I really didn’t want to leave Hoi An. Or my hotel. I enjoyed both very much. But onwards and upwards (geographically speaking at least).
My Son (pronounced “me sun”) is a series of groups (inspiringly named A – H, with a few missing due to reasons unknown) of Hindu temples constructed between C4 and C14 by the kings of the region (for those who’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that this is the same time as the Cambodian ones). Except there’s not much left of them, partly due to time but mostly due to American bombs. I asked Hai if he’d seen them. He had. And before the American War. So he didn’t want to come with me – I’m not sure I’d want to go back to see the remains either.
Some interesting information about the place:
- no cement or mortar was used, but a kind of glue (how this differs to the concept of cement and mortar, which are essentially adhesives, I’m not sure, but let’s go with it)
- All the doors open to either the east or west (as per the Cambodian ones)
- One of their main characteristics are their square corners:
And this is….?
Yep, a shiva linga (and the font was pointing north, as expected). And this cheeky (mythical) chappy:
He’s a cross between an elephant and a lion.
Displayed alongside the ancient carvings were more recent additions:
Whilst they weren’t as physically impressive as the Angkor temples, they had something about them. Maybe the shadow of war, the lack of tourists, and certainly the valley setting. It was peaceful yet powerful.
Again, much evidence of “restoration”:
I fear that they are gradually working their way round the 70 or so temples and, whilst it’s nice to see how one or two would have looked, I’d rather just see them as they are.
A different sort of wildlife review now, starting with a tree. Which drop “branches” that are really roots:
And some pre-bacon specimens:
Finally managed to catch a pic of a dragonfly:
But this beaut is my fave of the day:
She was selling tobacco. Strong tobacco, I’m reliably informed. In its raw form – none of this filter cigarette stuff. What fascinated me more, however, was her flexibility and her age. She looked well into her 80s, but it’s difficult to tell as people round here have a hard life. I’d noticed walking through the markets of Hoi An how many traders were elderly women. But, of course, there is no social security and they live hand-to-mouth so the concept of retirement is alien to much of the population. Life’s tough in these parts.
Mechanical looms. They’d stop the machine to sort bits out every now and again, but otherwise it was a deafening clickety-clack. Oh, and notice his attire and bare feet. That’s the way it’s done out here.
And then I had a go at making rice paper. Not difficult, to be honest – just spread out a ladle of gunge (this is not, obviously the technical name, but quite descriptive of the ground rice and water mixture) in a circle:
… steam for a minute or so and then lift out:
She makes 200 a day. Every day. Mind-blowing work, but she and her family seemed content. Making a dollar out here means you’re lucky…
Boarding the boat from the pier:
… I pondered how accustomed to Asian life I’d become. If this had been my first river trip, the condition of the pier and the boat, and the “turn up and go” shuttle service would have made me notice. Today I just took it in my stride.
As we neared the other side, Hai pointed out these boats:
They’re peoples homes. That’s all they have, a whole family living on one of these, the children going off to school in the morning and returning here in the afternoon. Fishing for food, and maybe some to sell, is how they survive. And that’s all they do – survive. Yet their satisfaction (in the main) for life is evident – cruising through the small villages, they seemed happy. Certainly happier than their English counterparts. Our culture is to be dissatisfied, to whinge, to want everything perfect. Here, they just get on with it, and enjoy it more in the process. Perhaps because, for many of them, the horrors of war are still fresh in their minds. I’ve only ever lived in “peace time”. I’m slowly becoming aware of what this really means, how lucky I am and how much my life would change if war broke out.
Random picture: when we got to the other side, it was bin day.
And so we sped through the mountains by (very powerful) motorbike. The views were magnificent. I took lots of photos (there’s not much else to do when you’re sat on the back of a bike for hours), but here are my favourites:
Pulled up at our guest house for the night… where a big government meeting had convened “to do business”. Same the world over – lots of handshakes, toasts, drinking, men and laughter.
View from my room:
And then dinner with Hai:
… and the rice wine (with ginseng), which is strong but apparently doesn’t give you a hangover (can’t validate either way, I’m afraid, as I drank three sips and that was only out of politeness; Hai, on the other hand, was knocking it back):
Turns out Hai fought in the war for southern Vietnam: he has the war wounds (chest and leg) to prove it, and he’s deaf in one ear due to a bomb going off in close proximity.
Quote of the day: “What sort of fish is this?”
“Fish. From the sea.”
Ah yes, of course. Silly me 😉