Mekong
Rest Stop: Bin Hoa Phuoc

Text
and Photos by Sandra Scott
I love rivers. Traveling along a river allows me to witness vignettes
of life without disrupting it. Sometimes I feel as if I'm in the middle
of my very
own National Geographic special. Several years ago I sailed down the Nile
for six days on a traditional boat, a felucca. Life along the Nile is
timeless; it has changed little since biblical times. A man in a flowing
djellabah flicks a switch on the rump of a grain-laden donkey to prod
him toward some unseen destination, much the same as his father and his
father before him. Egypt is timeless, caught in an earlier era when it
was the center of the world.

After my Nile trip, I was unprepared for the Mekong River. The delta
area is a hive of activity. Vietnam is not stuck in the past--everyone
is determinedly moving forward. Yes, there are some
indelible scenes that have changed little through the generations, but
mostly I had a sense of progress. I savored my bucolic glimpses of the
past because I know Vietnam is changing. Bikes will become motor bikes
to be replaced by cars; a ferry will be replaced by a bridge; all irrigation
will be automated--the area is rushing, rushing into the future, not wallowing
in the past. And of course, there is the noise, honking horns and the
tuk-tuk of motor boats; and everywhere, everyone and everything is in
perpetual motion.
In the midst of this whirlwind activity, just a short boat ride from
Vinh Long,
is Binh Hoa Phuoc Island. The boat ride to this island paradise is full
of photo opportunities; red-eyed boats piled impossibly high with rice
move downriver, a "long-tail" filled with produce putts by on
its way to the local market, a lady in a conical hat stands in the aft
of a boat effortlessly rowing with the current.
As we turned off the main river into one of the many
canals that lace the delta island, I sensed the difference. The closeness
of the tropical growth along the shore brings quietness, a feeling of
relaxation and a sense of being protected. It is as if we took a deep
sigh and decided to slow down and relax.
On shore we visit a beautiful bonsai garden; and, even though it is a
popular
tourist destination, I feel that we are their long-awaited guests - their
only guests. Wandering throughthe garden we discuss the differences between
the Japanese-style bonsai featuring miniature trees and the Vietnamese
bonsai. Hereare larger, flowering bonsai presented in
pairs. The owner greets us with a big smile as he offers hishand in welcome.
I just know he and his family have been waiting forus... just us. We are
invited into his house for some tea and wine. My husband is offered snake
wine that is politely declined as we vividly recall the bottles of wine
we have seen with snakes coiled up in the bottom.

A plate of fruit accompanies the wine. In Vietnam we discover a whole
new world of fruit: the crimson-skinned dragon fruit, jack fruit and longans
from the same family as litchis. All wonderful new taste treats. I add
my business card to the hundreds of others under the glass covering the
table, amazed that so many people have found this garden paradise.
Lunch is ready. As we cross a very narrow irrigation ditch a lady with
a net
tries to nab a fish. She gets one - too small. She lets it flop back into
the water. Finally she gets just the right one and off it goes to the
kitchen. I have a new appreciation for the term "fresh fish."
In the orchard we dine in a gazebo that enhances the feeling that only
we know
about this hidden getaway. We dine slowly, the food is delicious; there
is no need to hurry. The world has come to a standstill, there is just
us in the whole world, time is of no importance. Quietly, the dishes are
removed and a plate of fruit signals the end of the meal.
Reluctantly we bid farewell, wander down the path past the cactus plants
that provide the dragon fruit. We wander through the longan orchard into
one of the oldest houses on the island. Once again we are
greeted with hospitality. I hesitate to sit on what looks like museum-quality
furniture; the rich dark wood is inlaid with iridescent mother-of-pearl.
It isn't easy to find room for the tea and fruit that is offered. A Cao
Dai family altar is the center of the room. We leave and I notice another
guest coming up the path to be welcomed by the owner. I wonder how many
others have passed this way, but I have not lost the feeling of being
part of a unique experience.
The tide has gone out. Our boat had been moved downstream so we wander
along the path that hugs the shore. We pass a home enclosed
with a tropical hedge giving it the cozy look of a cottage in the English
countryside. The hot afternoon sun filters down through the trees offering
some respite from the midday heat. All too soon we are back in the boat
and back into the mainstream, literally and figuratively. If only there
were more time to explore all the waterways, to visit all the orchards
and farms, to just wander the footpaths, to stop and greet people and
make new friends.

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