The river rules their lives

Travel Story by Justine Southwick

Vietnam

A leathery man of unknown age with a cigarette dangling from his mouth checks his fishing nets and stops to stare at a boat puttering past. Ramshackle houses line the riverbank, where women busy themselves cooking or washing and children scamper up and down.  Everything looks exactly as I imagined it.

I’ve only been in Vietnam for three days, and my wide-eyed wonder has not yet given way to blasé acceptance. I arrived in the Mekong region two days ago, fresh off the boat from the small town of Cai Be and ready to start my three-day tour.

Cai Be is the gateway to the inner delta region and a two-hour drive south from Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon to all but the country’s government officials). Quan, the guide, collects me from my hotel and we head south. Civilisation thins out as we bump our way down the dusty highway in a van. Industrial buildings give way to wooden shacks dotting the roadside and makeshift cafes and small villages are filled with people selling goods of all descriptions. The smell of urine, so prevalent in the city, is less evident here.

In Cai Be we leave the air-conditioned van to board a sampan – a Vietnamese river boat – bound for a rice-paper-making factory. Here I see people making pop rice (the Vietnamese version of popcorn).

Back in the sampan, we round a bend in the river and the Mekong Delta opens up before me. It’s huge, stretching west as far as Cambodia. It’s also a murky brown, not fit for human consumption. Later, when I see men venturing out of their homes to dump their household rubbish into it, I realise why.

Life here in southern Vietnam revolves around the Mekong River. At 4000km in length it is, according to Quan, the world’s eighth longest river. It starts in the Himalayas, flows through China, Myanmar, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam and has a different name in each country. The Vietnamese name, Song Cuu Long, means river of nine dragons, so named for the nine ‘mouths’ that lead to the sea. But to the locals it is known as the ‘mother river” because they depend on it for survival.

These people live a tough life. Some live on boats, with no choice but to use the water for cooking and bathing. They eke out an existence selling food or handcrafts and rarely set foot on land. They work so hard and have so little, yet they’re the most generous, hospitable people I’ve ever come across.  The western world could learn a lot from such people.

Quan cracks joke after joke as we reboard our sampan and continue to our lunch stop, a local homestead surrounded by stunning gardens. Elephant ear fish, one of the region’s delicacies, is served whole on a plate.  I’m expected to pick it clean and make my own spring rolls following a demonstration by the woman who owns the place; but I fail miserably. Dessert comprises of tropical fruit such as ladyfinger bananas and agar, a jelly-like fruit that tastes of aniseed.

My accommodation tonight is a rural homestay in the heart of Vinh Long province. My bamboo room is surrounded by exotic trees and set on poles over water. Quan tells me to watch out for crocodiles, and my heart skips a beat until I realise he’s joking. Roosters crow all night and the crickets outside the mosquito net add to the racket.  I quickly adopt the Vietnamese custom of rising early.

“People rise around 4am here. They work hard all day and go to bed early – there’s little else to do. People here have a lot of children,” Quan says, smiling.  There’s a two-child limit in Vietnam but it’s not enforced in the Mekong, where some families have up to 14!

The next morning, after risking life and limb cycling around the village amid the constant stream of motorbikes, we head for the 20-minute ferry crossing to Can Tho. We’re swamped by fruit sellers during the wait to drive on board and as the obvious foreigner in the car, I’m singled out. I avoid eye contact – a behaviour I’ve quickly learned here - and they eventually give up.

In Can Tho, the Mekong region’s biggest city, Quan takes me to a riverside fish market. I’m wearing sandals and it’s a challenge to avoid stepping in fish bits and suspicious puddles on the ground while dodging scooters hurtling through the crowded aisles.

Being a single white female, I’m noticeably out of place on the streets here, and I quickly get used to the locals’ stares. I try not to stare back. Quan assures me these people are used to tourists, but the feeling that I’m intruding resurfaces.

He leaves me at the Ninh Kieu Hotel, owned by the Vietnamese Army, amid promises to meet me later for dinner. I spend the rest of the afternoon alternately exploring the immediate area and dozing in my air-conditioned room, too hot to do anything else. I have an uninterrupted view of the constant stream of boats motoring along the river, honking merrily as they go.

At the So Hom restaurant Quan promptly disappears to eat with the staff. He’s preordered for me so I’m unsure what I’m eating and, with him not there to ask, I still don’t know. Instead I distract myself by counting lizards on the walls and ceiling of the restaurant. I lose count at 40.

The last morning dawns and I wake at five – it’s too hot to sleep longer. Cai Rang’s floating markets, our first stop today, are at their best early. Locals flock here in their hundreds to enjoy a spot of bartering – a Vietnamese person’s favourite sport.

Vegetables and brightly colored fruits sit placidly on display, growing riper with every second in the morning sun. By the time we arrive at 8.30 the market is winding up but this section of the river is still jam-packed with sampans and junks. It’s quite a sight.

Market sightseeing completed, we return to dry land and hop back into the van for the four-hour return trip to Saigon. This Mekong Delta tour has been my initiation into a country of extremes. Despite the region being increasingly popular with tourists seeking a ‘real’ Vietnam experience, it has – so far - retained its authenticity. It’s maddening, chaotic, colourful, vital and incredibly intense. Every moment brings with it a thousand impressions and I feel richer for the experience.

Illustration by Bob Veon
(Bob Veon's Website)

Read more about the author of this story:
Justine Southwick

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