Following a full day on the Jahan regaining our sea legs, we rolled out of bed and into the Mekong dawn. At Chau Doc, twenty-five pax skiffs delivered us to one of Vietnam's famed floating markets. Skewered fruits and vegetables on the main beams of moored junks alerted the public to the produce of the day. Cameras flashed as unfit watermelons and bruised mangos zoomed skyward and into the murky waters as venders prepared for the first customer. For many, the junks doubled as fulltime houses. Tiny faces of children learning their parent's trade peered through portholes and into the waiting lenses of expedition photographers.
Trading junks for the relative stability of moored houseboats, we got an up close and personal introduction to fish farming Mekong style. Only in Vietnam can you cut a ten foot hole in your front porch and be halfway done constructing a 120,000 count fish pen. Weaving a living fabric beneath the floorboards three species of fish fought for positioning in anticipation of what was to come. Our guide scattered fortified pellets into the muddy water creating a frenzy to the delight of everyone, especially the fish.
Our exploration of swimming capital gave way to roadside commerce as we were matched one passenger per bicycle coach for a tour of Chau Doc. Sunburned Westerners snaking through the city brought many a curious look from locals who wondered openly if the pinkskins were too poor to afford a minibus. Cruising at the bottom of the food chain made the texture of the city all the more palpable against the groans and grunts of our peddling drivers.
Tipping the customary $1.00 as provided by our staff, we returned to the air-conditioned comfort of the Jahan. Our afternoon presentation by yours truly featured an overview of the Hmong People of Vietnam. I shared my experience traveling through Hmong country by motorcycle and the cultural insights I gained living in their villages. We discussed the peculiar su kwan, or "soul searching" ceremony wherein a medium recalls wayward spirits back to the human body to establish balance.
On what had turned into the hottest day on our trip, we returned to the shoreline and toured a flood plain in our best floppy hats. An Eden of fruit and vegetable gardens, the village of My An Hung was a living salad with wood houses for croutons. Steve Egan, our ship naturalist, made the curious, if not regrettable decision to pluck an overripe chili from its vine and bite it in two. I called these "headcount chilis." Each time I added them to my soup I logged their whereabouts to avoid the tear-inducing contortions on Steve's face.
Back on the Jahan, late afternoon cocktails were served with a complimentary breeze courtesy of ten naut propulsion. Another journey nearing its end crept into afternoon conversations. With one last Jahan sunset to enjoy, minutes are now treasured and memories are being stored—flash card or otherwise.
