From the Jahan in Southeast Asia, 2/2/2012, The Jahan

Chau Doc, Mekong River Delta

Chau Doc, off the upper branch of the Mekong River, is FF.

An acronym is big, since, last night, one of our two charming guides for the Viet Nam portion of the trip mentioned she is an MBA. We all thought, “An MBA for a guide?” We were all fooled. She explained a second later that she what she meant was that she was Married But Available. Good one, Sonny. (A name she’s adopted, preferring it over her real name, Son, which would be a male moniker in English.)

So FF for the town of Chau Doc. Friendly Frenzy. We’d taken two small boats from the Jahan into the town, with a quick stop at a floating market where boat after boat were selling coconuts, bananas, jackfruit, watermelons, and the pungent durians. We hit the town’s market just as the morning local grocery runs were ending. Still, it was busy and raucous.

We could barely walk in between the rows of shops and stalls, and we could barely take it all in. There was so much: Oranges, kumquats, sour sops on the right. Apples and green mangoes on the other, then loaves of French bread, then more fruit, and a stall overflowing with strands and strands of plastic beads in a kaleidoscope of colors. Then dried fruit, and rice paper in all different shapes, and a merchant selling clothes next to a stereo shop. All this suddenly turned into an area where fish and shrimps large and small were displayed in large tin buckets, interspersed with stalls selling bowls of noodle and fish cakes with bean sprouts. Before we could figure out what’s what, there’s a turn, and in all directions, more stalls. Spices, bottles of soy and fish sauces, a pudding cart with jelly made with seaweed…. Yes, this is a major Frenzy—but the people were Friendly. They were always smiling and explaining things and enticing us to taste all sorts of things. Best of all, although we were told to bargain, the market folk simply told us prices which were clearly marked on the packages. They didn’t hike the prices, and it’s all rather inexpensive anyhow.

Following the market tour, we hopped on locally made pedi-cabs for a tour of the town. The seats didn’t look so, but they really weren’t comfortable—and surely some of us thought the cabs would serve nicely as an impressive conversation piece in a Hollywood home. We rode around the town, marveling at how people are creative in setting up such small homes that also served as shops.

Back on the small motorboats, we detoured toward a fish farm. Nothing much but a floating house with a square hole in the patio. And yet it represented a serious livelihood. Someone threw down a handful of pellets, and it was now MF. Major Frenzy. The fish went wild for a few minutes. Our visit was short, but informative, letting us learn more about the fish trade between Viet Nam and the outside world.

Aboard the Jahan, lunch and a rest before a tour of the boat, the engine room, the inner workings of a new but well-appointed boat, which does invoke a time past both in India and in the old "Indochine." That history was later brought forward in a presentation on the culture and history of Viet Nam, expertly offered by our guides—who bravely explained that current-day Viet Nam is a one-party state. “One party, one problem. Two parties, two problems,” he said to great laughter.

Earlier, he and his colleague had led us to his friend’s home—a series of wooden houses surrounded by a betel garden with bright green leaves growing up toward the sky like vines. Below, rows and rows of chili plants were sprouting and competing with the occasional Coc trees. No one could tell if there’s an actual name in English for this fruit which is sour—but delicious once treated in salt water for a couple of days. The people treated us also to guava, sweet corn, and water apple. Some of the tour members braved a walk across the tall monkey bridge, others of us had another treat: Tri, our guide, persuaded his friend’s father to give us a mini concert—both on the monochord and an electric guitar with carved fret, both with plaintive and piercing notes to lull us in the retreating afternoon. It seemed the whole village had come to play host to us, adding tea and honey to the music and the fruits. This was clearly the famous ougoing and affable nature of southern Vietnamese we’d been promised, and we went away deeply happy and grateful for the experience.