Who Knew

Tra Vinh has its own Eiffel Tower. But the one in Paris does not have a dragon. Poor little Parisians.

Ferguson Evening

So yesterday I hired myself a Ferguson. For those of you who are not familiar with the term, you can either read Twain's "Innocents Abroad" which I highly recommend, or you can read my other blogs, not so recommended as Twain, or you can guess based on context.

My Ferguson and I careened out into the countryside on yet another scooter, this time without a backpack strapped to my big-assed foreigner body. We were off to explore the local Khmer pagodas. In centuries past, this area of Vietnam was once part of the Cambodian empire. The Khmer still make up a sizable cultural group, with a Theravada rather than Mahayana Buddhism, a distinct language and a very distinct culture. And the Vietnamese government and Khmer people have not always gotten on all that well.

We bounced and jounced to the first pagoda, what we would call a Wat in Thailand. It was freshly painted and gleaming in the early evening light. We chatted with a monk, who answered some of my questions. Script was written on the newly pastel green pillars and I asked the monk what it meant. I was assuming the writing represented mantras or blessings, but the monk said these were the names of donors who had helped finance the refurbishing. Sort of like Seattleites buying a brick in the Public Market.

Off we scootered to another pagoda, this one famous for its white storks. My Ferguson nattered on about how much he knew of Khmer culture, how people loved his services and how much we were going to enjoy the rest of my Mekong trip together. The usual Ferguson stuff.

At the second pagoda, I met a young and very, very earnest Khmer student who took me around the place, explaining Khmer culture in a fervent intensity. At the end of our time together, he said that he hoped I would write about the Khmer culture so that people in the world would know about the Khmer peoples. I promised I would, and this small post does not fulfill that promise so there will be more on Khmer culture later. Oh, and the storks, returning to the trees at the sunset, were spectacular.

Off we went into the gathering darkness, breaking the solid rule of No Third World Moto After Dark. Well, since my Ferg. was texting as well as piloting, I guess we had broken many rules and who cares about living forever anyway. One more stop at a Vietnamese pagoda (as opposed to Khmer) which had a series of statues depicting the Tika Buddha and the basic story of the Buddha in India, first seeing suffering, the Bodhi tree, etc.

We survived the ride back to town, my Ferguson dropped me at his friends cafe where I had goat curry. The proprietor was an Indian man born and raised in Vietnam. The menu consisted of goat curry or goat curry. I have to tell you friends and neighbors, that was some damn good goat. At this point my Ferguson disappeared, then reappeared, then disappeared again.

When he finally reappeared, like a Djinn, I paid him off (very fair, I must add) extracted myself from further excursions, marriage and/or bonds of brotherhood, and continued, on foot, into the night.

An Author's Aside

Please forgive some of the small errors that occur from time to time.  I have found that while i can edit some of the shorter posts, the blogger screen will not let me get to the lower portion of some of the longer posts.  It is very difficult to use the blogger site on a regular basis so I email in the posts remotely.  If I don't catch an error before the email goes out, its too late.  The same goes for the photos.  I cannot intersperse them with the commentary.  The photos always go the the top.

I beg your indulgence of what I hope are small irritations.

marco

Famished

Walk-about is hungry work. For cheap street food, find the local market. It's always there. Trust me.

As I approached the food stalls, vendors snapped to. A mother and daughter almost physically captured me so I figured this was my ordained lunch spot. I eyed the fare as mom pointed to the chicken. Next to it were tiny shrimp, wee little boogers. Still in their shells. Ok, never had those.

The plates and bowls arrive: steaming rice, piles of fresh cucumber and my shrimp. So how DO you eat these? I tried one, shell and all. Oh, yes, that's how you do it. A little soy, some chili sauce (my god-of-choice that's hot) and the repast is perfect. Salt and succulent crustaceans and the fires of hell! oh Lordy lord I am sated.

The price for this feast. You guessed it: a buck.

The Four Holies

Whilst Walk-about here in Tra Vinh, I have yet to see a single foreigner. I have found a French Colonial Catholic Church, Khmer Buddhist temple, Confucianist temple and a Mosque. No synagogues.

Magic Curtain

The Magic Curtain

Today it was deeper into the Delta, far south of the "Tourist Trail."

First leg, a local bus across Ben Tre province. A very helpful local travel woman had written down the magic phrase "ferry boat to Tra Vinh" which, when the bus arrived, proved effective.

Scooped off the street, we rattled through town and out of it. I soon learned via observation that Ben Tre sits on a small arm of one of the mouths of the Mekong. When we crossed the actual Mekong, well, it was obvious. The bridges are changing the Delta in the north, and change is moving South.

We clattered and bounced to the end of the line. One local bus: 16,000 dong, or seventy cents US.

The road curved right and no ferry in sight. A local scooter guy (they are always there) offered me a ride for 10,000 dong. We dickered and were off. For 500 meters. The ferry was around the turn. In his defense, he did schlep me right to the boat. Scooter: 10,000 dong because I was laughing so hard I forgot we settled on eight. Fifty cents and huge laughs on both sides.

The Mekong is huge, and this is just one of six major mouths in the Delta. The ferry is slow and wonderful. And, for walk-ons, it's free.

Once across, things got more interesting. 28 kilometers to Tra Vinh. Bus? No, no bus. Of course there is a bus somewhere, but it's hot and nobody's saying because that would be spilling the local scooter guy's bean pot.

Ah, My Main Man the scooter guy. Of course, Tra Vinh. Sure. 100,000 dong (five bucks). I do my best and offer 80 thou. With a stage presence worthy of John Arnold, he swings his hand wide, grins like a barn door, and then slaps me on the shoulder as he emotes "NO" in the friendliest way. All of the onlookers laugh, I laugh, he smiles and the deal stands at 100 thou. I mean, the brother knows he's got me.

I mount up and were off across the country side on a 125 scooter. And then? Then the Magic Curtain parts and I am there, in that place, the traveler's Nirvana. We are flying down tiny lanes through hamlets, over canals, many canals, dodging potholes on a lane too small for cars. This is it, this is the real deal, no tour buses, no cars, not even. Tri-shaw. We are floating over a landscape so breathtaking and beautiful. No one here is catering to me. There is now tourist trade. There is no reason for me to be here. I am through the curtain that separated tourist from traveller. I am a traveler once more, that greatest of blessings.

And then, when it could not get better, the lane ends and we are riding on the packed earth dikes of rice paddies. My stupid little over-small helmet is perched on my head, the scooter suspension is bottoming out and we are only going fast enough to be seriously maimed but probably not killed. It is glorious and I am grinning like a baboon.

Then we are done. Tra Vinh, which is said to be one of the prettiest towns in the entire Delta. And so it proves to be.

I am so very, very lucky.