Floating Market Heaven
Spent the day alternately puttering down the Mekong and riding on the bus. Guess which was more fun?
The day began on a good note when my alarm successfully went off. Luckily, Clare, my Sydney art-teacher room-mate, was doing an affiliated tour (same first few days, then off to Phnom Penh), so she also had to get up. At six. Which is bloody early no matter the country you're in.
We straggled next door to the hotel we were supposed to be staying in, and ate bread and jam and bananas for breakfast. There was coffee, too - and although I didn't realise it, in Vietnam, coffee with milk is actually coffee with condensed milk. My little cup arrived with a cream-coloured stripe across the bottom, as though the crema had woken in a bad mood and had sunk back into bed. It was thick and sweet and not too bad... still, I think I'll stick to black coffee while I'm here. I'd like to keep the teeth that I have.
After breakfast we all boarded various boats and went and saw the biggest floating produce market in Vietnam. People load up their boats with produce, and then come and live on their boats for five or six days at the market until they have sold everything. Sellers affix poles with limes or pineapples or durian or whatever to their boats; buyers zip through the gaps between crafts in little motorboats, or glide past in two-oar Vietnamese gondolas.
It's a riot of colour on a grey river. After pottering around we were taken to another Kickback Isle to see how ricepaper is made (if you're interested - like crepes are), and then were given the choice of what next to do. Most of the group wanted to see a rice mill; about five of us wanted to see a local floating market about an hour's boat trip away. So we split up and our little group boarded a tiny, traditional rowing-boat (with a motor attatched for oomph) and that's where the day got good.
We made a funny little group, speaking a combination of French, German, English and the Basque language, with the occasional Vietnamese word thrown in. We set off to the market and before we knew it, we were winding our way down all sorts of funny little waterways. Everyone relaxed. The silence was bliss.
If the boat was like a gondola, the Mekong was a bit like what I imagine Venice to be, though on a larger, more humid scale - houses and buildings perching on a criss-cross of waterways. It even has Venice's famous decay, though here it's from the fronds and leaves that rot luxuriously on the rich, dark mud of the riverbank. The mud swirls into clay where it meets the water, and a fine silt runs all along the river. The occasional waterlily blooms next to the occasional plastic bag; reeds curl out to meets the boat and shrink back in its wake. Creatures glide beneath the surface. The river seems alive.
The locals don't seem to mind the intrustion, smiling indulgently at passing tour groups from their kitchens. Tiny children who have not yet learned to be restrained rush to the banks, waving little hands madly at the passing boats. The rice paddies in the area are an almost-neon green; everywhere is green, everywhere is water. Everywhere cone-hatted Vietnamese brush off the tourists, give a shrug to wonder why their lives are being inspected, wave perhaps, and go on with their day.
Tomorrow I am taking a bus - for 24 hours - to get to Hoi An. It may be gruelling but I fully intend to spend the day afterwards luxuriating on the beach. I have already gotten a tip-off about a good tailor, the name of the best patisserie in town, and the sound advice to put on some weight before I go to India. The next time I write, I will be very frazzled, having just gotten off the bus; or very relaxed, having come from the beach.
It will be nice to leave the sounds of the city behind. I have things I plan to see when I come back to catch the plane - the Jade Pagoda, Notre Dame cathdral, the Botanical Gardens - but they can wait. They will wait.
I think I'm beginning to get the hang of this travel thing.
The day began on a good note when my alarm successfully went off. Luckily, Clare, my Sydney art-teacher room-mate, was doing an affiliated tour (same first few days, then off to Phnom Penh), so she also had to get up. At six. Which is bloody early no matter the country you're in.
We straggled next door to the hotel we were supposed to be staying in, and ate bread and jam and bananas for breakfast. There was coffee, too - and although I didn't realise it, in Vietnam, coffee with milk is actually coffee with condensed milk. My little cup arrived with a cream-coloured stripe across the bottom, as though the crema had woken in a bad mood and had sunk back into bed. It was thick and sweet and not too bad... still, I think I'll stick to black coffee while I'm here. I'd like to keep the teeth that I have.
After breakfast we all boarded various boats and went and saw the biggest floating produce market in Vietnam. People load up their boats with produce, and then come and live on their boats for five or six days at the market until they have sold everything. Sellers affix poles with limes or pineapples or durian or whatever to their boats; buyers zip through the gaps between crafts in little motorboats, or glide past in two-oar Vietnamese gondolas.
It's a riot of colour on a grey river. After pottering around we were taken to another Kickback Isle to see how ricepaper is made (if you're interested - like crepes are), and then were given the choice of what next to do. Most of the group wanted to see a rice mill; about five of us wanted to see a local floating market about an hour's boat trip away. So we split up and our little group boarded a tiny, traditional rowing-boat (with a motor attatched for oomph) and that's where the day got good.
We made a funny little group, speaking a combination of French, German, English and the Basque language, with the occasional Vietnamese word thrown in. We set off to the market and before we knew it, we were winding our way down all sorts of funny little waterways. Everyone relaxed. The silence was bliss.
If the boat was like a gondola, the Mekong was a bit like what I imagine Venice to be, though on a larger, more humid scale - houses and buildings perching on a criss-cross of waterways. It even has Venice's famous decay, though here it's from the fronds and leaves that rot luxuriously on the rich, dark mud of the riverbank. The mud swirls into clay where it meets the water, and a fine silt runs all along the river. The occasional waterlily blooms next to the occasional plastic bag; reeds curl out to meets the boat and shrink back in its wake. Creatures glide beneath the surface. The river seems alive.
The locals don't seem to mind the intrustion, smiling indulgently at passing tour groups from their kitchens. Tiny children who have not yet learned to be restrained rush to the banks, waving little hands madly at the passing boats. The rice paddies in the area are an almost-neon green; everywhere is green, everywhere is water. Everywhere cone-hatted Vietnamese brush off the tourists, give a shrug to wonder why their lives are being inspected, wave perhaps, and go on with their day.
Tomorrow I am taking a bus - for 24 hours - to get to Hoi An. It may be gruelling but I fully intend to spend the day afterwards luxuriating on the beach. I have already gotten a tip-off about a good tailor, the name of the best patisserie in town, and the sound advice to put on some weight before I go to India. The next time I write, I will be very frazzled, having just gotten off the bus; or very relaxed, having come from the beach.
It will be nice to leave the sounds of the city behind. I have things I plan to see when I come back to catch the plane - the Jade Pagoda, Notre Dame cathdral, the Botanical Gardens - but they can wait. They will wait.
I think I'm beginning to get the hang of this travel thing.
posted by Jess at 5:24 AM
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