Mekong Delta

Life in the lazy Mekong means sitting down and pulling up a hammock
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As Saigon fades, the rivers grow lazier, criss-crossing each other and all having something to do with the Mekong – somewhere. This jigsaw puzzle of canals, rivers, tributaries, monkey bridges, islands, ferries and floating markets is delightfully disorienting and sleepy-making. All the restaurants have hammocks and the chairs face inward during the day to catch the movies and outward in the evening to watch the passers by. TV aerials shoot to the sky as evidence of the main siesta activity. In fact, we’re amazed by the worldly presentation of the cable stations in our hotels. At the Victoria Can Tho, we can find out what the weather’s like in Africa, India and Spain. BBC World is showing “Asia Today.” We can watch Japanese news, a German architectural program, a French movie, a Spanish soap opera, engineering on the Discovery Channel, How to Save the Apes on Animal Planet, tennis from Bangalore, Dracula on HBO, MTV (enough said), a Vietnamese drama, a Vietnamese game show, Vietnamese soccer, or an American movie with a Vietnamese voice over that speaks slightly louder than the Americans.

I want to see what my face looks like on the screen on the back of your camera!
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We take a happy stop (pee break) just outside My Tho at a touristy place with caged animals. Andy loses his $2 sunglasses to a cheeky monkey who obviously needs them more than he does. (He subsequently lost THREE more sets of glasses.)

There is no electricity or sewage. And still she laughs and laughs.

Soon, we’re loading our bikes on a snake boat (so called because it’s long, skinny and fast) to begin exploring the islands of the Mekong. Andy’s dream comes true when we disembark at the home of a woman who makes ricepaper (spring roll wrappers) and he gets his lesson, which consists of demonstration then practice, from an elderly woman who is in stitches from start to finish. She thinks it’s hilarious that a man wants to learn her craft. (I am repeatedly told that I am a very lucky woman, which I know.) While it looks easy, Andy discovers this stuff gets sticky and quickly his sample is a gooey mess – more like a rice pancake -- which he nevertheless devours, being a good sport.. Still, mama laughs and laughs. It’s dark in her house and hotter than the hobs of hell, what with the fire burning to make pancakes. The floor is dirt. There is no electricity or sewage. And still she laughs and laughs.

No rail so pretend its a tightrope.
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We cycle on, riding up and over many humpy backed bridges on this island till we arrive at the ferry. I’m the first through the ticket stop, so I arrive at the back of the pool of waiting travelers, mostly on motos, and all regard me with silent, shy curiosity. They can’t believe the look of the bike, the helmet, the clothes, the face, and the fact that I’m smiling and nodding at them like a goon. They continue looking, not disapprovingly but as if studying an alien, which I am. When Andy rolls up, followed by our Vietnamese guide, they relax a little. It starts to make sense. Our van driver is on the other shore and we motor on to the Victoria Can Tho.

Its so humid at the Victoria Can Tho, when the camera leaves the air-conditioned room, we get a nice misty lens effect!
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We step into a French colony. Rosewood floors and languid overhead fans suspended from high wood ceilings open onto a dining area tiled in the manner of the pagodas – like intricate quilts. Teak shutters cool the rooms. Waffle robes and slippers adorn the closet. We descend to the pool with no desire to leave paradise to explore Can Tho. We remember our tour planner’s words: “The best thing about Can Tho is the Victoria Can Tho.” Slipping into body temperature water to the strains of Chopin emanating from the piano bar sealed the deal. When we repair to our room, we’re watched by the hall lizards, 4-6” long, that live in or near the sconces, looking for all the world like decorative plaster imprints.

We interrupted the pork and rice bundle-making party.
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The next morning, we leave with heavy hearts to match our stomachs, after indulging in a breakfast buffet, served in a snake boat, that included segments of oranges with green skin (greens?), custard apple, milk apple, sapotilla, dragon fruit and all the usual suspects, along with paysanne bread and five kinds of pastries, supported by papaya & lemongrass jam and tomato (!) jam, six kinds of cereal including granola and muesli, a sushi bar, and omelette/pancake bar, a Western bar -- not cowboys but bacon and eggs. While we eat, one of the groundskeepers is carefully pruning just one of dozens of potted bougainvilla.

Straight out of the movie, Indochine.
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Soon, we’re in our own snake boat, weaving among the farmers and buyers of Can Tho’s floating market. Farmers come in small boats, usually with one crop. Others in small boats are buying an assortment for their village, but most buyers are in big junks that will head later to Saigon or other bigger centers. So they attract the right sellers, they hoist an example of what they need up a bamboo pole. We leave the market for narrower channels. I have to slap myself for even going so far as imagining a mechanical hippo or giraffe around the next corner. Disney has a lot to answer for.

Rice paper drying by the riverside.
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Our best meal so far is today in a rural village with not a toiurist in sight. We eat a sweet and sour fish hotpot that is heavenly. Later we see that the fish met his end with a bash to the head on the concrete floor at the back of the shop, where he was then cut into little pieces and thrown into the water, along with a dozen green weedy-looking things.

But so much for this lazy life. We now have a big breakfast and lunch to work off, and we do it in 102 degree heat, cycling 22 km through hot air that alternates between fragrant and fetid. How do the farmers manage? They drink snake blood mixed with Mekong whiskey for strength. We’re lucky to have ridden often when school is either over or about to begin, which happens around noon every day as most schools have two and sometimes three shifts to make the most of both the schools and the teachers, which are in short supply, and to meet the needs of rural families who need the children for half a day’s work. Most kids, and many teenagers, fall over themselves to say hello (or more, to show off to their friends) and seem generally delighted to practice their English. We stop to take a picture and one woman runs out and drags us into her home, indicates her plastic covered lounge suite and satellite TV, and insists that we share an iced water with her. Did a relative go to the West and send money home, as our guide suggests? Her house was surrounded by bamboo huts on stilts. . Little ones run to the side of the road and hold a hand aloft, waiting for a high five, or stick up two fingers for the peace sign. This is a country on the move – and it is moving.