Travels with TS Ernie
When you travel alone, it’s not uncommon to meet traveling companions along the way. Many people enjoy discovering new countries and friends as they make solo travel plans. Travelers to Vietnam, though, are often unsure as to whether they can plan on making travel arrangements safely in country, or if they need a prearranged itinerary. I made many of my plans once I arrived in Vietnam. But for part of my travels, the prearranged tour made sense. I was hoping to cover a lot of ground in a limited number of days and didn’t want to risk a delay. I knew I would have a guide and a driver. If I made a friend along the way, that would be great. What I didn’t expect was that my traveling companion would be a tropical storm named Ernie.
My new travels took me out of the Mekong. This trip was prearranged with local guides hired through Vietnam Tourism. My last morning in the Mekong Delta was a typical bright, sunny, warm one. In the rearview mirror of the rented car, my friends waved as I headed north on Highway 1, into Ho Chi Minh City.
I remembered Ira Barrows’ article in Destination:Vietnam (March/April 1996) about taking the Hue train. It had encouraged me to plan part of this journey by train, but also to be sure to cross the Hai Van pass either by car or train. Once in Ho Chi Minh City, I boarded the Reunification Express north. My reservations were soft berth, which makes travel very comfortable. I had a lower berth to rest and stretch out on as the train made its slow journey north.
My Vietnam Tourism package tour included several stops as I made my way north. My stops were to include Nha Trang, Danang, the Marble Mountains, Hoi An, China Beach, the Hai Van Pass as well as Hue. What’s nice about this itinerary is that it is varied enough in its focus and attractions that it seems to be a sampler of Vietnam. The first stop, Nha Trang, is a resort attraction.
Nha Trang is a city that is already attracting tourists from the cruise ship stopovers. With its now-open Ana Mandara multi-million dollar beach resort, Nha Trang may well become strong competition to other resort towns in Asia. I was in Nha Trang when I met Tropical Storm Ernie. The rain started on Saturday morning and stayed with me.
As I got on the train to go north, I expected to awake the next morning in a dry Danang. Just before 6:00 a.m, I woke up on the train near Quang Ngai. Someone had closed the metal shutters on the windows during the night. When I opened them, the rain was pounding the rice paddies. As they filled and began to overflow, it was hard to imagine that it would be much of a day. The high water level in the streams and rivers we rolled past showed the same intense flooding I had witnessed in the Mekong. An acquaintance in Nha Trang told me that the farmers don’t mind a flood because it kills the mice and brings silt into the fields. The possible loss of a crop is a large price to pay to fertilizer and pest control.
I was met at the train station, in the rain, by my guide who was holding a typical tourism sign with my name on it. My passport states my given name, “Frederick,” so naturally, his sign said “Mr. Frederick.” His name was Nguyen Con Thong and we exchanged introductions. I told him I usually go by “Fritz” but Fritz is very difficult to pronounce in Vietnamese and as our day continued, it metamorphosizes into a friendlier “Frank” or “Fred.”
Our first stop in Danang is the Cham Museum. This museum, built in 1915 has one of the most extensive collections of Cham sculpture anywhere. The museum is open daily from 11:00 to 5:00 and is a U-shaped building around a diamond-shaped courtyard. Starting to the left as you face the building, are the museum’s oldest relics, which date from the 7th century. Working clockwise through the building, the displays include artifacts up until the 15th century. The museum sells a multi-language guidebook to its exhibits where the $1.00 admission ticket is sold, but I was content to have Thong with me as guide and translator. The museum features sandstone carvings, such as altars and images of Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu.
As we toured the museum, I heard a distinctive southern American Georgian drawl voice describing the sculptures. As I turned around, I saw only Thong. He continued his southern drawl with perfect inflection. He dropped the “accent” and explained that he has worked with many Americans. He then gave me fluent accents from Georgia, Texas and New York which made me laugh because his impersonations were so exact. It was a dreary day with so much rain but Thong’s humor put me in a better mood.
We continued looking around the museum. Throughout our tour, Thong asked about contemporary American cultural and political figures and when it was time to leave, the rain picked up again. We threw on our ponchos and as we left the covered shelter of the museum, Thong asked if I remembered the Beatles.
“Sure,” I said
Thong started to sing:
“Well she was just seventeen…”
I walked down the rain-covered sidewalk and looked at him with obvious curiosity.
“…you know what I mean…”
I stopped walking but he grabbed my arm and led me down the steps singing:
“And the way she looked was way beyond compare…”
Reluctantly I looked around to see who was staring at us when he belted out louder,
“Come on, Frank, sing!”
“…So how could I dance with another?…”
I joined him for the falsetto:
“o-o-o-o-o-ooh …when I saw her standing there.”
“You remember the words, don’t you?” Thong asked.
And I thought I did until he started the second and third verses. Clearly, he has a better memory for lyrics than I, but I hummed along to his rainy day karaoke as we hunted up our car and driver.
I tried my best to dry off my camera lens and looked out the car window at the never-ending rain. We were scheduled to drive to Hoi An and also stop at Marble Mountains and China Beach. As we left Danang and drove south, it was obvious the rain was more than a shower. Water covered the roads in places. Our driver moved the car though the intersections as if we were in a “no wake” zone at a marina.
The rain surrounding Tropical Storm Ernie was still falling when we got to Hoi An, about 30 km south of Danang. This interesting and beautiful city was a major international seaport in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. It’s known for its antique architecture and small narrow streets. Because I was part of an organized tour, my “entrance ticket” to the more popular sites was prearranged and prepaid. The 50,000 dong ticket allowed me to visit one of the four museums; one of the three Assembly halls; one of the four old houses; and either the Japanese Bridge or Quan Cong’s temple.
The old town section of Hoi An is closed to vehicle traffic which makes it easy to wander around the streets and in and out of shops. As we went along, Thong continued his narration and storytelling. He asked if I remembered Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra and Robert McNamara. His knowledge of both Vietnamese and American culture is impressive, although his references seemed like a time capsule from 1969. The rain continued and I was secretly hoping he didn’t remember Burt Bacharach’s “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.”
Several of Hoi An’s structures are historic. What makes them unique is the traditional architecture forms rarely seen today. The local government is making a concerted effort to use tourism dollars to refurbish and preserve the history. Hoi An was the site of the first Chinese settlement in southern Vietnam and there are many Chinese Hoi Quan or assembly halls.
The rain continued to fall throughout our tour. Thong told me that Hoi An often floods and that the water rises to the roof gables of the houses in town. I looked up to the second story of the home before us. The rain pelted my cheeks. Their ability to maintain in the face of adversity is astonishing–both the buildings’ and Thong’s.
The rain got heavier as we headed toward China Beach. There are people who identify China Beach with the late 1980s television show. The people who remember the military R & R facility near here have some disagreement as to whether the location is here, or at My Khe beach on the northern side of Marble Mountains. Today, China Beach is a hotel resort, on the South China Sea at the end of a winding road. Tropical Storm Ernie made any hopes of a sunny beach walk out of the question. As we scurried from the car to the covered pavilion to look at the surf, the waves pounded the sand and the cloud ceiling was low.
The beach was deserted. I did my best not to be disappointed and I thought of my sister who has a collection of sand and water from her travels around the world. On a shelf in her den, she has tiny bottles labeled: Beirut, Costa Rica, Baja and others. I took an empty water bottle and walked across the beach to add to her collection. The wind and rain pounded my shirt and vest, but I dipped the bottle in the surf and resealed the cap.
We deleted the Marble Mountains from our plans. Neither Thong nor I felt up to the hike in the rain or risking a fall because of the slick surfaces. As we drove further, Thong lapsed into a southern Texas accent, “C’mon, c’mon, lets move it! Move it! Move it!” He smiled with some pride and told me that’s what he remembered from 1965 when the American soldiers came ashore just north of Danang at Red Beach. After he related his story about watching the landing as an 11-year old, I asked him to take me there. Red Beach looks like a roadside rest stop, with a great beach (if it weren’t raining). He pointed out where he and his father stood, watching the Americans move ashore. In my mind I can picture the news footage with Thong’s Texas drawl for narration. I’ve recorded and photographed a lot of our tours, but I just sat and listened to his own story. We posed for a photograph together and I filled a second bottle of water for my sister.
As we drove north I looked forward to some of the most beautiful scenery in all of Vietnam: the Hai Van Pass. The road through the pass, with its view of the ocean is similar to the drive to Hana on Maui. Well, that is,…so I’m told. The cloud ceiling was so low that less than halfway up the pass, we were in dense fog. Literally the visibility was less than 50 feet. No exaggeration–no scenery, no view. Through most of our travels, Thong had been chatting and keeping up a conversation. He and the driver were mostly silent and white-knuckled through the pass. The driver told Thong he’d never seen fog like that. Thong related this to me and agreed. When we did get to the other side and made our final push into Hue, it was obvious that T.S. Ernie had delivered a lot of rain in a short period of time.
According to reports in Viet Nam News, that Sunday’s rain amounts in Binh Dinh province, south of Danang and Hue, were close to 400 mm (15.7 inches) and in Hue, 212 mm (8.3 inches) on Sunday alone. As we passed a small farm, the younger members of the family were busy herding water buffalo from the flood-swollen fields across the highway to higher ground. The water in the fields was water buffalo head deep. As they lumbered their way out of the water and across the road, we stopped to let them cross.
My hotel in Hue was the first large tourist hotel in which I have stayed. The Huong Giang Hotel on the Perfume River on Le Loi Street has 102 rooms and a swimming pool. As I walked past the pool, in the pouring rain, it was clearly not a good day for the beach or the swimming pool.
I was told my room had a “river view” off the second lobby of the hotel. Out my room window I could see a 15-foot wide verandah. Descending from the verandah, there are stairs down to what is a river side walk. Ordinarily, I would guess the river edge was 20 or more feet from the hotel window and the water level 15 or more feet below the floor of the hotel room. That’s my guess. This day, there were two stairs and then the river. The paper said that the river level had risen 3.99 meters. I looked across the verandah to the Dap Da Bridge which spans the Perfume River.
The water was flowing rapidly, just under the street level of the bridge. At times, the water overflowed the bridge, but it was still being used by bicycles and cars. I walked around the lobby and onto the verandah where workers were busy moving potted plants and outdoor furniture. I asked one of the hotel employees how high the water might get.
“It’s flooded three times in a week,” he answered. He gestured toward the door, putting his hand at his knee. “The water can get this high.” I quickly realized that if the water did get that high, my “room with a river view” took on a whole new soggy meaning. Asking the obvious, I queried, “What happens then?” “Don’t worry,” he said, “we’ll move you to a higher floor.” With this assurance I ate dinner and went to sleep early.
Around 2:00 a.m., I woke up to a persistent sound of water lapping outside the window. I opened it and looked out to find that the Perfume River had now overtaken the verandah around the hotel. The water was six feet below my window and four feet below the floor level. Still half asleep, I gathered up my belongings and packed, moving everything to the top of a table and tried to sleep, but mostly I listened to the rising water.
Daybreak was still cloudy and raining. The river had risen another foot or so, but hadn’t closed in enough to concern the hotel staff. They occasionally looked out a window, but their workday went on.
Dap Da bridge was submerged, making rapids in the swift moving water. No vehicle traffic dared to cross the bridge, so a steady stream of boats ferried people in both directions across the river.
Thong met me in the lobby and we walked to the car in the rain. “Today we are supposed to take a boat cruise to visit Thiem Mu Pagoda.” We exchanged looks with each other, mostly of disbelief. Judging from the current outside my hotel window, a boat trip seemed like a waste of time. Thong continued, “So, instead we will try to drive.”
I agreed with the choice to stay off the river. We drove through the city, passing the Citadel and drove along Le Duan Street. This route parallels the river which had left its banks and was moving close to the street, claiming control of the houses along the Perfume River’s edge. Less than a kilometer beyond the Citadel, the river had crossed the road in a low-lying spot. Thong consulted with the driver and said to me,
“I don’t think we should go today–we can get there, but we may not be able to get back.” And then, without missing a beat, he slipped back into his Texan drawl. The “Texan Thong” suggested that we go on to the Citadel and the forbidden city.
The rain began to fall harder. The puddles grew larger as we splashed our way up to the entrance of the Citadel. We walked through the gates to the left of the main gate. The main gate, reserved for the use of the emperor, is closed to the public. As we walked through and approached the lotus ponds, the water was nearly at the walk’s level. Thong said that the water level is usually 10 feet lower. As we made our way deeper into the Citadel, my feet seemed to find every puddle. Thong and I were the only ones walking around.
Thong could see that I was walking a little slower and taking fewer pictures than I had in the earlier parts of our trip. He reverted to his singing trick to cheer me up.
“Come on sing with me. It was twenty year ago today, Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play.” I joined him in a verse or two and we made our way to the Emperor’s throne room. We were still the only visitors and Thong cautioned me against taking photos there, but that I would have a chance later. His idea of my photo op is a staged throne room complete with period costumes. Here, Thong tells me, for $1.00 I could dress up like an emperor and have my picture taken. I’m certain this is probably quite popular with large groups of tourists who have been captive in a tour bus. That day, the chance to be emperor didn’t appeal to me and we moved on to the library.
Somewhere well within the walls of the forbidden city, we walked over a rain-soaked sidewalk with deep standing puddles. I was walking slower and with each step, my shoes got wetter, my socks got heavier and my pants got soggier
“Remember Yesterday, Fred?” Not thinking about his karaoke time capsule, I tried to remember yesterday’s travels, but Thong began to sing “…Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away! Now it looks as though they’re here to stay, Oh, I believe in yesterday…”
He was quiet for a moment thinking about the lyrics. I helped him with the next line “…Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be!” And together we continued, walking and singing back to the car. “There’s a shadow hanging over me, Oh, yesterday came suddenly” We approached our driver as we got to the last line, and we both butchered the “yesterday-ay-ay-ay”
Having been rained out of Hue, I tried to see how I might change my itinerary to move on to Hanoi a little earlier. Thong and Vietnam Tourism graciously helped me make the changes and he and the driver dropped me at the airport. I made a note that on a future trip to Vietnam, it would be nice to spend some time here. Some time without T. S. Ernie, that is, to see what I had missed. As the flight attendant did a bilingual “seat backs and tray tables” speech, I thought about Thong and his time capsule karaoke. The plane took off and I mentally re-wrote the words to the Beatles’ “Back in the USSR”:
“Flew in from China Beach BOAC
Didn’t get to bed last night
All the time my soggy socks
were on my feet…”
I stopped myself. I wasn’t even close without Thong.
Published on 8/1/97 in Things Asian
Traveling to Tra Vinh
It’s another beautiful sunrise in the Mekong Delta. I know because we have agreed to get up early and watch the sun rise over the floating market here in Vinh Long from our hotel balconies.
When I open the door to my balcony, I’m immediately struck by the difference in temperature and humidity. The air conditioning was set quite a bit cooler than I was used to, and this morning, because I have left my camera and video gear in the room overnight, the heat and humidity are going to slow my picture taking.
So for the first few minutes, I sit with a few friends and listen to the sounds of the Mekong river market. Two-cycle engines with long shafts connecting the motor to the propeller power the riverboats. The hacking cough of a two-cycle engine is distinctive and the combined noise of the many boats creates a chorus of commerce outside our hotel.
These river boats appear to be about five to seven meters long, although there are a few that reach close to eight meters. Most are simple and are covered with make-shift fabric tops. Others are more elaborate in their shelter. It becomes obvious that some of the larger boats are home for the families aboard. As the sun climbs higher and my camera lenses are no longer fogged, I set up and begin to shoot video of the morning activity. Several boats move back and forth across the viewfinder, leaving and entering the small inlet of the river near the hotel and heading either to the market or to the larger Mekong. One boat, in particular, catches my eye. It is not much larger than the typical boat. Perhaps two meters wide, and seven meters long. It has a wood cabin. What catches my eye is a chicken, pecking on a fabric top. As I slowly pan across the length of the boat, I see three small children aged about 5, 3 and 1, playing in the open aft section of the boat. The two oldest children are exchanging sibling punches. A dog hops up on the stern and looks around at the activity in the market this morning. The mother of the children casts a watchful eye over the two older siblings who have lost interest in their battle and are now looking over the market, too.
Moored next to the family boat is another boat, of similar size, but configured for tourism. The aft section has a tarp covered hammock. The remainder of the boat has two rows of seats, facing the centerline of the boat with seating for about 14 people. This means that it may be possible to contract with private boat operators for river tours, however, as in My Tho and Can Tho, it is best to make local inquiries.
As activity on the river begins to slow, I walk to the street market with one of my travel companions, Deb Holbrook. The market is very busy as we walk through the stalls. I notice the contrast and variety of products for sale and look over the abundant produce of the delta.
Outside the main building, the stalls have fresh and dried fish. Dried shrimp are piled high on trays. We see other dried flat fish and a vendor selling dried starfish. Two women are busy slicing vegetables into a barrel of water. Their slices are almost paper thin.
Inside the building, the smells of the market again wake up my senses. Rice, in various colors and shapes, is offered at many stalls. Salt(in large rock form), spices, beans and packaged foods are available. There are mounds of fresh garlic and rice noodles. Here, too, are stalls selling china and tea sets, cooking utensils, and clothes.
In one of them, a shopkeeper carefully shapes dry rice into mounds in the display sacks. Mounds of each variety look attractive and invite buyers to scoop the rice they need. She reaches into a second container with her hands, cups the rice, and carefully mounds it again in the display container. Much like the process of “facing the shelves” in a grocery store to make the canned and bottled products look better, this shopkeeper knows what it takes to sell her product quickly.
Across the aisle, an artist works on a photo realistic painting of an older woman. He is working from a photograph, and in his stall are dozens of paintings, all with the realism of a photograph and the nuance of a hand-made illustration. I later learned that these photos are often used to remember the dead. It is also common for the portraits to be of the person at a young age.
The Mekong river has nine branches as it runs through the delta. Vinh Long is on a branch with Phnom Penh, Cambodia to the west and Tra Vinh to the east just before it empties into the South China Sea. Vinh Long and Tra Vinh are the largest towns in their respective provinces. What makes Tra Vinh province special is that it is approximately 70% Khmer and Tra Vinh City is home to about 300,000 Khmer.
Viewing the sunrise, market and enjoying a breakfast at the nearby Phuong Thuy restaurant, we decided to hire a car and visit Tra Vinh. We decided it would be a good way to explore parts of the Mekong many people overlook. Based on our previous luck of finding great photo opportunities and nice views, I am surprised to find Deb at the hotel counter looking over some postcards. She picks a set with some delta scenes and rice harvesting.
We meet the transportation captain affiliated with Cuu Long Tourist in the lobby of the hotel. We outline our need for a car and driver for the day. As we want to be back in My Tho for a late dinner, we negotiate a three-legged trip from Vinh Long to Tra Vinh and to My Tho. Our negotiated fee is 600,000 dong, a bit high, but still reasonable. We pay the captain and confirm that tipping the driver is up to us.
Before we leave the lobby, I look out once more at the river. The lobby is very close to the bank and low to the water. It wouldn’t take more than a two or three meter rise in the river to put it under water.
Driving along the highway southwest of Vinh Long, the rice farmers are working their harvest by the side of the road. Each morning, sacks of rice are spread along the side of the road to dry them in the sun. At the end of the day, the rice is picked up and re-bagged for storage. It’s an interesting sight and attracts our attention. We see a group working near the side of the road and we ask our driver in our best broken Vietnamese, to stop the car.
Being courteous, or not understanding what we are saying, he drives safely past the group of workers and continues for nearly half a kilometer before stopping. With the photo opportunity now clearly in our rear view mirror, Deb and I get out, snap a few pictures and climb slowly back into the car. Then we remember the postcards. One of them includes a scene of exactly the image we want to photograph. We pull it out and show our driver and explain, again in Vietnamese, that we want to take pictures. He smiles. We drive off, and when we find the next group by the side of the road, he stops without being asked.
It is this kind of cooperation that makes traveling in Vietnam much easier than I expected. Keeping a phrase book close and being patient to work through sign language or multi-cultural charades, you can explain almost anything.
Further down the highway, just outside of Tra Vinh, our driver pulls to the side of the road and takes a smaller dirt road away from the highway. We stop and park in front of a temple. It has been explained to me that in Vietnam, the difference between a temple and a pagoda is whether or not there are monks who reside there. This temple has resident monks and is called Chau Anh, originally built in 642.
We walk down a tree-lined path. The traffic noise from the highway is just as strong, but with each step, we walk further into the lush tropical jungle that surrounds the temple. Some of the guidebooks suggest there are as many as 140 Khmer temples and pagodas in Tra Vinh province with perhaps fifty Vietnamese and five Chinese pagodas. This is an area of the Mekong that is rich with religious history. As we reach the midpoint of the path I recognize that, instead of talking, Deb and I are now whispering to each other. I also notice the steady hum of traffic is replaced by the gentle, rhythmic raking of rice, laid out to dry on the steps and walkways of the temple. The young man raking the rice looks up to acknowledge us, but continues his chore. The compound has several shrine structures around the main temple building.
My curiosity is answered when a young monk, dressed in saffron colored robes, approaches and asks where we are from. Then, silently, he leads us behind the large sanctuary. The drone of traffic quiets and suddenly we hear the chanting of a priest through an amplifier system. While it is usually acceptable to take pictures, use a flash, make video or audio recordings of these ceremonies, we always ask permission before doing so. Our guide leads us to the back of this second sanctuary and, after we take off our shoes, he encourages us to step in and videotape the ceremony.
Although each temple is different, the typical Buddhist temple has three main areas: the altar, the side altar and the meditation area. The altar is at the head of the sanctuary and contains the primary statue of Buddha. Each temple can be dedicated to one of many Buddhas. The side altar will contain pictures or statues of the founder as well as the lineage of the temple. The lineage is the students who have followed the teachings of the founder. The third area contains the pews or meditation cushions used by the congregation for worship.
During my taping, I see two rows of young monks sitting listening to the priest. At the end of the rows, near the altar, a priest leads the chant which the congregation answers. Many in the congregation offer incense during the ceremony while a young couple walks to the altar to make an offering to Buddha.
As I finish taping, the young monk leads us back outside to a courtyard. Here, we see a statue of the reclining Buddha which is not a common image of Buddha in Vietnam. The statue is engraved, in Vietnamese and English with a description of the Buddha’s life that includes the words “the Buddha entered into nirvana in 543 BC after preaching for the welfare of the peoples for 45 years.”
He then leads us into the main sanctuary and while showing us around, tells us the story of the temple in broken English. Prior to letting us take pictures, the young monk turns on the electric blinking lights around the altar and behind the Buddha’s statue. As we finish our discussions and picture taking, the raking sound from the rice filled courtyard stops and is replaced by a gentle shuffling as the man working the rice begins shuffling his feet through the rice in a back and forth dance, sifting the grains between his feet. We climb into the car for the rest of our journey.
Our arrival at our second temple, Chau Hang, is near noon. The temple has a large retaining wall around it with a gate. Following a drive down a short lane, we entered a dirt courtyard. A large sanctuary building, painted bright white is in front of us. Opposite it is a two-story dormitory style building and flanking each side are one- story structures. A few young monks are enjoying the shade they have found. Midday is not the best time to visit here. Many tourists come to this area and visit Chau Hang and Chau Co (about 45 km away) for the bird sanctuary. Many storks nest here and are often seen in great number at sunrise and sunset. Other travelers have suggested the best way to see the area is to wander on our own but we are quickly greeted by a young monk whose English is as strong as his desire to practice with us. In the main courtyard, he offers a history of the temple and monastery, telling us that 28 monks and 25 nuns made their residence here. “Nuns” he describes are seminarians or monks newer to their learning. As he leads us into the sanctuary, he too turns on the flashing lights behind Buddha’s head before we take pictures. As he tells the stories I walk around. On the walls, there were several posed photographs that look like class pictures of groups of monks. Some have dated captions, others are not dated but the fading of the colors in the prints gave some clue to their ages.
Back on the road and after a brief look around Tra Vinh, we head for My Tho. We are just outside of Tra Vinh when I see, what I think is a casket on a small boat in a small stream near the road. There is a group of about 100 people standing around the road, so I ask the driver to stop. As we approach a group, I recognize that it is, indeed, a casket being loaded from the boat to a small blue pickup truck parked on the opposite side of the road. As we watch, people climb on top of the pickup and into the back with the casket.
Sitting in the front seat are two boys; one of them is holding a painting of an older woman. The woman in the painting is sitting at a table and looks to be his grandmother’s age. The painting was very similar in style to the ones I saw in the market in Vinh Long. The boys in the truck and several of the mourners are dressed in white. A bundle of incense is burning on the dashboard and several people hold incense. As many as 15 people have now climbed in and on top of the truck with the casket. In a wagon pulled behind a honda om, a group of musicians sits waiting to play. As the other mourners mount bicycles, hondas or get in line to walk in the procession, traffic, still trying to move along this stretch of highway, slows to let them cross the street. A young photographer snaps the scene and, as the procession is ready to move, he hops on the back of a honda, facing backward, clicking his shutter.
The musicians begin to play, a cymbal beat and drums keep time. And while the music is definitely eastern, it sounds similar to a Scottish pipe and drum corps. My office, in the United States, is across from a cemetery and I see dozens of funeral processions a week. This one, even though so far from home and certainly a long way from my Presbyterian upbringing, reminds me of the similarities of each of us in the world.
The procession moves on and so do we.
Published on 6/1/97 in Things Asian
Life along the Mekong
There are many great rivers of the world; the Amazon, Nile, Yangtze, Rio Grande, Mississippi-Missouri. I am learning to love rivers. Since the Mississippi river flood of 1993, I have been fascinated by the way of life and the strength of the people who live along the great rivers of the world. In her introduction to her book about the Rio Grande river, Laura Gilpin writes, “A river seems a magic thing. A magic, moving, living part of the very earth itself — for it is from the soil, both from its depth and from its surface, that a river has its beginning.” And while Vietnam is home to many rivers, the great river of the country is the Mekong.
The Vietnamese name for the Mekong is Cuu Long or “nine dragons”. It has this name because it splits into many separate mouths as it creates the delta south of Ho Chi Minh City. Before it reaches the South China Sea, the Mekong rises in Tibet. It flows generally south through south-west China, then across or along the borders of Myanmar, Laos, Thailand, and Cambodia. The Mekong flows about 2,600 miles, about 250 miles longer than the Mississippi and has been calling to me since my arrival in Vietnam.
I was lucky to spend almost two weeks in the Mekong Delta in and around My Tho. This river city, about two hours by car from Ho Chi Minh City, is a popular side trip for tourists interested in seeing the Mekong Delta. My Tho tourism has set up boat trips along the river. Even the trip to Coconut Island makes an interesting side trip for its oddity.
Real life on a river delta isn’t about tourism. It is about people, it’s about a way of life. River delta life is one of simplicity and enjoyment of the offerings of the land. Wanting to go further, deeper, to that simpler way of life, two friends and I decide to head further south, to Can Tho. We leave My Tho late one afternoon with the anticipation of floating markets, river rides, and the opportunity to share life in the delta.
As we bounce south, in a hired car, Highway 1 gets a little narrower. It is a little rougher from this season’s rains. We see evidence of flooding, the paddies are full of water and the road has had some emergency repair. As it gets dark, our peek into delta life includes seeing the frequent glow from televisions in farmers’ homes. Nestled amid the flooded rice paddies, the blue glow is a contrast to the orange glow of the dashboard lights. Thinking of an old rock song from the 70s, this is a different kind of “paradise by the dashboard lights.”
We cross two of the nine dragons by ferry. Our first ferry crossing is at My Thuan, near Vinh Long. The powerful diesel engines of the boats easily handle the current of the rain– swollen Mekong. Aboard the ferry, we are approached by young children and women, selling sweets, water, soft drinks and cigarettes.
As we wait for the second ferry, a young man approaches our car and solicits us to buy a Coke. We do and he also provides drinking straws. Then, apparently bored with sales for a while, he takes a straw, folds it in half in a “v” shape, then, with a series of repeat folds, creates a small, dime sized star. This drinking straw origami artist makes one for each of us and after he hands them over, he quickly leaps to the other side of the road to begin solicitation of cars getting off the ferry. We press on across the second ferry and, now in Can Tho, make our way to the hotel.
Our sleep at the hotel the first night is a short one, because at 5:00 we are up and on the road to visit the floating market at Phung Hiep, south and east of Can Tho. It isn’t the biggest or the most exciting market in the delta, but maybe one of the most frequently photographed because a bridge crosses the river there.
My friends and I are no different. We crank off frame after frame of river life. With each photo, the calling gets stronger. The Phung Hiep market is alive in the sunrise. It’s full of the exciting and exotic bounty of the delta’s harvest. One of my Vietnamese friends, when she told me about the delta, says the “people of the Mekong are blessed.” Without a doubt, this is a simpler and poorer area of Vietnam. But from the smiles and friendly greetings, the people are truly blessed. Fresh fruits, peppers, crabs, pigs head are all offered as we walk through the stalls.
The smells of the marketplace are like no other smells on earth. The spicy - fishy smell that is not quite repulsive, but sometimes as inviting as the images to be seen. Outside a stall, a young man chants a song, advertising his mosquito netting and cords. A woman holds a metal basin filled with snakes. Another holds a string of small crabs. At the river’s edge, a young woman places piglets in a burlap bag. As a photographer, this is another of the limitless images to capture. But I catch myself, I look away from the camera, and take a moment to take it all in. Behind the lens, I feel removed and voyeuristic . . . I want to feel closer to the river.
And although groups of tourists climbing out of air-conditioned buses are becoming a more frequent sight in these delta markets, the reception the three of us receive is surprisingly genuine and warm. Vendors are quick to show their wares and pose for a photo. They don’t seem as aggressive and commerce-minded as vendors in Ho Chi Minh, but eager and friendly. Once he spots my video camera, a young watch shop owner insists I videotape every shelf of watches as he looks on with tremendous pride. This view of life along the bank of the river and in the market is closer but each of us wants to see more so the three of us agree on a boat trip.
If you read some of the guidebooks or talk to fellow travelers about boat trips, you quickly find there are two opinions. The typically cheaper, private tours are popular and accepted in some provinces. In others, the province tourism companies strongly discourage these free enterprise excursions. Private operators may be fined in some areas. In others, the “official” province tourism companies may try to discourage private trips by suggesting you may not be safe or may fall victim to robbery. So our agreed plan is to return to Can Tho and find breakfast. We will spend most of the morning looking around the city and the street markets and then find a boat trip for later in the day.
As we walk down Hai Ba Trung Street in Can Tho toward the market, we are openly approached and offered many boat trips as well as invitations to eat in the many restaurants opposite the river. As we walked in and out of stores and stalls, Vince and I, both over 6 feet tall, become separated from Deb, who is a little over 5 feet. This is a running joke between us. In a crowded market, she slips into the crowd and rarely calls attention to herself. On the other hand, we constantly stick out.
As Vince and I return to the street and catch up with Deb, now surrounded by three Vietnamese women, chattering away in some English and some Vietnamese. The three women have a simple school notebook, common to shopkeepers everywhere in Vietnam. The notebook is the single best example of the free enterprise marketing we’ve seen in our travels. Each page of the journal is written in a different language by a different person. Some pages in French, some Arabic, some Japanese, German, and English.
As we read an English page, we read a wonderful review and commentary of the boat trip offered by these three women. The book has probably 75 to 100 “endorsements” and the quick consensus of the three of us is to take their trip and to do it now.
The agreed upon rate is $1 per person for an hour.
“Do you need any water?” Kim, the oldest of the three women asks? We said yes and she quickly whisks the three of us to a stand, while the other two women scatter in opposite directions. “What about a hat?” and before long, Deb is in a conical hat. And as quickly as they had led us into the market, we begin weaving in and out of stalls and through a maze of passages until finally we stop at an area behind some stalls where local boats pull into the market. To our surprise, just a few minutes later, the two “missing” guides arrive in a boat. With a quick shove off, the six of us are gliding down the busy river.
Small river boats, like these, have a shallow draft and ride low to the water’s surface. Its total length is about 12 feet and it is 4 feet wide at the widest part. I sit in the middle, with Vince fore and Deb aft. As we ride along, Kim who spoke the best English, introduced us to Thuen and Vui. Thuen and Vui, both in their 30s, start our tour by pointing out some landmarks of Can Tho visible from the river, along with some remaining boats, left behind by Americans, Soviets and French.
The trip seems to start well, but without warning, Vui cuts the motor midstream. As we look around, she whirls the motor with its long, eight-foot shaft out of the water and we all see our prop, fouled by a piece of plastic which is wrapped around the fins.
As she wrestles with the tangled plastic, I shuffle through my vest to find my pocket tool — a sort of mad scientist’s cross between a pair of pliers and a Swiss army knife. Its knife cuts the plastic and we are again motoring down the river, but Vui is fascinated by the pocket tool so I try in my best broken Vietnamese and hand gestures to show it to her. I open the pliers. She takes them from me and jokingly makes a gesture of pulling her teeth. We all laugh– not quite its intended use, but it might work. I show the screwdrivers — fairly obvious. And then, the file. I am at a loss to explain the file so I move it back and forth across my fingernails. Again, not the intended use, but this captures Vui’s attention and before I can put up much of an argument, she has my right hand in hers and the pocket tool file and begins to give me a manicure. I am flattered at the attention but quickly realize that I’m not the “sit still for a manicure” type. And as we motor past the Can Tho buildings and head toward a floating market, the conversation turns to the stories of this year’s floods on the river.
“I don’t know why, but this year’s floods are worse than before.” Kim says. “These people here” she explained as we pass obviously flood-ruined houses along the bank, “they have lost everything.”
“So where will they move?” I ask her. “Oh no, they will rebuild right here, this is their life.”
Half a world away, I remember hearing similar responses when I talked to people who lived along the Mississippi river basin during the floods of 1993.
“I was asleep when the flood came,” Kim continues, “I woke up about 1:15 and my pillow was wet, my sheets were wet,” she gestures to mid-thigh,. “the water was up to here.”
And it seems hard to understand, but not surprising. To the people who live on a river, there is rarely a thought of living somewhere else. In the Mississippi, in the Mekong, this is their life.
We approach a floating market down river. From the middle of it, the market is much more exciting. The boats, each with a produce specialty, or perhaps a cooking set-up for a “restaurant” are all closer. Some of the boats, not much bigger than ours, obviously serve as home. This kind of life has its appeal. Everything you have is with you, under your control–your friends, your store, your customers– are all on the river.
We leave the market and, after a short ride, turn into a narrow inlet and slowly motor up the stream into a thicker area of jungle. The high water and the thick foliage give an eerie and mysterious quality to the journey. It would be easy to become lost in these little inlets and streams but to the people who live on the river, they are as easy to navigate as streets in a neighborhood.
The women chatted in Vietnamese when suddenly, we were struck by a deafening sound–silence. Vui cut the motor and unlike before when we were still near the noise and bustle of the river in Can Tho, we now drift in the silent splendor of the Mekong Delta. It’s easy to forget how noisy Vietnam is after you’ve been here a while. Gradually you become accustomed to the constant noise. For the first time in our travels, now that the boat motor is off, it is quiet.
Deb takes a turn at the oars and Vui jumps to shore to pick some “water apples,” a small red, pear shaped fruit which has the texture of an apple but a less sweet taste. She quickly hops back with the fruit, noticeably scared of snakes or animals or farmers. The five of us laugh, but eagerly share and thank her for the fruit treat.
When the motor fires up again and we push back down the little inlet, Kim offers us the chance to visit a friend’s orchard. While I am sure most boat operators have a friend who provides a stopping point along the river, we were amazed to find our stopover to be a small family-run orchard. The small family home has two or three rooms and is surrounded by a few acres of fruit trees, herbal gardens and a few chickens.
Kim gives us a walking tour and, as we walk, she secretly slips pieces of fruit into our pockets. During our brief rest, our host gives us fresh fruit, rice wine and escargots. There are few places on earth that offer the real beauty and seclusion of this respite. I realize, too, that in my busy life, I rarely take the time to stop and enjoy the day and the friendship of companions. I begin to wonder if I’ll really ever need to leave this place. Perhaps they might hire me on? I could probably learn to work the orchard, perhaps act as guide to visiting boats filled with English-speaking tourists.
But reality of the world slowly creeps back into my mind. We ask Kim what we should pay for the fruit and wine, she says, “Whatever - some groups pay nothing at all.” Each of the three of us contributes 30,000 dong and we began our return to Can Tho.
On the route back, Vui stops at a small home near the water’s edge. An elderly woman brings a small bottle of gasoline to the dock, similar to the gas bottles seen along the roadway. Vui fills the motor, pays the woman, and as the late afternoon sun disappears behind some rain clouds, residents along the river are splashing around, taking a bath.
We make our final turn back to the market where we started and the rain begins. Kim offers each of us conical hats. I had my own hat and decline, but she insists.
This is the first time Kim mentions the government tourist office. Kim tells us the three women may be fined if they are caught with tourists on board. She never explains the exact reasons and details. Whether this is simply a matter of their refusing to get the proper licenses and permissions or some other governmental problem we never learned, but the three of us don our hats and sit a little lower in the boat as we pass the main area of Can Tho.
A little wet, we step from our boat. We have pockets full of fruit and hearts full of memories of life along the Mekong. Our five-hour adventure cost each of us $5.00. And while five hours doesn’t begin to tell you everything about a life, our five hours brought us much closer to understanding life in the Mekong Delta. The trio of guides offers to take us the next day, on a faster boat and a longer trip. It is tempting. But we are headed for Tra Vinh and Vin Long. And another magic, moving, living part of Vietnam.
Published on 4/1/97 in Things Asian
