The Night Before
If I’m not mistaken, I last left you in the rice fields surrounding the village. We had set out on an annual pilgrimage to clean and replenish the graves dotted throughout the forest and countryside. We returned to the house as night fell for a quiet start to the new year. I spent much of the time finalizing the last post, and Diem sat in the living room fixing up her mother for the holiday with a fresh mani-pedi. I finished the article on the coming of Tết. As I emerged from our room Quan, my youngest sibling-in-law, wanted to take me to visit his friends in the village.
We set out on motorbike to the river’s edge at the entrance to the sleepy hamlet. Just upriver, a rather large group of youthful adults had gathered for a massive New Year’s party. If I had to guess, I’d say the majority were under 30, as is my youngest brother-in-law. I clarified that I did not plan to be away from home for too long. He assured me we would only be gone for an hour. Nothing against Quan, but when youth and alcohol are involved, time is meaningless.
The River Party
The crowd was probably 50 or more people. All gathered around a series of blue tarps sat on the concrete causeway that lined the An Lao river. Strips of banana leaves and paper plates had also been laid out randomly on the tarp and were covered by the evening’s snack offerings. Fresh fruit, grilled chicken, and pork. A well-established fire sat burning coal hot in the corner, providing a cooking area for the meats as the night wore on and the banana leaves needed replenishing. Just next to the fire, a makeshift pool with an additional blue tarp had been constructed. It was filled with whole fruit such as mango and pomelos, beer, and large blocks of ice.
Everyone wanted a picture, so I patiently made the rounds for selfies and a brief conversation. Quan made sure that everyone he deemed essential had their chance. Amid the relentless hello’s and selfies, I had to play a coy game to prevent having to down a full beer with each handshake. Many things can be said about the Vietnamese, but inhospitable is not one of them. After about an hour, I began to put the pressure on to go home. But it is often tricky to negotiate rationally in this sort of environment. The event takes precedence, and nothing bears more importance. Knowing where I was, I tried to express my ability to walk. It was only a quarter mile at best. But that wouldn’t do.
A Friend’s House
Quan insisted he would take me home, so we hopped on the motorbike and headed out. We left at the same time as a few other chaps, and it was apparent when we drove past the lane that my in-law’s live on we weren’t going home. With a bit of reluctance on my part, we pulled into a drive a few houses down from the lane. Which was all right. It was only around the corner from home if I needed to make a quick escape. In the space of being respectful, however, I did accept the invitation to the porch for a beer. Having me as a guest in their home was a big deal.
I would be an important visitor for many in the coming days. The guests visiting your home during Tết is an essential aspect of the local customs. Most had never had a foreigner in their home, which was considered a great honor. They were entertaining. All but one was sober for some good conversation. The host offered us snacks of sliced pork roll, pork belly, and rice crackers, and we sat and had a few laughs, sometimes at the expense of our inebriated friend.
An Attempt at walking home
When it felt that enough time had passed not to be rude, I informed my gracious hosts that I had a Vietnamese wife waiting for me. That I had been gone far longer than expressed and that I must bid them a farewell. Having told Quan I would walk home, I gave a formal goodbye. I had barely turned onto the lane when Quan wheeled up and took me the rest of the short drive to the house. I think he was more concerned about his sister finding out he let her husband walk home in the night.
An Unexpected Return to the Party
After reaching the house, I took a shower, and Diem and I settled in for a relatively quiet night. It must have been a half hour to midnight when she jumped up and began changing clothes. Some minor tragedy was a foot, and I sprang to action myself to see what the concern was. I heard things like drinking, fighting, and the need to intervene. Sounded not unfamiliar for a New Year’s night anywhere. We walked back to the river party to find a much calmer scene than had been originally expressed.
The party had dwindled to only a dozen or so, and we collected the remaining family members still hovering around. We had an uneventful walk back home and arrived just as midnight hit. I barely stepped into the bedroom when the loud fireworks explosions began echoing in the house from all around. Like in the old days of Georgia, fireworks are illegal in the district, but also, like Georgia in those days, they are not difficult to obtain. For about 15 minutes, the banned bombs of color filled the sky all around. We sat on the parked motorbikes and enjoyed the show. 2021 was officially here in Vietnam. It was now the year of the ox.
The First Day of Tết
I rose relatively late, and the house was quiet. A simple breakfast had already been set out on the outside table, and it was a rather low-key morning. Some breakfast sandwiches and the iconic Banh Tết were the morning offerings. Diem, the girls, and I prepared our breakfast and sat at the table on the surprisingly cold morning. Slowly the entire house came alive, and by midmorning, the energy was beginning to build. The ladies started getting ready, and many men replaced their nightwear with pants and nice shirts. It was time for family pictures.
Having acquired at least basic equipment in my blogging adventures, I offered to be the cameraman for the morning. I had Bluetooth shutter devices to activate my iPhone’s camera from a distance so that we could get a photo with everyone. After a bit of time corralling the family, we were able to pose for some perfect pictures. As the image was secured, the family scrambled into a frenzy of photos of all types. Uncles and nieces, aunts and nephews, mothers and sons, or daughters. Every combination was afforded.
Lucky Money
When we were getting ready, Diem and I stuffed our envelopes. The traditional envelopes, typically red, are given to young children and grandparents. We gathered the eligible crew, and each sub-family took turns handing out their envelopes. I was chosen as the representative for our brood, no surprise there, and we had another impromptu photo shoot with the bright red bringers of luck.
After the lucky money was concluded, we went to the outdoor kitchen for a more substantial meal to celebrate the first family meal of the year. A delicious meat-heavy lunch of poached pork shanks with mustard greens, pork belly, ribs, liver, chitterlings, cured spring onions, and crispy fried spring rolls. It was a delicious and satisfying lunch of plenty to establish that bit of prosperity in the coming year.
The First Visitors of the Year
After lunch and a nap, our first guests for Tết arrived. It was my wife’s first cousins and their families. We sat at the formal table in the dining room and visited with our guests. Candies, snacks, tea, beer, and vodka were offered, and as the day wore on, the crowd changed and dwindled until the afternoon was drawing late. Eventually, Diem made it known that we needed to take care of something, and along with her oldest brother, we headed back to the graveyard beset in the middle of the rice fields.
What Can I Say
We went first to the grandmother’s grave we had cleaned the day before. It was the only grave we revisited, and I would soon see why. We began to pay visits, and offer prayer and incense to the graves of the childhood friends of the family who didn’t make it through the difficult years. One was a childhood friend of Diem and Luan, who died at the age of twelve. Another was an early girlfriend of Luan when they were children. She made it further than most of the youth that had perished in the difficult decades of the post-war era. She died at the age of 22.
It is amazing to think, especially how much joy and optimism I see in the eyes and faces of the people here, that 30 years ago, Vietnam was one of the harshest and most difficult places to live in the world. It is a real testament to what is possible for people who persevere. After the somber walk through the graveyard, we went back to the village for a visit with some family.
A few visits in the early evening
Our first stop was at Diem’s only sister’s house. Her husband and their son are the only siblings of Diem who still currently live in An Lao. I always find the place architecturally interesting. The house is a classic post-war design. Much of the traditional wood-framed stilt houses that used to dominate the prewar rice culture are all but extinct. The iconic images seen in the war years, and immortalized in film and television since are a remnant of a long-gone era. Replaced by the brick, plaster, wood rafters, and clay roofs of the post-war era.
This particular house was built by Diem’s sister, and in-laws in the decade following reunification. A comfortable design. The open rafters, clay roof, and plaster-over-brick structure offer a durable, easy-to-cool home. Air conditioning is still non-existent here in the countryside, but the construction is practical in design. Cooling down at the night to stave off the sun during the day, and by nightfall, the trend has reversed to store heat which is slowly released on the cool nights. Seeing that most houses are surrounded by ample shade trees, the homes tend to maintain relatively comfortable environments, even on the hottest of sunny days.
A little fellowship
We said a few prayers and made our incense offerings to the family altar of my brother-in-law’s family, and enjoyed some tea and snacks around some good conversation. My sister-in-law’s table was covered with a sheet of glass protecting a variety of old pictures from the family’s past. I rather enjoyed checking out some of the old popular hairstyles from years gone by. I mainly found my brother Kevin’s Bruce Lee throwback to being quite funny.
After some time at our sister’s house, we made our way not too far to an old friend of Diem’s. We joined them on their porch for some snacks and a couple of beers. They had a rather exciting water sculpture in the front of the house that I thought was interesting. After a short visit, it was time to head home. The family had assembled at the oldest brother’s house across the lane. The Karaoke machine had been brought out. It was time for some “sing-song”. I tried my best to hang out as long as I could. I was tired. It had already been two weeks of some pretty busy days. I knew there was much more to come in the first days of the new year.
The Second Day of Tết
We woke to not a terrible amount of fanfare. The house was tranquil and to be expected. Some arrived home last night well after the house had turned in. Some didn’t make it back until lunch. That’s Tết in Vietnam. The annual opportunity to see friends and family. A tradition held to the highest of importance by all Vietnamese. My brother Quan, who, quite frankly, I wasn’t expecting to see so early, invited me out for coffee. He had a collection of friends going, and it would be appreciated if I joined for a cup with his friends.
Cafe Sua
We arrived at an already assembled bunch, and we found a spot around the small table. We ordered a couple of cafe sua’s, coffee with condensed milk over ice, and joined in the conversation. Many were nose deep in their phones, playing some online fighting game. As we sat enjoying our coffee, people came and went. Eventually, Diem, the girls, Diem’s brother, and his crew showed up. It was time to head off to another coffee shop for another visit.
The second coffee shop was much the same. This time I had a yogurt drink with black rice, a concoction I have grown quite fond of. Some discussion was had about the day’s activities, a friend of Luan’s was having a birthday party for their child, who happened to be born on this year’s Tết, and they offered to take the girls with them. We finished our mid-morning snacks and loaded Luan, his wife, and all the kids we had on his motorbike, and they rode off towards the birthday party.
A Humbling Visit
We made our way back home after stopping by a store. I was surprised to find one open. As Diem made her purchases, I sat waiting on the motorbike. A beautiful scene unfolded across the street. An old woman sat in an otherwise empty storefront. Most were closed for the holiday. But she sat alone at her post as her new flag flew in the mountain breeze. There was just something eternal and beautiful about the scene. We mounted up and headed home.
We returned to a dining room filled with some very distinguished guests. It was my father-in-law’s oldest brother, and their uncle, the brother of my wife’s grandmother, who lives in Conyers, Georgia. This visit was the most meaningful among the visitors who have come to visit. Humbling even. They both served in the war, and with them here make 4 generations in the home today. Both fought alongside American forces. One lost his left eye and most of his hearing. The other had little use of his badly wounded left arm, and missing a finger on his right. I had met them both before, and they were always happy to see me.
An intense history
The post-war years were challenging for any who aided American forces, and the American withdrawal was a death sentence for many. Those who survived saw Vietnam plummet to what many considered the poorest nation in the immediate post-war years. Since then, the nation has repaired its relationship with the US and is currently seeing a period of prosperity and growth rarely seen in history. It is an honor to sit at this table.
War, Poverty, and Progress
The four generations that grace this home have lived four very different experiences. They are probably as far apart from each other as any four generations have ever been anywhere ever. At least, that I could imagine. The oldest generation, those above 75, our great uncle is over 80, were born into perpetual war and oppression. Of the past 3,000 years, you could count the decades on one hand when Vietnam was independent and at peace. War raged on well into their middle years as after the American war, immediate wars with China and Cambodia followed.
War years in the valley
The next generation, my in-law’s generation, was also born into war. Though barely too young to have been caught up in the fighting, they remember mass evacuations, forced migrations, and who would have been my wife’s oldest Aunt who died of treatable disease in the late war years. The An Lao valley, where they live, was once an outsized theater of war. The reason why all the houses are post-war or modern, none of the traditional houses survived the war. Maybe a quarter of a mile from the family home across the An Lao river sits what once was LZ Mustang. Both the US Cav and the infamous Charlie Company spent time in the An Lao valley.
Richard “The Deacon” Dieterle, of the First Platoon, A Co., 1/8 Cav., First Air Cavalry Division, said upon entering the valley in October of 1967, “The whole valley had been laid waste, and not a soul was to be seen anywhere.” He and his fellow soldiers spent several weeks in the valley, not even a quarter of a mile from where I sit now writing this post. Building LZ Mustang for future military incursions into the valley before moving to engage the enemy in the surrounding mountains.
The post-war generation.
My wife’s generation was born in the post-war days—still not much of an improvement from the war years the previous generations had overcome. When Diem was born, Vietnam was in a state of deep depression. The per capita GDP sat at between $200 and $300 USD. Its Soviet benefactor was in decline and only a few years from collapse. There were many hiccups in the reunification years, and an additional trade embargo imposed by the US caused the economy to collapse into what many at the time considered one of the poorest countries on the planet. My wife tells many stories of how lean her childhood was. However, she looks back on it with reverence and fondness.
She once told me of how instant noodles were a treat, and a national brand that still is very popular today was considered expensive and only eaten on very special occasions. That brand today costs about 4,000 vnd a packet or .10 cents. In the 80’s, they were considered a luxury item at 500 to 1,000 a packet. Or roughly 4 cents in US currency. Can you imagine a world where a 4-cent pack of noodles was too expensive for everyday consumption? That hardship, however, was quickly overcome. By the time my wife went off to college, the country was a very different place.
Vietnam’s Millennials
The generation following Diem’s, our children’s age, see the world, not unlike their American counterparts. They were born into an economic boom, don’t know a life before the internet, are fluent with computers, have smartphones, and apart from living in a world that exists on a smaller economic scale than the US, it isn’t much different. In one generation, the gap has narrowed. It’s an amazing accomplishment.
This incredible progress does not go unappreciated by the Vietnamese either. The optimism that radiates from Vietnamese here is sometimes intoxicating. I have never lived in a world like this before, where the future is hopeful and the best is yet to come, but the present is the best it has ever been.
The things they do best
After our distinguished guests left it was time for a nap. In my time living in my adopted country, I’ve learned that there are two things the Vietnamese do better than most—snacking and napping. No matter who you visit, or where you go, a snack of some sort will be offered. Commonly fresh fruit and nuts or seeds. If you ever visit a Vietnamese family, best to bring some fruit. I know it’s common in the west to bring a bottle of wine or at least some type of drink, in Vietnam always bring fresh fruit. I’ve grown quite fond of the always available fruit , nuts and seed snacks. It’s just a great thing to munch on over some good conversation.
Naps
The second thing they do best is a nap. Oh, the afternoon naps. They are wonderful. But be mindful, it’s an official thing. If you need to go to the bank, do some official business, see a doctor, or visit any government agency, don’t do it between 10 am and 2 pm. It just won’t happen. Lunch break begins usually around 10 am. The sun comes up so early the Vietnamese start their day around 5 am. The official afternoon nap follows, so that usually concludes around 2. That afternoon nap is institutional. You can find people napping everywhere after lunch.
Hammocks strung between trees in the parks, in the carriage racks under busses, on their motorbikes in the shade, everywhere. Meant to sleep away the hottest parts of the day, the Vietnamese siesta is one of the most critical times. You get used to the slowdown at midday. Everything gets quiet, and slowly the world just crawls to a stop after lunch. It’s wonderful.
Day fades into night.
After our afternoon nap, we headed out for a family dinner at a local restaurant down by the An Lao river. A simple meal of stir-fried noodles and a whole braised chicken was dispatched from the hen house behind the restaurant. After dinner, we made our way back to the village and paid a visit to our great uncle, who had visited earlier in the day. We had a little tea with his family down to great-grandchildren. It was another very special visit. We gave the young children some lucky money, which they were very thrilled about.
The children almost performed for us in their somewhat disbelief that an American had come to visit. It’s always a humble reality to realize how some people put Americans on a pedestal. It is a strange experience. With the power and prestige America seems to have in the current times, we also have a great responsibility to earn that respect, and be kind, and courteous to those we come in contact with. We have in some ways become the stewards of the world.
The Third Day of Tết
I woke to an incredibly crisp morning. There is so much activity around the village now at night, it’s hard sometimes to call it. My brother-in-law Quan had hinted to a possible adventure into the mountains. I had been eager to get a good vantage point down into the valley, so I retired early the night prior. The day began much like the previous. Breakfast, guests, and I was beginning to wonder if we were going anywhere at all as lunch was quickly approaching.
Finally Quan arrived home from some unknown early excursion, and the situation went from not sure to lets go. As is often the case, I only had a rough idea of our destination, up. Diem, Quan and I loaded up on a couple of motorbikes and made our way across the valley towards the western mountains. The populated mountain quickly made way to rural mountain roads, but this time it was always paved.
The road to An Toàn
The road just kept winding up and down the mountains. It was often a little concerning. There was never a guard rail, or any sort of barrier, save for a foot tall lip to help manage water runoff in the rainy season. It seemed a great feature to launch a motorbike over the cliff to a certain doom. Traveling in the remote areas of Vietnam definitely comes with some personal risk. This I believe offers some additional excitement to the journey. I would soon discover that we were headed to a mountain top ethnic village known as An Toàn. Just short of the village we came across a primitive ranger station and were asked to stop.
The Mountain Rangers
It’s no secret that Vietnam is very protective of its fringe ethnic groups. Often requiring permits for foreigners to visit and sometimes prohibited altogether. Covid had worsened this situation, as none of the ethnic tribal villages at the edges of civilization here had ever experienced Covid, and the government intended to keep it that way. We made our way into the makeshift post to await a decision on my ability to proceed further up the mountain.
The rangers were incredibly friendly. We sat for some time, talking about the holiday and having a general conversation about who I was and how I managed to find myself here. A place few Americans had ever ventured to. They were more curiously friendly than fearsome and even offered us snacks and a beer while we waited. After about a half hour or so, we were given the go-ahead to proceed. Granted we stopped back by on our way back for a visit.
An Toàn
We climbed up the mountain a short distance and passed through the village of An Toàn. We pulled into a farm adjacent to the town. It was a modern mountaintop farm that provided the village with its livelihood. Modern equipment and facilities. It was a stark contrast to the traditional wooden stilt houses that occupied the village nearby. The farm was surprisingly diverse with products ranging from coffee and greenhouse flowers to cattle and pigs. We wandered the vast property exploring the little nooks and wide open places showcasing their varied stock.
An Alien-Like World
As we explored the greenhouse and nooks in the barns and buildings, I noticed Quan walking into an adjacent field that disappeared over the hill. It was a lifeless-looking landscape. Populated by a mysterious plant set about in an orderly fashion but showing little signs of life. I walked into the field after Diem and Quan. I quickly realized to be careful of the fragile plants. A slight touch of the brittle branches would send a piece flying off. I could see, partly covered by dirt, a young tan-colored yam-like tuber. Almost a ginger-like appearance only much larger.
What could this crop possibly be? It looked incredibly stressed—lack of water, no foliage, delicate and brittle. I had my suspicions, but it would require a bit of questioning. The only edible plant worth cropping that could grow on such a harsh mountain top, exposed to intense sun and little rain could only be cassava. I knew it was incredibly important to the region. It must be the primary starch source for the village. I interrogated both Diem and Quan to get answers. Diem knew precisely what it was and required little effort to confirm my hunch. Cây sắn she expressed, it was Cassava.
Vietnam’s most prized pig
I made my way into the barn to see what I may find. Geese, some feed for the cows off in the field and in the back corner, a local treat. In the US, the Vietnamese pot-bellied pig is prized as a pet. Here it is prized for its meat. One of the restaurants in the valley we frequent while staying there offers the delicacy on the menu. It quickly fetches a price three times higher than traditional pork and is by far the most expensive item on the menu. Here the farm only had three specimens. With the winter still in its late weeks, last year’s litter was probably sold months ago. I’m sure a new litter will be born soon.
Heading back down
After a couple of hours exploring the farm and adjacent village, it was time to make our way back down the mountain road. As promised, we stopped at the Ranger’s station for a visit. A really fun group of guys. They loved having a foreigner to interact with. Unfortunately, they were brought by duty to the remote mountain post during the biggest holiday of the year. They had come prepared with plenty of food and drink. They intended to share and enjoy the holiday with me as their guest.
The Ranger’s party
They spread braised fish, stewed chicken with mountain herbs, and grilled pork belly. Washed down with warm beer and snacks of watermelon seeds and holiday candy. They asked me not to post pictures on Facebook, as they were on duty and didn’t want any trouble. Facebook was no problem, but I did inform them that they may end up in a story of my travels, but I would be respectful of their situation.
We had such a fun time getting to know each other. They seemed very curious about my love for their native land. We compared driver’s licenses and shared probably more beers than I should have. I’ve never met a group of law enforcement who were so determined for you to have another, knowing you had to ride down the mountain. They would take turns checking out the rare car or motorbike that would ride by. They were very adamant about ensuring that I understood that the only thing they cared for was peace and prosperity. I think that’s something we can all agree on.
Plunging into the valley
It was hard to peel away from the makeshift celebration under the tent on the lone mountain road. But eventually, we had to say farewell. Diem, Quan, and I made our way back down the empty mountain road. Quan frequently wants to introduce me to his friends, and he spoke of a friend at the base of the mountain range, not far from the village, who operated a unique restaurant. We reached the valley as the sun began to cast those long late afternoon shadows. The kind of shadows that often give the more equatorial latitudes the large differentials from morning through mid-day, and into late afternoon.
Some images on the way down
We turned onto a dirt road just into the valley and wound our way into some rather rough and difficult terrain, especially on a motorbike. We popped out onto a secluded area with an open brick structure with a pond nearby. The structure had several motorbikes gathered at the nearest end, and we pulled in and parked. The pond had a few gazebos, with one prevalent one sitting almost in the middle. Quan had arranged for the best one, and we made our way across the small bridge and onto the wooden, thatched roof structure.
A light afternoon snack.
It had been a long day on our motorbikes in the intense mountain sun, and we quickly found a spot to lay down on the mat that was brought in and placed on the floor. Diem and Quan negotiated the order, and I drifted into one of those less-than-lucid dreamy states. A childhood friend of Quan’s family owned the establishment, and after the food was ordered, he joined us with an ice-cold bottle of Mens vodka. I wasn’t in the mood for a drink and drifted off into a light sleep.
The food arrived, and as is usually the case, there was something that I had not previously seen. They looked like slices of giant olives. A bright green skin fading into light grayish purple with an empty cavity. Something that one would see in an olive. But I knew it probably wasn’t. Olives were not something I knew to be incredibly uncommon in Vietnam, exclusively imported. If there were a variety of giant olives being grown and consumed out here in the mountains, I would have heard about it before now. The large slices were coated in a sweet and salty glaze that I was sure was a heavily spiced nuoc cham. Out here in the mountain districts, the fresh chilies you see in Da Nang and the coastal regions become replaced with dry chili, and the nuoc cham grows in its fiery disposition.
A love affair with unripe fruit
I picked a nice-looking specimen and gave it a bit of inspection before taking a taste. I had begun to have my suspicions about what the beautiful food could be. Incredibly tart and loaded with tannins, it gave the inner tissue of my mouth quite a pucker effect. Herbaceous, very vegetal, and green to the max, I was sure I knew what it was. With my guess in hand, I asked Diem. My suspicions were confirmed. They were the first young growth of the coming fig crop.
I have come to appreciate the Vietnamese love for unripe fruit. It is an entirely different food than its sweet and ripe brethren. And this goes for any fruit. I have come to enjoy the green and young mangoes. The complex, tart fruit is grated like carrots and added to salads or as an addition to spring rolls and other dishes. The young jackfruit boiled and shredded like crab meat and, interestingly enough, used as a meat substitute. The use of young, unripe fruit is something I find unique to the region. It’s such a part of the year that the beginning of each growing season is marked by the specialty dishes appearing on restaurant menus to showcase the first harvest of the emerging young, unripe fruits.
The Holiday Winds Down
We awoke on the fourth day of the New Year to the feeling, at least for myself, that the holiday was winding down. My mother-in-law had set up a serve-yourself Banh Mi station in the outdoor kitchen. The pomp and circumstance of the formal days of celebration had been replaced with a more casual help yourself kind of feel, which was fine by me. We spent much of the fourth day relaxing, and the only actual event to speak of was a trip to the district center to see the New Year displays.
A very interesting display representing the district’s history was erected in the overly-sized central plaza of An Lao. Large pictures from the archives had been arranged around the central monument showcasing images celebrating the region’s past. Early photos of the settlement, more modern photos for reference, and even pictures showcasing the traditions of many of the indigenous minority tribes that occupy the remote mountain regions. Some of which we had visited throughout our time here.
A Trip to Temple
The fifth day was, again, primarily relaxing. Some of the family wanted to go to a temple, which is very common in the Buddhist tradition in the days following the New Year. Always down for cultural learning, I hopped on the back of my brother-in-law Luan’s motorbike, and we, along with Diem and their sister, made our way south just outside the district gates to Chùa Bình Sơn. A beautiful example of post-war architecture, the Chùa Bình Sơn Temple site goes back much further. A village temple serving the local villages as far back as the mid-19th century collapsed from damage endured during the An Lao campaigns of the American war. Its modern-day main structure was completed in 1996.
We arrived at the temple in the heat of the midday sun and parked our bikes under the traditional Bodhi tree offering shade just outside the compounds front gates. Many Buddhist sites have a Bodhi tree. It is under a Bodhi tree located in Bodh Gaya, Bihar, India, that Siddhārtha Gautama, later known as the Buddha, is believed to have reached enlightenment in approximately 500 BC. Scientifically known as Ficus religiosa, the tree is an essential part of the belief system. We dismounted our bikes and prepared to enter.
Entering the Temple Grounds
A monk walked up and began to protest in a loud voice to my presence there. I, at first, was a bit disheveled. People like me rarely venture into these parts, and he was unsure of the situation. I hadn’t seen a westerner in weeks and probably would have been just as surprised as him to see one. Luan put his hand on the monk’s shoulder and ushered him inside the gates. A little unsure of what was happening, Diem assured me that the old man was suffering from a mental disability. I would find this to be accurate, as many of the monasteries surrounding the temple’s inhabitants suffered from other afflictions. One of the gentlemen aiding the monk we would interact with later clearly suffered from down syndrome.
This temple offered refuge for those in the area who needed supervision and a home when they had nowhere else to go. Buddhism, at least in Vietnam, has no apparent central authority. Religion in the country for many years was highly regulated and even forbidden. Those temples that maintained operation throughout the most challenging years developed deep ties to their surrounding communities—offering shelter to those who had none and spiritual guidance to the villages. In exchange, the temples and monasteries survived through patronage from those they supported.
A stroll around the property
As is almost always the case with Buddhist temples, this temple was elaborate and decorated with many of the large Bonsai-style trees popular in Vietnam. Shrines and prayer stations dotted the areas around the site, and we took time here and there to make an incense offering and say a prayer. I explored the grounds and offered my prayers as my companions sat at a table with one of the monks who offered a telling of the coming year’s fortune. The beautiful artwork and rituals often observed in such places fascinate me.
In the back behind the main building was a major construction project underway. The temple grounds were expanding by a significant margin. Times must be good for the monastery. Several places were still in use and under construction itself. It was an interesting dynamic. The old wooden furniture and ornate tapestries beset in a scene of exposed brick walls and piles of concrete and gravel. After about a couple of hours of exploring the site, it was time to go. We loaded up and headed back to the village.
Picnics, dinners, and farewells
As the last few days began to close, it came to light that our time in the valley was also ending. It was announced that the third pandemic wave had been mostly contained to the North and South and that Da Nang would open schools as planned after the holiday. It was time to return home. The last few days were very intimate. A picnic with a few family and friends in the forest near a stream, Karaoke on the front porch with mom, dad, and siblings. Board and card games, and lots of time in the outdoor kitchen.
A Little Reflection
I came to An Lao two years ago for Tet as an outsider. I met most of the family for the first time. Wading through the joys and tribulations of an unknown culture and traditional expectations. This time I was family, and the experience was as such. I pitched in on the hog, was the bringer of gifts from the city, and spoiled the nieces and nephews. It was as home as a place has ever been. I look forward to Diem, myself, and our children’s future together. A Brady bunch, if ever there was one. It was almost unbelievable when the call came to pack. When I knew that Trieu Vi would scoop us up at the dusty end of the village entrance before the sun rose over the mountains.
Home to Da Nang
It felt as if we had barely unpacked when the family gathered at 4:30 in the morning to help tote our stuff, and us, to the rendezvous point just outside the village on the sleepy mountain road. Had it already been three weeks? It was hard to wrap my head around. It was arguably one of the most amazing three weeks of my life. For three weeks in the mountain valley, my only worry was which entrance I had left my sandals. That was my biggest concern. I, in a real sense, had been home. I have never felt so loved and welcomed by a partner’s family.
Da Nang.
There was some sadness as we made our way down toward the coast. It was a bittersweet emotion. It may be many years before we return to An Lao for Tet. The only time the entire family is together. We will more than likely be in the US for the next one. I know Diem doesn’t show it. She has strength like steel. But I know in her heart the storm is coming. I, too, will be saddened by that reality. But we will return for Tet again. The ushering in of the year of the Ox was a fantastic experience. Thanks to all my friends, family, and my wife. My world has never been the same since the day I said hello.
Click here for Tet 2019.
