Eating our Way Through the Mekong Delta
Summer holiday is here. The schools are out and the teachers have scattered to the various corners of the globe that they call home. My husband and I decided to stay in Vietnam and do a bit of local travelling. Our first port of call was a city called Cần Thơ in the Mekong Delta. Needing a break from urban landscapes I booked a stay for us at a local farm-stay called Mekong Daniel a couple of kilometres outside of the city. The farm-stay is owned by a Romanian guy and his Vietnamese wife. The farm is composed of a number of palm-leaf constructed bungalows set amongst the fruit trees and vegetable gardens, small waterways that link up to one of the many larger canals of the Mekong, a couple of geese, a Vietnamese dog called "Cacao" and a sneaky stray duck that hides during the day and only emerges at night to gobble up all the baby snails (to the great consternation of the owner as they farm with the snails).
On the day we arrived we were told that it was the birthday of one of their family members and that we should please join them for the festivities that night. Vietnamese hospitatlity is legendary and attending one of their parties is quite a unique experience. We arrived to a metres-long table stacked to overflow with food, drinks, the entire extended family (babies included) as well as anyone and everyone who works at the farmstay. We were seated behind heaped plates of mixed herbs, cold vermicelli rice noodles, rice paper, pineapple pieces and whole grilled fish and told to eat like it was our own house (complete with an ever watchful 'grandmother' to make sure we ate enough, who in this case was their 33-year-old in-house tour-guide and all round excellent story teller Thanh). There is one very important rule when attending a party like this: only accept a beer if you are prepared to drink at least ten. My husband and I, having achieved some semblance of wisdom over the years thankfully opted for something non-beery. And then you eat and drink and drink some more as each uncle comes by to cheers with you. Large bowls of steamed garden snails arrived. The boy next to me piled into the snails, popping them out with a toothpick and slurping them down until a pile of shells formed next to his plate. Every now and then Thanh appeared by my shoulder to make sure that my bowl was again filled with food. And then came the hot pots. Small, portable gas cookers were lighted, pots of hot river-crab broth were placed on top and plates of fresh seafood and vegetables were squeezed into the few remaining spaces on the table. There is always a Hot Pot Overseer, usually the mother or grandmother at the table, who fusses over the pot and ensures that everything cooks adequately. It's not my favourite dish, but it definitely adds zest to a party, and is a popular choice here when groups of friend go out together. I like these big parties, they tend to be so loud and busy that I can easily blend into the background and just watch wide-eyed as the nuances of Vietnamese culture plays itself out.
And then comes the Karaoke. Popular at all hours of the day, it is an essential part of Vietnamese festivities. A large standing speaker is wheeled out, a microphone is plugged in and Bob's your uncle. Karaoke singing here has a way of travelling across an amazing amount of miles. And unlike us Westerners, the Vietnamese have no shame about singing or dancing in public. The good, the bad, and the ear-splitting are all welcome. Even the kids have a go. The babies bounce along as the their mom or dad or auntie or whoever is taking care of them at that moment sways and shuffles along. And this can continue into the early hours of the morning, the lilting Karaoke songs drifting into the night-time. We were due for an early morning tour to the floating market with Thanh, so we thanked our many hosts and like ninjas disappeared into the night. Our tour guide wasn't so lucky. She definitely got a few hours less sleep than we did.
The next morning at the crack of dawn, with a surprisingly perky Thanh, we all piled into a boat and set out to the Cái Răng Floating Market. The name comes from a story which has something to do with a crocodile and its teeth, but thats unfortunately the only thing my memory retained. Thanh told us that the floating market used to be a lot bigger and busier before the pandemic. The young people don't have a desire to live on boats and make their in the floating market, so the majority of the boat people are seniors. So when the pandemic hit many of them sold their boats and moved in with their children. Thanh told us that her grandparents were boat people and that it's not an easy life -you and all of your earthly possessions are at the mercy of the tides, the weather and storms- all of which has become increasingly erratic as climate change becomes more visible. A few people did return to the river though, admitting us a glimpse into a way of life that is fast disappearing.
The boats are big and bulky, bobbing on the water like fat, oversized ducks. In the stern, in between the pot plants, a few lines have been spun to hang up washing -some of the boats have even contsructed a make-shift room there with iron sheeting and shade cloth. There is a pole tied to the bow, on top of which the vegetable or fruit is tied that that boat sells. Like an advertisement of sorts. Piled on the bow is the produce they sell. Some of the boat owners have pets. I saw a couple of dogs perched on the edges of the boats, peering at all the activity in the market. The lives and livelihoods of whole families, held together by some pieces of wood and elbow grease. I am endlessly curious about lives that are lived so differently from my own. The Vietnamese would say: "Same-same, but different". Which, by the way, is a saying that can be employed in surprisingly large number of situations.
At the floating market we docked at one of the floating restaurants and had a very traditional Cần Thơ breakfast: Cơm Tấm (broken rice) with pork, pork skin and a sweetish fish sauce, and to drink a Cà phê sữa đá (traditional Vietnamese iced coffee with condensed milk). We sat at a tiny plastic table near the edge of the boat, devoured our breakfast, slurped our coffee and watched the other boats go by. Epic. I have lived in Vietnam now for just over two years and haven't yet had a bad meal. Oh and this breakfast was not even the best meal that we would have that day. After breakfast we docked by the riverside and took a stroll through the nearby wet market. Thanh told us that we could buy what we would like to eat for dinner and the chef at the farmstay would cook it for us. We bought pumpkin flowers, so fresh and beautiful that I could have arranged them in vase, green mangoes and some pork ribs. Dinner was: Mekong Pork Ribs stir-fried with Lemongrass, Deep-fried Pumkpkin Flowers served with a spicy-tomatoish sauce, Green Mango salad with dried fish and fresh herbs and fluffym steamed rice. Oh. Ohhhh yes. Drool. I can still taste those crispy, but soft, yellowish flowers of gorgeousness. Come to Vietnam. Come eat here. You will not be sorry.
When our stay in Cần Thơ ended we hopped on a sleeper bus (more on this shortly) and drove the three hours to Bến Tre. For those of you who have experienced a South East Asian sleeper bus you will know that for the average Western man, the seats are just not big enough, not in length or width. Shame, my poor husband, forever indulging his wife's desire to try everything. We did however make it out the other end, albeit slightly squashed. In Bến Tre we stayed at a farm-stay that produces coconut candy, which is one of the specialities of this region. It's a beautiful, lush coconut farm that is also situated off one of the main tributaries of the Mekong river. The rooms are quite basic, and the mosquitoes are fierce, but once again, the food, oh glorious food, was fantastic. When you have a team of Vietnamese aunties in the kitchen cooking up the best of what this corner of Vietnam has to offer, well then, what more can one ask for? We spent our time here soaking up the beauty of the farm and zig-zagging down the Mekong on one of the river cruises that the farmstay had on offer. We had such excellent weather when we went on the cruise. The south of Vietnam is currently in their rainy season, and so when you do have a break in the rain the sky is crystal clear and pastel blue with little puffs of cloud here and there. So we sprawled out on bean-bags on the deck of the boat and enjoyed the absolute brilliance of the afternoon.
After a few days in Bến Tre we headed home and was reunited with our Dachshund, who had spent the week at Camp Canine, a doggy boarding camp in Saigon. From the daily photo dump we received it looked like she had had a fantastic, hectically energy-filled holiday. She slept for a day and a half when she came home.
We also made an excursion to the coast later on in the holiday, but I will leave that for next time. As always, if you enjoyed my scribblings, please subscribe to my newsletter and share it with a friend.
Comments