Evergreen (The Mekong River, Tan Chau, Vietnam)

The routine is established. Breakfast at 7am. Leave the ship by 8:30am. You must be wondering by now, dear reader, why I haven’t mentioned coffee. My excitement over the Nespresso machine at the Park Hyatt in Saigon was not carried forward. Coffee at breakfast is served in one of those pots that belongs to a drip filter machine … from the 1980s. APT gets so much right and then the coffee faux pas. I suppose you’re right, my astute reader, not everyone is a coffee snob like me. Perhaps they should be and then I would not be suffering through breakfast, drinking tea.

Breakfast has all the usual offerings: local food, typical continental buffet, cereals, pastries, toast, fruit and a plethora of egg dishes. Given the over-feeding, I keep my breakfast simple, muesli, pastries, fresh fruit and tea.

Everything happens on the river.

Today’s activity takes us to an island that was once the sight of a Vietnamese killing field. They have since re-named it Evergreen Island to assist in removing the sad memories. Unlike other parts of the world we have visited, the Asian culture is about moving on and not dwelling on the past.

Working together.

It was a 15 minute boat ride down some tributaries to get to Evergreen Island. And Evergreen is a fairly obvious choice for today's title by the brilliant Barbra Streisand

My choice of seat was unfortunate and I spent my time trying to shield myself and the camera from water splashing over the bow. Our guide, Thinh, pointed out the specialist fishing boats that trawl, with their triangular nets, close to the shore. They catch the fingerlings that are used to make fish sauce, a staple of Vietnamese life.

Catching the lifeblood of the nation.

Further down the river and into a tributary, we passed floating villages, barges, too many fish traps to count, and numerous farms before we reached our destination. There was a fisherman, using electricity to electrocute the fish. It's an easy, if not illegal and dangerous way to catch them. It was hot and extremely humid again as we wandered down the tree lined lane, observing how the local farmers live their lives. On the way we met a 92 year old lady, working by the side of the lane.

Electrocuting the fish.

As if by magic, one of the local farmers had returned from the fields early and we were invited in to hear his story. He was in his 70s and one of 13 children. Originally, he fought with the South Vietnamese army until he was wounded. He then moved down to Evergreen to get away from the fighting. Good in theory. The VC arrived after a while and he was ‘encouraged’ to join them. In essence he fought for both sides – a guaranteed winner.

Fish traps.

We were then invited to walk through his house. I passed on this because it felt a little voyeuristic. The undercroft of the house had a clearance of over 2 metres. The last time it was rebuilt, after a fire, they raised it another 30 cm above the highest flood line. The backyard contained a couple of cows, chickens and some vegies.

The meander through the village continued as we wound our way back to the tributary where our sampan was moored. The main game was to avoid being in the direct sun. The heat and humidity were problematic. We motored down the creek, back to the main river and moored there. There was a little walk in front of us, through another area of Tan Chau which proved more challenging than it should have been because of the heat. There was also no air movement to speak of. The main industry here was weaving mats.

Drying the dyed reeds.

The factory was also stifling. There were two looms in operation and the female workers were threading individual fibres into the machine. The mats were patterned, rather than being all the one colour. Only skilled operators scored this role because they needed to remember the exact colour to slide into the loom. And it happened quickly.

You need to think quickly.

On the other side of the factory was a lone woman. sitting in front of a fire. A fire! In 35° heat with 70% humidity. She was constantly feeding the fire to keep the trough of water boiling as the fibres were being steamed. Clearly, she drew the short straw. The final station was where the edging was sewn onto the matting. This was away from the noise and the heat of the main factory.

I start sweating just looking at this picture.

It was then gift shop time. Again, they sold the ‘slaps’ of my teen years. You remember, dear reader, those thongs made using rattan with velvet straps. Much kinder to your feet than thongs. I didn’t purchase any because they didn’t have my colour – green was the colour back in the day.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to walk far to the next destination. It was down the lane way to the main road where many, many cyclos were waiting. Think rickshaw, but with a bicycle at the front to expedite movement. They are more solid than they appear and can be challenging to alight from or to get into for that matter.

The silk factory.

We were transported to a silk factory. I was extremely doubtful about this. It was a factory with 90 looms. Not a mulberry tree or silk worm in sight. Typical though, isn’t it? The capitalists always forget the worker worms and yet, without them, they would be nothing.

Loading rice.

There were two looms in a demonstration area where we were shown reels of silk and it was explained how the patterns are created in the material. They actually have the weave pattern imprinted on a paper scroll that looks like the roll on a pianola. It runs through the loom, directing the pattern to be woven into the silk material.

We were led through the house of the owner. Weird. There was an alternate way to the factory so I’m not sure what that was about or even why it was necessary. The noise of half a dozen of the looms in the factory was deafening and I can’t image the cacophony if they were all in operation. Industrial deafness is a thing. They actually said they do not wear any ear protection because they have to be able to hear the looms in operation, in case a thread breaks or something else happens that requires them to stop the loom, mid-weave.

A curry plant.

After a visit to the ubiquitous gift shop it was back into a cyclo and on to the ship.

After lunch, Long, our Cruise Director, gave a talk on Vietnam and covered some of the topics that you won’t find in the history books. It was often a very personal perspective from someone who had been a ‘boat person’ and was forcibly returned to Vietnam. Amazingly resilient people whose country has been constantly invaded/colonised and yet they keep smiling.

Brush for fencing.

That afternoon, we set sail for the border between Cambodia and Vietnam. The visa process was completed for us on board the Serenity. They already had our passports. It was a smooth transition that did not involve us directly.

Prior to dinner, I went for a complimentary massage. It was deep tissue, allegedly. It was good and she knew what she was doing but it wasn’t deep tissue like I have at home. Not that that is a bad thing.

You don’t really need to read about dinner. It was superb, as you might expect. We eschewed the entertainment as it was a movie about Pol Pot and we headed for bed as the Serenity continued down the Mekong toward Phnom Penh.

Until next time.