Chapter 1: Of rice fields and rice wine

 

“The world’s moving super-fast. Each day is technologically superior to the previous. Yet, we are increasingly finding it difficult to maintain a balance in our hearts, that balance and the simplicity of life.

When I started my travel, I didn’t know what exactly I was seeking. And as my feet got restless in Saigon, I felt need of a big experience.

But as I carried on, I realized that it’s the little things that matter, small acts of kindness that make this whole world our home”- an excerpt from the notes, Mekong Delta, Vietnam, January 2014

Rice fields of Mekong Delta

“It is so quiet”, I heard Mijung whisper from behind, as if afraid to break the tranquility of the place.

A lazy stream ran to our right, its water reflecting the green tinge of the water coconuts. A small boat tied to a bamboo gave jerks, sending ripples on to the surface of the water. A dragonfly hovered over those ripples. And apart from a bird that sang through the thick branches of a mango tree, everything else was quiet.  The calmness of the stream made it hard to believe that it belonged to the mighty Mekong.

I took my eyes off the dragonfly and looked over my shoulder. The green rice fields stretched till the horizon, dotted by conical hats that moved as their owners went about their routine work.

Up above, the evening sun had set the sky on fire.

Mekong Delta: the region of sleepy villages, lazy streams and far-stretching rice fields, where the pace of the life is woven around the pace of the river. Like the great Mekong, time almost halts here.

Only a week ago, I was in the buzzing city of Saigon (now known as Ho Chi Minh City), my first stop since I had left my home behind. For the second time in two years, I was in Vietnam, the name that is considered synonymous with two things: The brutal war and the rice fields.

Saigon rush hour

While during the first week in Saigon I had explored this war history, I finally was where I wanted to be since the time I started the trip. As against the commotion of scooters in Saigon, I was now in one of the quietest villages on this planet. Instead of being surrounded by tourists from all around the world, here I was in a far-off, authentic place, where not many travelers had ever set foot. Instead of engaging into heated bargain with the street food vendors, here, a walk along the stream yielded genuine invitations from locals to taste their food. And instead of asking for Wi-Fi password at every café/hostel, here, my phone remained untouched inside the little pocket of my backpack.

I wondered how Mijung was coping with the change and as I turned my head, I saw her eyes closed, hands spread, and an untroubled expression on her face.

We were falling in love with the place already, on the first day itself.

“What does Mijung mean?” I asked.

“Ah! It mean…it means. River meet sea.”

I began to correct her error.

“No wait!” she went on, “It….means……where river meets the sea”. She paused for a moment, looked at me and when I nodded, clapped her hands and resumed her expression.

“And your name? What…what your…no...what does your name meant…means?

“Homeless” I said with a grin.

The little dirt track led us to a small wooden pen, inside which, were a dozen or so ducklings.

“Quack Quack”, they all said in unison as I leaned over the sturdy wood.

“Homeless? No!! Really?” Mijung asked joining me at the duck-house.

“Yus!”

She gave her usual laugh that matched with her doll-like features. A round face, small nose, perfect smile and pretty eyes.

Khoa's neighborhood

“Go further?” I asked.

My first meeting with this Korean girl was by chance, as is always the case when you are on the road. After a week in the former capital, I was ready to head south. And at the time I was clearing off my dues at the reception of the hostel, she had walked in.

After this brief encounter, she had joined me in Can Tho, one of the bigger towns in the delta region. And then, while she was invited by a Vietnamese family for Tet (the Vietnamese New Year festival), I, shamelessly, tagged along. Because this is the experience, every traveler dreams to run into.

“I am sorry to have joined uninvited” I had told Khoa the first time we met him at the bus station in Can Tho, where he had come to pick us up.

“No! We Vietnamese always welcome all guests” the host had replied with an honest smile.

And so, after a four hour bus ride, an hour on motorcycle and a couple of river crossings on small wooden rafts, we had arrived at the family house in the little village of Bac Lieu.

The whole family awaited our arrival, out in the front yard of the house by a huge rice field. Khoa’s parents, two of his sisters, his cousins, an uncle (who resembled Uncle Ho) and also a brown family dog. With Khoa the only person conversant with English in the entire family, our initial introductions had taken a long time. But after these introductions and a light meal, Mijung and I had decided to explore the village.

“No too far, else dogs bite you” Khoa had warned before we left.

The village was in the midst of the rice fields. The little stream and the dirt track that ran along it connected the handful of little houses that spread through the region.

We walked on to find a wooden bridge that connected to the other side of the stream, where a little house with slanting roof nestled among the tropical trees. It wasn’t really a bridge, just a few bamboos tied together to form a walkway over the water. Mijung needed no further invitation and like a child pulled by a merry-go-round, she rushed to the bridge and then carefully stepped onto the bamboo. When she looked back, her eyes shone with excitement.

“Come!” She shouted.

But the moment we stepped on to the other side, we heard a loud bark and a big, white dog came bounding towards us, baring its teeth.

“Oh! Dog…lets go back” Mijung screamed, terror replacing excitement in her eyes.

“Relax!”

I kept walking, while Mijung forced herself behind me, tugging on to my shirt tightly. The dog gave another bark and followed us closely.

We were behind a jackfruit tree that obscured our view a little and as I peeked around a big fruit, I saw two gentlemen sitting under the shade of a narrow verandah.

“Sin Chow” I called out as we got closer.

“Oh! Sin Chow! Come, sit!” One of them replied, as he poured a pale, white liquid in a shot glass from a plastic bottle.

“You, you…..you, Khoa?” the other one asked pointing towards an invisible house across the river stream.

“Yes, yes we are staying with Khoa”

“Yes yes”

They seemed to have known about us. In a little village like this, any event out of ordinary would be a candidate for a big news.

One of the fellows ran inside the house and came back with two more shot glasses, which he then began to fill.

“Rice wine?” I asked

“Yes! Rice wine!’ he replied, handing us the two glasses.

“It’s like sake” Mijung added.

The liquid had a pungent odor and while normally I would have preferred not to drink it, Do as the locals do, was my motto and so, without much of a thought I gulped it down.

“Good?” one of them asked, keen for my reaction.

I wiped my mouth, set the empty glass on the table and nodded, ready for the next one.

***

A very loud rooster woke me up the next morning. I sat up and rubbed my sour back. Too many nights on soft mattresses had made my back weak for the hard floor. I gave a long yawn and got down from the bed that was a large slab of marble along a wall in the modest living room of the house.

My stomach felt a little heavy from a huge meal the previous night as I recited the menu: Duck and pork, fish and shrimps, morning glory and other green vegetables…and plenty of rice. Everything, of course, home-grown.

“This new year festival. We eat a lot and drink a lot” I remembered the grin on Khoa’s face as he told me this, forcing another fish in my plate.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw Khoa’s mother already hurrying to the front yard, busy in her daily routine. I walked out the door, to find the sky still dark, while a few stars twinkled meekly. The LED on my wristwatch showed 4.30.

A yellow light casted a dim glow in the front yard, which consisted of a typical verandah along the living room and a large wooden table. As I later found out, these large multi-purpose wooden tables were a prominent feature in the delta region.

Khoa’s younger sister was already up too and as I gave another yawn, she hurried by with a pail and started to water the plants in the yard.

“Good morning” she greeted at my approach.

“Good morning! You speak English”

“Only little” She replied, blushing a little.

I walked a little further towards the river stream, where Khoa’s boat was tied to a wooden log. Smoke like wisps of mist rose up from the water and hung over the rice fields that surrounded me.

I remembered the tinge of desperation that I had felt while I waited for my connecting flight to Saigon at Bangkok airport. It was a fleeting moment of realization, about my big decision to give away the career and the routine life, to follow my dream, to travel the world. It was the moment of uncertainty, when I realized that my future, from now on, would be a complete mystery.

But now, all those doubts and all those uncertainties had vanished. I was a traveler now, not an accountant. And as far as future being a complete mystery, it always is the case, no matter how much we try to plan it in advance. After all, that’s the way it is supposed to be.

The eastern sky was still dark with only a hint of the upcoming day. I spared a moment for the view and then turned around.

I directed my stroll around the house and into the backyard that had a good assortment of tropical trees, which now were only silhouettes in the darkness. And beyond were the greyish rice fields stretching till where the sky met the earth. The fields this side belonged to Khoa’s father: a well-built man who looked way younger than his real age. Years and years of hard labor in the fields seemed to have kept the old age at bay.

And as I stood at the edge of those fields I noticed his stooped figure working tirelessly with a shovel, in an empty square of land. He gave a shout and I walked over to him.

“You?” he asked, pointing at me and then at the shovel.

“Sure” I replied.

Leaving the work to me, he took off his shirt and lit a cigarette.

My first few efforts were quite embarrassing and instead of penetrating the hard, dry earth, I only managed to spray the loose soil all over him.

He jumped and snatched the shovel from my hands and showed me how to do it, emphasizing on his left foot that pushed the shovel under the hard ground.

“Ah!”

This small change did the trick and I started to work like a machine, full of enthusiasm. And while my shoulders began to ache too soon, I was as persistent as the hard land.

As soon as I finished tilling the first trench in the square field, Khoa’s father brought a second shovel and joined me.

The sun rose from the East, casting its light on the green country, tearing the mist that was reluctant to leave. Birds came alive in a morning melody and we decided to take a break.

“Sit!” he said, pointing at a stool in the yard. The fresh morning scent filled the air now, and the little flock of ducks and chicken roamed around happily, picking on seeds scattered on the ground.

He took the shovel from my hand and disappeared inside the house while the family dog returned from a stroll through the fields and settled down near my feet.

I was just beginning to think where our host was, when a commotion went through the flock of ducks. Kang was here!

“Aniket!” he shouted coming to a halt as the dog jumped up happily.

Kang was Khoa’s nephew, a cheerful seven year old boy, with a missing front tooth, who lived next door. Only match for his energy was his mother, who usually would chase him around the house. And considering that, his big appetite was justified.   

My workmate arrived soon, with a small plate made of aluminum.

“Cua”, he said, placing the plate on another stool next to me.

“Crabs!”

Kang was quick to snatch one, while the other one was left for me.

It was incredibly simple, yet most delicious breakfast I have ever had in my life.

Being a big fan of crabs, I had initially presumed to be enjoying myself to the fullest in Vietnam. But even in this country, it turned out to be a $ 5 meal, a big number on my daily budget, and only an occasional treat.

But now, at the birth of the sun I enjoyed a real treat and that flavor, I would never forget.

***

“So in Tet, we celebrate for one week…and…we go to our relatives and…drink rice wine…and…and…eat a lot…a lot…big feast” Khoa, our host with a boyish face, explained as he untied the boat.

I rose up from the hammock and began to help my host with the boat.

“And today we go to my grandpa’s house” he continued on, as slowly, the rest of the family gathered up by the river.

The engine roared to life, as everyone hopped on to the swaying boat, trying to keep the balance. Kang, now chewing on a dragon fruit, settled himself next to me and offered me a slice with his usual grin. As the engine rattled, we picked up speed and I caught a fleeting glimpse of the family house, its front door left unlocked…the true meaning of simple life.

The boat now left ripples behind as we passed a dozen houses by the rice fields. Khoa stood by the engine navigating the way through the thick layer of water lilies on a winding river bank. The river system here is a true maze and since most of the houses and rice fields look alike, it would be easy to get lost here. But our host seemed to know the way perfectly well and naturally so. Dragonflies now raced with our boat, surfing on the water, while a group of ducks parted to let the boat through, their curious eyes trying to get a glimpse of the strangers.

Treading Mekong waters

Even though the morning sun was sharp, for the most part the boat wound under a canopy of thick tree branches and we remained under a cool shadow. After about half an hour under this canopy, the boat came to a halt. Khoa jumped on to the landing and tied the boat to a coconut tree and one by one we got off the boat. Once the whole company was safely on land, Kang took a fallen stick and led the way under the shadow of dense tropical trees.

We made a little stop at a pig-sty, inside which was a giant white pig. Kang tried to get the pig’s attention by imitating its sound, but the giant in the middle looked careless as a queen and barely moved a muscle. After a few attempts, Kang gave up and led us along a neatly kept vegetable patch.

The old fashioned country-house was made in two parts. The older and weathered wooden structure with a very low ceiling and a more modern looking cement structure. The square-shaped vacant verandah in the middle was covered with a roof made from the palm leaves and wood. A couple of hammocks were tied to the bamboos that supported the roof.

“Cha!” Khoa’s father called out.

One of the hammocks stirred at that and from it emerged a sleepy face that looked like an older and bigger version of Khoa’s father.

“Oh-hoy!” the big man boomed as a wide grin spread across his face.

He strode the last few paces and caught hold of his great-grandson. As Kang tried to wriggle free of the old man’s grip, Khoa’s grandma made an appearance as well, joined by Khoa’s cousins.

Once the introductions had been made and the inquisitive questions to us had been answered and translated, the grandpa led us inside the cool shade of the verandah.

“Aniket” the grandpa boomed in a high pitched voice, his big hand on my shoulder, almost pushing me back. He added something in Vietnamese, and gave a hearty laugh.

“He says your name is easy to remember, but Mijung’s is difficult” Khoa told us.

We followed the big man inside the weathered structure, stooping a little. The little room inside was the main cooking area, where women engaged themselves in an assortment of cooking activities. The air inside was filled with the mixed fragrances of Vietnamese spices and my stomach gave a rumble.

“Hungry?” Khoa asked, as heavy pat on my back forced me out into the verandah.

“I guess”

The atmosphere seemed to have changed now and was buzzing with festivities. The women hurried in and out of the little kitchen, while the men settled down on the wooden table. The plates of dried fish had been brought, while the grandpa, began to pour the rice wine in the little shot glasses.

A bucket was kept in a corner, with big blocks of ice and a dozen beer cans crammed inside.

“If you don’t like rice wine, you can have beer” Khoa told me.

“I hope they don’t make us drink too much” Mijung muttered.

“I am sure they will”

“When my face becomes red I can find excuse”

“Lucky you!”

Once the glasses were full and had been placed in front of each person, the old man began to explain the importance of the festival while Khoa translated everything for us in a low voice.

“And rice wine is good for health…” he finished with a wink.

“Chuc suc khoe!” the high pitched voice boomed and everyone raised their glasses.

By the time we had finished the third round, the wooden platform was laden with hot noodles, rice, herbs, vegetables, fried fish, tossed duck and soup. More plates had been brought and the women had settled down.

The feast began without a warning and within a few minutes, women were running inside again to bring more food.

“Do you want to try Vietnamese barbeque fish?” Khoa asked as I finished my first course of the meal.

“Yeah”

The host jumped to his feet and ran to the backyard as his wife yelled at him for having left the meal mid-way. Within a few minutes he was back with a big river fish and a bamboo stick.

He led me outside, stuck the bamboo inside the fish’s mouth and then fixed the stick in the ground. After arranging coal and a few sticks around, he lit a fire and led me back to the feast for the second course.

Frankly, I lost count of the number of courses, but the fresh fish became part of one of those. And once the feast was well and truly over, the shot glasses made an appearance once more.

The women busied themselves in the after-meal gossip as the drinking continued on.

“Your face red”, one of the cousins pointed out as all the heads turned to Mijung.

Though the grandpa’s face looked equally red, he said something and roared with laughter as I almost spilled the wine.

“My grandpa says you can stop drinking…….but Aniket cannot stop” Khoa translated as another drink was forced in my hand.

The grandpa raised his glass.

It is important to clarify here that rice wine, though called wine, has much more alcohol percentage. In Vietnam, usually this wine is consumed by mixing it with water. Yet, one can only imagine what a dozen shots of this drink would do to a person.

The wine had started to affect me real strong now and while Mijung tried to say something, I was finding it hard to concentrate on her words. Exasperated, she gave a pat on my back and disappeared inside the kitchen.

The others seemed as drunk as well, their eyes unfocused, their tongues loose. There was a little pause, when the bucket with the beer cans was heaved on to the table and then the drinking resumed.

I do not remember how long the drinking lasted, but I remember managing to keep my balance as I made my way to one of the hammocks and slumped in it.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a purring cat on my stomach. The drinking competition seemed to have been long over, the last two contestants having fallen asleep where they sat. The kitchen was all quiet too and soft snores could be heard from inside. I stroked the cat behind its ear and tried to get up.

Expressing it’s irritation at the sudden movement, the cat jumped on to the ground.

I got up, stretched my back and walked out into open. I made my way around the pig sty, through the jackfruit garden and then to the edge of the rice field behind the house.

The fields stretched till the horizon and the sun had begun its descent behind the scattered clouds. A flock of birds strolled through the fading sky as I gave a wide yawn. The lazy afternoon had made a way for a lazier evening.

“My grandpa say you can drink a lot” I heard Khoa’s voice from behind.

“I guess I can” I replied.

“I work in city, but I like my village more” the host said, more to himself as the sun moved a couple of inches down. “We should leave soon. It gets very dark” he added.

By the time the family was safely on the boat again, the sun had retired completely and little stars had woken up, twinkling through the scattered clouds. The river itself was nothing but a winding black ribbon. The boat engine roared again as the grandpa waved us goodbye.

Soon, we were engulfed by the darkness and it was hard to make out faces of each other. A rare oil lamp flickered through the thick branches of water coconut. But Khoa’s father seemed to have no need of light at all as we wound our way through the river tangle.

“How do we know where we are going?” Mijung whispered in my ear.

“You get scared very easy”

“I am not scared. But look. So dark!”

My neck rested against the wooden edge of the boat. A soft breeze brushed against my cheek and ruffled my hair. The ripples kissed my forehead and I closed my eyes.

The last two days had been like being in a dreamland. Just the previous morning, I had met Khoa for the first time in my life, that too uninvited. And yet, here I was, far away from home, in a little remote village, in a lush green land, drunk on the Vietnamese hospitality, on the food, the flavors, the laughter and of course, the rice wine. And there in the refugee of the darkness, my face muscles relaxed…

A sudden jerk brought me back from my reverie. I rubbed my eyes as a dim light came into focus. The brown dog was at the edge of the water, its tail wagging, as the crickets chirped through the grass.

“Look now who’s nervous!” a distant voice said.

It took me a moment to realize that I was sitting upright, and stiff.

“What?”

“I said….nothing…we are home” I heard Mijung’s annoyed voice say, as she was helped on land by Khoa.

Ah!! Yes! I thought.

The Family