Country Mouse

This post is brought to you by the word ANTI-CLIMACTIC.  So, we decided to set out on a country excursion Sunday, in search of caves to spelunk and rivers to ride, and none of that happened.  A lot happened and a lot didn't happen, just none of it was what we'd hoped would happen.

Apparently, this is a haunted rice paddy.

 

We headed to Hoa Binh, west-southwest of Hanoi, knowing that it had a large open-air reservoir (and having only recently discovered there are no caves to be found there) on which we were hoping to ride.  And we sort of did for about ten minutes--on a barge that we'd tried to rent for an hour from some old woman at the docks--before the "captain" (or whoever) said we were turning around because he had to get back to work.  *anti-climactic shrug*  The dam itself was actually, well not cool, but kind of visually engaging.  People were fishing off the top with hundreds of feet of line that they somehow magically kept from getting as tangled as a soap opera storyline.  And while passing through the town (after turning down the legitimate boat renters who tried to savagely rip us off), we came upon a woman roasting little minnow-esque fish that you more or less eat whole.  She and her gaggle of gossippy watchers got a real kick out of our fascination by the clever fish-roasting process and were positively tickled pink when Roman bought a couple dozen off them...that might be the most interesting thing that happened that day.

Dam! Would you look at that!

People actually fish off the side--you can see them sitting at the tippy top.

Tiny minnows being roasted between strips of split bamboo. You dip them in an herb/MSG mixture and eat them whole, save for the spine.

So, of course, Roman bought a whole strip and made me try one...I left a lot more than just the spine.

I have no idea how I managed to neither fall down the rocky side of this muddy hill or off the gang-plank to the boat.

And then, much to my chagrin as I was ready to get the hell out of this weird backwoods, we hiked up to the top of one of the hills/small mountains surrounding this little cove in an effort to get a distant view of the dam.  Here's what happened with that.

I managed to find the dam...

...but only by scrambling up this gravel mountain down which I just assumed I would fall and parts of which would be permanently embedded in my flesh. But, fortuitously, I made it down scot-free.

I also serendipitously came up with this.

So, the only other thing to do in Hoa Binh was visit the Muong Ethnic Minority Museum...don't get too excited.  It was actually fairly cool but was mostly a bunch of Muong-style houses and a couple rooms of ethnic tools and objects, plus a library in which every single book was in Vietnamese.  *anti-climactic shrug*  The best part was the overall atmosphere in which this little museum-village is located, lush with trees and surrounded by misted mountains.  We managed to have a few laughs and a bounteous picnic lunch.

Entering the Muong Ethnic Minority "Museum."

Kyle said he wanted "good," rather than silly pics of him from now on.

What a handsome pair. :)

Gigantic fish traps.

Traditional Muong hut.

Kyle getting his comeuppance for being nosy.

This was the loudest, most chatty cat I've ever met.

The view from our Muong picnic.

Bamboo being held underwater, presumably to make it pliable enough to weave into fences.

Outside the museum and down some "road" a ways is another village that would have made for absolutely beautiful photos were it not for the cable lines cutting across it and the mountainous backdrop no matter what angle you tried.

Terraced village. The tiny dots of color are the welcome committee, from whom we fled before they were halfway down the hill.

Just chillaxin'.

Sunday could have, needless to say, been better.  But we got some fresh (i.e. filled with just dust rather than a dust-exhaust fumes mixture) air and some exercise.  And the young Polish couple with whom we went had it way worse than we did as they had to get up at eight in the morning following a farewell party the night before.  They were, unsurprisingly, a bit worse for wear Sunday and slept every time we were in the car for more than ten minutes.  How I envied their somnial abilities.


Monday, Roman and I headed off to a country wedding.  We were invited by a friend of his who is...somehow related to the happy couple.  I think it's one of those villages that's so small, most people are inter-related in some way or another, making relationships complicated and hard to determine.  On top of that, I think he was reeeally distantly related to them.  I wore my new silk dress and drew a ton of attention on the forty five minute bus ride to some village outside Hanoi, where we were unceremoniously dropped off FIVE MILES OUTSIDE OF TOWN because the bus driver didn't want to wait out a traffic jam.  I was rather perturbed but not at all surprised by this turn of events.  It was one of those unrealistically disastrous moments where you just have to laugh.  Roman tried to tell his friend to just go on without us, but he insisted on picking us up and driving back to the wedding, making us over an hour late.  So, we missed the actual ceremony but arrived in time for the reception-like portion of events.  Unfortunately, our arrival coincided precisely with that of the bride and groom, drawing attention away from them.  This happened for the next hour and a half.  We felt really badly about it.  An uncle of the groom insisted on putting us at a table at the very front of the reception tent and people wanted to take our pictures while the bride and groom were having their pictures taken.  Ugh. 

The happy, albeit somewhat somber, couple.

We were finally allowed to move to a room at the very, very back, where we held court while eating a late lunch, with various uncles and brothers-in-law and even the mother of the groom coming to toast us.  We must have had at least a dozen toasts with rice liquor, and every time they wanted us to drain our little shot cups.  I managed to just touch it to my lips each time (or I'd have been under the table after the first half hour), but Roman turned to me part way through and said, "I need to stop drinking for a little while."  Poor guy.  But I don't feel too badly for him, because he forced me to try betel nut, a popular pastime here.  You chew (DON'T SWALLOW!) areca, or betel, nut wrapped in betel leaf with a bit lime (not the fruit, but the mineral :/) and swallow just your saliva.  It's extremely bitter--even one of the older women who's used to it made a face when she first tried this particular concoction--and I could only keep it in my mouth for forty five seconds before I couldn't take it anymore.  Roman asked how it tasted and I replied, "Awful incarnate."  We then made our way to Roman's friend's grandmother's house (got all that?) followed by every single schoolchild in the village.  It probably looked like we were being run out of a town of dwarves.

I felt like the Piper of Hamlin with all these kids following me to the edge of town.

Kids going home through the rice fields for lunch.

Wilburs.

You want a highlight, you say?  That's a toughy this time.  Nothing really comes to mind.  Monday I picked up my final piece from the tailor, a top that I might like even better than my fabulous dresses.  And there you have it.  Just one more piece of evidence that I am in no way, shape or form a country mouse.  I didn't think I was a city mouse either, until I came to Hanoi and managed to carry on fairly easily.  Suburban mouse is probably most accurate.  Regardless, green acres just aren't the place for me.