On the way to our hotel by taxi from Da Nang, I spotted locals harvesting rice from the paddy fields. The fields were golden coloured from the ripe crop and had been drained of water to make for an easier harvest by people and machines. The machines on the field were being used to cut the stalks, and the people were carrying large bundles of yellow stalks laden with rice on their shoulders to the road. On the streets on the outskirts of town I could see they were drying out the rice on large blue tarps, and I saw people throwing the rice up in the air from shallow wicker baskets to separate the hull chaff from the rice. I must only have seen parts of the local process to harvest the rice, since the stalks would have been threshed somehow to remove the rice hulls from the stalks, and processed again, usually by a machine, to loosen the white rice from the hull exterior. It was interesting to see some of this as a manual process. I imagine in other places it would be more of a mechanized process to harvest the rice.
We checked out the old town last night and the streets were peaceful with no motorized traffic. With lanterns overhead as the main source of light, it made for a nice vibe. As we crossed over the ancient covered bridge, we had a great view of the island on the other side with its multi-coloured lanterns reflecting over the water. The place has a quaint relaxed feel at night, much different from hectic Hanoi.
The old town is packed with good restaurants, and I tried one of the local dishes sold everywhere called Cao Lau, which is comprised of barbecue pork, pork crackling, bean sprouts, lettuce and herbs, a spoonful of stock, and a special yellow noodle only made here. They say the noodles need to be made from local fresh rice, local water drawn from a certain nearby well, and the lye solution used to prepare the noodles has to come from ashes of a certain local tree after it is burned. I'm a little sceptical that all these specifics are followed, but they do take their noodle-making seriously for this dish in some of the best local restaurants. It was very good and I'll try it again.
Early this morning I heard chanting and singing and so I went around the corner to check it out. I realized later I was witnessing a funeral. There were dozens of people around with a few buses and parade-type vehicles. There was a ceremony going on in a small building, with a priest or monk chanting in a microphone, while one of the members of the large entourage held a picture of the deceased. Some people were wearing white head bands which symbolized the ashes of the dead, and there were monks in orange robes, nuns in white or light blue robes, and men dressed in brightly coloured outfits with detailed embroidery. Some of the men had cone hats painted like a target when seen from above with black and white circles with a blue bull's eye on top. After the ceremony some men handed out white gladiolus flowers to the crowd, and a coffin was loaded into one of the trucks. The entourage then worked their way down the street with music blaring. At the head of the group were six men holding a large drum on two poles, one pole on each side, while someone beat it. It was quite the spectacle.
Later in the morning we visited some of the sites in the old city, including an ancient house which is still occupied by a family who said they were the seventh generation in the house. We also visited a place that was a bookstore and meeting place for some Vietnamese people in the late 19th and early 20th century. Here they started up some newspapers and collected and read books to help develop ideas that contributed to their aspirations for a country free of colonial rule. When I sat down in this place with its dark wood panelling and benches, and looked around at the books and newspapers in the cabinets, I could imagine the building full of people reading and discussing their ideas.
Here's the hearse from the funeral procession.
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