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A Walk In The Valley The Beauty of An Lao
(originally published April, 2020)
I spent the morning after breakfast getting some writing in. These chapters don’t write themselves. Well, at least not physically, their subject matter does seem to just manifest out of life. So, I spent much of the morning, and even into the early afternoon, putting my thoughts down. I always feel so spoiled here as periodically my wonderful wife Diem will appear with a snack, a cold beverage or some lunch.
It is very modern, with Wi-Fi, cable television, refrigerators, an indoor kitchen, and a modern bathroom. The property also has a few features that remind you that just a couple of decades ago, this was one of the poorest countries on the planet, sporting an outdoor kitchen that still gets most of the workload. Most cooking here is still done the old way, over an open wood-fueled fire, and the rustic concrete floored outdoor section is where the dishes are cleaned and where any animals are slaughtered and prepared.
Behind the kitchen is a barn of sorts, sectioned off for different livestock. A typical brick and concrete post-war construction with a tin roof. In certain parts of the year, it may contain a hog; now, in the spring, it has this year’s hatchlings. It also serves as extra storage and may contain a roll cart for hanging extra clothes, or unused potters. Behind the barn is the coop. It extends the entire length of the property against the back wall that marks the property line and is divided into sections for the different ages and breeds of chickens.
Next to the barn is my father-in-law Ba’s wood shop. He is the local carpenter here and spends his days working on commissioned pieces of furniture or repairing broken doors and other woodwork. He uses a combination of modern electrical tools and ancient hand tools to amazing effect. His greatest machine is the all-purpose table saw that can do everything from cutting, plaining and routing. Possibly a 1940-era model, its massive, heavy, worn, and has been repaired many times.
There are still a few other features of the back of the property that beckon the past. A primitive squat toilet outhouse is operational, but I have only used it when there was great need and the modern bathroom inside was occupied. There is also an outside shower that is still functional: a concrete block room, slits for windows at ceiling level, and only a spigot about 6 feet high. Plenty of pressure and no hot water. It’s a dose that will make you feel like you’re getting cleaned off with a fire hose in the front yard. But it is a refreshing end to a hot day.
It’s almost uncomfortably pleasant here. As the guest and as a bit of a novelty as an American, I’m not allowed to do much. There is a hierarchy here. An ancient way of life unchanged for thousands of years. Apart from a couple of American dishes I may be asked to prepare, I am not allowed to cook, clean, wash my clothes, anything that I would otherwise do at home. Even if I were to make a mess, say spill a little bit of ingredients out of a bowl I’m mixing something in, I’m reprimanded for cleaning it up. It’s an interesting social structure, but I will save that for another chapter.
After I finished working for the day, I spent some time walking around the property, getting some photos of Ba and the house. Diem was preparing to head to the village market for a few items for tonight’s celebration. Both our daughters, Jennie and Lisa, as well as our nephew, Duong, had birthdays either during Quarantine or within the next week. Tonight, there will be a celebration for the children. I had been asked to prepare an American feast fit for youth in royal. Hot Dogs, grilled smoked sausage, and fried chicken.
With the explosion of KFCs in Vietnam over the last decade, fried chicken has become a very popular treat for children. But fast food here is expensive. To maintain fast food specs back home, a lot of the ingredients like chicken and hamburger meats must either be imported or raised and processed in specialty farms here. Chickens from the yard or cows in the field, do not have the plump, or fatty marbling customary to factory farming back home. This made McDonalds, which I still haven’t seen one here, and KFC very expensive compared to the healthy and delicious street foods.
We loaded up at a Costco like western grocery store back in Da Nang and brought the ingredients to An Lao with us. But before the party was set to begin, our nephew Duy asked if he could accompany me for a walk. The village is more than safe, but people are still a little apprehensive. So, it was best I not wander alone just to keep the village at peace. I also wore a mask to keep the locals at ease. No one had been allowed in for quite some time and it was beyond obvious that I was not from around here.
As we walked out of the front gate I looked down the lane. The streets are incredibly narrow. Barely big enough for a car. The lane is beautifully manicured, and it is more reminiscent of a lane in rural England than what you would think to find here. Except the massive coconut trees, and banana leaves of course.
We crossed back and forth through the square lanes that made up the tight streets of the village. The houses are relatively close together, though there is usually an empty lot every few houses for banana trees or gardens. If a house doesn’t have a lot beside it, it has enough space behind it for edible plants and fruit bearing trees. Everyone seemed to grow something different, though some things everyone grew like those ubiquitous bananas and coconuts.
Every yard had something to discover. In our hour walking the lanes I discovered at least a dozen edible fruits and vegetables. Asian eggplants, Chinese long beans, tomatoes, jackfruit, avocado and a myriad of fruits and vegetables I had never seen before. It was so beautiful and fun to explore.
Everywhere we walked I would hear the random “Hello” from a child on a porch or riding on a bike. I often found an entourage of children on bike and foot behind. They would always giggle when I responded hello and waived. Sometimes they would circle around the lanes to come up in front of us, but as soon as we would turn the corner to face the children, they would scurry off giggling in the other direction.
At the edge of the village we came across a large mound made of what looked like straw, I’m guessing from rice. I asked Duy what it was, and he informed me it was a room. An ancient style dwelling still utilized for an inexpensive indoor space here in the village. I had seen them before dotted in the landscape on the rides in, but I never knew what they were. Looking more like a pile of golden hair pulled up to a man bun on top. The rustic dwellings stood an impressive 8 to 10 feet to the hair tie like wrap that bound the top together.
We reached the edge of the village and stepped out into the vast expanse of rice fields. As far as you could see between the mountains, the fields sprawled out. Endless and ancient. Rice has been cultivated in this valley, almost unchanged, for thousands of years. It truly is amazing to stand in the shadow of the mountains gazing into a world so old and primal. Save for the dirt causeways being paved in recent years, this scene hasn’t changed for millennia. No modern equipment, no commercial industrialization. Just beasts of burden, a few simple tools, bare hands and centuries of trial and error. It doesn’t get any purer than this.
The fields are alternated some to facilitate consistent harvesting, and you could see bags of seed on the sides of some of the paddies getting ready to be reset. Cows and water buffalo were tied up in fields getting ready to plant. They both consume the weeds and fertilize the fields. The village chickens were also out in the fields to help with pest management and to fertilize. It’s a very closed system here. A truly sustainable environment. Between the rice, cattle, chickens and bounty of fruits and vegetables, not to mention the An Lao river on the other side of the village, It’s a veritable garden of Eden.
As we walked the causeway into the fields we came across a very out of place scene. A new construction site was being prepared. A new home perhaps or maybe some causeway work. A pile of gravel and dirt laid to one side in a standard field not meant for rice. Across the causeway a modern piece of heavy machinery. Local children were climbing on the piles playing and hanging all over the construction equipment. The children’s parents or maybe older siblings had come with them. No one seemed to care that they were climbing on top of a massive piece of machinery. I guess it was a mobile playground, the village’s newest attraction.
Our nephew Duong had joined us, and he couldn’t resist himself. As we walked the causeways he would bounce down into the empty rice fields and dig out massive snails in the shallow waters. Snails are a big food source here and I was beginning to see why. In just a matter of minutes Duong had produced a handful and then proceeded to throw them across the fields. He is a busy boy. We continued across the causeway to the other side of the village.
Song An Lao or the An Lao river, I just love that the Vietnamese word for river is song, begins high up in the mountains north of the village. It comprises both the Suoi Bo and Suoi Nuoc Dinh rivers and gives the district and capital their names. It is the lifeblood of the community, providing much needed irrigation for the rice fields and village as well as an abundance of freshwater fish and shellfish. The river is clear most of the time as we are not far
down from its mountain origin.
Almost the entire length of the river is protected by massive concrete sloping walls. In some places the walls often measure a quarter mile apart or more, from bank to bank, providing a massive riverbed. From here, the An Lao river continues down to the coast where it enters the Eastern, or South China Sea. The climate here is relatively stable. The temperature doesn’t fluctuate much throughout the year, making for harvest opportunities almost year-round. The only variable here is rain. The seasons are dictated by precipitation in this central highland district. It is either the dry season or the wet season.
It is now the dry season, and the riverbed is almost empty. Small sandbars and islands dot the massive bed between the concrete banks and people are busy fishing and hunting for crustaceans in the now shallow waters. When the rain comes again this scene will quickly change. The river will come down from the mountain in a torrent of destruction. The waters will batter the concrete riverbank, which will channel the rush of power down the mountain valley and on to the sea. The reservoirs will fill up and the rice patties will be saved from erosion and be re-supplied with water for the next planting, and so it goes.
We continued on the village river walk towards the entrance to our lane. It was a wonderful walk. There are lots of beautiful views and many botanical surprises. But evening was drawing near, and I had a platter of southern fried chicken to make. So, we strolled down the lane towards home and a birthday party that was beginning to build.
***
We spent the next day in town and were ultimately asked to leave the village by the local authorities. My appearance around town was disturbing to many residents. Many had never seen a westerner. With xenophobia at a record high, we left without trouble. That was covered in the Dragon Diaries Chapter 11: A Reunion of Sorts – A Day in Town, and Chapter 12: Paradise Lost and the Fall of Saigon.