I find myself, at times, in these reflective, philosophical moods. They usually come along when the universe I inhabit becomes sentimental, simple, and peaceful, and I feel one with the cosmos. Now is one of those times. Although we’ve already been in An Lao for five days, it feels like none. As if we blew in on the most recent breeze and settled down now as I speak. It’s just that kind of place where the world truly does melt away, and there are no cares to be had. Life becomes a feather in the wind, alight in the breeze. I can’t think of any place I’ve been, tangible or intangible, beyond my childhood, perhaps, that was as simple, innocent, and pure as An Lao.
It is a place beyond the clock—a realm, if you will, defined less by construct and more by nature in time. The rooster crows early, and the woodshop springs to life at dawn. There is always something to eat. The house grows quiet in the afternoon with naps, and the jungle showers on the tin roof are magical. There is no glass in the windows and no screens. Beds have mosquito netting, and It’s always uncannily comfortable.
Covid Free
This visit now is even more enchanting. We have no known departure date. The world beyond the village is distant and almost forgotten. It’s a fantastic world that Covid has never reached. Not a single person has ever been infected here. Can you imagine that? Not a single one. It’s a truly unique situation. But a scene that is not entirely uncommon across Vietnam. The mountain district, and here a district would equate to a county, is about twice the land area of Newton County, Georgia. But with a quarter of the population.
Most of that population resides either in the district capital itself or among the many rice communities dotting the valley or hugged against the mountain highway, which is the only way in or out of the region. The mountain highway follows the An Lao river as it flows down from the mountains. Thus, the region is supplied by a single vein of road and river. The last census had the entire district population at just over 24,000. But that number swells during Tet. I’ve never experienced such a movement of people as I see each year for Tet here in Vietnam.
Cultural Evolution
Every year around the end of January, the Lunar Holiday floats like Easter, the entire country prepares to close down, and everyone migrates home. Like Diem, many in our generation have migrated to the growing cities to be a part of the rapidly expanding middle-class economy. For the past few decades, Vietnam’s global economy has been increasing at almost breakneck speed. But they all return home to the villages from whence they came for the Tet holiday in countless towns across Vietnam.
In some ways, it’s a melancholy tale. What makes Vietnam so unique and beautiful is its pastoral countryside and simple life outside the city centers. Most still cook over fire outdoors and still have outhouses and more modern indoor bathrooms. Most food is grown locally or in your garden. There are no modern grocery stores here. Refrigeration is still considered a luxury. Most meat is purchased fresh from slaughter or displayed on plastic tablecloths for inspection. Or, as is the case of poultry, sold live. The birds are dispatched, plucked, and butchered only upon request.
A Fading Way Of Life
This pure and simple way of life is slowly becoming extinct as progress gobbles up the Vietnamese economy. With fewer children remaining in the villages, the population that tends to the rice and produce fields is aging out. It’s forcing mechanization on the lands. As a result, the iconic site of conical hats cruising the rice fields is becoming more novelty than commonplace, especially as you get closer to the cities.
Additionally, the cultural paradigm of the family unit is rapidly changing in the modern nation. Diem’s parents had seven children. They lost their oldest at a very young age. It was a time when children were just as crucial to the household economy as adults. Helping tend gardens and livestock, and even harvesting in the fields. Diem tells me a story of her youth. Helping her parents harvest and pack rice in burlap sacks. She and her siblings would help stack the bags after loading, and most transportation in those days was still done with a bicycle. She always smiles when she speaks of it. It must have been a wonderful time.
Cultural Shifts
Today the need for a big youthful, and strong family is not as crucial as it was then. Having broken out of the village cycle, today’s generation is raising fewer children. Instead, they are using their ever-expanding middle-class wealth to give their children a more western-style childhood with a significant focus on education. Of all her siblings, Diem has the most children, with two. The others have put all of their efforts into raising just one each. My in-laws have more children than grandchildren. That’s a major cultural shift in just one generation.
It is a time of significant progress in Vietnam. A burgeoning middle class not seen outside of the US in the ’50s or in China in the 2000s. But this economic explosion does have consequences. It may be the slow erosion of that pastoral countryside life and beauty that is so wonderful and pure. Few people are interested in staying behind to remain in the villages and continue with the old way of life. Rice culture in Vietnam has been much unchanged for thousands of years. If the power went out here, it would barely be noticed beyond the lack of email or the inability to stream a movie. It’s a world not yet entwined in the grid and not beyond function without it.
Embracing the Present
For me now, it’s even more significant than that. I’ve never been somewhere at any point in my adult life that had no clear future beyond it. Yes, we are returning to the states eventually. But the time of the event is unknown. It is unknown when for sure we will leave An Lao at all. I know it will be at some point, but when? I have let go of everything that ever was or ever will be. And not in any permanence or negative way, but just in this moment. There is only here. There is only An Lao.
It’s in many ways surreal to be in such peace and tranquility and to be as far from home as I am now. Home, circling back to where we began. Home is many things to many people. But, for me, the home has always meant family and a place or places in some less significant way. My parent’s home, my grandparents’ home, and being surrounded by those I care about the most. That ancient archetype of what home is and should be.
Home When Home is out of Reach
An Lao is that kind of place to me. It should be, I suppose. It is the land of my wife and her family. It’s warm, inviting, welcoming, and tranquil. It is, in short, home as any place could be or will be. If I am separated from home by space and time, I couldn’t imagine it anywhere other than An Lao.
The Wood Shop
Ba’s woodshop outback is a place of magic. He is always working on something in the village, wherever his skills are needed. His shop is always active, and around lunchtime, he breaks for lunch with the family and maybe a short nap in his hammock. Right now, he is working on a bed for a local customer. The village, in general, is sustainable. The lumber comes from local timber fields, and the scrap is used for cooking, with the excess sold off for other families to use.
The Kitchen
Next to the shop and just outside the back door is the outdoor kitchen. The indoor kitchen has a two-burner gas range, a countertop hot water dispenser, and a rice cooker. The majority of the cooking is done outside over flame and coals. A sizeable corrugated tin sheet serves as a weather barrier from the wind and rain. The dishes are washed in an outdoor concrete basin. The clothes are washed in large plastic tubs. The family always gathers at mealtimes. We pile around a bamboo or metal tray filled with the current offerings. Always rice, always meat or fish, or both. Always broth with greens.
A Trip to the District Center
At one point, Diem disturbed me from my deep concentration to inquire if I wished to join her and her sister on a trip to the local market. Yes, please. Of all the times I’ve been to An Lao, I’ve never been to the local market or “downtown” An Lao, for that matter. Diem’s family lives in a village named Thuan An, in the An Lao district, in the Province of Binh Dinh. The fact that I was today years old when I finally figured it out. We are only a few miles from the district capital of An Lao.
We hit the mountain highway just outside the village and headed north. The market was on the way. A few Kilometers up the road, we turned right and into the An Lao market parking lot. It was a typical post-war market. A classic multi-story open design of reinforced concrete, high vents, clay tile roof, and tin awning. A standard set up for markets all over Vietnam. The only thing that changes is the scale.
Cruising the Market
The sides of the parking lot were lined with poultry vendors and then produced as you came close to the structure. Most of the perishables were sold outside. It is almost always the case except for the tight significant markets in the big cities where it’s either road or building. Even then, perishables are at the edges of the market. It’s the easiest way to keep it cleaned and constantly washed. The activity that attributes the markets to the nickname “wet.”
We purchased fresh fruit and local candies, and I checked out the meat and poultry departments. We didn’t need protein at the house, but if we were in the next day or two, I spotted a plump goose that already had my fork in it. One of my other favorite market areas is the candy section. I’ve always said you can learn much about a culture from its candy, and Vietnam is no exception.
Sweet Treats
Sesame and tamarind were brought in through ancient silk road trade routes. Peanuts that migrated from the Philippines during Spanish colonial rule. Danish-style cookies, pain au chocolate, and chocolate croissants are pretty popular, no doubt an introduction during French rule. And the widely popular and seemingly out-of-place marshmallow moon pies and custard-filled Twinkie-like processed cakes. American service members undoubtedly introduced them to locals during the war years.
We loaded up on snacks and made our way out through the meat and seafood departments. Past the fresh eels still squirming, chickens and geese waiting for the pot. After a brief conversation and a few pictures of the river behind the market, we headed to the district capital. Again, a place I had only previously ridden through. Today I would get a chance to explore the sleepy mountain town.
An Lao Proper
I have only spent time in the small peripheral village of Thuan An, about 4 miles south of the district capital by the same name. We turned back onto the mountain road and headed further north into the city center. The small mountain town had a very well-defined central city. Still sparsely populated, its sizeable main square and oversized government buildings gave the city an uninhabited feel. Vietnam is known for its expansive public spaces and extensive facilities. Even here in the small mountain city, the prowess and authority of the state are ever-present.
I made my way onto the massive marble square at the heart of the capital. We found what appeared to be downtown’s only inhabitants—a group of kids sitting near the worker’s party monument that filled the northern edge. I walked up to the memorial and found the view from its perch quite enjoyable. In its unique mountain architecture, the local government building sat to the East of the square. A small lake with a classical-style bridge leads to a pagoda on a small island to the west. Complete with an accompanying giant statue of Ho Chi Minh found in most city centers, parks, and other public spaces. I took in the view of the setting sun, and then we headed back home.
Emerald Fields
One of my favorite things in An Lao is going for a walk. There is nothing, well, I’m not going to say there aren’t better places to go for a walk, but it’s a kind of magic here. By now, Luan had arrived with his wife and daughter, and all the girls decided to wear dresses for pictures in the lush rice fields. So we headed down through the village. I was particularly surprised by how much progress was making its way into the town. Even in the countryside, the wealth of the exploding economy is working its way to every corner of Vietnam.
The paved lanes were a new development only a few years before I first visited. There was construction everywhere. A sewer system was under construction next to the paved lanes, and the old parade field was getting a brand-new covered arena for local soccer games and festival events. First, we walked by a cousin’s house to say hello. Then, I took some time to watch a few minutes of an exciting game of cờ tướng, a variant of Chinese chess.
Where Heaven Meets Earth
We eventually made our way out of the village and onto the green blanket of rice that coats the land. An Emerald lake is only interrupted by the occasional house or distant causeway. The Jungle mountains on all sides were corralling the rice in the valley. To sit in the cool mountain air and listen to the frogs, crickets, and the rustling of the tall rice in the breeze is simply magical. The clouds were just right with the sun on the horizon, casting light rays on the distant mountains. It was an unbelievably beautiful scene.
We took pictures of the girls in the fields and walked the village perimeter. We passed a small herd of cattle on our walk. Mostly free grazing, the cows are moved around daily to a fresh plot. Today they were herded into the active construction site that would soon be the arena and activity center. It is, as always, just a peaceful time walking the lanes of the sleepy village. Enjoying a place beyond time.
