Facing the Dragon - Chapter 6

Last evening, I had a regrettable dinner at a local hotel. The food wasn’t terrible but it felt like the restaurant was trying to make tourists happy with Vietnamese food that was a bit less than authentic. As a result, our meal was pretty average. That means a lot coming from me as I am one of those foodies who is complimentary of almost anything that is put in front of me. Nonetheless, the meal was not a complete loss as I had an extremely interesting conversation with Sebastian, my 74 year old traveling companion from Adelaide. As we shared a bottle of wine, he shared with me his thoughts on Vietnamese women. Sebastian’s strong curiosity in this subject is becoming more apparent to me as each day passes.

After dinner, I went out for a few beers with my fellow travelers Andy, Carol, Michael and Erin. Andy is the most relaxed person that I think I have ever met. He doesn’t say much, but has a gentle and approachable disposition. He just seems to be taking it all in with a philosophy of “If it has already been said, there is no need to say it again.” Andy and Carol are a couple from Australia in their 40’s who have been working in the Middle East in Oman for the last 7 years. It seems that the tax benefits of working in Oman make this a great professional option if you like to take home exactly what you earn. Andy is a helicopter mechanic and Carol is a physical therapist. Erin and Michael are a couple in their late 20’s from Melbourne who love to travel. They were big independent travelers until they met and now they travel as a couple. Michael is a forklift operator at one of Melbourne’s primary breweries, Carlton, and Erin is a travel agent. We shared some good stories over quite a few drinks.

As for this day, I did my very best to experience as much of Dalat as possible. We are leaving tomorrow and have only one full day in the city after arriving last evening. This day of exploration began with a trip to the Lat village which is approximately 30 miles outside of Dalat.

The Lat people are village people in every sense of the word. Interestingly enough, they are not Vietnamese as their origin is not really known. They have their own language, and make a living primarily by growing rice and vegetables and weaving blankets, bags and other apparel that they sell, primarily to the tourists who visit their village.

After arriving in the village, we are immediately approached by a group of children, their hands filled with bags, blanket and rugs that were woven by their mother’s, sisters and aunts. In particular, 3 children seemed to be drawn to me. My intuition proved to be correct as these 3 children followed me, never too far behind, for the entire 90 minutes that I walked through their village. I did purchase a bag and blanket from them, but they continued to follow behind anyway. At some point, I just became numb to their presence.

The majority of the village residents live in thatch roofed stilt houses that are not equipped with power. Their modest homes would be merely shacks in a more developed country. The people I met were very open to outsiders as they allowed us to walk through their yards and in some cases, into their homes. I feel like a voyeur as I walk through someone’s home with my primary objective being to see how they live. Although I feel like I am imposing on them, the homeowners are warm and genuine and make me feel as if I am an old friend visiting after a long time apart. There doesn’t seem to be any cynicism or distrust as I am here to visit their village and see how they live and they are here to welcome me as their guests. As we walk through the backyard of a home, a group of children smiles at us. They seem interested, yet confused as to why this group of strangers is walking though their yard while they play with their siblings. Their parents are cooking food over an open fire and what I perceive to be their blind grandfather is washing his clothing. As I walk by this old man, he drops the bar of soap he is using to wash his clothes. No one is paying attention to him. I stop for a moment and watch him as he reaches down to locate the bar of soap, grasping at the air nowhere near the soap. Our group begins to move on, but I stop to offer my assistance. I pick up the soap and put it in his hand so that he can continue washing his clothing before catching up with my group.

We move on towards a larger building which houses the two most important public areas in the village. This is where the church and the school reside. I walk into this building and a wave of interested eyes turn in my direction. There are 60 to 70 children preparing for a church study group that is about to begin. There is a lot of chatter and laughter amongst the children before things suddenly get quiet and the class begins.

After spending 10 minutes touring the church and school, we exit the building and continue on. We only make it a few steps before the priest comes running out of the church to catch up with our group. He insists that we need to spend some time chatting with him in his quarters. It doesn’t really feel like we have any choice but to oblige him so we follow him back into the church and into his room. The priests command of English is surprisingly good so we are able to easily converse with him. He is a very friendly and proud man. He speaks with passion and uses many expressions as he explains how the Lat people have persevered. His focus moves from a history of the Lat people to the barrel of rice wine sitting in the corner of the room. He is insistent that each of us drink from the cask of homemade wine that he assures us is wonderful. It is only 10 AM in the morning but it is almost impossible to say no in these circumstances. The barrel of wine is soon passed in my direction. I grab hold of it and raise it to my lips. The wine is strong but the taste is sweet, a bit like Cointreau. The priest doesn’t seem to want anyone to put the barrel down as he makes sure that it continues to be passed from one person to another. It seems that this little session is coming to an end as the other people I am with begin to gather their things together. However, the priest hands the barrel back to me for another drink. The rest of the group rises and walks towards the door. I nod in their direction before taking one last long sip from the barrel. The priest smiles and encourages me to take another. I smile back but realize that this could be an all day session that I don’t have the luxury of partaking in. I grab my water bottle, exchange goodbyes and quickly catch up with the rest of the group.

We walk along, but don’t make it very far before we are greeted by another man who invites us into his home to explain to us some of the customs of the Lat people. We follow him into his extremely basic home which has no furniture, but blankets on the ground that function as beds for him and his family members. The three children inside stare at us like we are aliens when we enter their home; they rarely witness white people sitting in their home. Our host talks in great detail, through a translator, about the significance of the water buffalo to the Lat people. He tells us that during the New Year’s celebration, a water buffalo is sacrificed as part of the biggest party and celebration of the year.

My visit to the Lat village is very intriguing. The curious, interested and smiling faces of the people I encountered made me feel comfortable as they proudly opened their homes and explained their unique culture and customs. The thing that struck me the most is that nearly everyone I encountered had a smile on their face and seemed to be sincerely happy and in great appreciation for what they had. There is a lesson to be learned from this as Western culture is much too focused on the next day or the next purchase in lieu of appreciating the present. The priest we met called us his friends this morning and I believe that he meant what he said. I feel that his words and actions are a good representation of the people of his village.

We return to Dalat for lunch. Dalat is well known throughout Vietnam and others parts of Southeast Asia for its wonderful vegetables. We visited their gigantic vegetable market for lunch. This fantastic market has 2 floors of vegetable counters and stalls filled with a colorful and vast selection of vegetables that are sold to local families, restaurant proprietors and smaller markets that purchase vegetables for resale. As I walk through the market, I see many vegetables that I have never seen, much less eaten. There are green and yellow and orange colored vegetables with protruding spikes and bumps covering them. The avocados and mangoes have a dark deep green color. The smells in the air are as different and interesting as the assortment of vegetables around me.

After inspecting the market for a bit, we make our way upstairs to the second floor where the lunch stalls are located. We order an assortment of different dishes to pass for lunch. Since I am sitting on the other side of the table and am uninvolved in the ordering process, I have no idea what is on the platters that are being placed in front of us. All I know is that there is no meat on any of them. The funny thing is that some of the items on the platters look very much like meat. Some even taste like meat. After eating something that looks and tastes like shrimp, I am pretty convinced that not everything is vegetarian. However, our server assures me that everything is meatless. As it turns out, many of the items that look like meat and seafood are actually tofu formed into the shapes of shrimp and meatballs. They are then fried and cooked with a combination of sauces and vegetables. In some cases, this leaves the tofu with a flavor that can fool you into thinking that what you are eating is actually what you think you it is.

After finishing lunch, we leave the market. I walk out of the market and pass one vendor after another selling fresh mangoes, avocados, flowers and fish in the area surrounding the entrance to the market. I am amazed by all of the live seafood for sale. There are numerous kinds of different fish in buckets and live frogs and eels. This is the grocery store, specialty store and convenience store encompassed within one massive group of stalls that cover an area that is half the size of a city block.

My mind is still buzzing from the activity of the market, but I am ready to see more of the city. A few of us venture off to locate a tour office that I noticed earlier in the day which was advertising scooter tours of the areas surrounding the city. We enter the office and haggle over the price of the tour. I don’t haggle much though as 8 dollars sounds like a very fair price for a 4 hour tour of the city. It is only a few minutes later before I am clutching onto the back of my guide as he speeds away on his motorbike. My driver speaks a bit of English which is more than I can say for the guides of the two other people who have accompanied me on this tour.

Our first stop is at the Lam Ty Ni pagoda. This is where the so called “mad monk”of Dalat lives. This monk who lives here, Vien Thuc, is a monk of all trades. He is a self proclaimed poet, gardener, builder and artist. However, his proudest achievement is his painting. He entered this pagoda at the age of 10 and began his auspicious career as an artist with some finger daubing on the walls. His studio behind the pagoda now has over 100,000 pieces of some very common, and some very unique pieces of art. Vien Thuc offers us a guided tour of the pagoda pointing out many aspects of his home and studio.

As I follow Vien Thuc around the pagoda, I find his behavior to be peculiar. At numerous points during our tour, he stops, thinking he has made a humorous point, and break outs into the type of wicked laughter that might scare a timid person. He is quite a character. I purchase a simple canvas that catches my eye. It features two bamboo stalks in the midst of some nice hues of brown, tan and green. He signs the painting on the spot and pulls his Polaroid camera out to snap two photos of the piece of art I purchased for his next album. I follow suit and snap a picture of the artist himself.

We can hear the rain pour as we gather our backpacks and rolled up paintings together. My driver, sensing my apprehension to walk into this monsoon, gives me an inquisitive look as if he is wondering if I want to wait until the storm passes before continuing on. Since he is dressed in a rain poncho and prepared for the rain, I make a hasty decision and lead us out into the storm towards our scooters. We jump on and he speeds away into the heavy rain in pursuit of Bao Dai’s Summer Palace. I turn my head and look back into the rain, barely able to recognize the two scooters following behind us. Just then, it occurs to me that I have made the decision that everyone in our group will get wet as we continue on through the storm. The rain doesn’t last long; I assume that my driver anticipated only a brief, passing shower. It doesn’t matter though as the rain is heavy enough to drench us all by the time we arrive at the palace.

Bao Dai was the last emperor of Vietnam and this was his summer palace. There are hordes of Vietnamese tourists at the palace and their children run around creating a completely chaotic, but fun family environment. It is great. I definitely stick out amongst the crowd as I am one of only 3 other non Asian, and most likely non Vietnamese, people outside of our group. Small children shout “Hello” at me constantly as I pass by. As I make my way through the working, reception and festivities rooms in the palace, I notice that I am being followed by a small contingent of young teenage girls. It is a bit strange. After checking myself in a mirror and confirming that my zipper is in fact pulled up and that I don’t have any other glaring issues with my dress, I decide that the only rationale for their behavior is that they must find me attractive. With that thought in mind, I walk on feeling pretty good about myself. It is also possible that my eyes deceived me when I looked in that mirror to check my appearance because a group of teenage boys laugh to themselves after they look at me as I exit the building. Maybe they thought I was attractive too. In any case, I don’t mind being the center of someone’s attention for a few moments.

Continuing on, my driver juts up and over many hilly roads. The views are awe inspiring as I can see one field after another. The green colors of the crops growing here are offset by the colors of dark red clay. I ask my driver to stop for a moment so that I can relax and appreciate the beauty. After snapping a few photos, I hop back on the motorbike and we proceed on towards our last major site of the tour, the Linh Phuoc Pagoda.

What makes this pagoda interesting is the fact that it was constructed from pieces of broken porcelain and china. The idyllic courtyard outside the pagoda houses a startling dragon that was built from 12,000 carefully broken beer bottles. The artwork inside the pagoda is more intricate, with mosaic dragons entwining themselves around the main hall’s pillars. After entering the pagoda, I follow the lead of the worshippers and kneel down and pray for a few moments. Later, as I walk around the pagoda, I am followed by two young Vietnamese boys vacationing with their family. Their constant stares make me feel much like the foreigner that I am. My white skin seems to be drawing their attention. Eventually, we exchange smiles and hellos and I decide to give them the friendship bracelets I purchased earlier in the day from one of the children in the Lat village. As I prepare to leave the pagoda and begin to make my way back towards the scooters, I am approached by an affectionate, newly married couple. They make a gesture towards me, indicating that they want me to snap a picture of them in front of the pagoda. I am more than happy to snap a photo of two people so clearly in loving adoration of each other.

The last stretch of the trip is leisurely and scenic as we slowly cruise around the lake and make our way back to our hotel. Along the way, we stop briefly to see Dalat’s train station where I sample some of the strawberry wine and sugared strawberries which Dalat is famous for. Both are delicious. I see more than I ever expected to see during my Dalat motorbike excursion and decide to give my driver a generous tip and a warm handshake before retiring to my room for a shower.

Tonight, it is my turn to pick a restaurant and I turn to my trusty Rough Guide for some advice. My choice proves to be a good, if not lucky one as we have one of our better meals to date. I have spring rolls, boiled rice and a grill up that consists of beef, tomato, onion and a fried egg. The dishes are accompanied by soy and fish sauce as you can never have a true Vietnamese meal without these condiments. The total price is 5 dollars and that includes 2 large beers. This meal more than makes up for the not so special meal we had on the previous evening.

During dinner, I sit by my friends, Claire and Sebastian. These guys are classic! As I begin to eat my meal, Sebastian points out that my potted rice has a crusty top to it. He tells me that he thinks the crusty top might be good in his soup. I look at him, a bit surprised by his overtures towards my meal, and tell him that he can have it. I sense that he is also peering at the mountain of spring rolls that I have on my plate and tell him to take some of those also as I could never eat the entire portion. There is something about these two old men that I really enjoy and I seem to be spending more and more time with them.

A few of the people I am traveling with have come down with some stomach problems. One in particular, Len, has been horribly sick ever since the meal we shared a few days ago in Saigon. He hasn’t eaten much the last few days and had an embarrassing middle of the night accident the previous evening that he doesn’t seem to really want to discuss. All he said is that he owes whoever cleaned his room an apology and a large tip. I am lucky and very happy that I am not having these types of problems. After eating those spring rolls in the Cholon market in Saigon and given the fact that I have started to take ice in my drinks the last few days, this would not be a surprise. Some might say I am taking unnecessary risks but the reality is, warm pop doesn’t do much to quench your thirst on a 90 to 100 degree day.