeezes through an impossible gap between two buildings, scraping off some yellow paint.

Laurent catches a glimpse inside Hanoian households every time a train window aligns with an opening. He observes them eating, sleeping, watching tv - moments he now shares with these strangers in the city of Hanoi.

Laurent debarks onto the streets with heavy luggages. A Cyclo driver notices and catches his attention.