The Tale of Facial Wear
The morning had been misty, and as I walked into the village, the blanket of fog had begun to dissipate from the jungle peaks. The tropical sun rose quickly to its throne high in the sky, driving out everything. By mid-morning, there was no fog, no clouds, only sun and heat. It was time for a cold cup of coffee and a place to cool off. The small entourage that had assembled to accompany me everywhere was getting the motorbikes ready, and Diem gave me a mask and helmet. It was the first time a mask had been offered. She insisted I would need it. I had also been digging into Asia’s love affair with facial coverings.
It was a story about disease and courtesies, respect, and well-being. Most people, at least in the West, think it is to protect oneself from pollution, airborne infection, and such. In truth, it does little to protect one from contracting a disease or inhaling pollution. What it does do, however, is protect others from your ailments. Contains your sneezes and coughs and, especially when traveling on the rustic roads of the countryside, keeps you from inhaling all of the dust.
There is a lot of it out here on the country roads, as even in rural areas, motorbikes are everywhere, kicking up tons of the stuff off the half-dirt tracks. We headed to the coffee shop and met Khan, one of Tina’s old boyfriends from her youth. When I was told I was meeting Khan, I let out an uncontrollable KHAAAAAAN!, in true Shatner fashion. I was alone in my humor.
Coffee and Offloading an iPhone
I had brought my old iPhone, not sure why, but I did, and I’m glad I did. Tina mentioned that she had her old phones with her when she came to sell them here. Hmmm, I thought it sounded promising. Older iPhones sold for a premium here as Vietnam had to import them from the U.S., not their neighbor who manufactured them next door, China. This made them highly desirable, and people would spend good money for one here.
I tried to sell it in Georgia, and as an old 5c, I was only offered $35. I told Tina I would be interested in selling my old phone. I had already wiped it, and it was pretty much a paperweight. The efficiency was impressive. I offloaded it for 2 million dongs, or roughly $90, 5 minutes later. That’s a lot of Pho in Da Nang! The transaction was pleasing, and I was pleasantly surprised by the price offered. With a fresh wad of cash in my pocket, we headed to a piece of paradise within a paradise.
The An Lao River
We rode up and down, left and right, higher into the mountainside. I had no idea where we were going, and I didn’t care. We stopped in at a small store a bit later to get some water and continued. Finally, we pulled over on the side of the road and dismounted our fiberglass and steel steeds, parked them in the shade, and walked across the dusty path. We navigated down an embankment to a beautiful jungle river scene. Giant boulders dotted the river as its crystal clear mountain waters flowed around their smooth, powerful surfaces.
We took pictures and splashed around in the calm mountain waters. I got some stunning footage of the riverbed as my phone is submersible. It conjured images I had seen of old war footage of soldiers tromping in river beds, explosions in the distance. It is a strange and humbling experience to walk around areas where so many perished and not so long ago.
The U.S. involvement ended in 1975, and in 1976, the final stages of the congressional phase-out of support were complete. That was less than two years before I was born, mere seconds ago, in the grandfather clock of human history. The south would eventually be overrun on this beautiful landscape where I stand now.
Now, some 40 years later, you can sit on a riverbank in Vietnam and look east at the mighty boulders in her riverbank and see the high-water mark. The place where the wave of a thousand years of oppression, pain, and suffering finally broke, and the waters slowly began to recede from whence they came.
Homemade Beer and Eating Charred Mouse
After playing in the river, we continued to a family friend’s house on the dusty track. It was a humble one-room riverside dwelling. Set upon stilts to deal with the seasonal flooding in the rainy season, both the kitchen and bathroom were outside. Tin-roofed, the front had a substantial porch with a matt set out and we took a seat. A large amphora-type vessel was brought out along with several reed straws.
We sat enjoying the beverage, which I discovered to be Rượu cần. A stout beverage that is indigenous to the people of the mountains surrounding the valley. A fermented glutinous rice beverage flavored with a particular blend of mountain herbs and roots. The rice bran was still present in the jar, forming a floating mass at the top. The reed straws were pushed through the mass to the bubbly fermented goodness underneath. Tasting of a mead-like profile, the flavor was not that bad.
As the brew was almost drained, the wife of the house brought out a plate of whole four-legged animals. I was pretty sure what it was but was afraid to ask. Diem had already translated it and put the phone in front of me. Mouse Meat was displayed almost in neon city lights to make clear what I was reading. In reality, it was a breed of rat commonly consumed in rice-growing regions.
A dipping sauce was placed on the floor next to the spatcocked rodents, and a hind leg was handed to me. I came here for adventure. I couldn’t say no. To stop here would have been to fail, to let the Jungle defeat me. I had come so far and couldn’t face defeat now. So I grabbed the little rat picnic ham, dipped it in the sauce, and put it in my mouth. And so it was. Homemade mountain beer and charred rat on a jungle porch next to the river in the hot summer heat.
