"I have to feed my husband", Clay said. But Clay's husband had been dead for several years.. Even so, We saw her walk to the cemetery with some food and some cigarettes that she left at her late husband's grave. I did it every day and we saw that next to each tombstone there was food, clothing and even some liquors and beer.
We were in Dek your, A village of the Vietnamese plateau, A region without beaches or tourists, because the day to day of the dead does not usually seduce those who have designed a summer full of palm trees. Clay did not know his age and for his wrinkles it would be said that he was around the nineties. It belonged to the ethnic group of the banar and between openwork and draft to their pipe, He told us that two years ago he met the money for the first time.
The day to day of the dead does not usually seduce those who have designed a summer full of palm trees.
Banar have always lived based on bartering and solidarity. The communal house rose in the middle of the village, How do important monuments rise, With an improper height of a humble small town.
Beyond the coffee plantations that surrounded the village, We listened to a cheerful music and several women crossed a path dressed in bright colors, Like who goes to a party.
“Don't go there, It is dangerous. Foreigners are not well seen here, ”said our guide with a boredom grimace, more than concern. Despite his warnings, We decided to follow the stele of chords and we reached another village.
Women wore a conical straw hat, So Vietnamese and smoked cigarettes or pipes compulsively.
The greatest threat was to accept all the drinks offered by the guests at the wedding that took place there. The rice liquor was mixed with smiling gestures, and gradually ethyl, of those Vietnamese. Women wore a conical straw hat, So Vietnamese and smoked cigarettes or pipes compulsively. Men had fun inviting us to eat something. Then, as in a competition, They asked us that we determined which of the homemade liquors was the best, For what we had to drink half a dozen among the candidates. I decided that the last of all was the best and left lying down while the winner rejoiced laughing.
We continue on the way to the south, stopping on the road for the start of sunset on rice fields.
There are old ones loading bags, Men RECEASING FISHING NETWORKS, Children running and elephants walking through the streets.
We stop in a town called Jun, Next to Lake Lak, where very narrow boats leave fishing at dawn and the houses are elongated because there, as in all the highlands, Several families share the home. Jun's village is nice. There are old ones loading bags, Men RECEASING FISHING NETWORKS, Children running and elephants walking through the streets.
It was easy to see men ride their elephants with neglect. Then they went to the lake and on the shore there were some tourists wanting to cross the lake mounted to horcajadas between two large ears.
The presence of the elephants barely altered the life of the inhabitants, as accustomed to dogs as to pachiderms.
The things that produce a loose laugh, Like that aquatic rumble, They are always worth it.
We leave Jun and its elephants by bordering the lake and we reached Latin, One of the most important cities in the interior of the country. We walked the city with its restaurants and its park with a lagoon where boats are shaped like a swan, So we decided to continue a little more.
We reach the elephant waterfall, Although there were no elephants. It was beautiful like all waterfalls but magic was reserved inside. There is a passage between the rocks that allows you to see the cascade from the inside, In the vault that forms between the rock and the water thrombus. And I couldn't help getting, clear, Because things that produce a loose laugh, Like that aquatic rumble, They are always worth it. And so we spend the afternoon, soaked, raising our arms to the waterfall that came to us.
Without time to dry us, We take the way to Ho Chi Minh. We arrived in the big city, to the Saigon of the Movies, Al Vietnam portrayed with brothels and soldiers and wars… but that's another story, much better known. I remain however, With Clay and his pipe, With unforeseen weddings, street elephants or waterfalls from within, I keep the minimum stories of the Vietnamese Altiplano.
