Documentary photographer William E. Crawford was one of the first Western photographers to gain access to North Vietnam after the war ended. He has photographed the capital, Hanoi, at regular intervals since 1985, concentrating on the colonial and indigenous architecture, urban details, landscapes and intimate portraits of people in their home settings, street scenes and the city’s surrounding countryside. Here: 54 Hàng Ga (Chicken Street), 1994. (Photo by William E. Crawford from the book “Hanoi Streets 1985-2015: In the Years of Forgetting”)

This photo taken on March 29, 2017 shows a young woman offering shots of liquer at a dance bar in Walking Street in Pattaya. Two hours east of Bangkok, Pattaya's bawdy reputation hails from the Vietnam War era when US GIs partied in their downtime. (Photo by Roberto Schmidt/AFP Photo)

The classical ballet company “Ardentia” performs in the street of Mexico City on traffic lights, in an effort to highlight the city's fine arts in public spaces in Mexico, September 8, 2018. (Photo by Carlos Jasso/Reuters)

“Lombard Street is an east-west street in San Francisco, California. Lombard Street is best known for the one-way section on Russian Hill between Hyde and Leavenworth Streets, in which the roadway has eight sharp turns (or switchbacks) that have earned the street the distinction of being the crookedest street in the world”. – Wikipedia

Photo: A single car drives down a typically crowded Lombard Street, San Francisco's crooked street, April 29, 2003 in San Francisco. (Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images)

Baldwin Street, in Dunedin, New Zealand, is considered the world's steepest residential street. It is located in the residential suburb of North East Valley, 3.5 kilometres (2.2 mi) northeast of Dunedin's city centre.

A woman holds her dog as it is blessed by a priest in Benalmadena, near Malaga, Spain, January 17, 2016. Hundreds of pet owners bring their animals to be blessed every year on the day of San Anton, Spain's patron saint of animals. (Photo by Jon Nazca/Reuters)

While communism, collectivism, worms, dry rot and casual looting failed to destroy the majestic wooden churches of Russia, it may be ordinary neglect that finally does them in. Dwindled now to several hundred remaining examples, these glories of vernacular architecture lie scattered amid the vastness of the world’s largest country. Just over a decade ago, Richard Davies, a British architectural photographer, struck out on a mission to record the fragile and poetic structures. Austerely beautiful and haunting, “Wooden Churches: Traveling in the Russian North” (White Sea Publishing; $132) is the result. Covering thousands of miles, Mr. Davies described how he and the writer Matilda Moreton tracked down the survivors from among the thousands of onion-domed structures built after Prince Vladimir converted to Christianity in 988.