Life Along the Mekong

On the Mekong river: A young woman wrestles a piglet before placing it in a burlap bag.

View Photos (7) Image © 2000 Fritz Nordengren

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