40 years ago, one week after my parents got married, my father Tony left to fight in the Vietnam War. He spent 16 months defending our country in a conflict that many people vehemently opposed. He left his new wife and fought nonetheless, because that was what was asked of him, and because he couldn’t neglect his duty.
He was primarily stationed in Vinh Long, a small town off of the Mekong River, in the heart of the Mekong Delta. It was a tiny town of a few thousand people centered around a large church located a few hundred yards away from the main city circle. 40 years later, that church and city circle were all that my dad recognized. Other than those two landmarks, the entire city had exploded, for a lack of a better word. There are now many thousands (just over a million people in the Vinh Long province) of people living in the city, and the city edges extend much further into the Vietnamese countryside than it did the last time he was here.
In a way this was good, because Tony could see that these people had moved on, grown, persevered in the eyes of a horrific war. In a way it was a reality check because it showed that life can thrive inside the evil communist society we had fought so hard against for so long. This wasn’t the cold, hard streets of Moscow that we’ve come to imagine, but instead these people were happy maintaining old traditions like rice farming and grasping modern living with its cell phones and techno music. No matter what we thought, though, this was not the city my dad remembered, and that provided a good dose of closure on that chapter of his life.
Reminiscing on the banks of the Mekong River.
This being the Mekong Delta, we had to cross several water ways via ferry before we arrived at our hotel in Can Tho. Here we were able to relax while recovering from what was an emotional yet rewarding day.
The following day we chartered a private long boat to take us through the floating market. Literally, vendors and buyers congregate on one stretch of the river to buy and sell locally grown produce. It’s a wonder that we had never seen this type of market before, but it works perfectly for these people, and should work for any water-based community.
Kids selling soda to passing tourists while their parents sell produce to other locals.
The boat then took us through some local canals and stopped at the bank of a rice factory. Here we were greeted by a man who sported the world’s greatest lucky hair, and were shown the grounds by his associate. Before this stop, we never knew that rice is grown with a husk, and is processed to remove this husk and sort it by its proper classification. And for those of you who don’t know there are more types of rice than white and brown, you’re in for a surprise. Wow. That’s the type of info you pick up while touring through the world’s largest rice exporter.
Having our full of river-based exploration, it was time to get back to Saigon before flying out to Cambodia. We were sad to be leaving Mr. Un so soon, especially his octave-shattering laugh, but we had seen everything in this region that we had hoped, especially Tony, so we were ready to move onto the ancient lands of Angkor Wat.
The world's greatest lucky hair.
A bridge over one of the Can Tho canals.
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