Flying the yellow and white: Ha Tinh to Tan Ap

December 19, 2016

I'm sure this man is doing just this in every town we visit

IT surprises us how big Christmas is here. Back in Hanoi, they told us that most Vietnamese have no religion. There is, though, an underlying influence from Buddhism and Buddhist, if pressed, is what many would say they probably were.

It didn't surprise us that hotels had Christmas trees and carols because they're commercial enterprises looking to ingratiate themselves. Even if most customers show no interest.

There's an underlying Buddhism in Vietnamese culture - but note the heaps of fake money offered in worship

Today, though, we ran into a still larger Christian enclave, recognisable by the hoisted yellow and white flags. Not for the first time, we reflected on how much political and even more religious views are influenced by where you live. Is there any reason why one village should be ardently Christian and the next not?

Anyway, a feature of this flag-clad area was the beautiful, cream-coloured churches, elegantly tall and slim with a European tower or spire. The influence of French occupation is often obvious. Inside, we could have been in any European cathedral. There were polished wooden pews, stained-glass windows of suffering saints, and pictures to show the stations of the cross.

Outside one was a huge artificial fir tree and, to one side, a nativity grotto (here, Jesus seems to have been born in a cave rather than a stable) of starched sacks painted grey. Inside the church, a smaller artificial tree coated in fake snow. Again, doubtless a mystery here in the Tropics.

We could have been in any cathedral in the west

On coming out of the church, I found Steph in conversation with a studious 10-year-old who looked like Harry Potter and a 36-year-old on a scooter.

"You come and drink, eat," the elder one half said, half gestured.

We never did grasp his name but he wanted to show us another church three kilometres down the road. We followed him, riding a quiet, flat road, then on to a gravel track, down a bank and through a tunnel. We passed low, wooden buildings to the left of the unsurfaced road, people looking up at us, curious.

We reached two buildings set back in an elementary courtyard. He gestured us to sit, poured cold green tea, the standard welcome, and began peeling slices of the largest grapefruit we have ever seen.

"This six dollars in Hanoi or Saigon", he said as we took a bite. We doubted he had been to either. Halfway up the country going the other way, just before we took the night train, we'd chatted to students in an English class. They were intelligent and not short of a shilling but they, too, had never been to the capital or the largest city.

Scooter Man serves green tea, the standard greeting

Soon there were seven or eight of us, a matriarch grinning through missing teeth, Scooter Man, a woman holding a baby, and one or two others of uncertain vintage. It's difficult here to distinguish who is related to whom, because "uncle", "sister", brother" are honorary terms applied to those you like or respect.

The matriarch of the house smiles with closed lips, to hide her missing teeth

A slim little girl told us she was 12 and had to go back to school in the afternoon. She had a friend of the same age who smiled but said nothing. Two minutes later, they got on bikes and pedalled off.

"You stay," Scooter Man insisted. "No money, no money." He pointed into the open side of the nearest building, where we could see a low wooden bed and copious pictures and other decorations on the walls.

He was genuine - I'm not sure how much the others understood - but it didn't feel right. No trap, but an inner caution. And it was still early and we wanted to ride on.

We agreed to see where he worshipped - he crossed himself in demonstration - and we followed, accompanied by half the village. News had spread. Foreigners in town.

The church looked like the building up the road, the same cream, the same elegance but without the Christmas tree. It's striking how much is spent on churches when the people who pray there are so poor by comparison.

Christian churches are immaculate but the worshippers live in relative poverty

Pointing out the church's finest points while the village looks on

There was no offer to go inside. Perhaps our caution was showing, or our impatience to press on. We were invited to give him "one dollar, two dollars" for the church. We gave him a dollar in local currency. We've no idea if it made it to the church coffers but it was cheap for the experience.

We rode away from the coast today. We rode out of town past one-man workshops, funeral florists and simple cafés and on towards the mountains. Light rain was falling in the afternoon and the rounded, green tops shivered under mist.

We turned left at the mountains' edge, up a moderate climb - our first since Cambodia - and into different countryside. Now hills crowded the road on both sides. When they retreated, they left muddy fields awaiting better times or occupied by a single long-haired water buffalo. Later came small neat fields of thigh-high green bushes we think may have been coffee.

In time we made contact with our lost friend, the Ho Chi Minh trail. It's the road, now wide, surfaced and marked by yellow lines, that we first planned to ride north through the mountains. Now, briefly, we were heading in the other direction. And the more we progressed, the more it rained. And the more grateful we were to find a small hotel with adequate rooms and a pleasingly low price.

Today's ride: 77 km (48 miles)
Total: 821 km (510 miles)

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