The REAL Vietnam…
What a day! Magical! Mr. Chau, Easyrider showed up at the hotel at 7:30 and we wasted no time hitting the road. He had promised me that we would go so far in the country, no tourists EVER go. He delivered….in a big way!
Hoi An is a beautiful city in its own right. Ancient architecture, busy fish market on the banks of Thu Bồn River, and an abundance of interesting town folks to photograph. Hoi An is a well-preserved example of a Southeast Asian trading port dating from the 15th to the 19th century. The name Hoi An translates into ‘peaceful meeting place.’ In 2004, that name was appropriate but 9 years later the tour buses have invaded, sending swarms of Europeans marching through the street. Those beautiful women I photographed in the market and along the banks of the river then now require ONE DOLLAR or they turn their head.
I knew when I met Mr. Chau high in the mountains near the tiny minority village of P’rao, that time spent with him would provide a wonderful, off-the-beaten-path adventure. Tuan, my inexperienced driver, and I had the good fortune to tag along with Mr. Chau and his Swiss passenger, Tim the Photographer, as we visited indigenous people in tiny villages along the border of Vietnam and Laos.
I was awaken at 5 am to the sound of a very large, very loud drum. Bam! Bam! Bam! I guess there is a parade in town. Five a.m.? No problem. Turns out it was the nearby pagoda calling its members to worship. No problem. After three cafe sua das, that thick, dark, sweet elixir I’ve grown to love, I was fired up and ready to go.
I climbed aboard Mr. Chau’s Honda 175 motorcycle and we made a mad dash through early morning traffic, dodging over-loaded motorcycles, speeding ‘suicide’ buses and old ladies on slow moving bicycles. As we passed near the river, a pungent smell overtook my senses. Nước mắm! For the uninformed, Nước mắm is is an amber-colored liquid extracted from the fermentation of fish. It is used as a condiment in various cultures and is a staple ingredient in Vietnamese cuisine. ewwwwwwwwww I have to admit I love it and always order it in a Vietnamese restaurant. Smelling is believing!
I spied a small building where something interesting was going on. I asked Chau to turn around and he readily complied. A husband and wife team were busy making earthen tiles to be used on roofs. I jumped off the bike and headed to their work shed. They didn’t seem to mind as I watched and took pictures, shaking their heads and smiling. The husband threw wet clay onto a mold and pulled a piece of wood toward him several times, forcing the material tight into the mold. His wife took each completed wet tile and ‘finished’ it off, scraping off the excess material. They can make 300 a day, selling them for 3 pennies each. Not a big haul for all the work involved.
Before I knew it 7 or 8 people showed up, I guess to see who I was. They were all so friendly, and animatedly gestured for me to take their pictures too. Happily I did so, then showed them their pictures much to their delight. Several asked Mr. Chau why I wanted to take pictures and why I was smiling so much. He told them I was a teacher and I LOVED Vietnam. That elicited even more smiles and head nodding.
Goodbyes said, we were off once again through the lush, green countryside dotted with fields of rice, corn, watermelon and morning glory plants. Water buffalo, so vital to the success of the small farmers, grazed along the road, long rope threaded through their nostrils and tied to small trees. The occasional goat scurried across the road.
I asked my friend to stop when he saw people working hard building things, an easy task given the work ethic of these people.
More industrious villagers ahead! Stacks of dry grass, mounted 10 feet high, surrounded a tiny wooden building. Inside a man and two women were busy cutting bamboo, stuffing the dry grass into white drinking straws and stitching the grass-stuffed straws into the end of the yard-long bamboo sticks. How much do they sell these brooms for, I asked. Each one nets them 500 dong, only 38 cents!
Further we pushed along the dirt roads when Mr. Chau suddenly pulled over, stopping at a tiny stand where a young girl was selling watermelon freshly picked out of the large garden behind her. She picked out a dark green one, suitable to my driver, and sliced it open, handing each one of us a juicy piece. With trucks speeding narrowly missing us, we stood by a creek and consumed half of the watermelon. I climbed back on the Honda and off we set for who knows what.
Ahhh, we pulled up to a tiny outdoor market, the sounds and smells now so familiar. Chau told me to walk around and take pics as the people are friendly. He wasn’t kidding as no one asked me for a dollar. Instead, many came up to me to have their photo taken. I don’t have to say, but I will. They squealed with delight when I showed the their pics.
The smells and sights at these busy little markets are the same from town to town, however the people change. Pungent spices and ripe fruit, fish and meat without refrigeration and delicious food being prepared on the spot mix together into a rich sensory overload. One woman was making rice noodles and gestured me to try. Hers were much better. So many pictures, now my camera was out of batteries so off we set once again, this time in search of some cheap Eveready Enegizers.
No surprise when my friend whipped the cycle up another steep driveway, parking among darting chickens and dogs. I could feel the heat from 10 feet away and entered a tiny building with dirt covered concrete floors where I discovered a woman busy stirring some rice hulls, forcing them into the fire. On a flat metal surface above the fire was a pan shaped much like a shallow wok. She gestured for me to pour some thick white liquid onto the hot pan. I had now just become a bánh tráng cook. Bánh tráng, a slightly fermented rice batter, is the white ‘paper’ used to make spring rolls. You can imagine how awful mine looked compared to those of the expert standing beside me.
After eating the fruits of my labor dipped in pungent fish sauce studded with chopped red chilies, I walked around her property discovering singing caged birds and fat pink piggies. I grabbed a handful of what I thought was brown rice sitting near the pig pen and hand-fed it to the four little piglets. My fellow bánh tráng cook came running over and in broken English told me that was dry rice hulls used to fuel fires. She grabbed my hand and took me to a tiny garden and pulled green leaves on long stems and gestured me to feed them this instead. Oh well, after all I am a city girl.
Three hours into our 7 hour ride we climbed aboard the bike again and headed down the road. I should mention that climbing onto and off of Chau’s bike is no small feat, especially in cargo shorts with pockets stuffed with cameras and water bottles and other necessities of road travel. I had perfected a Một, Hai Ba (1, 2, 3) system for not-so-gracefully getting on and off the motorcycle. Một, lift leg and place foot on the seat. Hai, scoosh over as far as possible, and Ba, push up to a properly-seated position. Climbing off requires the steps in opposite order.
Keep in mind, I offer that description so you will take pity on me when I reveal the next bit of excitement. We traveled about 20 minutes or so, me soaking up the grandeur of the glorious Vietnam countryside. Next stop was a very noisy building were four antiquated looms. I spied it from our parking space across the road and attempted my Một, Hai, Ba system again. But in front of 6 men who sat playing cards and drinking cafe, this not-so-graceful American’s foot got caught on the high seat and I tumbled backwards, landing full force on my butt, my head thankfully protected by the motorcycle helmet. My ego thoroughly bruised, I smiled broadly and dusted my self off and waved at the men with their eyes wide open in amazement.
After watching the deafening process of weaving cloth, Mr. Chau headed further down the road for a tiny cafe, knowing by now I might need a beer. Surrounded by giant bamboo that swayed in the wind, making gentle music, I spied a row of hammocks and headed the other way. Chau my intrepid companion, insisted a lie in one, much to my refusal. Ok, I was game, after being assured the bamboo and hammock would survive the assault. Much to my surprise I mounted the hammock without spinning around and falling once again. He order a Biere Larue for me and a cafe sua da for himself. Ahhhhh, much better now.
Fully recovered and Một, Hai Ba again, we drove on and on until he turned down a steep dirt road directly toward a swift flowing river. Hmmm, more adventure I surmised. Sure enough I soon learned we would be driving onto a tiny ferry in order to make it to the other side. Whatever, can’t be worse than falling on my butt.
Firmly planted on the otherside, and Một, Hai Ba, I walked the narrow streets to the sounds of HELLO! I stopped periodically and snapped picture after picture of beautiful, happy people smiling at me.
The skies grew dark, the rain began to pelt and I saw Mr. Chau up the road with my poncho which I mentioned quickly becomes a personal sauna. No problem, no problem. An hour later we make it to a town replete with paved roads and tiny cafes and he pulled into one which I discovered later was unknown to him. He ordered our lunch (and a beer for me), which consisted of bánh tráng, hải sâm (thinly sliced cucumber), lettuce and some sort of pork which I swear looked like raw bacon.
Mr. Chau must have sensed my apprehension and filled on for me, rolling it tightly and shoved it my way. Ok, when in Rome… I dipped it in Nước mắm and took a few bites, all the while trying to forget the raw bacon comparison. Not bad, but I feasted instead on steamed morning glory and crispy banh trang me. nom nom
Across the room sat a woman of 80 or so, mouth tinged orange from the betel leave she was chewing. She was elegantly dress in a deep burgandy traditional áo dài, a long pearl necklace with a jade piece dangling at the bottom. She smiled and picked up her bowl of noodles and broth and sat at our table and asked my driver about me. He informed her I was an American and a teacher to boot. This met with her approval and she nodded her head and smiled.
We learned she was waiting for the bus in order to travel 50 km to her granddaughter’s wedding. I gestured with my camera if I could take her picture and she happily complied. She turned the tables on me and insisted I sit next to her and have my friend snap a picture of us. She was thrilled with the results and smiled broadly, revealing dark teeth stained by years of chewing betel nuts wrapped in betel leaves. My research revealed the it is a mild stimulant which causes a warming sensation in the body and slightly heightened alertness, much like a cup or two of coffee. She stood, grasped my hands in hers smiling broadly and went to the street to wait for her bus.
The journey almost over, we pushed on toward Hoi An, encountering along the way more bucolic scenery and beautiful, happy souls. I have witnessed more times than I can count happy, amiable, smiling people, no matter their apparent low socio-economic condition. One of the main reasons this place calls me ‘home.’ Indeed a Journey of the Heart.
Link: www.mytripjournal.com/travel-747415