The Mekong Delta — Vietnam’s Rice bowl

An Eatathon Along the Nine Dragon River Delta

The Mekong River, often referred to as the ‘Nine Dragon River Delta,’ doesn’t exactly qualify as a postcard-worthy paradise, even though it manages to secure a spot on the tourist list.

It’s a convoluted web of murky canals – so muddy that navigating through the coffee-coloured waters on a flimsy boat is a nerve-wracking affair!

As we sped through gently lapping brown waves at breakneck speed, I muttered a silent prayer for a safe journey, hoping our boat stayed upright, sparing me an impromptu plunge into what looked like an uninviting abyss of disease!

I hated to think what lurked below.

I recently read in a publication that the Mekong River passes through less developed areas where basic sanitation is less than on par. Consequently, a significant amount of human waste and sewage ends up in the river. Toss into this ecological cocktail a generous serving of plastic and other rubbish, and voilà, you’ve got yourself the recipe for a major environmental concern – the not-so-appetizing special of the day.

Don’t get me wrong… There’s an unpretentious charm to this ‘no-frills’ gem. Everything seems to float – houses, markets, and makeshift kitchens on boats. But as I watched fishermen lower their nets into the deep, grimy water, I made a mental note to steer clear of any culinary offerings coming out of these waters, despite signing up for a gastronomic tour of the Mekong Delta!

I was with a group of fellow volunteers from the VPV Centre where we were dedicating our time to caring for disabled children. Escaping the hustle and bustle of Ho Chi Minh City, we sought a weekend retreat in what is affectionately known as Vietnam’s ‘Rice Bowl’. This agricultural gem contributes to a third of the nation’s annual food crop, inviting us to savour the diverse flavours flourishing in this fertile region.

Safely stepping off the boat and on to the safety of solid ground, we were welcomed on to Unicorn island – a haven of sweet things. Before us lay a vibrant selection of the Deltas’ bounty for us to try — Juicy papaya, sweet mango, cooling dragon fruit, lychee, rose apple, refreshing coconut, and sugarcane formed a colorful cornucopia. With each indulgent bite, the burst of sweet nectar delivered a huge sugar kick, dispelling any lingering sleepiness from our early start.

To complement this fruity feast, we sipped on tea infused with honey straight from a bee’s hive, freshly harvested on the island.

With enough glucose to sustain us for the week, we navigated smaller canals after our fruit feast to a different island, trading the sugary delights for a different island experience.

Leading our group of five, a pocket-sized lady expertly navigated the boat through narrow canals, effortlessly managing a combined weight at least seven times her own. Clearly, she’d had her fair share of Unicorn Island’s sugar fix — transforming her into a pint-sized powerhouse, steering our boat with gusto.

Fringed by identical boats and ensconced in the embrace of overgrown palm fronds, these smaller waterways lived up to their picturesque charm. Women adorned in conical hats gracefully guided their boats through the lush mangroves, one oar gently dipping into the opaque waters. It was a tourist fest but with good reason.

Upon reaching Coconut Island, a feast awaited us, ironically devoid of the very item its name promised — coconuts. What it lacked in coconuts though, it more than compensated with a spread of flavours and delights.

A menacing-looking fish called ‘Elephant Ear Gourami’ – native to the Delta basin – took centre stage on our table. Caught mid-way with a sneer, its fanged teeth bared, the fish looked visibly pissed off at being captured.

Our waitress deftly separated its fleshy meat from the bone and served it in to Vietnamese spring rolls – translucent pancakes with vermicelli noodles and crisp lettuce leaves. To elevate the taste, each bite was accompanied by a dip into Nuoc cham sauce — notes of savory, sweet, and slightly spicy flavours crafted from fish sauce, lime or rice vinegar, sugar, garlic, and chili.

Despite my self-made vow, I threw caution to the wind and dug in greedily, enticed by the amazing smell promising delectable tastes.

The meal continued with more dishes: Morning Glory, a popular Vietnamese vegetable, brought a crisp and refreshing element. Then came a bowl of tomato broth with white fish, offering a comforting mix of tomato sweetness and flaky fish texture, infused with aromatic herbs. Banh Xeo, the Vietnamese pancake, stole the spotlight. Its fluffy texture and the filling combination of bean sprouts, prawns, and sliced pork were heavenly. Accompanied by a side of fluffy white rice, the dishes on the table were simple but delicious, capturing the essence of Vietnamese cuisine.

After lunch, we had a long drive to our homestay in the Can Tho district, perfectly positioned for our early visit to the Cai Rang floating market the following morning.

In between lapsing into a food coma, I watched the landscape of endless rice paddies roll past me. The Mekong River ran parallel to our route, and the further we ventured, the more untamed our surroundings became. A hint to the rustic charm of our homestay.

It wasn’t quite what our tour guide had promised. Water outnumbering land now, our surroundings had transformed into a thriving habitat for mosquitoes. I thought our accommodation would provide an airtight refuge with the simple want for a room with a window that, at the very least, had a pane of glass to ward off these persistent insects. Our only defence against the looming risk of dengue fever lay in the worn, moth-nibbled pink mosquito nets hanging over each bed.

Was everything about eating in the Mekong?

It seemed to be.

We were staying with a local family – the Nguyens, and we were summoned to the kitchen at 6 pm to help prepare dinner.

Mrs. Nguyen, along with Linh, her eldest daughter an aspiring chef, demonstrated the art of preparing each recipe, unveiling Linh’s dream of launching her own food stall in Ho Chi Minh. To fund this dream, they were slowly saving for a retail unit, temporarily utilising their home as a homestay.

Ingredients like fish sauce, cane sugar, tamarind, and chili peppers were laid out in front of us on a communal table.

Our first prep of the day was “Bang Trang Re”, deep-fried turnip spring rolls.

We began by mixing finely shredded white turnips with aromatic herbs and spices. This was then wrapped in rice paper and deep-fried to golden perfection.

It wasn’t the healthiest dish, deep fried in a vat of oil but like all things Vietnamese, it was distinct and unforgettable – a balance of salty, sweet, sour, and hot.

Our culinary exercise extended to making “Bo Luc Lac” (Vietnamese Shaking Beef). The kitchen echoed with a hearty sizzle as the tender cubes of beef met the hot wok, joining forces with onions and peppers bathed in a marinade of soy sauce, oyster sauce, garlic, sugar, and black pepper.

Next “Bun Thit Nuong,” a mouth-watering dish featuring grilled marinated pork served over vermicelli noodles and accompanied with a selection of herbs, peanuts, and nuoc cham sauce.

Two hours later, absolutely famished, we indulged in the fruits of our labour, savouring the array of Vietnamese delicacies we had meticulously prepared. The satisfying meal was accompanied by the local ‘Bai, Bai, Bai’ beer, providing a refreshing and well-deserved treat to our feast.

To wrap up the night, we dived into some potent rice wine — Mr. Nguyen’s recommended “mosquito repellent.” Turns out, the only thing it repelled was our ability to play cards sober – his clever ploy to spice up the game and pocket a few Vietnamese dong!

In hindsight, the rice wine was not a great idea. Waking up with sore heads and a ‘dot to dot’ masterpiece of mosquito bites (Mr. Nguyen’s repellent didn’t work), we were up at the crack of dawn.

While hardly a sociable hour, it marked the grand finale of our trip – a journey to the Floating Market of Cai Rang. The prime time, they say, unfolds at 6 am, with trade in full swing. Undaunted by the early hour, we eagerly embraced the dawn, ready to witness the vibrant heart of this unique market in its full glory.

As we boarded a motorboat, our sleepy eyes took in the scenery. Stilted ‘houses’ mirrored themselves in the brown water, interrupted only by pops of color from laundry hanging on their fronts, injecting life into the sepia-toned surroundings. The journey through tiny canals opened up into a wide river mouth, and true to its reputation, the market greeted us with its lively hustle and bustle — a spectacle that justified our early wake-up call and made the bleary-eyed venture entirely worthwhile.

The sound of boats was punctuated by the high-pitched calls of women selling their goods. Countless barges were laden with mangoes, pineapples, and cucumbers, expertly packed to ensure nothing was lost to the river.

Amidst the hustle, small sampans approached us with even more goods, all skilfully handled by women. Waif-like but strong, they propelled their boats toward us, arms moving with frenetic energy, eager to outpace any competition. Hooked on sweet things, we indulged in purchases of pineapple, mangoes, melon, and steamed buns, consuming them with gusto until our boat seemingly teetered on the edge of capsizing under the weight of our delicious ‘ballast.’

As noon approached and the market wound down, we disembarked and hopped back into our car. But our eating adventure wasn’t over yet. Lunch awaited us at a farmhouse surrounded by rice paddies and fish farms, where we would be eating with a local family.

Grandmother Trang and her daughter graciously ushered us into their modern and sturdy home, where the luxury of glass-covered windows shielded us from the persistent mosquitoes this time.

Oddly though, they’d forgotten one small necessity…

Politely requesting to use the bathroom, Mrs. Trang guided me to what seemed like a standard necessity.

I panicked.

A small hole in the wall provided just enough light to reveal the absence of sanitary fittings – nothing but an empty room with a small bucket of water under a rusty tap.

The Mekong Delta’s food fiesta left my digestive system staging a rebellion. It groaned loudly, insisting on an upgrade from the humble hole-in-the-wall setup.

“Do you prefer a Western toilet?” she asked, noticing the panic etched on my face.

“Oh!” I sighed in relief, nodding gratefully. In these moments, you start yearning for the comforts of home — even the simplicity of a white porcelain throne!

Growing increasingly desperate, she guided me outside on what felt like a grand expedition, a journey of approximately twenty metres tracing the path along the river behind the house.

As it turned out, ‘Western’ style toilet was a very loose term. It manifested as a creative ensemble of a few planks precariously straddled across a pair of bamboo scaffolding, with a modest half-height enclosure attempting to add a touch of privacy to this uniquely crafted bathroom setup.

Three to four metres below was a swiftly flowing river, where further downriver my travel buddies were trying their hand at fishing for lunch.

My stomach rumbled impatiently as I concentrated on my footing, navigating gingerly over the makeshift bridge above the river. With each careful step, I acknowledged the high-stakes nature of the endeavor — one wrong move, and I’d find myself in an involuntary swim amidst someone else’s business below!

But, hey, at least there was toilet paper.

The host threw me an amused smile and left me to do my business.

The spirited laughter of my travel buddies celebrating their successful fishing escapade reached my ears, and a thought dawned on me – our lunch was freshly caught from the very same river I had just contributed to. Suddenly, my appetite hit a roadblock.

For the first time that weekend, I upheld my promise and refrained from eating.