I wrote in my earlier entry about the food and what I had discovered. What I wrote was only part of the picture. It’s a far more complicated and layered reality than I had originally expected. I had not ventured into the jungle when I wrote part one of this story, but in a way, I think it’s fitting that it’s structured this way, partly because of the duality aspect. I know that’s an idea I reflect on a lot, only because that’s something that sticks in my mind as I travel to this beautiful nation. The food was delicious and, for the most part, inexpensive in the cities, with its street merchants selling their unique versions of the country’s now famous dishes. Reflecting back, however, and having the countryside to compare, I’ve discovered two culinary worlds in this culinarily diverse nation. There is something strange and unexpected going on In the jungle villages of Vietnam. A renaissance of both culture and food. The picture my mind had envisioned for me in the countryside was that of meager means and simple meals.
I found nothing like that at all here. I found a land of plenty. There was an overwhelming abundance in the countryside. The proteins offered in the cities were plenty enough, but offerings were heavy on the broth, vegetables, and noodles. Here in the country, protein was king. Two or Three types piled at every meal on plates for dipping into the Nước mũm with chili and then chewed and chomped and sucked on till the bone was cleaned and spit out for the animals. There was an undeniable noise made at the dinner tables of the sleepy jungle towns. You had to often get the cartilage and meat and other stubborn bits loose so what resulted was these almost deliberate shmop, shmack, Shmap, sounds that echoed off the porch. It was a sign to the cook that the food was tasty and enjoyable.
It seemed to me that part of the Land of Plenty aspect was largely due to a lot of Ho Chi Minh’s efforts to feed his people. What had developed out of hundreds of years of being fed scraps or starving was suddenly, and in the bigger picture very recently, transformed into abundance in the countryside. Initiatives to teach peasants to run multi-functional farms rather than tend one crop for their overlords resulted in every house out here having chickens for meat and eggs, cows and water buffalo for milk and meat, gardens in every yard, pigs for disposal of what little edible waste there was and ultimately meat on holidays.
I’ve already discussed the fruit trees in every yard here. It has to be what the Garden of Eden was like. There are, however, visible remnants of how desperate the people once were. One doesn’t just eat mice. It’s a leftover food source and a taste that developed from when it was eaten or one starved. In the cities, people paid for everything they ate, and supply and demand had settled the battle to develop portions and prices the median population could afford and be full. In the countryside, no such invisible law controlled the food market. Here, not only was everything consumed but everything was also produced.
The world out here is simple, pure, and, in some ways, innocent. It’s not perfect; no place is, but it may be the closest I’ll ever find to a peaceful, worry-free existence. Most days in the village are spent like dogs, trying to find cool places to lay our full bellies. The jungle has a strange way of luring you in and making you feel like you don’t have the desire or energy to leave. My mind is filled with images of stories like Apocalypse Now and The Deer Hunter. I see how it is thought that one can wander into the Jungles of Southeast Asia like Marlin Brando or Christopher Walken and have it consume you, how one can be eased by its voice as the wind talks to you while rustling through the coconut trees above, how the tropical birds sing a reinforcing song to aid her argument, how she reasons with you about how you should come to explore deeper into her thick almost impassible tree laden hills. You think about going somewhere or when you might leave, but that amazingly comfortable hammock and that beautiful jungle breeze say otherwise. She tells you all the time that you are hers now and to lay back and enjoy a nap or another cup of fresh coconut water, but by all means, don’t leave, don’t ever leave.
