Monsoon (20 page)

‘But the orphanage is a success. So you'll keep in touch with the woman running it even when you leave Vietnam?'

‘Yes. I might try setting up some sort of support group at home to raise funds to send back.' Sandy stopped talking as a strong gust of wind hit the car. ‘Hai Van separates the climate between north and south, so it's a bit unpredictable around here,' she said.

‘Oh great,' said Anna nervously. ‘Look, we're almost down. Let's hope the weather is better in Hue.'

They decided to splurge and checked into a refurbished French colonial hotel.

‘Get the floor,' giggled Sandy as they stepped into the elevator to go upstairs. The green carpet decorated with a border of bamboo leaves had ‘Good Afternoon' woven into the centre. Sandy glanced at her watch. ‘One-fifteen. Do you suppose they'll change it tonight?'

‘We'll find out.' Anna stepped out of the lift and began walking down the passageway, pausing to look at the old photographs of the original French owners and famous guests taken in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

‘Look at the Lounge Bar. I feel I should be wearing a tea gown,' said Anna as she pushed open the heavy doors with etched glass panels.

‘How 1930s!' exclaimed Sandy. ‘It's immaculate. It must all be original furniture. A bit gloomy though. Don't think we'll be eating in here.'

‘It looks like it's only for cocktails. Though the view of the bridge over the river is pretty spectacular.'

‘Great, the rain's stopped. Let's get a cyclo across to the other side and find some place to eat. I was only here once before for a meeting and didn't have time to see much.'

*

Settled in a small restaurant with some maps and brochures they planned their itinerary for the next two days.

‘Why don't we go to the area Jean-Claude told you about?' said Anna. ‘Where his grandfather lived.'

‘It's amazing any of the old colonial residences escaped the wars. His family must have been wealthy French officials. Having Mandarins to tea and negotiating exports and so on,' mused Sandy.

‘Is he rich then?'

‘I have no idea.'

‘But you like him,' persisted Anna.

‘I hardly know him. But yes, I think he's nice.'

‘Other than the Canadian, have you had many romantic flings while you've been over here?' asked Anna. ‘All the red-blooded idealistic volunteers flung together in an exotic country, helping to save the world, finding themselves in coups and hot spots.'

‘You read too many novels,' said Sandy. ‘It's hard enough finding a casual root with a western bloke let alone a committed root.'

They both burst out laughing.

‘Limited fraternising with the locals?' asked Anna archly. ‘No wild parties?'

‘It's frowned on. And certainly no sex, drugs and rock and roll. This country is serious about drugs. Do drugs and you'll wind up on death row.'

‘Carlo would never make it working in a place like this,' said Anna. ‘Or me. Feeling – or knowing – you're being watched all the time.'

Sandy looked surprised. ‘Carlo doesn't do drugs – does he? Jeez, Anna, be careful.'

‘No! Of course not, I didn't mean it like that. He's such an entrepreneur, he'd feel restricted by the atmosphere, the government rules, the cultural subtleties, the odd way they do things.'

Sandy didn't press the point of Carlo's entrepreneurial methods and activities. In her view Carlo was more talk than action.

Anna also wanted to shift the conversation away from Carlo, knowing how Sandy felt about him. ‘If you feel attracted to someone, such as Jean-Claude who's intelligent, nice and definitely good looking, why not go after him? Even for a fling.'

‘What's the point of a fling, as you put it? A waste of time and emotional energy,' answered Sandy.

‘Maybe you wouldn't feel so lonely, and it's good to feel loved and wanted, even briefly.'

‘Look who's talking. Anna, you've clung to the same man just because he's there. You know I think you could do better. You should shop around more, have a few flings yourself!' countered Sandy.

Anna looked cross. ‘I'm not like that. Okay, let's change the subject. Where are we going this afternoon?'

Sandy noted, not for the first time, that when the subject of Carlo came up, Anna changed it. ‘I'd like to see the tomb of Emperor Tu Duc: it's supposed to be beautiful. And maybe we can squeeze in the Thien Mu Pagoda while the weather is holding up. The hotel has a tour guide with a car that's very reasonable.'

The driver suggested they go by boat to the pagoda and dropped them at a landing where dozens of brightly painted wooden dragon boats offered sightseeing trips. He said the river trip was really worthwhile, would take only fifteen minutes or so and he'd meet them at the pagoda.

The trip down the Perfume River was as pretty as promised. The scenery and the river traffic enchanted Anna and she snapped photos of bulky sampans laden with building supplies and of smaller boats filled with rural produce being paddled by women. She particularly liked a shot she got of a sampan with a man paddling at the stern, a woman cooking over a small fire on the bow and children and a dog peeping out from under the woven rush canopy.

The Thien Mu Pagoda was crowded with tourists as Sandy and Anna followed the guide up flights of steps, pausing to admire the seven storeys of fine traditional architecture and the high octagonal tower. The guide reeled off in reasonable English the pagoda's history, explaining that it had been destroyed and rebuilt several times.

They walked around the grounds but the young boys training as monks, their hair cropped and shaved, took little notice of the visitors as they chanted their lessons. While it was an impressive and fascinating place, Anna suddenly remembered the near-blind nun back at the Temple of Nowhere hidden on the tiny island in Halong Bay. I wonder how she's going, mused Anna, contrasting the size and atmosphere of the two pagodas.

When they came to a chamber where a reverential group stood before a battered little blue car Anna caught her breath.

‘It's the car of that monk – the one who burned himself to death, isn't it?' she said softly. Anna was surprised at how moved she felt and noticed the same reaction from those around her, especially the Vietnamese who lifted their hands in prayer and bowed their heads. On a wall behind the car was a framed photograph of the dreadful incident that Tom had told her about in Hanoi.

‘Let's go inside and light some incense,' suggested Sandy. Anna nodded and the girls stepped out of their shoes and went into the main temple to pray at the altar under a Buddha's benign gaze.

During her moments of silent reflection, Anna was conscious of an emotional stirring that defied immediate explanation, but it was accompanied by images of the old nun and the island temple far to the north.

In the late afternoon, as the sun beamed from behind the remaining clouds, they drove through several villages to arrive at the beautifully landscaped grounds of the tomb of the Nguyen monarch who had reigned long and in imperial luxury.

‘Emperor Tu Duc chose this as his resting place, which he designed and enjoyed for fifteen years before his death in 1843,' said the guide as they entered the grove of pine trees interspersed with large frangipani trees, which were smothered in fragrant flowers.

‘There's a palace for his concubines and wives, his own palace . . . and look at that gorgeous setting,' said Sandy as they came to Luu Khiem Lake. ‘Look! The path is made of ceramic tiles like the ones at Bat Trung – where we visited Mr Thinh.'

The pretty lake was covered in lotus flowers and an airy pavilion was built over the water facing a romantic island in the centre where wild game was hunted. They wandered among the other royal tombs and temples, marvelling at the elaborate complex.

‘Nice to know where you'll spend eternity,' said Sandy.

The guide nodded emphatically, then gave a conspiratorial wink. ‘The biggest surprise is his mausoleum. This way, please.'

They walked between the honour guard of stone elephants, horses and diminutive mandarins and guards, all shorter than the very short emperor, and came to an open-sided pavilion sheltering a massive stone tablet.

‘The emperor wrote the story of his life,' said their guide.

‘One way to make sure only the good stuff goes down in history,' commented Anna.

They entered the emperor's walled sepulchre where a giant stone tomb was mounted on a plinth.

‘This is the surprise. His remains are not in here,' said the guide, looking pleased.

‘Where are they?' asked Anna.

He shrugged. ‘No one knows. He is buried with a large fortune so they were afraid of grave robbers and kept it secret. The two hundred servants who buried him were beheaded. He had no children and so his dynasty ended.'

‘You wouldn't want to have been a servant,' said Anna.

‘Yes. Must have been hard on their families,' agreed Sandy.

On the way back to the hotel Sandy pulled Jean-Claude's business card from her bag, and showed the driver the address he'd written on the back.

The driver nodded. ‘I can go there before the hotel. It is where there are many old French homes. They were not destroyed in the last war. But too much of Hue is gone from American bombing in the 1968 Tet Offensive.' He shook his head. ‘The communists took the city for nearly four weeks and many, many people – merchants, monks, Catholic priests, academics – all were murdered. A very cruel time. Some of my family died. Then US and South Vietnamese bombed Hue, so much of the old citadel, the Forbidden City – all destroyed.' He shrugged. ‘Now people come here and wish to see what was here before the wars.'

They pulled up outside a three-storeyed white house that, while in some disrepair, still had an elegant air of grandeur.

‘That's a mansion,' said Anna. ‘Stand outside and I'll take a picture.'

Sandy reluctantly posed, wishing Anna wasn't such a shutterbug. But she couldn't help wondering if Jean-Claude had ever had his picture taken outside what was once his family home.

The guide glanced at the house as they got back in the car. ‘French people built some beautiful places in Vietnam. Some French people very good people, but it is not good to have foreigners run your country.'

As they returned to the hotel, Anna sighed, ‘Been a full-on day. I'm on information overload. Thanks, Sandy, it's been great.'

‘For me too. It's such an interesting country. So many contrasts.' She laughed as they stepped into the elevator and pointed to the floor where the carpet now read ‘Good Evening'.

The next day they spent at Thuan An Beach, some fifteen kilometres from Hue, exploring the near-deserted island at the mouth of the Perfume River. It was too rough from the previous day's storm to swim so they found a small kiosk, bought some food and went beachcombing.

On the way back to Hue they stopped in a small village for Anna to take a picture of the massive brown ceramic jars stacked against walls of houses.

‘Nuoc mam, the local fish sauce, is marinating in them,' explained Sandy. ‘Vietnamese tomato sauce. They put it on everything. Some villages are famous for the soy bean sauce they ferment in similar jars.'

But what fascinated Anna most were the elaborate mausoleums, graves and family crypts strung along the ocean side of the road. ‘It's like the city of the dead!'

‘It's keeping up with the Joneses, Viet style. They all try to outdo each other. A lot of boat people left from here and send money back to maintain and build them,' said Sandy. ‘I've heard some wild stories from villagers.'

‘Like what?' Anna settled back in the car as Sandy relayed another of the titbits of information she'd gathered during her time in Vietnam.

‘Most families bury their dead relations in coffins, at the edge of rice paddies. Then after three years the bones are taken out, cleaned and put in ceramic jars and placed, if they can afford it, in a shrine or mausoleum.' Sandy smiled. ‘One villager told me how they went to dig up the coffin and heard banging inside as it swilled around in the water, so he got a gun and pumped bullets into it.'

‘What was inside? Sounds gruesome.'

‘For starters, ten fat dead catfish that had swum into the coffin.'

‘The fish were banging around?'

‘Yeah, along with several frogs that had dived into the eye sockets with their legs sticking out. They had got so fat on the fishes' remains that they couldn't get out, so they swam around dragging the skulls with them.'

‘That sounds gross and not very reverential.'

‘There are many different customs. The Buddhists prefer cremation. But this village man told me their custom was that the reburial had to be done in the early hours of the morning before sunrise, when the spirits aren't around. Can you imagine creeping round the rice paddy in the dark, digging up and burying bones?'

‘No, thanks. Seems a lot of time is spent keeping spirits happy here.'

‘It's true. You don't want them feeling slighted and coming around bothering you.'

They left Hue and drove back over the pass through the Truong Son mountains towards Danang, heading along the coast road in a blustery wind.

‘This area must have the worst weather in Vietnam,' commented Anna.

‘We're turning inland soon. The orphanage is close enough to the coast to take the girls to the beach today.'

‘What goes on at the ceremony tomorrow?'

‘It's a way of making the girls feel they are growing up. Dancing, music, games, fun stuff. Each girl gives up something from her childhood – a small toy if she has one, a ribbon, a lock of hair – and she is given a symbolic gift of womanhood: red fruit, rice dyed pink for fertility and paper shoes as a means of walking into the next stage of her life.'