An analog photographer in Saigon

                                               (source: Oi Vietnam)

When I discovered how the camera allowed me to capture moments in life, I felt this rush of excitement.

I’m 73 years old, and at my age most people have already retired and spend their days relaxing with their kids and grandkids. But me, I want to keep busy: not working would seem like a waste of time. I’ve been a professional photographer for about 30 years now. It all started in 1973, when a friend of mine let me borrow his French-made camera. When I discovered how the camera allowed me to capture moments in life, I felt this rush of excitement. From that moment, I guess it was my fate to be a professional photographer.

Before that, I was a third grade biology teacher. At the time, the Ministry of Education had a program to publicize the efforts of outstanding students and teachers. So from time to time, journalists would come to the school to interview and photograph people for an upcoming article. A lot of times, I had already taken photographs of the people, so when the journalists found out, they started asking to use my photos. That’s how I got a reputation as a bit of an artist. It must have been around 1975. That’s when I first started going to workshops and meetings about photography.

You have to understand that back then, it was really rare for someone to be a photographer, not like today. Pretty soon I was being called on to accompany this Minister or that Deputy Minister on trips to the provinces to open a factory or launch a new program. When I was on one of these trips, I saw myself as a kind of journalist who worked with images. Before I’d take a picture, I’d always identify the purpose of the story, the intended audience, the correct style… sometimes I’d even write the stories to accompany the images.

Being an analog photographer in Saigon back then wasn’t easy. Times were hard, and everyone was so poor. [Sighs] I had to save a long time before I could buy my own camera. That was back around 1984, I think. Then once I got it, I still had to keep saving so I could buy film. I’m not sure people today can even imagine how hard it was. There were times when I was very hungry. I’d see a loaf of bread for ten hao (one tenth of a dong) but still I wouldn’t buy it. I’d just keep saving my money to buy film and developing chemicals.

The camera is Just a Tool

My first camera was made in Russia. It was pretty difficult to use, not like the digitized cameras everybody’s got today. In those days, I’d often go to camera shops in the Old Quarter to see what they had for sale. I remember one time there was this camera I liked so much that I just had to have it. I gave the shop owner whatever money I had on me as a deposit. Then I ran around the city borrowing money from all my friends until I had enough. [Laughs] Of course, nowadays I have more than a dozen cameras.

I’ve worked hard to develop my professional skills over the years, and even today I continue to study. I love reading about the newest developments and trying new techniques. I can honestly say that my technical skills are on par with anyone’s. But the important thing is that whenever I hold a camera in my hands, I feel I have a duty to capture the spirit of whomever or whatever I’m photographing. I think that’s why my clients keep coming back to me, even for something as simple as a passport photo.

I’ve read a lot of books about photography over the years. There’s this one I read that I didn’t believe at first: “Photographs aren’t captured by the lens but by the photographer’s eyes, which are the windows to his soul.” It’s only as I gained more experience that I really began to understand this line. Now I know that the camera is just a tool. Especially these days, cameras are so sophisticated that it’s easy for a photographer to create exactly the image they want. But if we depend on the tool too much, we end up just imitating life without capturing its spirit.

I’m actually not the greatest businessman. [Laughs] One time a couple came to me and asked me to photograph their upcoming wedding. They explained that they didn’t have much money and asked me just to charge them whatever was reasonable. How could I not agree to help them remember such an important moment? At the end of the wedding party, they paid me as agreed, but I took most of it and gave it back to them as a gift. The way I see it, you should always try to live with sympathy and compassion.

I’m very lucky to have been able to make my passion my career. Photography has given my family a good living all these years. This house, the furniture, these motorbikes, they’re all thanks to the money I made from photography. Let’s be realistic: you can’t just live for your passion without caring about your material needs. I just try to make sure that the money I make reflects the quality of my work. I’m always working to improve the quality of my photos while still keeping the prices reasonable. I guess that’s another reason my clients keep coming back.

I’m also lucky to be able to share my passion for photography with my wife. She works as a second grade teacher but she’s also developed into a really good photographer. It’s wonderful to be able to discuss our experiences and share our ideas with each other. As for our kids, we have three daughters; two of them are married and have families already, and our youngest is in her second year at university. Whatever careers they end up pursuing, I really hope they find a way to make art and creativity a part of their lives, like I’ve been able to do with photography. It’s things like this that bring meaning and color to our lives.

Additional editing by Gerard Sasges. Excerpted from It’s a Living: Work and Life in Vietnam Today, available on Amazon and iTunes. Or look for the Vietnamese version, Việt Nam ngày nay: Chuyện muu sinh in local bookstores.

*Interview by Michelle Ta, Ngo Mai Huong, Tina Thy Pham, and Nguyen Ha Phuong Ninh. Images by Ngoc Tran.

A Summer in Sapa

$19.00

'A  Summer in Sapa' is about four months spent in Sapa by artist and writer Bridget March. She accepted the invitation to spend 4 months in those mountains from a guy she had never met because she cannot resist an adventure and because she knew that the work she produced could provide a sustainable income for some of the most underprivileged children  in Vietnam.

The children, the warm people of the ethnic minorities and the talented artists of Sapa all taught Bridget a lot about love, laughter, life and painting. Some summers do last for ever. 

The book begins with my last day in Hanoi before departing for four months in the mountains. It is late spring and getting very hot. I arrive, for the first time, in the fresh mountain air of Sapa and completely understand why it was chosen as a retreat from the heat of Hanoi and Haiphong. 

It's a small town and everyone quickly knows that there is a new face. The Black H'mong women were full of questions and the Red Dzao were quick to make friends. Bridget met a group of 12 artists who summer in Sapa and  her own studio was in the huge gable room of an old French house, with an unrivaled view down the magnificent Moung Hoa valley.  

 The final pages of the book are about harvest time in the villages and the spectacular lantern festival in Sapa town. 

'A Summer in Sapa' is for anyone who loves the mountains or is contemplating a trip to discover the 'other Vietnam' for themselves. It is not a guide book, but makes an excellent travel companion with its stories, insights and snippets of history.

Soft cover: 56 pages on art paper: 70 illustrations

400,000vnd / $19 / £12

Contact: http://www.bridgetmarch.co.uk/

Taking it slow

 There is a famous temple in Cho Lon that I have visited more times than I can count. It's the one the oldest and most visited in that district.  The Thien Hau pagoda is an evocative place that is worth lingering in for an hour or so and, on a hot day in district 5, it provides a cooling retreat from that bustling community of traders and dealers.

To get a good view of this 18th century pagoda you need to stand across the street. From there you can see all the details on the roof which features gorgeously glazed, ceramic dioramas of feasts, battles, traders,  demons, dignitaries, actors and merchants from other continents all set against creatively modelled Chinese houses, palaces and shops. It is incredible that these old ceramics have survived the ravages of weather and time to look as beautiful as the day they were created.  From this side of the street you see this magical old temple through a moving wall of roaring traffic, with street cafes to right and left. Bird sellers with chirruping caged sparrows are completely inaudible above the din of motorbikes and taxis that trundle by, kicking up the dust and spewing diesel fumes.

Pick up a cold drink, and when the lights stop the traffic, you can slip across the road and into the forecourt of Thien Hau Pagoda. Now, the scale of this precious building becomes apparent and with two more steps you walk through a solid granite doorway into another world. A hush descends and you are in a place where everything is sacred, where civic pride and community endeavour meet  the gods and ancestors, where all the richness of the lives of the residents of Cho Lon can be seen.

On the walls of the first, inner courtyard there are some unusual  friezes, possibly from the 1970s depicting modern buildings, factories, a school, the interior of an elegant house. Maybe built by local philanthropists and entrepreneurs, these places must be very important  to the community here.  I can't image such urbane images being installed in a religious building in Europe.  How different Westerners are from Asians in this regard.

The central , covered yard of the pagoda is hung with incense coils sending prayers and wishes out to deities and forebears, the spirals of smoke captured in vertical rays of sunlight that penetrate the gaps between roofs.  The colourful ceramic frieze continues around the rim of each courtyard; the stories are from history and Chinese mythology create an imaginary world where fact and fiction co-exist. If  you take a seat and linger in this cool space for  20 minutes, you will also see the two aspects of  contemporary Cho Lon; the locals quietly carrying on with their religious rituals and the foreign visitors gawping at the overwhelming visual feast as they snap photos and wonder at the richness that surrounds them.

If you step in to an ante-room to the right there is yet another delight that has little to do with religion or ancestors but adds to the eclectic mix of incense coils, bronze-faced deities, relief friezes of factories, a 19th century fire-fighting device and dioramas of ancient fables. On the walls are large watercolour paintings of the twelve animals of the zodiac; each one a masterpiece. The animal of the year, the goat at the moment, is topped with a red garland and rosette. There are rows of elegant Chinoiserie chairs so you can take a seat to appreciate this unique gallery and decide which is your favourite.

One thing is for sure; this pagoda is not for rushing. 

Source: http://www.bridgetmarch.co.uk/

Meet Sapa’s Ultimate Guide, Mama Zu

Posted August 3, 2015 by Lorcan Lovett & filed under Destination, Travel & Leisure.

A few dozen groggy tourists shuffle off the sleeper train and board a transfer bus to Sapa, one of Vietnam’s top destinations. Inaudible slurs on the bus develop into excited chatter as they beam at guidebook photographs of terraced rice paddies swirling around lush green hills, a trademark image of the country’s north.

Seconds after the bus’s arrival there is a silent acknowledgement of shattered expectations. Only garish neon lights and incessant peddlers can be seen through a cold opaque fog. Disappointed, I almost turn around and head back to Hanoi myself but there’s one thought preventing me: I must find Mama Zu.

The 50-year-old Black Hmong guide has come highly recommended from fellow travelers. For the moderate post-haggle price of VND250,000 she takes trekkers out of the eponymous crude capital of Sapa district and into the communities of ethnic minorities living in the surrounding country in the province of Lao Cai. It is home to several ethnic groups including Hmong, Dao (Yao), Giáy, Pho Lu and Tay who can all be differentiated by their color dress. Most common in Sapa are the Black Hmong whose women offer tours and homestays to tourists looking for an alternative experience to agencies and increasingly expensive hotels.

Prices have been exceedingly high at the tourist hotspot recently. In the run-up to Vietnam’s six-day public holiday, lasting from April 28 to May 3, a group of avaricious hoteliers were fined by local authorities for soaring prices, with one reportedly charging over USD2,000 a night. The fully-booked hotels argued the price hike was made to “discourage booking.”

Sprouting up startlingly quickly, hotels promise revenue for the Hmong through their wealthy visitors yet this comes at a cultural and environmental price. Hotels matter in Mama Zu’s world. I find her standing outside Holy Rosary Church wearing a traditional deep indigo blue dress, hence the ethnicity’s name Black Hmong, with a pink top on underneath and a purple bandana. Black velvet covers her knees down to her ankles and large silver hoop earrings jangle next to her warm crinkled smile. She has a fittingly maternal glow.

At an altitude of about 1,500 meters, people say Sapa has four seasons in a day: cool spring at dawn, sunny summer at noon, cloudy autumn in the afternoon and winter at night. It felt like winter had overrun its slot on this chilly morning as we walked across the road and past the market.

“It’s still very beautiful,” Mama Zu assures me in her squeaky voice just before dodging a passing truck. Those looking for fluent English guides are unlikely to find any among the Hmong women. Mama Zu learnt her broken English when she began guiding ten years ago, two years after an influx of hotels she says. Since then, she adds, there has been a lot of change.

We walk towards a plot of indigo plants and she grabs one of the dewy leaves, rubbing it on my hand. It leaves a jade green mark which gradually turns dark blue. The Hmong people use this natural coloring to dye their clothes, a lot of which are hemp. Many Hmong women’s hands have an almost permanent dye after they’ve finished making clothes for the family. The Hmong achieve their darker dress color by mixing the dye and fabric twice a day for a month.

Mama Zu’s hands have evidently not been soaked in dye lately although she still makes her family’s clothes while her husband makes metal bracelets.

The guide skips up a steep muddy path, deftly avoiding the loose stones which jut out. Well-equipped trekkers would gasp in disbelief at the footwear below her traditional dress. She sports plastic camouflage slip- ons in which she hikes for hours every day. They’re incongruous but seem to do the job. We begin to talk about the cost of animals which are sometimes shared out in her village of Hau Thao. “I have one cat and four piglets. Our buffalo died and a buffalo cost VND20 million. A 10 kilo piglet cost VND400,000 and then we feed it up and get VND100,000 per kilo.” Black piglets dart away either side of the path while cattle stray nonchalantly toward it much like they do anywhere in the Vietnamese countryside. Rearing livestock is vital here but the flora is just as important.

Bamboo shoots protrude through a thick layer of fog which settles below us. Mama Zu emphasizes her respect for the plant with a mix of enthusiastic gestures. She explains bamboo is used for construction in her village as well as having medicinal and nutritional purposes.

“You buy one from me”

Nearly halfway through the seven-hour trek we pass an isolated nursery which Mama Zu’s children had attended. She has three children, two of whom are adolescents and another older daughter who is 18 and married. She lives about three hours away by scooter after following the tradition of moving in with the husband’s family.

What do her younger son and daughter do? “They help make bags to sell and they talk to tourists,” she answers. “Their English is very good. They spend two days a week in Sapa and the rest in Hau Thao. When they are older they will work in the hotels.” Mama Zu, who has two brothers, says her sister died two years ago and her mother is still trekking around Sapa at the age of 70.

Traversing the lofty hills of Sapa is hungry work. Luckily there is a stop for food in a wooden hut on the walk, a bowl of tasteless instant noodles included in the trek’s price. There is a strong sales streak running through the Hmong. They’re encouraged to start trading young. One of their core tactics in capitalizing on the tourist boom is by selling their famous handicrafts. Five little girls approach us, each carrying a bundle of colorful bracelets. They waveringly chant the slogan “you buy one from me” creating an almost eerie sound that soon fades away. Understandably they’re more concerned with playing games and joking among themselves. At the hut a deaf mute boy wearing a sweater patterned with the US flag shoots me a shy glance and then juggles some stones, craving for our attention. His infectious grin must be an uplifting sight for fatigued tourists. After playing with the child, we walk through the tiny village of Han Da, small wooden houses scattered around a school and church.

“In my village when the fog falls you see the big Catholic church too,” Mama Zu remarks, adding she is not Catholic. By now she is just plain ‘mama’ to myself and a fellow trekker. “Mama, what’s this plant?” “Mama, what’s that noise?”

She uses a combination of broken English, animal noises and her own language to explain. There are about four million native Hmong speakers in the world, of which 2.7 million are speakers of dialects that are mutually intelligible. In Vietnam, the Hmong population is about 1 million strong and the dialect spoken by the Hmong in the north is similar to that spoken in Laos and Thailand. The basic words Mama Zu teaches us sound like “oua jow” for “thank you” and “gaw nyaw lee cha” for “how are you” although it’s not a leap to say the spelling would be very different.

On our return to Sapa town we see men working on a cluster of hotel developments which will boast views of Fansipan, Indochina’s highest mountain with a peak of 3,143 meters. The ground underneath turns into a smooth, new road. The boom town is stretching out its reach into the countryside. I ask Mama if this relentless development can really be a good thing. She understands the question but shrugs her shoulders and says, “I don’t know.” Ahead we spot an old hunchbacked woman hobbling along the road. Surprisingly for us all, it’s Mama’s mother. After the cheerful family reunion the four of us finish the walk together.

Mama reveals a small book full of written praise from trekkers all over the world. Although she is unable to read it, she puts her blind faith in these references. We write ours. In a place seemingly filled with tourist traps, she has proved herself as a charming, authentic and affordable guide – the saving grace of Sapa.

Illustrations are from Bridget’s new book, “A Summer in Sapa,” full of drawings and paintings of four months spent there last year. She also gives art lessons to adults in Saigon. Visitwww.bridgetmarch.co.uk or email bammbah@hotmail.co.uk for details.

* Illustrations by Bridget March.

Meat the Maker

A Canadian expat opens a sidewalk food cart selling meatballs

- Posted August 8, 2013 by Michael Arnold & filed under Business.

With all the late-night clamor and bustle of Bui Vien, you might walk straight past Nana Marie’s (60 Bui Vien, D1), tucked away against the side of a wee souvenir shop a short bitumen waltz away from the Crazy Buffalo. It’s the simplest of start-ups;a cart, a few sidewalk stools retired from a local preschool, a stovetop, a fridge – and presiding over all of these, a fairly decent looking brand-new sign. For Colin Coats,these elements are all he needs to make the smooth transition from seven years of English teaching, with all its cruisy hours and late mornings, to the adventure of entrepreneurship.

It’s been a rough start – business was knocked out for a month just after opening when the stall’s premium bread supplier renovated without warning – but the fledgling gourmet meatball sub business is finally on track. “I already have regulars,” says Colin. “And at least half of them come back once a week. You’d be surprised how many of them finish their sub and then immediately buy another one to take home.”

Colin has been scoping out the backpacker location for some time. “I didn’t want to be another hamburger/hot dog guy. I’ve seen the stands come and go. They didn’t really do well here. There’s been a lot of curiosity about Nana Marie’s so far, but most of the sales rely on the split-second decision of hungry passers-by.”

“My stand isn’t exactly about fast food. It’s gourmet fast food. I cook the chicken fresh on the pan right here, with butter and herbs.It’s a good, spicy chicken. Even my fries are seasoned fries. The point is just to make good food,” he adds. “I understand the backpackers are looking for their dollar meals. I’m offering a great two or three dollar meal instead.”

Who is Nana Marie?

Colin is no stranger to rough starts. Taken from his birth family at a very young ageand used by his abductor to gain entry to a Malaysian refugee camp after the war, he was physically scarred from the experience by the time he was adopted by Canadian parents.Marie, his adopted mother, was his inspiration to return to Vietnam as an adult to find his roots, and the cart is opened in her memory.

“It was my Mom’s signature dish. She’d buy meatballs at the store and jazz them up with her own sweet and sour sauce.Whenever we did family reunions or weddings, that was her thing.”

His own meatballs, however, are made from scratch. “I’ve always been good at making hamburger patties, and the technique’s more or less the same. The secret is not to work the meat too much. You don’t want it to be too dense, or it won’t feel as good on the tongue.This kind of food has to be easy to digest,easy to chew.”

“I love to cook, so I know what flavors are good with beef and pork. I have a good pasta sauce that I make, which I changed a little to complement the meatballs. I use ingredients like wine and bacon in it to keep it rich like a Bolognese. I don’t like local meatballs, like those giant pork balls they have here with the com tam. The pork’s so fatty and they use too much filler. I went and bought some meatballs not far from here that were so dense and garlicky. I could taste the garlic three hours after I ate them. Mine, they’re very fresh,the right firmness, and they’re cooked in the sauce – that helps the meatballs to absorb some of the moisture.”

Looking at Colin, however, there’s no obvious signs of the panic or concern you’d expect from a first-time business owner who’s just lost a month of trading. By contrast,Colin’s down-to-earth, casual manner seems a perfect fit for Bui Vien.

“I don’t have any plans to go back home quite yet,” he says. “I’d really like to have a life here. I just love doing this.”

For more info and delivery options (available mid-August), visit www.nanamaries.com

Can Tho: The Queen of the Mekong Delta

By  James Pham & filed under Destination, Travel & Leisure, Travel Features. (Source: Ơi Magazine)

A PLAIN TUNIC. A fragile canoe floating silently on the river. A conical hat worn just off center. A flock of swallows flying over rice fields ripe for harvesting.

So goes the imagery in Chiec Ao Ba Ba, one of Vietnam’s most beloved songs from the 70s, a melancholy melody that paints a picture of a long-haired beauty waiting for her lover at Can Tho’s Ninh Kieu Pier, an image of a simpler life in the Mekong Delta.

Known as the “Western Capital” of Vietnam, the city of Can Tho is the largest in the Mekong Delta and fourth largest in Vietnam. Just like the song that’s at once hopeful and wistful, looking forward and looking back, Can Tho itself is a paradox. The city of over a million people boasts an international airport and Southeast Asia’s longest cable-stayed bridge, but it’s equally well-known for its low-tech floating market, endless rice paddies and tiny home factories churning out everything from noodles to bricks.

I find myself standing on the Ninh Kieu Pier, the place where lovers meet, at least in song. It’s midday and scorching hot, and there’s not much meeting going on, other than a few school kids out for the summer watching the boats go by at the juncture of two rivers: the Can Tho River and the Hau Giang, a tributary of the Mekong. Some workers are sprawled out on the stone benches of the neatly manicured riverwalk, catching a bit of shuteye under the watchful eye of the seven-meter tall copper statue of Uncle Ho that dominates the park.

I walk past the pretty Can Tho Market, built in 1915 and fully restored with its red roof and Sino-French architecture, and head towards Can Tho’s cultural downtown, packed with museums, temples and pagodas, all within a 20-minute walking radius. As the heart of the Mekong Delta, Can Tho is a wonderful kaleidoscope of peoples and cultures from all over the region.

“Ong Temple”

I first visit Ong Temple (32 Hai Ba Trung), right on the waterfront, a beautiful Chinese temple completed in 1896. Also known as the Guangzhou Assembly Hall, it speaks of the influx of Chinese workers to Vietnam starting around 1770, creating their own communities alongside the Vietnamese. The colorful temple is built in the shape of the Chinese character for “nation,” and is filled with intricate carvings and altars to the Goddess of Fortune, General Ma Tien and General Kuan Kung with statues of the God of Earth and the God of Finance. Dozens of coils of incense hang from the ceiling, leaving the temple in a permanent smoky haze that’s not all together unpleasant. To the side, a young mother leans in as a man pores over a book of Chinese characters, reading her fortune. The sign says that believers can ask to be released from bad luck in general, or from a litany of ills, including sickness, litigation and flooding. She slips the man a note and leaves with a smile. Apparently, things are going to be okay.

From there, I walk to Munirangsyaram, a Khmer Theravada Buddhist pagoda (36 Hoa Binh) located on one of Can Tho’s largest streets. There’s almost a sense of dislocation, seeing the golden spires punctuate the Can Tho skyline. The three golden towers that adorn the front gate are very Angkor Wat-like but in miniature. Up the stairs, the area for worship is surprisingly plain, in stark contrast to its ornate façade. The small area features a 1.5 m high statue of the Buddha on a lotus flower, surrounded by several smaller statues. Back outside, three shy Khmer boys emerge from the adjoining dormitory. They’re from Soc Trang and have come to Can Tho for university, a closer alternative than going to Saigon. Ethnic Khmers have been living in the Mekong Delta for centuries and Cambodians still refer to the area as Kampuchea Krom, or “Lower Cambodia,” not without some lingering animosity.

“This is a Khmer temple, not Cambodian,” says Cuong, groundskeeper of the smaller yet much more interesting Pitu Khosa Rangsay Pagoda (27/18 Mac Dinh Chi). To get to it, I walk past a group of men playing an animated game of Chinese chess followed by a wall of glass jars housing Siamese fighting fish outside a school. The pagoda is turning out to be hard to find, located in a warren of alleyways right in the middle of a residential neighborhood. “We’re Vietnamese, not Cambodian. We’re born here,” Cuong corrects me as I ask about the compact building, colloquially called the “After Pagoda” because it was built a few years after Munirangsyaram. Despite its smaller size, its architecture is much more photogenic, with a sanctum, bell tower and monks’ house. Dragons, fairies, birds and deities adorn its three levels, each displaying large Buddha statues serenely tucked under painted bodhi trees. It’s said that in the early 70s, there were more than 400 Khmer pagodas serving the one million or so ethnic Khmer in the Mekong Delta.

Day turns to dusk and I make my way directly across the street from Munirangsyaram to the Chua Phat Hoc Buddhist temple (11 Hoa Binh). Built in 1951, the three-story temple is hosting special ceremonies today for Buddha’s birthday. The faithful gather to bathe a small statue on the ground floor, while men and women don grey smocks in preparation for a Buddhist reading on the top floor. I spot a teen who doesn’t seem to be with anyone. “I come here because it’s peaceful,” says 15-year-old Tuan who frequents the temple on his own most days after school. Looking out over Can Tho, Buddhist prayer flags fluttering in the wind, backed by golden Khmer spires in the distance, glinting in the late afternoon sun, I feel at peace, too.

Another holy book says that ‘man cannot live by bread alone,’ so I head over to De Tham Street, known to locals as “Food Street” in search of whatever non-bread dishes are unique to Can Tho. I have rather low expectations because everyone I’ve asked to name a dish unique to Can Tho, has had the same response: a furrow of the brow, followed by a long pause, and the inevitable… “nothing.” Without a dish to truly call its own, Can Tho has co-opted the best dishes from all over the region that people brought along with them as they moved to the “big city.”

Bun nuoc leo Soc Trang is a noodle dish with Khmer origins most known for in Soc Trang, 60 km southeast of Can Tho. The soup base is made from slow boiling fish stock and was originally flavored using Khmer prohok, a pungent fermented fish paste, but the Vietnamese version uses pickled river fish instead, often seen piled high in local markets. It’s then served with noodles, whole shrimp, roasted pork, pork crackling, fish balls and a heap of fresh herbs and shredded banana blossom. Fish heads are dipped in a kumquat fish sauce.

Also from the Khmer people in Soc Trang comes banh cong, a deep-fried ball of doughy goodness. Named after the ladle that’s used to fry these muffin-like cakes, they’re a happy marriage of rice flour, whole mung beans, eggs, taro and minced pork, all topped with freshwater shrimp, eaten with fresh herbs and dipped in ginger fish sauce.

Taking in the rich fabric of cultures that have combined in this picturesque city by the river, the labyrinth of waterways that crisscross their way through endless patchworks of rice fields, the broad smiles of a gentle people, it’s easy to understand why this place has been immortalized in song: “Even if you visit only once, words do not do it justice. The river will remain beautiful for a thousand lifetimes.”

IF YOU GO…

• All the religious sites mentioned here are free to visit. However, please remember that they are active places of worship, so dress accordingly.

• Try Bun nuoc leo Soc Trang at 12 De Tham, just across the street from the Chua Phat Hoc Temple. Look for the sign that says “Phi Long,” run by Loan and her father, Long, since 2001. a bowl is VND 30,000 and fish heads are served separately (also VND 30,000). They also make very good goi cuon (fresh summer rolls) for VND5,000 each. For banh cong, try the little outdoor stall at 34 De Tham. it’s not much to look at (expect low plastic tables under a tarpaulin), but in addition to banh cong, Banh Xeo Hue Vien also serves up everyone’s favorite banh xeo (sizzling turmeric-colored, rice flour crepes filled with shrimp and pork) for VND25,000 each. expect the mekong Delta version to be much bigger than the ones you’d find in Vietnam’s Central and Northern regions. One is enough for a filling meal.

• The 92-room Victoria Can Tho Resort makes a stylish base from which to explore the area. Set right on the banks of the Hau River, its French colonial architecture and spacious gardens create an aura of sophisticated serenity. a complimentary shuttle boat ferries guests to the nearby Ninh Kieu Pier. Until September 30, rooms start at VND2,385,600++, including buffet breakfast. SeeVictoria Hotels for more.

• For those looking to explore the surrounding area by river, Victoria Can Tho Resort also arranges boat trips that include sights like the Cai Rang Floating market, the ingenious stilted nurseries over the river and the 1672 Khmer pagoda, located in a jungle setting at Phu Ly in nearby Vinh Long.

Behind the lens: meet Hoi An photographer Rehahn

Behind the lens: meet Hoi An photographer Rehahn

Posted February 24, 2015 by James Pham & filed under Art, Features.

If every picture tells 1000 words, there must be millions of words to the stories of Hoi An-based photographer Rehahn.

It’s good to be Réhahn. This time last year, the Hoi An-based portrait photographer had about 6,000 Facebook fans. Thanks to a slew of press from the LA Times to National Geographic Onlineto dozens of Vietnamese TV appearances, magazines in Thailand, France and beyond and countless photography websites, he now has over 162,000 fans the world over.

A popular art/ photography website even included Réhahn on a list of the top 10 most famous portrait photographers in the world, alongside the likes of Steve McCurry and Lee Jeffries. Oi uncovers how this self-taught photographic storyteller burst onto the scene.

Success has come quickly for you considering you really only got into photography seriously three years ago.

Yes. I’ve had more than 70 interviews in the LA Times, National Geographic and many newspaper and magazines in Vietnam. I think I’ve been on national TV here 24 times already and have more appearances coming up. So, it’s good. I’m lucky.

When I look at photos from even four years ago, none of them could be in a gallery now. I really started to take photos when I moved to Vietnam three years ago. And to be honest, when my book [Vietnam, Mosaic of Contrasts] was published last January [2014], everything changed. A few days ago, I looked at older photos in my hard drive and thought: “My God! How could I have taken that?” [laughs]

A series of photos you took of a young M’Nong girl near Buon Ma Thuot with her pet elephant also garnered worldwide attention recently. How did that happen?

I really believe in karma. Three years ago, I took a photo of a young Ede girl with big eyes that sold well.

I came back to meet her and give her a book and some money for her family. On the third and last day, I found someone who knew her. I was very touched when I saw her mother put the money on the table, instead focusing on the book. To her, it was more important than the money. All the neighbors and family were excited to see the book, too.

As we took a boat to the other side of the lake on the way back, I saw an elephant with a young girl and her younger brother. I tried not to make any noise, but the younger brother saw me and ran off, so I have no good photos of him. But the girl, when she saw me, she went close to the elephant and put her hand on it. A big animal with a little girl. We found her house close by. When we got there, the elephant was in the garden and we talked with her mother. I felt this photo was something special.

Once you’ve chosen a destination, what is your research process?

My last big trip was India last May. I typed “India” on Google Images to look for inspiration. I also check forums and specialized photography websites to see what I like, to get a feel about the country.

For example, with India, I saw many people with beards, with green eyes, a country perfect for portraits. When I travel, I usually just book my first hotel and travel light. Not quite backpacker but almost. Sometimes you have difficult moments, like when a train gets canceled at 2am and you have to sleep in a very hot train station with many people. But it’s part of the experience. Photographers are like writers and painters. We need inspiration, need to feel, need to be free in your mind. We need these kinds of experiences to make good photos.

Is there a secret to portrait photography?

Always try to make them smile. It’s not always possible, but the smile, the smile in the eyes is important, even if they’re covering their mouth. I like very old people with wrinkles and a beard that takes 30 years to grow. When you see a [photo of a] smile, you can’t explain the story behind it but you know something happened between the photographer and the model.

You know that it’s not just a snapshot. I like that, when there’s emotion in the photo. It’s more important than technical settings. For that, I’m not a “real” photographer, maybe. I’m self-taught, never had any training. What is a professional photographer? I don’t really know. Sometimes I don’t want to call myself a professional photographer because if it means talking all day about technical things, I don’t want to be one.

I just want to make people happy and feel something when they look at my photo. There are much better photographers than me, but if there are good settings but no emotion, no story, it’s not a good photo. Emotion is the first thing. If people feel something when they look at your photo, that’s what’s important.

You share your photos pretty generously on your Facebook page. And they’re not watermarked…

I had a marketing background in France M’Nong girl near Buon Ma Thuot with her pet elephant so that’s a big difference between me and other photographers. They are very good artists but don’t want to post too much online because of copyright. But we’re in the 21st century now. It’s hard to keep copyrights, so for me, I post on Facebook every day. Some photos get 26,000 likes. If each of those people had 50 friends, it’s a million people seeing that photo in 24 hours.

A Saigon travel agency used my photo without asking me. I contacted them and told them it was all right as long as they credited me, and they were very happy. In the end, no one wants to share online. They’re very good but no one knows them.

We’re all inundated with images now thanks to Instagram, facebook and the web in general. Is that a good or bad thing?

Well, just an example for Vietnam.

When I searched online for Vietnam in 2007, I only saw photos about the war. But now when I look at Google Images, I see very beautiful photos of Ha Long Bay. I guess it’s like that for many countries. There’s a big choice for photography and it’s very inspiring for me. Things go viral very quickly, too. Many people post and it’s good exposure for the photographer.

How has life in Vietnam changed you?

I first came to Vietnam in 2007 to spend three weeks with some children we were sponsoring. They lost their father a long time ago. I promised to come back every year. Every time, it became more and more difficult to leave. When I told my friends that I wanted to be a photographer, an artist, and move to Vietnam, they said: “Pshaw, Réhahn, don’t show off. You’re crazy. Why would you go there?”

French people are like that. They’re scared of everything. If I had listened to them, I would’ve stayed in France [where Réhahn had a printing business]. But I believe in myself. My wife believes in me.

I recently sold a print for USD10,000. I noticed that my friends [in France] didn’t comment at all on it. But in life, you shouldn’t listen too much to people. There are two kinds of people – losers and winners. Many people around us will always be afraid to do something. But if you believe in yourself, you can do it, and do it for a reason other than money.

Now, I’m very happy. I’m happy every day when I’m in Vietnam. I didn’t feel like that in France. I felt sick every Sunday night just thinking that I had to go to work on Monday. When I moved here it was a dangerous choice because my son was only one month old.

But I’m so happy with my choice. I was born again three years ago as a photographer. Every day, I take my motorbike across the rice fields for the 4 km from the beach to the city. My brother and father have joined me here. I have no more reason to go back to France.

I didn’t come to Vietnam to be rich, but for a lifestyle change. Now I’m lucky; everything is going well for the photos, for the gallery. [Réhahn also owns a restaurant and a homestay in Hoi An.] I feel like when you make your hobby a job, it’s very dangerous. You can lose your passion because when you need to earn money, you do things you don’t like and at the end of the day, aren’t motivated to take photos for yourself, to be inspired. I want to be a free photographer.

Out of your thousands of portraits, is there any one subject that has stayed with you?

It’s difficult to say. Maybe Xong, the 76-year-old woman on the cover of my book. She rows boats for tourists. In fact, from the window in the restaurant where I’m talking to you, I can see her boat from here. She’s still very happy to do that and doesn’t want to stop. That’s such a good lesson to learn about life. She’s 76 years old, still working, very poor, very old, but happy. The photo I took of her three years ago was one of my first sellable photos, so very special to me.

Last June, I bought her a boat. She deserves more than that. I sold many books thanks to her. I still see her every day. She always hugs me, touches me, touches my hair. She’s like a grandmother for me. She’s my very good friend now.

Selected photos from Réhahn will be exhibited at VinGallery (6 Le Van Mien, D2) from March 2-21, 2015.

Images courtesy of Réhahn

                                                                  By James Pham & filed under Art, Features.

                                                                       (Source: Ơi Magazine)

The Mist cast: Life in dance

Seventy percent of Vietnamese live in rural areas, spending their days tending rice fields, visiting temples and preparing for early morning market.

The Mist portrays Vietnamese farming life through contemporary dance (select performance dates in 2015). We asked some of the dancers to take their moves from the Saigon Opera House stage to the countryside, the source of the show’s inspiration.

We then challenged them to express the beauty of daily urban life in dance, with the posh Saigon Domaine Luxury Residences, winner of the 2014 World Luxury Hotel awards for Luxury Suite Hotel (Vietnam), as the backdrop. What they showed us is that wherever you live, there is beauty in the everyday. 

 * Images by Neil Featherstone