Drinking with the Locals

I hold up a small clear shot glass and say the incomprehensible Vietnamese toast.  I clank glasses with my host and fellow guests before downing my sixth shot of rice wine. Either the room is beginning to move in circles or I am beginning to feel the effects of homemade hooch. I have two choices: to stop drinking (the smart choice,) but I could offend our host -- the creator of this strong concoction or I could eat lots and lots of food and drink lots of water to counter the effects. I opted for choice two.

Wes and  I had such a good experience on our first home stay we wanted to try it again in Cuc Phuong National Park in Vietnam. We were staying on the outskirts of the park in a village with the Muong minority people. The Muong used to live deep inside the parks interior nestled in primary rain forest so dense entering it seems like another country.

Cuc Phuong was the first forest to be turned into a National Park in Vietnam.  Ho Chi Minh had seen to it to make it a park and made a point that it was important to protect forests for generations to come.

For the Muong people that lived in the newly formed park boundaries this meant relocating to protect the forest -- especially since they used slash-and-burn techniques to clear forest patches to plant crops. The government moved all the villages to the outskirts of the park to protect the land and the creatures living in it. (Monkeys, turtles and other animals are still be hunted inside the park boundaries for food and medicine.)

We stayed with a host family in a stilt house with a beautiful view of the surrounding valley and rice fields. Unlike our first home stay this one was not so primitive. Running water, electricity and a flush western style toilet were readily available. But the experience was still wonderful.

As we waited inside the house for dinner we heard the unmistakable hum of motorcycles echoing though the valley, and were getting closer. Our guide informed us that we would be sharing our quarters with two others who were stopping overnight here on their way to Hanoi. The two guys were American. We quickly made friends and prepared for dinner. One of them asked if we were ready to drink the rice wine. Apparently our host made his own wine and liked to share it with guests... and drink it.

Our host family prepared a feast large enough to feed the entire village.  We had Green Papaya Salad, spring rolls, spring rolls wrapped in leaves (my favorite) Pork with veggies, fried bean curd, grilled meat, cabbage, rice and much more.

We all sat in a circle on the floor around plates of steaming food. Each of us used a small bowl to hold our food in and chop sticks. Almost immediately after dinner began the rice wine was brought out. It was bottled in two crumpled litter water bottles and looked exactly like water. Shots were poured and first our host toasted our arrival at his home. After that the toasts kept coming. The two American guys toasted our host, we toasted our host, our guides, our health, our shoes, you name it, we toasted it! After every couple of shots our host would breath out loud and shake all the participants hands, (a sign to me that the alcohol was taking hold of his system as well.)

Once the alcohol hit my system I asked if could have smaller shots, (not participating was out of the question). It only occurred to me then that I was the only woman at the dinner table. The men chuckled and poured smaller shots for me. Wes was getting a little pink in the cheeks from the alcohol.

We all joked, told stories of our travels (some of us participated in pull-up competitions) and had a great time.

Our guide prepared tea and motioned for me to join him. I took this as my chance to escape the toasts. As the night wore on our hosts prepared our sleeping arrangements. Everyone slept on the floor on mats with blankets under mosquito nets.

Wes had a little more rice wine than I did and fell asleep as soon as he laid down. I lay awake in the heat listening to the sounds of bugs humming outside, someone snoring in the room and the occasional farm animal wandering under the house. We had a lot of fun that day and a lot to drink. I said a silent prayer to the rice wine gods not to inflict a hangover on Wes or I before falling off to sleep.

Rice, Rice and more... Rice!

In Cambodia if someone asks you, "have you eaten?" it translates to "have you eaten rice yet?" This seems to be true all over Asia, a meal is not a meal without rice. We definitely got accustomed to eating EVERY meal with rice, in fact, if it was not served and cost extra, we still ordered it. 

Over the past two months most of the scenery we saw has included a rice field, weather it was near the ocean, in the mountains or on very flat plains that seem to go on for miles. 

All of our tour guides, hostel owners, restaurant workers, everyone had a previous job as a rice farmer or their family was or is in the rice business. Our tour guide at Cuc Phuong National Park in Vietnam was a good example. "Before I was a tour guide I grew rice, I know how to do it still, I am an expert!" Indeed he was, as he sunk calf-deep into the mud and hunched close to the field to show me how to "clean" the mud before sticking in three or four little rice seedlings. 

From what I gathered from our guide in broken English, the first step to growing rice is to plow the field.  This is usually done with a water buffalo and a plow, or a gas powered plow. Either way, both are pretty manual and require a lot of strength to maneuver. 


The next step is to plant the seeds which are scattered in the plowed field. Once seedlings sprout about four inches they are pulled out of the field arranged in small bundles and set aside for yet another plowing of the field. 


The third step is to separate about three little clumps of roots which are replanted in VERY strait lines about six inches apart from other seedlings on all sides. When walking amongst the fields it reminds me of grid paper, I can't even draw a line that strait!

After that the rice is left to grow until harvesting which all depending on the type rice and climate can take three to six months. 


So our guide directed me over to some women who were busily planting their rice. I took off my shoes and wadded into the mud, at first I thought I would not stop sinking, it was pretty deep, warm and slimy, ick!

A woman handed me a small clump of seedlings and told me (in Vietnamese) how to plant the rice. I followed her lead and cleaned the mud before planting -- cleaning the mud meant to move it around a bit to make it flat. Then I pushed the little clumps of seedlings down about two inches into the mud. The women quietly giggled as I planted, not sure if it was a sign that I was doing it wrong or if I was doing it right but I thought I did a great job.

After about 20 minutes of planting (about all I am patient enough to do) I stood up and admired my work. One of the women said something to our guide that made everyone laugh. "She said that you did very well and can come back in 4 months to harvest the rice with them." I smiled and thanked them for humoring me. (Secretly wondering if they were going to redo my rows of rice once I was out of sight.)

That evening while we waited for dinner, I looked out the window at the rice fields, women and men were quietly finishing their work and returning home for dinner. Our guide said that people will work from about 7 in the morning till 6 at night, every day in their fields to ensure they have a good rice crop. They will then sell their crops for a meager price which will sustain their families till the next harvest. Now, know that I am no expert but it is hard work planting rice! It makes me appreciate the rice we have been eating in Asia, even more.