H'mong New Year merry mood

These days Vân Hồ, Lóng Luông, Tân Xuân and all other H’Mong hamlets glow in a merry mood as the New Year approaches.
The air is filled with the familiar playful sounds of happy pestles pounding steamed sticky rice in mortars. There are also the higher notes of kids’ laughter and shouting during their traditional games of humming-top and pao ball throwing
H’Mong traditional New Year celebration begins on the 30th of 11th lunar month (a month before Việt New Year) and lasts 3 days. It’s the time for sharing foods, drinks and fun after a year of continuous hard work.

At the H’Mong New Year’s feast, besides all sorts of meat, paste cake is a must. Women are busy steaming milpa sticky rice, the main ingredient of the cakes. When, finished, the rice is scooped into large wooden mortars and strong young men pound it with long pestles.
It’s harder to pull the pestles up than crush them down. In the brittle cold of winter, the men’s faces turn red, covered in beads of sweat. Soft and smooth dough-like rice is then kneaded in a round shape and wrapped in banana leaves.

When ready, 6 pairs of cakes are arranged neatly on the altar, representing the 12 months of a year, as a tribute to heaven, earth and the god of harvest.
As symbolic as the Việt glutinous rice cake, paste cake is the H’Mong New Year’s icon to express gratitude to heaven, earth and their ancestors. It represents the sun and the moon that give birth to people and all living things on earth. 
H’Mong people don’t ring New Year in at midnight. To them, it comes with the first cock-crow of the first day of the new year. The men get up, prepare a first meal for the family, and cattle and do all the chores instead of women, because they are the pillars of the household and must make an example of order and discipline that will be kept the whole coming year.
On new year’s day people go around the village to wish each other happiness. The H’Mong are very hospitable, and guests who come on New Year’s day bring luck for the whole year. The hosts treat their guests with everything they have, and invite them to stay overnight. Before leaving, guests are given paste cakes made by the host family as a token of gratitude and wish for happiness.

Another unique H’Mong New Year’s custom is that of gluing paper on their farming tools and putting them near the family altar. It’s the way they show their grattitude to the farming tools for having helped them work their fields and gardens to earn a living for the whole family.
New Year is also a time for H’Mong children to play, for the elders to sit together and talk about their good old times, and for young people to date and get more intimate. So on these days, the mountain slopes brighten with festive colors of new dresses and adornments. Life for them is exuberant.

In the village clearing, people gather to play folk games and enjoy a pipe blowing and dance show. Peacock-like H’Mong young men show off their dancing to attract the glistening black pearls that keep them awake at night the whole year long.
In their best outfits, the young men compete, blowing their bamboo pipes and dancing. The longer the breath, the more flaring the melody, the suppler the dance, the more girls feel moved. Many young couples bond in marriage thanks to the New Year’s celebrations and these deeply ethnic games.

When thick mist falls on the mountains, giving sharp teeth to the cold, everybody gathers around big fires. Nothing can stop the generous hearts from having the fun they deserve. They sit closer to each other, hand in hand, enjoying the songs and dances their ancestors loved and so will their descendants, bonding together in anticipation of a happy new year.n

Hmong children’s New Year. Lai Chau Province, 2015. This photo series won third prize in Vietnam Heritage Photo Awards 2015
Photos by Tran Dao Si.

How to pick the lucky sprig

Photos: Ba Han

Vietnam Heritage, February 2011 -- Following annual routine, I got dressed neatly, carried out the prayer and first well-wishing rituals, in the vigil of transition to the New Year, then rode my motorbike into the street, taking the direction the wealth god had indicated, to pick the lucky sprig. 
My grandmother said that during the vigil we were not allowed to be sleepy. We had to do something that would bring well-being. Good examples should be set, to be followed throughout the year. My grandfather said the head of the household had to leave his domain to pick the lucky sprig. 
Years ago, when I was living in the countryside, after the vigil I used to take a walk in search of the lucky sprig, but experience has shown me it is more convenient to ride a motorbike, and make the trip a New Year’s outing. A motorbike brings the pleasure of moving fast, creating an example of continuous and positive progress for the new year.         
My neighbour and friend waits until late in the morning before he goes for a walk and picks the lucky sprig. There is nothing wrong in this. It is the quality of the sprig that matters. 
The sprig can be from any kind of plant, and with or without flowers, with or without fruit, but it must be green, exuberant, with leaves growing densely, symbolising wealth of the sky and earth. It goes in a vase on the first day of the year.
So, I was on my motorbike, and under the light of the street lamps. People separately or in groups, neatly dressed, walked slowly and talked noisily. The street seemed new and unfamiliar, composed and leisurely. The people seemed to be new. They looked kind-hearted, compassionate and nice. I turned so as have travelled in all four main directions and eight supplementary directions. The city of Tuy Hoa, in Central Vietnam, though small, was big enough for me to make such a New Year's outing. I saw very pretty foliage but I didn't know its name. The leaves looked dark. They were thin and sharp, boldly directed forward. I stopped. An old man was picking a young sprig from the tree.
I went up to him, raised my hand and greeted him with ‘Happy New Year’. He said, ‘Happy New Year’, and asked, ‘Which hand do you use to pick the sprig?’ I was puzzled.  I didn't have any idea which hand I used to pick the sprig. I asked him confusedly, ‘Sir, which hand do we need to use to pick the lucky sprig? I have never noticed how to do this.’ The old man smiled and said, ‘You should pick the lucky twig with your left hand. That is your destiny’s hand. That is what the chiromancer says. Your left hand is your destiny’s hand. A male’s destiny stays in his left hand, a female’s destiny stays in her right hand.’ Oh, I understand. No wonder. I said thank you to the old man and went closer to the tree. On tiptoe, I moved my left hand to pick a sprig within my reach, a big one, its leaves light green and wet with dew, invigorating. 
From a distance, I looked at my house bright with electric lights. Every door and window was wide open, the house sparsely peopled, with children in the living room. 
I put the sprig in the vase together with a bunch of tricolor gladioli on the ancestral altar.     
                          ­­          

Shuffling the buffalo

Buffalo bazaar Can Cau of Si Ma Cai has long been famous in Lao Cai Province. On market days, hundreds of buffalos are brought here from the highland hamlets of Bac Ha, Si Ma Cai, Muong Khuong, even from Sin Man District of Ha Giang Province. In the last few days, the weather in Si Ma Cai has turned cold. Heaven and earth are sunk in thick fog. At 6 a.m., the clock rang. I threw off my blanket and looked out, but could see nothing. Having warmed myself with some rice noodles, I hurried down to Can Cau, not wanting to miss the buffalo bazaar. Groups of people, blurred in the fog, went down the San Chai slope in rhythm with the tintinnabulation of tiny bells. Ms Giang Thi My of Hoa Su Pan Village, San Chai Commune woke up at 4 a.m. to help her husband take three buffalos a dozen kilometres to Can Cau. This season, the buffalos don’t have to plough, so Ms My takes them here, hoping to sell one for a good price to buy a new TV set or a motorbike for the New Year. Every now and then, I meet a group of people walking tens of buffalos down the slope. The buffalos walk leisurely on the asphalt, without any leash. 7 a.m., Can Cau bazaar brightens with colours. Hundreds of buffalos have gathered, blackening a whole area. Buyers, sellers, villagers and tourists all are talking, bargaining, having fun. Mr Sung A Dung of Can Cau Commune said people bring their buffalos here to sell if there is a good bargain. Otherwise, it’s a chance to show off their family’s buffalos, which is fun too. So every Saturday, each family walks their whole herd to the bazaar to ‘exhibit’ them. While admiring a bull, I started at someone’s shout, ‘Stop them fighting!’ In a wet clearing, two loose ferocious bulls were ramming against each other, their eyes shot red. They hung onto each other, their sharp horns interlocked, flinging to both sides. Curious spectators flocked to the site, shouting, cheering. Mr Dung added, ‘Buffalos brought here are mostly bulls, very ardent. Fights like this happen every time the bazaar gathers.’ Amid this Can Cau ‘stock-exchange’, it’s hard to tell the buffalo traders apart. Everybody carries a backpack or a brocade bag across one shoulder, or a money bag-belt bulging on their stomach. Each times the bazaar gathers a trader may bring tens, even hundreds of millions to buy buffalos. I mingled in a crowd around a big bull. A buffalo trader named A Sung, a scraggy, tiny man with a gaunt face and piggy eyes, was scrutinizing it. Some buffalo sellers whispered among themselves that this man had decades of experience and was famous for his shrewdness. A Sung came over, loudly slapped the animal’s behind, rubbed its belly and pinched it. Then he snuck behind the buffalo, kicked hard at its knee while his hands pulled its tail, making the animal jump as if electrified. Not yet satisfied, he unbridled it, wrestled to open its mouth wide to inspect its teeth. The animal blew white foam, seething, lifted its horns and pulled back. The trader finished, missing no detail. A buffalo seller whispered to my ear, ‘That’s what I call knowledge! Slap and pinch to see if it is fit. Check the teeth to estimate its age.’ According to the sellers, buffalos are less pricey this year. A big VND45 million bull last year is worth only VND43 millions this year. I noticed that the buyers and sellers have some conventional signals among themselves. Satisfied with a buffalo, a trader would ask its price. The owner firmly says, VND37 millions. The trader proposes VND32 millions. The owner stretches out his right hand and says decisively, VND35 millions is the final offer! The trader is almost convinced, but still hesitates. He looks at the buffalo, turn away, then turns back and jerks up his chin, ‘VND34 millions, let’s shake hands, huh?’ Seeing that the owner is unmovable, the trader agrees to pay VND35 millions and shakes his hand. Money is paid and the two men shake hands again. The trader takes out a paint tube, sprays number 8 and a colon on the buffalo’s behind, meaning ‘sold to new owner’. More and more buffalos are branded on the field as the day goes on. Some trader has bought as many as 20 buffalos. Each time the bazaar gathers a big number of buffalos are sold, sometimes worth even billions of dongs.n Photos: At the buffalo bazaar Can Cau of Si Ma Cai in Lao Cai Province

The tao of dryness

Hoi An in flood, 2009. Photo: Nguyen Luong

Each 9th and 10th lunar months, Hoi An faces flooding. It usually happens after a storm, when water gushes down from the nearby mountains, while the sea level rises and adds to the problem. Also, hydropower stations have also begun to flush thousands of cubic meters of water per second into the area.
Some have proposed to build low dykes around Hoi An to protect the town from floods. But the objections are that there is no budget for it, and the dykes would destroy the attractive, dreamlike beauty of the town. And so the authorities and owners of the historical site have decided to obey nature and live in harmony with the floods.
Hoi An looks out at Thu Bon River from streets running east to west. Bach Dang street lines one side of the river; behind it are Nguyen Thai Hoc and Tran Phu streets. The locals say that Tran Phu is the oldest one. Nguyen Thai Hoc appeared in 1840 and Bach Dang in 1878. Running north to south to connect these main streets are Hoang Dieu, Nguyen Hue, Hoang Van Thu, Le Loi and Nhi Trung streets and many tiny alleys. All these lead directly to the river.

Flood season in Hoi An, 2003. Photo: Nguyen Luong

The majority of the most important buildings are on Tran Phu Street. Among them are the club-houses of Chinese traders, built as a reminder of their home, standing out vividly. All these club-houses face toward the river. Hoi An dwellers say that the direction leads to Son Tra hillside; thus all the vitality of heaven and earth flows to the buildings.
Sitting in a coffee shop on Bach Dang Street at dusk or when the lanterns are lit, visitors feel as if they are in poetic Venice. This street is the first one to be flooded, and some years, the water climbs up to the first floor of two storey houses, and many households have to get out from the roofs to be rescued by boats.
Mr Ha Re, living on Bach Dang Street said, ‘Hoi An is at the lowest point around, how can it not be flooded.’
Alexandre de Rhodes, coming to Hoi An, noted that in 1624 and the year after that, ‘The rainy season raises the water in the river, causing floods.’ So floods have been the usual occurrence in Hoi An for hundreds of years. Living in an area prone to storms and floods, homeowners had to find ways to protect themselves from annual disasters.
To protect the houses from rains and storms, the tiled roof is the most important. Hoi An tiles are square, thin, slightly curved baked terracotta. One line of face-down tiles follows another, face up, and so on. They call this yin-yang roofing. When the whole roof is covered, they use cement to fix the tiles, making the wave-like roofs strong and leak-free.
Mr Nguyen Chi Trung, Hoi An Heritage Conservation Centre director told us, ‘The heritage remains as long as the roofs remain. During big storms that hit Hoi An, while the new house roofs on the outskirts of town were blown away, the centuries old yin-yang roofs stood firm, except for a few downgraded ones , which [were] only deformed a little.’

Mr Le Dung showing water marks of the floods. Photo: Khieu Thi Hoai

To live with floods, most of the houses on the ancient streets are two-storey, with trapdoors to help move things before the water rises.
Having lived with storms and floods for generations, the people of Hoi An remain quite calm when the high water season comes.
The town has 1360 ancient buildings, 1107 of which line the ancient streets, including dwellings, club-houses, shrines, temples and pagodas. 82,4 per cent of these are private or collective properties. That’s a large quantity, but the Hoi An Heritage Conservation Centre staff knows by heart every building and are constantly ready for rescue and support every time a storm comes. Mr La Vinh Dien from house no. 16 of Nguyen Thai Hoc said, ‘The Hoi An Heritage Conservation Centre staff know all the ins and outs of my house, even better than myself. Before the storm season they always come to give us slabs and poles and help reinforce the weak parts of the house. That’s why although the eye of the recent 11th storm passed Hoi An, this house remained safe; only a few lines of roof tiles were displaced.’
Mr Le Dung, 6th generation owner of Tan Ky house told us, ‘Hoi An old houses share side walls, making the whole street one single strong structure. Protected by yin-yang tile roofs done with good workmanship, storms are no big threat. However water sucked into walls is like a chronic disease. Each flood leaves it hidden impact in every house, every wall, every pole, helping termites multiply. The biggest flood I have seen came in 1964 when I was only 11. Sitting on the first floor, I could reach down to the water with my hands. That year the water remained high for a whole week. We ran out of provisions. But these days we have power generators and motored pulleys, so staying longer upstairs is possible…’
One wall in Mr Le Dung’s house is not repainted to keep water marks of the floods. The next wall is covered with visitor cards and impression notes left by tourists from all over the world. The wall is a message from the people of Hoi An, saying that they can accept and cherish everything, from the good feelings of the visitors that come to appreciate their centuries-long way of life to the real threats from the nature that come with every storm season.