Notes from the other side of the world

Rice Wine and Uncle Ho

I need to remember not to wear my black trousers when going out into the field, especially not after it has just rained. It takes forever to rinse out the red mud that I inevitably get all over the back of my legs, and black shows up the mud much more than another colour. Knowing me, it will take me a few more trips to remember this.

This week was a very busy one, especially after we lost a day on Tuesday and we received new deadlines from the office in Washington by which all the data we have collected needs to entered into the database. There have also been a few hiccups with the workshop we are organizing at the end of the month in Hanoi. Nothing too serious, but enough to warrant a frenzied morning of e-mails and toing-and-froing. Thursday afternoon, however, was an opportunity to escape from the office, to visit the working area of another organization, Flora and Fauna International (FFI), which also works in Quang Binh. FFI was hosting the quarterly meeting for international non-governmental organizations working in the province (there are about ten from what I understand), which was held in the Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park. These quarterly meetings gather together the diverse groups that work in Quang Binh (activities range from landmine disposal to wildlife preservation, from community development to education and health care, and the support for amputees and landmine survivors). Representatives from the Department of Foreign Affairs (DOFA) were also present, and the meeting provided an interesting insight into how international organizations work in Quang Binh. I had expected that some of Dong Hoi’s ever elusive ‘foreigners’ would be at the meeting, but I was the only non-Vietnamese speaking person in the room. For the point of view of the sustainability of the activities, this is exactly what one would hope for, but I must admit that I was slightly disappointed at first. This feeling soon faded however, as the afternoon progressed.

After we had heard presentations from the different organizations present, and had then found a suitable spot to “send our love to the ground (one of G’s expressions for how to deal with the absence of a toilet) we all piled into our cars and headed further into the national park. The Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park, and particularly the Phong-Nha caves, was recently recognized as a World Heritage site by UNESCO, and stretches across Quang Binh right to the border with Laos. I visited the caves with two friends who are also here on Saint Mary’s/CIDA-sponsored internships. My friends work in Hanoi, but had come down for the weekend, with another friend, and K had taken all of us to visit the river and caves, which stretch about sixty-five kilometres underground. Water dripping from the cave of the ceiling is said to very lucky, and to increase the chances of having a son, and if this is true then it is probably safe to say that should I ever have children, my mom is going to have a fair few grandsons, as I was constantly dripped on from above.

The caves were carved by what is possibly the longest underground river in the world, and one has to take a boat to access them. During the rainy season, it is impossible to access the caves, as the water rises to seal off the entrance. While visitors are only allowed to enter about 1.5km into the cave (the rest is considered too dangerous at the moment), the rock formations are beautiful and we were able to see one of the grottos in which the writings of an ancient civilisation can be seen on the walls. The language is so old that it is said that when the caves were explored in the 19^th Century by a European priest and his team, they were only able to decipher one word, Champa, the name of the people thought to have left the writings. To this day, no-one has been able to decode the message from the past. This particular grotto also has a more recent history though, as it was used as a meeting point and war room by the Viet Cong and the caves were also used as storage depots by Vietnamese fighters during the Vietnam/American War.

Out trip on Thursday did not take us to the caves, however. We were originally meant to visit a hot spring in the park, but the recent storm had left the road flooded and we went to the botanical garden inside the park instead. This was my first trip outside Dong Hoi since Mekkhala had struck, and was an opportunity to see how the rural areas had been affected. Parts of the area were still flooded, and electricity poles were down all in many places. Throughout the park, we had to avoid rocks that had come tumbling down onto the road, and recent erosion from fast-running, swollen rivers was evident. I have been told that five people were killed, and three are still missing. Three thousand homes were damaged, as were several schools which lost their roofs.

Our first stop on our tour of the park was the Cave of Eight Women, which has a history linked to the war. Apparently, during a bombing raid, eight people (originally thought to be eight women, but later discovered to be four men and four women) had sought refuge in this particular cave, but the impact of several shells had caused the roof above the entrance to collapse, leaving the eight trapped inside the cave. It is said that people in the areas could hear them calling out for nine days, before they fell silent, and there is now a shrine erected where the entrance of the cave used to be. On our way up to the cave, one of the people working with FFI had stopped to get several packets of incense for us to burn upon our arrival. Incense plays an important role in showing respect for the dead in Vietnam. When we visited the Village of War last weekend, we had stopped to burn incense to warm the souls of the dead soldiers. The Village of War is a replica of one of the subterranean villages which were essential to survival during the war, and was built and is maintained by local volunteers. Walking through the trenches that criss-cross the village, connecting the underground hospital, school and crèche to the houses was a slightly strange experience. Having learnt the American side of story about the Vietnam War in school, it was interesting to see how the Vietnamese remember the American War.

Outside the Cave of Eight Women, G explained how to correctly burn incense. Incense sticks are to be placed in odd numbers (I am not entirely sure, but from what I understood, this is because in Vietnam odd numbers have some link to death). If a person has yet to be buried, one is to bow twice before placing the incense in the burner, but if the funeral has already taken place then one should bow three times before placing the incense. Having bowed three times in front of the shrine, we placed our incense and then proceeded on to the Botanical gardens, just as the sun was setting and the mist was rising from the river.

 When we got to the gardens, it was completely dark, but a party had been planned and provisions had been made. In the middle of the courtyard at the entrance to the gardens, a giant bonfire was burning cheerily, and a generator had been hooked up to power several light bulbs which had been hung up in the trees. At least fifty people were standing around the fire, chatting and waiting for the party to start, which it did with a meal. Rice and bamboo shoots had been cooked and transported to the gardens, but those who wanted to eat meat were responsible for cooking for themselves. Chunks of pork and bamboo stakes were provided, and one by one people speared the meat and set about cooking it over the fire, offering pieces to others once they were done. Although I had been given chopsticks, eating ‘braai’ed’ meat with anything other than my fingers seemed a little excessive. Others seemed to agree with me. Once everyone had eaten their fill, the real party got underway with rice wine and singing and dancing. I was offered a thimble-sized glass of rice wine, but after a sip (which burnt all the way down) I decided that it was probably safer not to finish the rest of the 45 percent proof alcohol. Several songs about Uncle Ho (Chi Minh, former leader of Vietnam) were sung, as well as a few with a regional flair, as we danced around the fire. I was not sure about this at first, but one of the ladies from DOFA grabbed my hand and sort of pulled me along with everyone else. She more or less adopted me for the evening and provided a translation and explanations about what was going on at the different points of the evening. I was introduced to some of her colleagues, and was very amused when one of them started berating the other for being a “drunkard” who did not respect women. He, on the other hand, was not sure that ten glasses of rice wine qualified him for the label of alcoholic. I was just surprised anyone could still stand after that much of the stuff!    

When we finally got back to Dong Hoi, I collapsed into my bed, knowing I would have to be up early the next morning to go to work, but not before spending ten minutes rinsing my trouser legs to get rid of the mud.