Society - Saigoneer

A Brief Primer Into the History of K-Pop Chế in Vietnam

2024-05-13T15:00:00+07:00

My middle school memories are often peppered with the honking voices of adolescents chanting some silly chorus about household cleaning.

“Mày rửa chén, tao lau nhà” and the generation raised on Vietsubbed K-pop

In 2011, South Korean girl group 2NE1 made a comeback with their second studio album, pioneered by the title track “I Am The Best.” The song quickly became a hit in their homeland due to its message of self-affirmation. Young Vietnamese, caught in the middle of the K-pop craze sweeping across the region at the time, also embraced the song, but for different reasons.

The edgy style of the four girls and the catchy electro-pop melody filled a void that Vietnamese pop music, which was still struggling to find its identity at the time, lacked. Meeting the demand for groundbreaking pop, the song became omnipresent, blasting from every corner, from Nhaccuatui (a streaming platform) to my middle school's loudspeakers that previously only played patriotic songs.

During every break, my entire grade would enthusiastically dance when ‘I Am the Best’ came on. Many wanted to sing along but were held back by the fact that fewer than 1% of the students could pronounce the Korean lyrics correctly. Somehow, the chorus, “Nega jeil jal naga” morphed into “Mày rửa chén, tao lau nhà” which translates to “You wash the dishes, I'll sweep the house,” a quirky phrase that the kids cheerfully repeated. This was the tune that would become part of my high school years' soundtrack.

Much later, 2NE1 disbanded, and the members pursued solo careers. However, the iconic tracks and their unofficial versions continue to resonate among young people.

“On this occasion of New Year's Eve, we would like to welcome our domestic cleaning queen.”

Whether it is played at comedy shows or weddings, ‘I Am The Best’ is still considered the anthem of washing dishes and sweeping houses. Years later, when group leader CL returned to Vietnam to perform at a New Year's Eve concert, people excitedly whispered, “Ready to ‘wash dishes and sweep houses’ with our queen?’

In addition to ‘I Am the Best,’ many other K-pop songs of that era gained new identities upon arriving in Vietnam. With the creative touch of remix enthusiasts, tracks were subtitled and carefully dubbed with nonsensical lyrics that bore little relation to the original content but somehow fit the music remarkably well.

There was a time when people asked each other, “Ăn sáng chưa?” (Have you had breakfast yet?) to the tune of ‘A Boy’ by G-Dragon. They would “đưa nhau đi chơi xa, trên con xe tay ga” (go on trips, ride motorbikes) alongside Big Bang's ‘Fantastic Baby.’ And when Taeyang's ‘Ringa Linga’ chorus played, everyone would join in chanting, “Lên là lên, lên là lên!” (Up and up, up and up!).

“Lên Là Lên/Ringa Linga” — The ultimate club music for middle schoolers.

When reflecting on my “K-pop alternative” phase, I wonder what made these “K-pop chế” (K-pop parody songs) so popular. Young Vietnamese were eagerly consuming cultural products from Japan, Europe, and the US at the time, yet there were no Backstreet Boys or Westlife parodies. So how did we get here?

Tracing the history of Vietnamese-language adaptations

Throughout Vietnam's history, localizing foreign content has been a long-standing tradition essential for preserving knowledge through various times of turmoil. For instance, during colonial rule and periods of varying Chinese influence, language shifted and adapted. Via translations into Nôm script and Quốc Ngữ script, meanings were altered and lost, intentionally or not. From Truyền Kỳ Mạn Lục to The Tale of Kiều, imported works were transformed with names, settings, and events made to feel more “Vietnamese.” This localization made foreign elements more relatable to local audiences.

Having had significant exposure to foreign cultures, people in southern Vietnam before 1975 appreciated foreign songs with localized lyrics.

Such adaptations extended beyond literature, finding their way into theater and music. During colonial rule, new, powerful Western melodies became tools for stirring patriotism and anti-colonial sentiment.

Revolutionaries wrote Vietnamese lyrics to the tune of foreign songs to express their desire for independence. A notable example is ‘La Marseillaise,’ the French national anthem, which has spawn up to seven different Vietnamese versions with lyrics like “Hey, comrades! Forward to liberation day!” and “Citizens, rise up and answer the nation's call!”

Lam Trường was the face of translated Chinese-language pop.

The adapting of foreign material continued in the following decades as Vietnam encountered other cultures. In the south, Phạm Duy created Vietnamese versions of western songs like ‘You're the Most Beautiful Tonight’ and ‘When We Were Young.’ In the north, Soviet songs such as ‘A Million Roses’ and ‘Katyusha’ were also translated. By the 1980s and 1990s, Chinese pop adapted into Vietnamese had become hugely popular, producing timeless hits that defined the careers of artists like Lam Trường and Đan Trường.

However, during the 2000s, translated music lost its appeal for various reasons. Young people began listening to English songs in their original form, while Chinese pop music failed to keep up with new genres like hip-hop and EDM. Moreover, Vietnam joined the International Federation of the Phonographic Industry, which further complicated the translation and distribution of foreign songs.

Riding the Hallyu wave

As the era of translated music faded, Vietnamese audiences began to embrace a fresh breeze of culture — the Korean Wave, or Hallyu. Originating from the South Korean government's initiative to promote cultural industries globally, Hallyu aimed to enhance the nation's image by exporting its cultural assets.

As South Korea's comprehensive diplomatic partner, Vietnam quickly integrated Hallyu into daily life. Vietnam became the first Southeast Asian country to broadcast South Korean dramas on a national TV station. Korean fashion, hairstyles, and cosmetics became increasingly popular among urban youth. People in big cities started preferring “made in Korea” consumer products over those from Japan or America.

In the early Hallyu days, idol obsession became such a prominent issue that the Ministry of Education included “idol culture” in a national graduation exam.

However, when discussing Hallyu in Vietnam during the 2000s and 2010s, colloquially referred to as Gen 2, the most notable impact came from the music industry and the idol culture that accompanied it.

Unlike C-pop, South Korean music at the time was diverse in genres and appealed to a wide range of tastes. But unlike western music, the progressiveness of the Korean music industry was delivered through themes and expressions more relatable to Asians. It contained a measured openness, as seen in hip-hop music videos that embraced melodramatic cancer storylines typical of Korean dramas, catering to the tastes of a nation still learning the ropes of international integration.

A staple of school performances back then was not-so-polished K-pop cover dances.

Gen 2 is also considered the golden era of K-pop, as it gave rise to many groups now regarded as legends: TVXQ, Super Junior, Girls’ Generation, Wonder Girls, Big Bang, etc. With generous production budgets and exceptional stage performance skills, the idol wave quickly captured the hearts of young Vietnamese. Issues of teen magazines like Hoa Học Trò and Mực Tím that featured K-pop artist posters were hot commodities. The catchy beats and choreography of popular K-pop songs, performed off-rhythm but enthusiastically by students, became fixtures in school assemblies and youth group meetings. Naturally, the torch of translated music was passed to Korean songs when local artists released Vietnamese versions of trending K-pop hits despite legal ambiguities.

Mom: “We have Lee Hyori at home.” The Lee Hyori we have at home:

Vietnam's K-pop chế universe

With limited resources to access idols' official products like concert tickets, fan meetings, or even CDs, Vietnamese fans supported their idols through the internet, joining fan forums like 360KPOP and tirelessly streaming music videos.

In the early days, companies didn't provide subtitles. But fans who wanted to connect with idols had to feel both the visuals and the lyrics. Since Vietnamese cover versions weren't ideal, “Vietsub” music videos became popular. Fans fluent in Korean would translate lyrics, add Vietnamese subtitles, and re-upload them.

Big Bang's ‘Haru Haru’ music video is hip-hop inspired but still incorporates a dramatic cancer storyline typical of Korean dramas.

During this period, Vietnamese-subtitled K-pop music videos flooded the internet. Statistics show that 60% of the videos tagged with “Vietsub” were Korean-related. With K-pop closely tied to fandoms, fans did not merely want to consume the music but also interact with their idols and other enthusiasts.

Because fan meetings and official concerts were rarely held in Vietnam, translating and subtitling music videos and sharing them became a way for fans to recruit new members and lay the groundwork for their communities. From active fans promoting their idols to the innate trendy nature of the Hallyu wave, the hottest K-pop music videos at the time began to spread beyond the fandom. They were broadcast on mainstream TV channels and consistently appeared at the top of YouTube's recommendation lists, sparking curiosity and interest from casual viewers who weren't deeply invested in the artists' details and simply wanted to enjoy the music.

However, back then, Korean wasn't as widely spoken as English, and even the Romanized Korean syllables were challenging for people to sing along with. Thus, K-pop parody videos emerged to meet public demand, adjusting lyrics to be memorable and easy to sing. The original messages vanished, replaced by creative rewrites from fans and creators.

‘Oh! Chế,’ or ‘Oh! Parody,’ is considered the cornerstone of K-pop parody music.

In the early days, well-known K-pop parody songs often carried a negative connotation because they originated from anti-fan groups who sought to “throw shade” at specific artists. An example is ‘Oh!’ by Girls' Generation, or SNSD. Upon debut, the nine-member group quickly became a national phenomenon in Korea due to their fresh image and music.

In Vietnam, SNSD fans (including the author of this article!) were mostly marginalized because the group was constantly boycotted for ridiculous reasons, like being disrespectful to seniors, having plastic surgery, or interacting with male idols — rumors that were later proven unfounded. “Oh! Chế” transformed what was originally a lighthearted love song into one that attacked the female singers' looks and personalities:

Bụng em giờ rất thon / My waist is now so slim
Trông người em thật mí nhon / My body looks so petite
Hút bao nhiêu mỡ mà cũng phát biểu / But that's liposuction
Quá đáng anh thật là / You're such a jerk
Cứ phụ lòng của người ta / Messing with my heart
Mất bao nhiêu công em đi tu sửa lại đồ đấy. / You know I went under the knife to fix myself.

After ‘Oh! Chế,’ SNSD's sizable anti-fan contingent released more parody classics such as ‘Run Devil Run.’ Paradoxically, many people grew more interested in the group due to these parody songs, and even became K-pop fans because of the songs' sharp-tongued and sarcastic lyrics.

“Raise your hand if the Oh parody introduced you to K-pop.”

“I was even happily singing along because I thought it was a fan-made cover.”

The negativity of early K-pop parodies likely stemmed from young people's limited awareness of the internet, which was just beginning to be common in Vietnam in the 2000s and 2010s. At the same time, fandom culture strongly promoted parasocial relationships. Loyal fans felt they needed to protect their idols' reputations and achievements against any competition, even if that meant personally attacking other idols.

Fortunately, as young people learned to use the internet more responsibly, their perspective on female artists also softened as Gen 2 idols gradually established their careers. K-pop parody culture within the community evolved, shifting from mockery to humor. By incorporating relatable details like trà đá, bún chả, and motorbikes, idols became characters who felt closer to Vietnamese people. The parody lyrics were carefully crafted for rhythm and catchiness, making them singable like genuine songs. Thus, timeless choruses such as “Mày rửa chén, tao lau nhà” or “Lên là lên” became woven into the daily lives of millenials and Gen Z's.

With K-pop parodies, language differences were no longer a barrier. Instead, they distilled the work into its fundamental elements: fun moves and catchy sounds. Everyone could enjoy the music videos' entertainment value without needing to understand the lyrics. This created a blank canvas for anyone with a computer to unleash their creativity and convey personal messages and emotions, for better or worse.

Not just Vietsub, it's Nghệ-An-sub.

In recent years, with a booming economy, Vietnam has become a market of interest for the K-pop industry. Fan events like concerts and meet-and-greets are now organized in Vietnam, and some music videos even come with Vietnamese subtitles. Translation and parody lyrics have thus become less essential for fans to feel connected with the artists. The golden age of K-pop parody has become a nostalgic memory for Gen 2 fans. Even so, the legacy of K-pop parody music continues to inspire and be carried forward by a handful of current creators.

“I started listening to K-pop in 2012. The first K-pop songs I heard were ‘Oh Chế,’ ‘Haru Haru Chế,’ and ‘Em Yêu Ảo Lòi.’ These songs had a massive impact on me,” Bạch Ân Khoa, a longtime K-pop fan and remix master, told me. Bạch Ân Khoa is known for viral parody tracks like ‘Love Dive Tình Ái,’ a “collab” between IVE and Đàm Vĩnh Hưng. Khoa's other remixes also always include a random Vietnamese twist. With the support of AI tools, idols can sing duets with Bé Xuân Mai or even perform in a Nghệ An accent.

“The ideas just come naturally and serve no other purpose than to satisfy my passion, bring laughter, and spread my idol's songs to more people,” Khoa shared. “The Nghệ An series started with a friend, a NewJeans fan, who posted a video showcasing a Central Vietnamese accent. I thought, ‘What if K-pop idols sang in the Nghệ An dialect?’ It's also my way of promoting the region's special dialect to friends across the country.”

What goes around comes back around?

For the longest time, K-pop parodies reflected the influence of Korean culture on Vietnamese youth. Yet today, they're a demonstration of the creativity that young Vietnamese use to share their unique identity with the world.

The girls of IVE used Bạch Ân Khoa's parody song to thank their Vietnamese fans in a message in Vietnamese: “DIVE ơi, chúng ta kết lâu đài!” (“Hey DIVE, let's build a castle!”)

Imagine having your favorite artists quote you.

When BlackPink held the first Vietnam concert in Hanoi, the audience sang along enthusiastically to the chorus of ‘Flower’ in its Vietsub version called ‘Lửa Hận Thù.’ The performance by 60,000 Vietnamese fans left the artists astonished, and the international community praised Vietnam as probably the coolest fandom during BlackPink's tour. Recently, with the global rise of Hoàng Thùy Linh's ‘See Tình,’ Korean-subtitled versions have also started appearing all over South Korean social media.

The ‘Lửa Hận Thù’ performance that crowns Vietnam's fans as the coolest in the world.

As evidenced by Vietnam's history, no matter the era, fostering cultural exchange and integration is crucial when a nation opens its borders. Embracing and influencing each other's cultures between nations not only strengthens diplomatic relations but also enriches the cultural life of each country's citizens. After more than three decades of friendship and a decade filled with fond memories of Vietnamese K-pop parody music, could there be an opportunity for a “V-pop parody wave” to emerge in South Korea? I'm eagerly awaiting the answer.

Saigon Metro Line 1 Announces July Launch Date, Free Rides in Phase 1

2024-04-03T15:00:00+07:00

Will 2024 be the auspicious year when our legs could finally step on the metro platform for the first time?

On April 1, the Management Authority for Urban Railways (MAUR) published a new plan detailing the expected operation of Saigon’s first and only metro line, Line 1. Contrary to conflicting rumors over the past months, MAUR revealed that Metro Line 1 will take its maiden voyage in July 2024.

According to Tuổi Trẻ, which reported on the updated plan, Line 1 will first undergo a “soft opening” running period free of charge to familiarize city residents with its existence before officially going into commercial operation in 2025.

Specifically, in Phase 1, which spans July 1–September 30, the line will employ seven three-car trains running from 5am to 10pm at a frequency of one arrival per 10 minutes.

In Phase 2, which spans October 1 to December 31, the line will increase to 12 three-car trains running from 5am to 10:30pm at 8–10 minutes per arrival during weekdays and nine trains during weekends and public holidays.

After that, in 2025, it’s expected that Metro Line 1 will amp up its service in accordance with designed specifications: 15 trains at 8 minutes per train during non-peak hours and 4.5 minutes per train during peak hours. Train services will be available from 5am to 11:30pm.

Last month, a MAUR report to the municipal People’s Committee sparked controversy amongst locals as it revealed that the launch date Metro Line 1 was once again delayed to Q4 2024, though the project director has since clarified that the report only includes the “most conservative” timeline.

Progress reports from MAUR put the long-awaited subway line’s completion rate at 98% with the remaining tasks including personnel training, fire safety assessment, and other quality assurance checks.

Sweating out My Sadness on the Canal's Exercise Machines

2024-03-27T09:00:00+07:00

We're all unlucky in love sometimes. When I am, I go jogging. The body loses water when you jog, so you have none left for tears.

That's a quote that I've memorized from the cult classic Chungking Express by Wong Kar-wai. The dialogue comes from the main character, “Cop 223” He Zhiwu, who has just been unceremoniously dumped by his girlfriend. As a way to chew over his pain, he indulges in aimless activities such as running around a baseball field until he faints.

In 2023, I purchased a set of workout clothes and a pair of sneakers to force myself into motion, as a natural reflex to breaking up. Of course, I am well aware that biologically, the human body has the ability to continuously regenerate tears. But in moments of confusion, I want to believe in the romanticization of cinema, for in the end, there could only be two outcomes:

1. I defy science, becoming the first person in history to actually run out of tears.

2. Working out makes me healthier and more attractive, theoretically boosting my chances of stumbling into someone new. Quite sensible.

Public fitness equipment was introduced to Vietnam in 2009.

Today, staying fit has never been easier for Saigoneers, with an array of gyms popping up at every price point. However, I don’t trust myself to fend off predatory sales pitches and century-long membership plans, especially with my impatient nature. To assess my perseverance, I needed a test — a free test, to be exact.

Thus, after every workday, I would walk to the embankment on Hoàng Sa Street, just five minutes from my house. Here, a variety of public fitness equipment has been installed, including hip twisters, sit-up benches, parallel bars, treadmills, etc. My reasoning was, if I could handle turning cranky iron wheels for a month, I would surely deserve a smooth treadmill in an air-conditioned room, complete with body fat percentage meters and an iPad screen to listen to my favorite artists.

After a month of challenging myself, my trial plan turned out differently than I imagined. The public fitness system is indeed very simple and comes without any modern features. Each piece of equipment is designed for practical exercises, and the instructions for using the machines are written in the simplest language, so anyone can access them. Even after being exposed to rain and sunshine 24/7 for many years, the layers of yellow, white, and green paint only chipped a bit, while the joints continue to operate smoothly, albeit emitting a few creaks with each hip twist or pedal push.

In 2009, city officials, inspired by visits to Singapore and Thailand, adopted and piloted in four major parks, including Tao Đàn, Lê Văn Tám, Gia Định, and 23/9. Observing the public’s support, the model was expanded to the rest of the city. By April 2013, along with the completion of the Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal renovation project, over 60 machines had been installed along the waterway. Thanks to the pleasant landscape and free equipment, the area around the canal soon became a public gym, catering to the physical training needs of residents who couldn’t afford more expensive alternatives.

Residents use the fitness equipment in the morning near the base of Điện Biên Phủ bridge.

As predicted, I stopped working out on the embankment after a month. Not because the equipment was inadequate, but because sitting under the green trees, watching people (and floating bottles) pass by while gasping for breath, somehow had a healing effect. I ran out of tears to cry, though I still sweated profusely. Nevertheless, every morning on my way to work along Hoàng Sa Street, I felt a sense of joy seeing the machines being used, grateful for their silent servitude under harsh weather, waiting to serve me and all the other strangers. Should the government rope me in to advertise for these exercise machines, I would chime in with a quick disclaimer: “This product is suitable for children, the elderly, and broken-hearted adults.”

Charting the Flow of the Nhiêu Lộc Canal From Start to Historical Start

2024-03-26T08:00:00+07:00

When I fall in love with an album, I seek out the artist's first mixtapes and demos. When I come to admire a poet, I hunt down their early poems and chapbooks. I even linger over the old highlight reels of my favorite football players' college games. Understanding where something starts allows me appreciate it more. So it is with the Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal.

This led me to research the canal’s history: It was built along with the city’s other canals in the 19^th century to connect with the Mekong Delta for travel and trade and help control floods. Its past is as murky as the swamp lands it was cut into, but some interesting details and anecdotes have floated to the present, including the fact it once had numerous branches and reports that Gia Long amassed troops on its shores when preparing to attack Gia Định.

The Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal in 1955. Photo by Raymond Cauchetier via Flickr user manhhai.

In addition to this historical start of the canal, I wanted to know of its physical start and thus made a trip up to Út Tịch Street in Tân Bình where the nine-kilometer-long waterway begins. I once lived nearby, so I knew what to expect of the rather lackluster start, the commotion-choked neighborhood surrounding it, and recent reports that it had become filled with trash.

The timing of my visit coincided with an announcement that an ongoing dispute between cleanup crews and the city had reached a temporary solution, and they would begin removing the collected sludge-quarrels of trash and hyacinth that had been collecting for months. I watched the crane-fitted boats gather the snarls of stink for an hour, and based on the limited progress they made, had little faith the waters would be cleaned any time soon.

I returned six days later, expecting confirmation of my growing frustration with the city’s inability to get anything done. From the perpetually delayed metro to the persistent refusal to preserve large trees and Long Thành airport woes, it’s easy to be discouraged. So I was stunned to arrive and find the clean-up crew had made a noticeable dent. Where there was funk and folly, now clear water flowed. It’s still not clean (I did see a fish dying beside a staled caravan of styrofoam) but it's much better and I expect it will only get better. I’m now assured that the canal remains true to what it was since its beginning: a means to make life better for people in Saigon.

Nhiêu Lộc Canal Hosted Trudeau's Night Run. Why Is It Not as Famous as Obama's Bún Chả?

2024-03-25T10:00:00+07:00

You know how much Vietnamese culture revolves around food by the fact that one of the first questions we pose to any foreign visitor is “What’s your favorite Vietnamese dish?” Asking about other aspects of the country could invite honest opinions that some of us might not be prepared to hear. Deep down, more than anybody else, we know that our air quality is subpar and our urban cleanliness leaves much to be desired, but our food is the one thing every Vietnamese can trust to make us proud. What easier way to foster diplomacy than to center the conversation around deliciousness?

I’m personally petrified whenever confronted by this age-old but extremely loaded query, because oh god, where do I start? If it was any other cuisine, like Thai, Japanese or Korean, I already knew my answers by heart, but turn the conversation around to my own food and suddenly I’m a mẹ Việt Nam anh hùng forced to choose between my beloved children. My selections of favorite Vietnamese dish might vary based on region, time of the year, mood, or even random cravings on any given day — but it’s never phở.

For historical and cultural reasons, phở is the most omnipresent Vietnamese dish across the world and a phở restaurant, more common than not, is the only source of exposure that foreigners will have with our cuisine. So I get why phở is usually the top-of-mind pick for many foreign dignitaries, but choosing phở as your favorite is, to use the clinical terminology, basic as hell. Sorry Blackpink Rosé, Macklemore and Hong Kong TVB star Xa Thi Mạn — ya basic. It’s not wrong to love phở; after all, it is the quintessential dish encapsulating centuries of Vietnamese culinary history, but if your choice is phở, I can’t help but wonder if you’re sincere or you’re ignorant and just pick the lowest-hanging fruit for diplomatic ease.

Hanoi's Bún Chả Hương Liên has made an altar out of the table set and cutleries that Obama and Bourdain used. Photo via Dân Trí.

When Anthony Bourdain and Barack Obama elected to spice up the latter’s first Vietnam trip with a bún chả feast back in 2016, I was genuinely impressed — finally some interesting culinary choices, no doubt thanks to Bourdain’s more discerning palate. Other presidential appearances were much less daring: Bill Clinton’s Saigon visit in 2000 yielded a stop by Phở 2000 next to Bến Thành Market for a bowl of phở gà, cà phê đá, and a mango smoothie; Donald Trump didn’t eat any local food during his date with Kim Jong-un in 2019, but one can’t help but wonder if he settled on Hanoi as the meeting ground because there’s a McDonald’s in town.

Regardless of my own personal feelings about the merits of Bún Chả Hương Liên and Phở 2000, their popularity skyrocketed after hosting the US presidents. Phở 2000 stayed at its original location for a few years, which was getting claustrophobic by the minute due to its growing fame, before moving permanently to a sleek new space on Lê Thánh Tôn, now always packed to the brim with tourists. Following suggestions by entrepreneurial customers, Bún Chả Hương Liên has enshrined the table and sets of cutleries that Bourdain and Obama used that day in a glass display, a wacky but smart way to underscore the place’s stardom. If its nearly 10,000 reviews on Google are any indication, the presidential fever is alive and well almost a decade later.

Bill Clinton posing with staff of Phở 2000 during his visit. Photo via Thanh Niên.

Which brings us to the Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal. For one fine evening in 2017, it became the impromptu running track of Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and a number of trusted bodyguards. At around 7pm on November 9, after finishing his earlier obligations, Trudeau et al. began their night run at the Thị Nghè Bridge in District 1, moving westwards along the pavement of Hoàng Sa Street and crossing the Lê Văn Sỹ Bridge in District 3, after which they got into a car and drove away. A global leader just did an ultra-casual 5K event amid the pandemonium that is Hoàng Sa traffic at peak hour, and yet, I can’t help but wonder why the Nhiêu Lộc Canal is not world-famous?

Out of the way, peasants! Photo via VnExpress.

Apart from a few blurry paparazzi snaps from some lucky locals and a handful of articles from the Vietnamese press, this historic canal moment attracted nary a peep from international outlets. In contrast, CNN and the Washington Post, amongst many other news sources, provided extensive coverage on Obama’s bún chả visit and even delved with considerable journalistic vigor into the thought process behind why Bourdain picked the Hanoi delicacy for the meal. I will be the bigger person and admit that bún chả is delicious, but this is 5 kilometers of picturesque Saigon canal we’re talking about. Surely this exuberant night jaunt along the city’s most sought-after waterway deserved at least an explainer feature exploring Nhiêu Lộc’s rich from-rags-to-riches history. Why are international tourists not beating down our doors, their activewear and water tumblers already deployed, to experience for themselves a Saigon canal run? Why are local travel agencies not offering full-fledged “Follow in Trudeau’s footsteps” tours for sports history aficionados to visit Thị Nghè Bridge and the host of municipal landmarks Trudeau might have traversed on his trek? I hereby demand coverage equality for all Vietnam attractions frequented by world figures.

I jest, but the truth is I know why Nhiêu Lộc Canal has not achieved the international notoriety the likes of Bún Chả Hương Liên have. I’m only aware of Trudeau’s night run just because I work in media and am somewhat of a runner myself, elsewhere it seems like the canal’s 15 minutes of fame passed by as fast and as uneventfully as his presence in Saigon. A nondescript urban waterway with the occasional vista of floating detritus, nonchalant elders gyrating on exercise machines, and young couples getting to first base on secluded benches can hardly inspire the excitement level of a meal between America’s leaders in politics and culinary documentary. And Trudeau himself, like many athletic locals who just treat its pavements like a running track, would immediately forget about the canal promenade once home.

Exercising by the canal is a popular pastime for Saigoneers too. Photo by Cao Nhân.

I’ve always liked the Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal, for I consider a morning drive on Trường Sa or Hoàng Sa, streets running parallel to it, one of the best activities a motorist can partake in Saigon. Saigoneer moved to a neighborhood just a short walk from the canal last year, and I’ve heard numerous colleagues praising the merits of commuting alongside its placid water. After taking a boat ride on that very water recently, I now consider myself a canal groupie, despite the somewhat unsavory trash problem with which it’s currently riddled due to budgetary constraints. Kênh Nhiêu Lộc is unlikely to ever reach the global notability of our other presidential hosts, but perhaps it doesn’t need to. All told, urban infrastructures and amenities exist not for TikTok fame, but to benefit the lives of the denizens living near them — my life, and those of many other Saigoneers who have a soft spot for the canal’s serpentine tree-lined banks, has bettered thanks to its existence.

In Hanoi, a Family Home Balances Commercial Hustle With Spiritual Haven

2024-03-11T15:39:00+07:00

If many Vietnamese families often opt to reserve one room in their house plan for ancestor worship, this household in Hanoi decided to dedicate an entire backyard to their family altar.

Designed by AICC Architecture, Phú Lương House was built in 2021 in a cacophonous alley amid a suburban Hanoi village. The owners presented a challenge for the architects to reconcile many different living functions in one house: a commercial area for the family business, a tranquil quarter for spirituality, and living and interacting space for every household member.

The front of the house is reseved for business activities.

The resulting design divided the lot into two blocks with rather contrasting architectural styles. The front-facing block has clean contemporary features and a monochromatic palette while the back block is built in a traditional wooden style often seen in heritage homesteads or temples completed in past centuries.

A calming courtyard on the second floor

The ground floor is reserved for commercial activities and parking, in addition to a small dining area, a bedroom, and two bathrooms — one reserved for the business. The second story hosts the family’s communal space, with the main dining room connecting to a back courtyard, a small pond, and the altar room. The use of red terracotta tiles evokes a vintage air often seen in traditional homes.

Traditional furniture in the altar house.

If the contemporary block is quite simply furnished and designed with straight lines, white walls, and perpendicularity, the altar house is on the other end of the spectrum. Intricately carved columns, reliefs and animist motifs in bamboo and wood make up the majority of the architectural features.

Have a closer look at this interesting contrast via the photos below:

[Photos by Hoang Le via ArchDaily]

An Homage to the Mekong Delta and Its Bag-Wearing Fruits

2024-03-08T14:00:00+07:00

Rats, mice, mosquitos, snakes, centipedes, caterpillars, snails, beetles and slugs: the more fertile a region is, the more pests inhabit it.

It’s the trade-off for being able to have a juicy clutch of mangoes growing in your front yard; recline year-round in a veranda hammock; and fill a vase with freshly blooming flowers for next to nothing. If such a tropical setting is amenable for humans why wouldn’t it be for other creatures, after all? What makes you think you’re any different from a black–headed coconut caterpillar (Opisina arenosella Walker)?

I love the Mekong Delta and find every opportunity I can to travel there. Every arrival feels celebratory, not because the streets are lined with flags, banners, bands and parade revelers. It’s more subtle than that: trees with fruits ripening in plastic bags.

To protect against bugs and scavenging pests, ancient Japanese farmers would sew delicate silk bags to place around fragile fruits. The need to foil insects and rodents remains today, but cheaper options have emerged. Plastic, paper and mesh now encircle ripening mangoes, apples, and pomelos. The practice exists throughout Vietnam, but given the Mekong Delta’s deserved reputation as the nation’s most nourishing orchard, one notices it more frequently there. A plump jackfruit gathers sweetness in its flesh the way support gathers for a revolution. A mesh bag keeps it safe.

Seeing trees with dangling, semi-transparent bags like complex orbs of woven whiskers fills me with gratitude. Gratitude for the farmers who are finding a way to make a living. Gratitude for fruits grown without excessive chemicals and pesticides. And most of all, gratitude that my dessert was won over the best efforts of insects. It’s the tiny triumphs that can unite humanity.

Vignette is a series of tiny essays from our writers, where we reflect, observe, and wax poetic about the tiny things in life.

Preserving Cambodia's Endangered Irrawaddy Dolphins: Community-Based Ecotourism and Nature-Based Solutions in the Mekong Flooded Forest Landscape

2024-03-03T15:25:00+07:00

At dawn, the blunt foreheads of Irrawaddy dolphins breach the calm surface of the Mekong River the way an epiphany enters one’s mind; unexpected, graceful and profoundly welcome.

Photo by Gerry Ryan.

The sight of these majestic mammals epitomizes the unique environment found in a 27,000-square-meter area in northeast Cambodia known as the Mekong Flooded Forest (MFF). The spectacular freshwater ecosystem includes wetlands, rocky and sandy riverine habitats and deep pools.

Considered a national living treasure, the Irrawaddy dolphins draw visitors from around the world, providing an important source of tourism in a generally low-income and overlooked region. The endangered dolphin’s presence serves as a measure of the ecosystem's overall health as well. Along with giant freshwater stingray, giant barb, Mekong giant catfish, giant softshell turtle and other endangered species including hog deer, Eld’s deer, white-shouldered ibis, river tern and vultures, the dolphins are an integral element of community-based ecotourism (CBET) efforts that can help ensure the entire Mekong region enjoys a prosperous future.

Photo by Pha Nem.

The Environmental, Economic, and Social Significance of the Mekong Flooded Forest

The MFF’s stunning network of seasonally-submerged forests, rapids-beset riverbeds and floodplains support diverse plant and animal populations. 411 species of inland fish, 37 species of mammals, 281 species of birds, 52 species of reptiles and amphibians, and 674 species of vascular plants live in the 180 kilometer stretch of the Mekong River in addition to 65,000 people in 61 villages. These human communities have developed rich cultures and traditions dependent on the ecosystem.

Photo by Pha Nem.

MFF residents rely on the abundant waters for fisheries and the surrounding areas for agriculture. Thriving fish populations support ecosystems beyond the MFF as well. Most profoundly, the MFF contributes water, nutrients and migration routes to the Tonle Sap Lake, the world’s most productive inland fishery which is of immense importance to Cambodia’s overall economy and local livelihoods, providing 60% of all Cambodia's protein intake. Marc Goichot, WWF’s Asia Pacific Freshwater Lead, explains: “Mekong floods are the main engine for the Tonle Sap Lake biological cycle that most species depend on. The exceptional productivity of the Tonle Sap Lake is very much correlated to the flood pulse and nutrient availability. Many fish species migrate between the Mekong and Tonle Sap. In fact, it may be the largest fish migration route on the planet.”

Photo by Nicholas Axelrod-Ruom.

Meanwhile, the greater Mekong ecosystem that impacts all of Southeast Asia benefits from the MFF’s role in groundwater formation, flood cycle regulation, natural pollution filtering, oxidation of surplus nutrients, erosion protection, and sediment retention. For example, some of the rich soil carried by the Mekong River through Vietnam can be traced back to the MFF.

The Mekong Flooded Forest at Risk

The threats to the MFF are nearly as diverse as the wildlife dependent on it. Illegal fishing and overfishing, poaching and illegal logging, coupled with unsustainable development contribute to ecosystem degradation. The precarious balance of sustainable local lifestyles is in danger as illegal and irresponsible natural resource use increases alongside a lack of financial and educational resources.

Photo by Thomas Cristofoletti.

Compounding the threats to the MFF are the hydropower developments nearby and upriver. To meet increasing energy demands, many dams have been constructed with more proposed, bringing with them an array of environmental challenges. The impacts of the dams on water flow, particularly in conjunction with climate change, upends the delicate flood and drought cycles that have sustained humans and animals for centuries. The dam’s reservoirs reduce nutrients in the river system and weaken the connection between the area and Tonle Sap Lake. They also disrupt the natural spawning and migration patterns of fish and bird species, disturbing wildlife food chains and populations.

The Impact of Holistic Community and International Collaborations

No single solution will safeguard the MFF from the many threats it faces and the dedication of numerous stakeholders will be necessary. Local individuals, groups and agencies are working together with international organizations such as WWF-Cambodia to implement nature-based solutions (NbS). Specifically, Climate Resilient by Nature - Mekong Project (CRxN Mekong) aimed to improve the region’s ecologically sustainable response to climate change and environmental degradation. It nurtured CBET initiatives; improved governance and protection for vulnerable ecosystems; supported Community Fisheries Groups (CFi) for sustainable resource management and diversified incomes; strengthened policy advocacy and environmental awareness; and emphasized gender inclusion. WWF-Cambodia collaborated with Cambodia’s Culture and Environment Preservation Association (CEPA) in Stung Treng Province and IIRR Cambodia in Kratie Province as well as local community members and leaders.

Photo by Sopheap Phim (left ) and Pha Nem (right)

WWF-Cambodia helped establish a variety of activities in pursuit of the desired outcomes. Households were provided fish fingerlings and new or repaired concrete tanks to raise them in as an alternative to illegally caught wild species. CFi offered training to female members on aquaculture product processing and labeling, marketing and competent financial management in addition to hospitality and tourist experiences. Bio-intensive gardens with 20 types of crops were established in households and at two schools to produce food and additional income sources, as well as to serve as educational resources for climate-smart agriculture techniques. The CBET involve local residents in tourism services including dolphin and birdwatching tours and facilitate the sale of indigenous crafts.

“My motivation and passion is from sustainable use of natural resources so that the next generation will have these resources,” explained Im Chak, a 63-year-old member of the Khsach Leav Community Fishery and River Guard in Kratie province. The continued support of these river guards is one of the CRxN Mekong’s most visible tasks. WWF-Cambodia helped to organize training classes for the guards to expand their knowledge of patrolling techniques and protocol, rivercraft operation, laws and enforcement to effectively safeguard natural resources. The courses were supplemented by the procurement of equipment including boats and engines, smartphones, lifejackets, power banks and headlamps.

Community fisheries patrol team. Photo by Sina Pha.

Carefully collected statistics can help explain the progress made since the CRxN Mekong project in Cambodia began in July 2022. As of the end of 2023, 2,458 individuals had been directly involved in NbS to protect and restore critical ecosystems and establish community resilience plans. 2,089 people had their vulnerability to climate change reduced via the adoption of technologies including solar panels. 370 people had been directly involved in newly established or enhanced livelihood activities such as ecotourism, fish raising and vegetable planting with 47% of targeted community members reporting a greater number of income sources for their households. 11,850 ha/km2 are now governed by or improved by management models with 72 river guards, 72 bird nest protection guards and 42 CFi helping safeguard against illegal and unsustainable activities.

Photos by Pha Nem.

What Success Looks Like for Local Lives

The CRxN program is perhaps best understood by examining specific individuals who have benefited from it. Kan Vannak, a 48-year-old father of four from Chroy Banteay Village in Kratie Province, for example, was an illegal fisherman as recently as 2020. Motivated in part by uncertain economic realities exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic and a decline in natural resource abundance, he took part in WWF-Cambodia’s educational activities which introduced him to the benefits of ecotourism. He participated in a variety of training workshops including those focused on boat operations and hospitality skills. He stopped illegal fishing and now works as a boat driver to supplement his income from planting rice, raising chickens and growing vegetables.

Kan Vanak at his home. Photo by Pha Nem.

As Vannak’s story underscores, protecting the MFF involves providing viable economic opportunities as alternatives to unsustainable activities. Skilled traditional scarf weaver, Yin Sam Onn from Keng Village in Kratie Province, for example, received technical guidance from the CRxN project as well as opportunities to showcase her work at various local, provincial and national exhibitions and CBET. The 70-year-old’s ability to sell her products will be enhanced by the growth of tourism in the region which will bring in customers with educated interests in sustainable support of local communities.

Yin Som Onn with her scarves. Photos by Pha Nem.

Similarly, Horn Thida, a 44-year-old mother of four from Khsach Leav Village in Kratie Province participated in training courses for solar panel installation and helped share information regarding reducing plastic use, amongst other topics relevant to the emerging ecotourism industry. She trained village members on how to prepare food, welcome guests, raise chickens and grow vegetables, and now earns money serving meals to tourists who come to witness the area’s splendorous wildlife. Reflecting on the changes observed in her home village she notes that women in particular are more skilled and brave, with economic independence helping them avoid domestic violence.

Horn Thida. Photos by Pha Nem.

The success of climate resilience and ecosystem safeguarding efforts in the MFF can also be observed via individual animals. If organizations like WWF-Cambodia in partnership with local communities achieve their goals, it will mean Irrawaddy dolphins continue to play in the deep waters that rush between riverbanks covered in lush vegetation. Difficult to spot, a quick glimpse of a tail fin flicking above the current may signal that this special region of the Mekong River has hope for a healthy future.

Photo by Tan Somethbunwath.

Climate Resilient by Nature (CRxN) is an Australian Government initiative, in partnership with WWF-Australia, advancing high-integrity, equitable nature-based solutions to climate change in the Indo-Pacific. Funding for this project in Vietnam is provided by the Mekong Australia Partnership – Water, Energy and Climate.

[Top image provided by Sina Pha]

Grindr Once Again Names Vietnam Amongst Nations With Highest Percentage of Bottoms

2024-02-29T11:00:00+07:00

Started by Spotify, Unwrapped has become one of tech companies’ favorite marketing campaigns in recent years; LinkedIn, Duolingo, and even Vietnam’s own Zalo are amongst some revelers of this trend in recent years. Last year, gay dating app Grindr continued the tradition with their own annual insights, and Vietnam managed to claim a spot in the roundup.

In late December, the black-and-yellow hookup app released their internal data chronicling how their 13 million monthly users have engaged with the app in 2023, including some fascinating statistics into the queer community worldwide. Did you know that Italy has the most enjoyers of feet? Or that Bangladesh tops the chart in number of bears, and we’re not talking about the ursine version here.

Apart from the quirkier categories, Grindr Unwrapped 2023 offers a glimpse into the sexual identities of gay men around the world. Interestingly, Vietnam came 3rd in the Top 5 countries with the highest percentage of bottoms, behind South Korea and Japan and just ahead of Denmark and Finland. Yay? It’s also important to note that this wasn’t the first year we’ve made the ranking: Vietnam was honored for the first time back in 2020.

On the other end of the spectrum, Trinidad & Tobago, Kenya, China, Myanmar and Greece reported the most tops. Highest concentrations of vers can be found in Finland, Austria, Australia, Germany and Hungary. Reflecting the rise of sides in recent years, the report also includes a category for the butt-averse amongst us, with Singapore, the Philippines, China, Kenya, and New Zealand rounding out the Top 5.

While this report might be a lot of fun to peruse, we must recognize that the data only reflects the sexual dynamics of 13 millions queer men globally, and even then, not all Grindr users include these labels in their profiles. “And remember, Grindr Unwrapped is not meant as a comprehensive or scientific report on global queer sex & dating behaviors,” the app writes in their Unwrapped announcement blog post.

Some whimsical stats from the report. Images via Grindr.

As a nation, Vietnam’s LGBT rights advancements have been slow in the past years, but at least the climate hasn’t regressed. Some positive highlights have shown the government’s changing attitudes towards queer rights.

In 2022, Vietnam’s Ministry of Health made global headlines after it issued a nationwide memo to medical professionals to treat LGBT patients with respect and make sure they are not discriminated against. The directive stressed that being LGBTQ+ “is entirely not an illness” so it “cannot be ‘cured’ nor need[s] to be ‘cured’ and cannot be converted in any way.”

The Vietnamese government is also in the process of bringing forth the Law on Gender Reassignment, which is projected to take effect in 2026, according to a draft version. The draft law stipulates that each Vietnamese national may undertake gender reassignment once in their lifetime and will have their new gender lawfully recognized by the state.

[Photo: Participants celebrate Hanoi Pride in 2022.]

WWF-Viet Nam’s Support of Mekong Delta Farmers Combating Climate Change in the Mekong Delta with Floating Rice, Fish-traps, and Lotus Seeds

2024-02-19T10:52:00+07:00

“Compared to 10 years ago, for every 10 fish we once caught, we now only manage four or five,” explained Nguyễn Văn Dê, a lifelong resident of Vĩnh Đại commune in Long An Province.

He blames a decrease in water quality from pollution and agricultural chemicals and the construction of dikes that disrupt natural water levels for causing the decline. While noting that advances in technology and modern infrastructure have improved life in the 4,200-person commune, he said that earning a living from traditional fishing and farming practices has become more difficult.

The hardships experienced by Vietnam’s Mekong Delta residents aren’t necessarily apparent at first glance. When invited into local homes, residents routinely offer sweet jackfruit, guava and bananas fresh from their gardens along with invitations to join for fried fish and beer sessions that promise to go long into the night. This generosity, however, is a reflection of the community’s character and not a sign of prosperity. Livelihoods are precarious and there are ample reasons to be concerned about the future.

“The Flood Season is the Money-Making Season”

Simple strips of wood held together with intricate netting rest in piles behind Trần Văn Nghĩa. The 53-year-old farmer whose grandparents first cleared the forest land where his home now stands slowly lifted a trap to show off its craftsmanship while explaining how making them contributes to his family’s income. Together with his wife, they can make between 10 and 15 traps per day that sell for 50-60,000 VND and bring in a profit of approximately 15,000 VND a piece. Thanks to a strong word-of-mouth reputation boosted by some coverage in local media, Nghĩa doesn’t need to advertise them via Zalo or other social media platforms like other people in the area. They craft the traps for catching cá rô (perch), cá chốt (Mystus catfish) and cá lóc (snakehead) throughout the year, but only during the flooding season do people buy them. “The flooding season is the money-making season,” he explained.

Trần Văn Nghĩa shows off a completed fish trap (left) while his wife, Nguyễn Thị Thiều, demonstrates a step in the construction process (right).

When waters in the region rise due to seasonal rain patterns, the nutrient-rich sediment that supports much of the Delta’s famous fertility arrives. The flooding coincides with the time to gather fish. Nghĩa, for example, nets around forty-five million VND per year. However, the flood season has serious implications for the rice harvest as well. Unlike the region’s dry periods, to grow conventional rice during this time, farmers must use extensive amounts of chemicals and pesticides and erect dikes. Doing so disrupts the seasonal flooding which naturally rejuvenates the soil, contributing further to its degradation while damaging native fish populations. Unfortunately, a drastic increase in the market price of rice in recent years means more farmers are looking to cultivate rice during this third season. Nghĩa says, simply: “If everyone converts to three conventional rice harvests, there will be no more fish.”

Nature-Based Solutions Come in Many Shapes and Sizes

Last year Saigoneer traveled to Long An to understand how WWF-Viet Nam’s Climate Resilient by Nature - Mekong Project (CRxN Mekong) offers a more sustainable approach to rice cultivation via the introduction of an ancient variety of floating rice alongside environmentally mindful fish-raising practices as part of wide-reaching nature based-solutions in coordination with broad education initiatives. We returned at the start of this year to talk to some community members for a more complete understanding of the challenges they face due to climate change and environmental degradation and the varied efforts they are taking to safeguard their futures.

Rice farming is certainly the most important source of money in the area, but it cannot provide enough income on its own. In addition to fishing, community members supplement their incomes in a variety of ways. Võ Thị Kim Hai, Nguyễn Văn Dê’s wife, for example, brought us to the large pond behind their home where she grows lotus plants. She had previously used the area to plant floating rice with financial and logistical support from CRxN Mekong, but because she had removed some of the underlying soil to establish a garden for jackfruit and durian, it wasn’t suitable for floating rice cultivation. Instead, she harvests lotus seed pods that fetch 20-25,000 VND per kilo for processing into snacks and candy. She hopes that one day her family will have enough capital to erect a simple homestay as part of a greater ecotourism sector that may develop in the area.

Meanwhile, Nguyễn Thị Phượng leads Vĩnh Đại Commune’s all-women lục bình weaving group. One of CRxN Mekong’s many education programs involved inviting a consultant to the community to teach them how to take advantage of the abundant water hyacinth clogging the waterways. The expert taught the women how to prepare and process the plants and connected them with the local company Artex Đồng Tháp to facilitate the production of household objects. What was once an onerous weed that could only be collected and sold as raw material has become a valuable income source.

The lục bình group underscores CRxN Mekong’s commitment to empowering women. A special rotating fund provides zero-interest loans to women for business operations, such as the purchase of equipment for cultivating land or simple technologies for handicraft production. We were pleasantly surprised to hear that men and women alike reported that the program’s gender equality courses were amongst the most helpful. Touching on topics such as sharing household tasks, establishing equal roles for husbands and wives in domestic decision-making and general women’s rights, the practical courses helped foster “more peace at home,” as one local put it. These free, expert-led classes are joined by courses on basic home finance that offer guidance on calculating expenses, estimating profits and setting budgets. Together the education initiatives reflect the need for simple, practical solutions within the seemingly loftier aims of environmental stewardship.

Finding Stability in Turbulent Markets

The importance of flexibility extends to the sale of floating rice. Cultivated without pesticides, chemicals, or dikes, the strain of rice that was reintroduced into the province four years ago after having disappeared in the 1970s is at the core of the CRxN Mekong’s initiative. WWF-Viet Nam invited experts from Cần Thơ to teach Vĩnh Đại’s farmers how to plant and harvest it, as well as explain its larger environmental benefits. But even with that support, ensuring its widespread adoption is a fraught endeavor.

Recently planted field (left) and rice ready to harvest (right).

“It’s very easy to cultivate floating rice, however, it’s difficult to navigate the market,” explained Nguyễn Văn Nghỉ, a Vĩnh Đại resident who has planted 3.5 ha of floating rice in each of the previous four years. He told Saigoneer that he understands that floating rice is safer to eat than conventional rice because it is produced without dangerous chemicals and has natural health benefits, but ultimately its tough texture and the time it takes to cook makes it difficult for locals to enjoy. Thus, he is relying on outside support to reach foreign markets interested in purchasing it while developing creative products with the grain.

Floating rice harvest (photos via WWF-Viet Nam).

On January 3, the Vĩnh Đại community cooperative held a signing ceremony with Khải Nam and X-Shipper, two Vietnamese rice export companies. They both agreed to assist in the logistics of collecting, processing and distributing floating rice to markets in Europe while stressing the need for farmers to meet the high standards demanded by foreign consumers. By achieving these high standards while also adding additional products such as bún and phở noodles made from floating rice, the companies hope to expand distribution and marketing to the US as well as Japan.

Without this market expansion and creative product development, harvesting the floating rice may prove untenable because bottom-line economics ultimately determine the local farmer’s behaviors. Nguyễn Ngọc Điền, chairman of the local cooperative's management board, explained to Saigoneer that the farmers will only plant floating rice if they deem it a financially prudent move, which is at the mercy of market fluctuations. The importance of rice to their livelihoods makes farmers hesitant to commit fully to new ideas or unfamiliar practices. Điền noted that the farmers consider the floating rice a gamble and they will only consider it and other nature-based solutions that WWF-Viet Nam and government programs suggest if they are confident that the support will continue in the future.

Điền stressed that it's more than just the individual farmers’ livelihoods that are at stake and the health of the entire community depends on rice thanks to interconnected market chains. The profits from rice harvests are re-distributed via purchases in the local market as well as construction and development plans. If the farmers fail in their rice crops, because of the effects of climate change or the failed adoption of a new technique or product, the entire commune suffers.

Risks and Successes Shared with the Environment

Much like the interconnected fates of Vĩnh Đại residents, the future of the entire commune is intrinsically linked to the health of the greater ecosystem, which includes a large protected wetlands area. Established in 2004, the 5,000 ha Láng Sen Wetland Reserve borders the commune and was recognized as Vietnam’s seventh Ramsar site in 2015 with assistance from WWF Viet Nam. It provides an essential oasis for migrating birds as well as mammals, fish, reptiles and native plant species. In addition to preserving the region’s unique ecosystem and allowing for important research, it also holds value as an ecotourism destination for bird watchers and nature lovers.

Unfortunately, the wetlands are at risk due to illegal poaching, forest fires, and general environmental destruction caused by trash, chemicals and pollution. Its preservation depends on the people that surround it. “The local community is the safeguard of the wetlands itself,” explained Nguyễn Công Toại, deputy head of the Láng Sen Wetland Reserve.

To empower locals to protect it, residents must first be educated about its importance. Thus, in collaboration with WWF-Viet Nam, the reserve holds classes for Vĩnh Đại citizens that explain the intrinsic value of the natural area as well as its effect on their lives including its potential for ecotourism and its impact on fish populations. Once people value the wetlands, they become interested in its preservation. Courses, therefore, provide information for safe garbage disposal and sustainable agriculture practices. Moreover, local people are trained to prevent and combat forest fires as well as identify and report illegal poaching. Recognizing the role of young people, the reserve is active in outreach to students, sponsoring not only educational visits but also providing books, bicycles and insurance. While much progress remains to be made, when asked to assess the impact of the CRxN Mekong program as it relates to the wetlands, Toại noted: “Local people now know how important it is to protect the wetlands.”

The Mekong Delta is a tangled landscape. Rivers, streams and channels snare, branch, cross, and entwine like the gnarled knots of tree limbs and roots. Human communities in the region encounter challenges as complex and enmeshed as this topography. No single solution can address them all. Varied responses such as the nature-based solutions supported by WWF-Viet Nam’s CRxN Mekong program buoyed by practical, ground-level education and community decision-making represent the best approach. If successful, generations of visitors to Vĩnh Đại will continue to be welcomed with delicious fruits and tables filled with fresh fish by warm and friendly residents in nature-based farms surrounded by the Delta’s natural beauty.

WWF-Laos’ Efforts to Preserve Unique Ecosystems and Traditional Ways of Life in the 4,000 Islands

2024-01-30T09:06:00+07:00

As it flows down through Laos towards the border with Cambodia, the Mekong River frays and unspools into separate threads of current that weave around islands and rocky outcroppings and tumble over Asia’s largest waterfall (Khone Falls) before continuing the long journey into Vietnam and then the eventual ocean.

The ancient tectonic forces that formed the Indochine peninsula’s jagged mountains and vast fields created this riverine archipelago in southwest Laos. Fittingly translated to “4,000 islands,” Siphandone is a unique landscape rich with sediment and naturally protective barriers that have allowed a wide variety of species to flourish in the waters and surrounding forests while supporting human settlements.

Flooded and lowland forests, deep pools, rapids, river channels and seasonally submerged islands have made Siphandone a biodiversity treasure trove. According to local communities, otters, northern pig-tailed macaque, freshwater stingray, Asian giant softshell turtle and green peafowl are among the hundreds of fish, reptiles, birds and mammals found in the area. Moreover, the nutrients deposited by routine floods have attracted permanent communities that engage in semi-subsistence agriculture and fishing while maintaining traditional lifestyles and cultures.

Photos by Emanuela Colombo / WWF-Laos.

Unfortunately, climate change coupled with population growth, ill-planned socio-economic development and irresponsible consumption threaten the area’s biodiversity as well as local livelihoods dependent on it. Overfishing, illegal fishing, large-scale deforestation and industrial projects up and down river, as well as human-induced changes to the natural flood cycles, have resulted in a significant loss of biodiversity. This has acute impacts on the approx. 100,000 local inhabitants whose well-being depends directly on the environment. Looming ecological degradation places them at risk for worsening poverty and an increased necessity of migration, which would result in the abandonment of cultural values and traditions.

Photo by Emanuela Colombo / WWF-Laos.

However, this ecological degradation is not inevitable in Siphandone. World Wide Fund for Nature in Laos (WWF-Laos) has long been partnering with The Department of Livestock and Fisheries (DLF) in the region and is implementing the Climate Resilient by Nature - Mekong Project (CRxN Mekong) to combat the effects of climate change while helping restore and rehabilitate fisheries and forests and improve local livelihoods via poverty reduction initiatives, nature-based solutions (NbS) and environment-based adaptations (EbA). To implement the project, the WWF-Laos team, in coordination with local authorities, identified six climate-vulnerable and natural resources-dependent villages in Siphandone to support.

Where there are Fish and Forests there is Hope

“Fish have declined because many use illegal and unsustainable means to fish; for example bombs or electricity. The increase in population has meant that there is more demand for fish and so the Mekong is emptying, ” explained one Siphandone resident. Another local added that because of climate change, “the water level of the Mekong rises and falls suddenly without following the seasons and this creates problems to the fish in the river and to the inhabitants of the villages located on the river banks.”

Photos by Emanuela Colombo / WWF-Laos.

Because the health of native fish populations along with their habitats are amongst the most identifiable and addressable issues in the area, WWF-Laos is supporting ongoing efforts with the DLF under the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry since 2012 to effectively implement fisheries co-management projects in Laos. WWF-Laos has supported over 300 Fish Conservation Zones (FCZ) across the country, 64 of which are in Siphandone and cover more than 516 ha. of freshwater habitat. 18 patrol teams consisting of eight community members each regularly travel throughout the area monitoring 4,612 hectares of river for illegal activity and collecting data on the health of the fisheries that is critical for future planning and the development of sustainable solutions. WWF-Laos provides the team with the necessary equipment as well as training that enables them to cooperate with authorities that can enforce the fisheries laws of Laos. It's still early, but in Siphondone small increases in per-hour fishcatch in the area point to the stabilization and potential increase from 0.47 kg in 2018 to 1.47/hour in 2022.

“If we have the forests, we will have cool weather, tranquility, and be able to store water for a long time, as well as bring shelter for animals and a source of food for the villagers. An alternative to just fishing is considered to reduce the burden of finding fish because the forest has a lot of food that can be sourced sustainably, such as mushrooms, vegetables, bamboo shoots, and more. The community knows best, so they help to select plant species that best suit the area, including household fruit trees and local plants,” explained Chieng Kham, the deputy of the village chief of Donxom village in Siphandone.

To ensure the forests remain healthy for wildlife and humans, WWF-Laos supported the establishment of community-created forest management protection regulations for 89 ha of forest. Village members then collaborated to plant 7,864 indigenous plants and fruit trees, filling 21.44 ha of forest and riverbank. Local groups routinely patrol the area to look for and report threats to the forest and biodiversity while monitoring the growth of new trees. The reforestation helps rejuvenate and protect wildlife habitats and non-timber forest products while combating erosion along the river.

Photos by Emanuela Colombo / WWF-Laos.

Empowering the Community to Protect Nature

In addition to the support of local authorities, education and awareness efforts are a crucial element of the far-reaching preservation plans. Individuals need to be enabled and empowered to enact ways to restore and protect the land and water. Participatory workshops covering broad themes such as defining EbA and NbS resulted in specific actionable plans drafted by community members with the support of the WWF-Laos team. Explaining the need for the efforts involved asking the communities to simply assess the changing state of the rivers they’ve grown up beside and imagine the future for their loved ones. Conservation is thus understood as a matter of ensuring that cherished ways of life and livelihoods can continue for generations as part of a sustainable future.

To effectively preserve the ecosystem there must be economic incentives and disincentives to mitigate illegal fishing, deforestation and other environmentally damaging practices alongside encouragement for community members to remain in the area. The Village Development Fund for Conservation (VDFC) distributes loans to individuals to support activities and business transition to more sustainable agricultural practices. To ensure the funds are used effectively, WWF-Laos, partnered with local civil society organization Lao Micro-Finance Association (LMFA) to provide equipment and training on financial literacy, business development, management, governance and auditing of the funds. The funds and training empower Siphandone residents to adopt diversified, climate-resilient, and ecologically-compatible livelihood activities as sources of food and income such as raising pigs, chickens, ducks, buffaloes and cows; cultivating vegetables and farming mushrooms. Interest returned on the loans goes to supporting the patrolling of FCZ and to growing the funds, thus creating a sustainable model.

Photos by Emanuela Colombo / WWF-Laos.

Success for the CRxN Mekong Project requires close community involvement. Siphandone residents are not only required to act as stewards of the forests and waters, but their knowledge of the area and lifestyles is essential for creating and implementing EbA practices such as agroforestry and more sustainable traditional fishing practices. For example, local villagers know best which tree species to select for forest restoration and which fish are most suitable for dried and fermented fish products. Similarly, WWF-Laos recognizes the need to incorporate local beliefs and customs into regulations and engagement with communities and has involved local temples and monks in decision-making.

The CRxN Mekong Project in Laos prioritizes the support of frequently marginalized groups such as women, young people, ethnic minority groups and individuals with disabilities. Women, in particular, have a large role to play in the management of natural resources and community development as evidenced by the fact that of the 2,351 total program participants across six villages, 1,458 are women and the Laos Women’s Union (LWU) has a leadership role in each of the six FCZ management committees. Meanwhile, 41 women have a leading role in VDFC management.

Photo by Emanuela Colombo / WWF-Laos.

Siphandone’s stunning web of water rushing around stark rocks surrounded by lush forests may be one-of-a-kind, but the problems it faces are sadly shared with environments across Southeast Asia and beyond. Many of the solutions explored in Siphandone can thankfully be applied all along the Mekong River’s shores as well as in its expansive delta. The ongoing success of the CRxN Mekong Project in Laos can thus offer a blueprint and hope for the region as a whole.

Climate Resilient by Nature (CRxN) is an Australian Government initiative, in partnership with WWF-Australia, advancing high-integrity, equitable nature-based solutions to climate change in the Indo-Pacific. Funding for this project in Laos is provided by the Mekong Australia Partnership – Water, Energy and Climate.

[Top photo by Emanuela Colombo / WWF-Laos]

On the 12th Day of Christmas Saigoneer Gave to Me: 12 Birdcalls From Across Vietnam

2023-12-23T13:00:00+07:00

Almost everywhere we go in the world, birdsong abounds.

The little titters and tweets of sparrows gathering over handfuls of tossed rice on Hanoi street corners. The deep, thrumming coo of doves as they wander about with their blank faces and relatively empty heads. The grumpy squawk of gulls stealing French fries or the inscrutable clicks and caws of crows. But how many bird songs could you actually identify?

There are more than 11,000 species of bird in the world, each with their own distinct cries of alarm, of romance, and of community. When you add in regional dialects — yes, birds have those — it is a world of languages nearly double that of us humans. To step into a forest in Vietnam is to enter a public square, and hear those languages spoken. Some seem to match the character of the bird perfectly, like the little chips and whistles that erupt from the charismatic Strawberry Finch. Others will sound entirely alien, like the almost simian howl of the Temminck’s Tragopan.

For this month celebrating sounds at Saigoneer, I’ve put together a little audio safari of some of my favorite birds in the country. We’ll travel from north to south, starting just short of the Chinese border and finishing up in the dry dipterocarp forests of southern Vietnam.

1. Temminck’s Tragopan / Gà lôi tía

Tragopan temminckii

Audio from Chubzang via Xeno-Canto.

Cryptic, secretive and remarkably difficult to photograph. This bizarre-looking pheasant ranges primarily through the highlands of China and India, though they maintain a small outpost in northern Vietnam. I shot this one on the slopes of Fansipan, where it foraged and let out its great gibbon-sounding calls into the mist.

2. Black-streaked Scimitar Babbler / Hoạ mi đất họng trắng

Erythrogenys gravivox

Audio from Ray Tsu 诸仁 via Xeno-Canto.

Keeping things weird a little farther south in Mù Cang Chải is this curve-billed air-goblin, which I shot perched amongst some ripening táo mèo. With an unexpectedly cute call, this Scimitar Babbler sounds like a pair of frogs that really want to make friends.

3. Red Avadavat / Mai hoa

Amandava amandava

Audio from He Wenjin/ 文进 via Xeno-Canto.

Sticking in Mù Cang Chải for a moment longer, we find the Red Avadavat, also known as the Strawberry Finch — a superior if less popular name. These gregarious seed-eating birds love farmland, which is why almost any recording of their happy squeaks will include farm sounds in the background.

4. Mandarin Duck / Uyên ương

Aix galericulata

Audio from Stanislas Wroza via Xeno-Canto.

Jumping over to the east before we head farther south, these spectacular ducks appear every winter in Ba Bể Lake — don’t look now, but they’re about to arrive again. Given that they are not your average duck, it should be no surprise that they don’t say “quack.” Their hoarse, high yapping sound is a call of alarm, which is why you will usually hear it fading into the distance as they leave your peeping ass behind.

5. Rufous-gorgeted Flycatcher / Đớp ruồi họng hung

Ficedula strophiata

Audio from Geoff Carey via Xeno-Canto.

Down out of the highlands and into Hanoi, where the parks and riverbanks can be a stopover for some surprising species. That includes this Rufous-gorgeted Flycatcher, a lover of high-altitude forests who showed up in the botanical gardens some years back. Its call is a high, insistent, adorable little peep.

6. Dark-necked Tailorbird / Chích bông cổ sẫm

Orthotomus atrogularis

Audio from Sam Hambly via Xeno-Canto.

Time to leave the north behind for Hà Tĩnh Province, where I shot this fancy boy. It isn't the most beautiful of birds, but the Tailorbird is quite amazing — it will pierce the edges of leaves and literally sew them together with threads of plant fiber or stolen spider’s silk to make it nest. Bonus: its call sounds like a recording of a xylophone played poorly, at 2.5x speed.

7. Crimson Sunbird / Hút mật đỏ

Aethopyga siparaja

Audio from Bram Piot via Xeno-Canto.

Beautiful and quite common, I shot this sunbird in Quảng Bình. There are actually 146 different species in the sunbird family, and their calls can be hard to distinguish. It sounds, more or less, like “tweet, tweet, tweet.” Rather boring. But he makes up for it with his looks.

8. Stripe-throated Bulbul / Bông lau họng vạch

Pycnonotus finlaysoni

Audio from Brian Cox via Xeno-Canto.

The bulbuls represent another big extended bird family — 166 species, all told — but once again I’ve picked one of the prettier ones. I shot this Stripe-throated Bulbul in Bạch Mã National Park, right in the center of Vietnam. His lilting call sounds like an Italian making an argument out of an open window.

9. Red-tailed Laughingthrush / Khướu đuôi đỏ

Trochalopteron milnei

Audio via Xeno-Canto.

Heading southwest towards the Laotian border, you will arrive at the Ngọc Linh Nature Reserve. Permission from local authorities is required to enter, but if you can get that, you have a chance to see one of the most stunning birds in the world — the Red-tailed Laughingthrush. Their call is as ostentations of their plumage — imagine a siren, followed by an insane laugh. A giddy arsonist, running from the police.

10. Rufous-Faced Warbler / Chích đớp ruồi mặt hung

Audio from Ray Tsu via Xeno-Canto.

The ambivert of the bird world. The Rufous-Faced Warbler is often difficult to see and can be identified by their cricket-sounding calls rather than by sight. But at the same time, they love the company of other species, traveling in mixed feeding flocks. Which is why you’ll hear so much social commotion in the audio here. I shot this shy party-boy in Măng Đen.

11. Banded Kingfisher / Sả vằn

Lacedo pulchella

Audio by Joshua Chong via Xeno-Canto.

A big leap south now to Đồng Nai Province, where I shot this lovely Banded Kingfisher just outside of Cát Tiên National Park. Here he is about to deliver a juicy caterpillar to his babies — a good dad, this kingfisher. Their calls aren’t the typical cackling laugh of their relatives, but a mournful trill that descends into the forest like bittersweet song.

12. Green Peafowl / Công lục

Pavo muticus

Audio by Marc Anderson via Xeno-Canto.

For our final bird, we step into Cát Tiên National Park and find Vietnam’s answer to the peacock — the Green Peafowl. Males of this species look like shimmering dragons when they fly. Females may lack the long tail but they keep those stunning green feathers. And their call is one of the most amazing things about them — a trumpeting hoot that can carry far across the forest. There is a questioning quality to it. “Where are you?” they seem to say.

In a forest filled with languages, all the birds can answer back. Here we are. Right here.

Crickets Are More Than Just Chirpy Reminders of Our Childhood

2023-12-15T10:00:00+07:00

Cricket song. You read the words and immediately hear the chirping. That thrilling trill of strummed air. Humans have been hearing that quivering echo since we first came into existence. And over time, we’ve attached a variety of meanings to it and the creature that makes it.

Image via Kim Đồng Publishing.

Perhaps the most overt association people have with crickets in Vietnam is Tô Hoài’s Dế Mèn Phiêu Lưu Ký (Diary of a Cricket). The beloved tale and holder of the distinction of “Vietnam’s most translated story,” is an imaginative fantasy that follows a cricket as he goes on adventures. In the process of escaping from the Kingdom of Frogs, battling a menacing mantis and very nearly succumbing to an army of ants before restoring peace to the land, he learns numerous life lessons including the importance of resilience, generosity, justice and renouncing violence. The book’s simple moral teachings make its inclusion in school curriculums obvious, but its ability to depict a charming magical world imagined from familiar fields helps explain why you’ll find it in bookshops and toy stores throughout the country.

The most overt association people have with crickets in Vietnam is Tô Hoài’s Dế Mèn Phiêu Lưu Ký, a beloved tale and holder of the distinction of “Vietnam’s most translated story.”

Diary of a Cricket contains very little reference to the cricket’s ability to chirp. However, for me, it is very much a sound-evoking narrative. Several years ago, the HBSO staged a special performance of the story as interpreted by the full orchestra. So while I know what sound a cricket makes, when I see one springing from grass blade to grass blade, I catch whispers of Phạm Vũ Thiên Bảo’s viola prancing atop cello notes.

Truthfully, a cricket doesn’t make noise all that differently from the way one plays a string instrument. Crickets stridulate. That's the technical term for producing sound by rubbing two body parts together. Male crickets rapidly drag rough patches on the undersides of their large forewings across each other. Their scraper rasped across their file is similar to rubbing your finger over a comb. They do this to attract mates and then incite copulation, as well as threaten rival males and intimidate predators. Nature thrives on gender imbalance, and thus only male crickets have the ability to make noise, leaving the females as silent as women in Christopher Nolan movies.

Thinking about Diary of a Cricket may evoke nostalgia for childhood, but the association goes deeper than fond recollections of a story read in youth. In economically leaner and technology-limited times, cricket fighting was a popular hobby for kids throughout the country. They would spend afternoons digging around in the dirt to capture the biggest, meanest-looking specimens. Groups of friends would gather to erect makeshift rings for the prizefighters. Tussling, tugging, thrusting and biting, thankfully the bouts were rarely deadly with the loser choosing to retreat before being mortally wounded.

Photo via Tuổi Trẻ.

The activity’s association with an era that feels increasingly simpler with each passing year is exemplified in Phạm Hổ’s 1957 poem ‘Những ngày xưa thân ái’ (Tender and Beautiful Days Gone By) and translated by David Payne. The poem includes the stanza:

Tender and beautiful days gone by,
he has forgotten them all
but I remember still:
the fields of my village, huge ocean of rice
the morning dew, white pearls by the roadside
us two
our school books clasped together
our clothes crumpled by sleep
our bare feet moving together side by side
in swinging hands the handful of rice
our mothers ground in a leaf of areca palm
our wide conical hats with their bands too long
in a pocket a matchbox, a cricket inside…

The pastime of fighting crickets hasn’t disappeared completely, however. It remains popular in rural and impoverished areas. And even if someone has long ago re-trained their cricket-digging fingers to scroll social media, their eyes are liable to light up when reflecting on it. Bliss emerges amidst explanations of how tying hair to a fighter’s leg and spinning it around would compel a favorite cricket back into battle.

Interestingly, scientists recently discovered that the secretion of nitric oxide in the insects’ brain is responsible for determining when a cricket decides to stop a fight and flee. This is just one of an incredible number of scientific studies that have been performed on crickets generally, and their songs in particular. We now know how their calls have evolved, the ways in which they rely on geographic features for sound amplification, and even the caloric impact of making such songs. Because of their size and ease of care, crickets are proving valuable for research that extends to other species as well. Scientists use them to conduct a variety of experiments to learn more about genetics, stem cells and brain development that impacts humans and other organisms.

Photos by Michael Tatarski.

One reason there are so many crickets around to study relates to a newly emerging association people have with the cacophonous sound of a trillion cricket cries: cash. Indeed, the insects have been identified as a cheaper and more environmentally sustainable protein source than beef, pork or chicken. Vietnam is home to several companies harvesting crickets on an industrial scale for protein powder. Meanwhile, several companies here have introduced snacks that leave crickets in their full form and simply dash them with some seasoning such as wasabi or cheese salt. Saigoneer has tried the snack crickets, inviting a new sound to associate with crickets: the crunch. Grassy, earthy, and hay-strewn — the flavor has left our office very much divided.

Photo by Alberto Prieto.

So what does a cricket call make you think of? Hard work, tenacity and moral uprightness? Carefree childhood days? A more sustainable future cuisine? A joke you told that landed utterly flat? Loneliness when heard as you sit by yourself on a desolate evening? Malicious interrogation as it berates you from an unseen nook outside your backdoor for nights on end? Maybe it’s none of these. And maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe we shouldn’t burden crickets with our human metaphors and self-important attachments and instead allow them to be simple, singular insects, as pled for in the translation of a Lâm Thị Mỹ Dạ poem:

So please just let me be a cricket
Singing nonsense words in the silent grass
Watching stars as my song echoes through the field
Drinking in the sweet sun like honey
Please just let me be a cricket.

Floating Rice, Lục Bình Baskets and Dried Fish: How WWF-Viet Nam is Helping Save the Mekong Delta

2023-12-11T15:52:00+07:00

For much of the country, the word flood conjures images of cataclysmic destruction and death. But in the Mekong Delta, it means life.

The regular flood cycle in the Mekong Delta supplies nutrients that nourish lush fields and waters teeming with fish. These bountiful harvests have earned the region its rightful distinction as Vietnam’s “rice basket.” But climate change in general and unsustainable land and water management in particular, is upending the flood cycle and threatening the health of the water and soil, and by extension, the entire region’s future.

The Mekong Delta is famed for being able to support three rice harvests per year, but the third one which occurs during the natural flood season, brings with it a range of problems. To grow rice during this time, farmers construct dikes and rely on large amounts of pesticides and fertilizers. These chemicals leach into the environment, polluting waterways and poisoning native fish populations while the entire exhaustive process leaches nutrients out of the soil without allowing it time to replenish. While this system has been in place and expanding for decades, it will cause the rice fields to continue to decline in fertility and become non-productive, as well as prevent them from playing a valuable role in storing floodwater that would cause problems downstream.

Thankfully, there is hope. By transitioning the third rice crop to nature-based farming, and allowing river water to flood the fields in the wet season, sediment will naturally accumulate, improving soil quality and height and helping to prevent “shrinking and sinking.” Saigoneer ventured to two communes in Long An Province this fall to learn about nature-based solutions that underpin this restoration and protection while supporting local communities via economic opportunities. Simply, WWF-Viet Nam (World Wide Fund for Nature in Viet Nam) has introduced a program to empower farmers to grow an ancient variety of floating rice and farm fish in fields otherwise used for conventional rice harvesting while also providing access to financing to support responsible economic activities. The Climate Resilient by Nature - Mekong Project (CRxN Mekong) reveals how a more sustainable future is possible for the region.

But what does such an ambitious plan look like in practice? Truthfully, our visits to Vĩnh Đại and Thạnh Hưng Communes in Long An were filled with all the familiar sights that make the Mekong Delta so easy to fall in love with. Strikingly green rice fields expanded toward tree-lined horizons; fish flourished in swaths of fenced-in water behind simple homes and women filled idle hours weaving water hyacinths and creating fish traps. Each project element was carefully designed to mitigate negative environmental impacts while remaining easy to integrate into traditional community lifestyles.

Subtly sweet with a rich umami flavor, chewy texture and undeniable freshness, the fried cá chốt (Mystus catfish) we were given in Thạnh Hưng Commune was not only delicious but a perfect encapsulation of how the CRxN Mekong Project operates. Instead of erecting barriers to grow rice during the flood season and pumping in harmful chemicals, local farmers used the area to raise fish with fingerlings and netting funded by the Project. Once harvested, the fish are cleaned and gutted, dried in a machine provided to the community and then vacuum sealed. The fish can then be sold in local markets or distributed elsewhere in the country as part of Vietnam’s One Commune, One Project (OCOP) initiative.

We witnessed similar, small-scale operations later in the day as well. 37 women in Vĩnh Đại Commune transform lục bình, a notoriously invasive and meddlesome plant, into commercially viable products. We visited one home where a woman was weaving strips of the water hyacinth into baskets, boxes and other home goods in coordination with local company Artex Đồng Tháp. The undertaking helps clear waterways of noxious weeds while simultaneously providing additional income to women in the community. Supporting women in the Delta is an important goal of the overall project because, unlike men, they are often unable to travel outside their homes to secure additional work. Thus, in addition to educational workshops led by experts from nearby universities on topics such as domestic abuse, the CRxN Mekong Project provided 25 zero-interest loans from a revolving fund to 25 different women.

In the fields surrounding one home where the lục bình goods were crafted stretched proof of perhaps the project’s most drastic facet: the floating rice. The type of white rice we eat every day in Vietnam which constitutes the overwhelming majority of exported rice may be ubiquitous now, but it wasn’t always that way. Different, native varieties adapted to the region’s specific flooded conditions once covered the countryside. While the variant does not yield as large of harvests as conventional rice, because they evolved for this area they do not require devastating chemicals or drastic manipulation of water via dikes, making them far more responsible to grow. Planting floating rice during the flood season also allows the fields’ soil to rejuvenate as well.

The CRxN Mekong Project purchased agricultural drones capable of carrying 50 kilograms of floating rice seeds for planting and provided trained pilots to operate them. Once harvested, the rice is sold domestically and abroad as well as used for value-added products such as rice milk, rice noodles and rice flour in cooperation with other local small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs). And because the 100 hectares planted with the ancient grain do not need pesticides, their waters are safe for raising fish. The cá chốt, cá lóc and other native species grown there not only offer a great source of income but also reduce illegal or irresponsible fishing practices in the area.

During our trip to Long An, we stopped for lunch at a conventional roadside restaurant, complete with rows of hammocks for post-meal naps. The feast included a heaping bowl of floating rice prepared with lotus seeds as well as fried cá chốt and grilled cá lóc. Served with the the smiles and casual friendliness one expects to find in the Delta, it exemplified why the region’s way of life was so important to protect along with the small but profound steps it will take to do so.

The People Building a Virtual Vietnam in the Pixelated World of Minecraft

2023-12-04T16:00:00+07:00

Minecraft is now a modern classic world-building game allowing players to construct elaborate buildings using isometric cubes. Thanks to this endless stream of materials, one can theoretically build anything in the game world if they have enough patience and attention to details.

A group of Vietnamese Minecrafters called Team Fuho have embarked on the Happy Vietnam project, which seeks to reconstruct a number of famous local landmarks in the game — including but not limited to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, Temple of Literature, Vietnam National Assembly, Noi Bai International Airport. After three years hard at work, the team has finished 2,000 buildings of varying sizes, a figure that “even [Team Fuho] can’t believe we could achieve,” as shared by member Hoàng Đạt.

Ba Đình Square.

At the start, Team Fuho only comprised one member and founder Hoàng Đạt. He then opened a server to welcome more players to participate in his project. Their labor of love quickly transcended the initial goal of just building for fun, so they agreed to form Team Fuho to join forces in building bigger projects. From just five members, the collective now features 16 bricklayers.

According to Đạt, the story behind the name is quite simple: it’s a phonetic approximation of the Vietnamese work “phụ hồ,” meaning construction workers. “If ‘phụ hồ’ build housed in the real world, ‘Fuho’ constructs things in the virtual world,” Đạt explained.

Presidential Palace.

National Assembly.

In the beginning, Team Fuho only planned to create new houses and cities in game, but after a while, the members aspired to be a part of something more meaningful: “How about recreating the most special things about Vietnam? This is also a great way to promote the nation’s image. So, we disassembled the custom builds and restarted once again with Happy Vietnam.”

Most of the time, Team Fuho follows four main phases with every new project: first, find out as much as possible about the geographical location, area, and real-life look of the landmark. Second, they build a crude foundation according to a ratio so that it scales as accurately as possible. Then, they begin putting together the basic structure and the raw form of architectural features. Lastly, it comes time for decoration and landscaping.

Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum.

Temple of Literature.

Depending on the scope of the project and what kind of reference materials they can find, each recreation can take from a few hours to a few months to complete. Veteran builders take the lead on more complex parts of the structure, while others help out with supporting features and decoration.

Minecraft places a maximum limit of 255 in height or 320 blocks, depending on the game version. Therefore, for major projects, the team has to scale down the building. The Landmark building, for example, was recreated at 1:4 size with a reduced number of stories and height of each story. “Nonetheless, we try our best to retain the exterior and interior as much as possible,” he said.

“Even then, for some buildings, there are very few photos or the photos are too old, so we struggled in remaking them. In cases where the reference documents are vague, we had to make do with a little bit of imagination,” the team explained.

Ngọc Sơn Temple.

Đoan Môn Gate.

In the universe of “Happy Vietnam,” the Noi Bai International Airport is the most detailed and elaborate structure. The Minecraft version features an international terminal, a domestic terminal, an air traffic control tower, runways, hangars, and more. It took the collective three years to finish building the airport.

At the moment, most buildings are replicas of those in northern Vietnam, but the team is slowly including more architectural icons from the central, northwestern, and southern regions as well. Huế’s Imperial City is an example of something they’re working on right now.

Nội Bài Airport.

HCMC City Hall.

Readers interested in finding out more about Happy Vietnam or joining the team can find more info via this link.

In Đà Nẵng, a Close-Knit Surfing Community Rides the Waves

2023-10-27T11:00:00+07:00

Đà Nẵng does not feel like a surf town. The gaudy beachside nightclubs are a far cry from the bohemian vibes of Hawaii or San Diego, and the coastline is more synonymous with basket boats than surfboards. Look for it, however, and you’ll find a subculture of beach breaks, skate bowl surf shacks, board rental huts, and passionate surfers within a tight knit but welcoming community.

Surfing is not new to Đà Nẵng. As infamously referenced in Apocalypse Now, many American soldiers surfed the East Coast during the American War. Đà Nẵng’s Mỹ Khê Beach was “the place to kick back with a beer; an attempt to create a little bit of Honolulu in Vietnam, only with barbed wire.” These are the words of Dave Ferrier, a former American helicopter gunner, discussing wartime surfing in an interview with The New York Times in 1992. Surfing also caught on among local Vietnamese residents, and the scene has been steadily growing in popularity since.

Đà Nẵng's surfing culture might not be as prominent as that in Hawaii, but the local community is close-knit.

Mỹ Khê Beach hosted Vietnam’s first international surfing competition in 1992. Vietnamese officials formerly invited students of San Clemente High School, California, to represent the US for the tournament, as well as amateur teams from Japan, Reunion, Indonesia, and South Africa. More recently, Mỹ Khê Beach held the Đà Nẵng Surfing Open in 2022, organised by Boardriders Club Đà Nẵng. Mũi Né-based surfer Việt won the competition, beating competitors from home and abroad.

Lifeguards on the beach.

The three main spots in the area are Nam Ô Point, Nước Beach, and Mỹ Khê Beach. There are many others, running all the way from Bình An in the north down to Cửa Đại Beach near Hội An. Bình An has the least reliable conditions, but nearby Nam Ô Point gets relatively consistent surf thanks to its protection from North Easterly winds.

Surf up!

Making surfing friends in Đà Nẵng.

However, Mỹ Khê Beach is still the surfing cultural hub of the Đà Nẵng area, even if the lack of barbed wire doesn’t make it feel any more like Honolulu. The sheer length of the beach means that it is easy to avoid other beachgoers, and it is home to more than ten surf rental shops, most offering lessons for VND800,000 an hour. Naturally, this is my first port of call after arriving in the city.

I had heard mixed things about the wave quality, so was pleasantly surprised to find a group of very capable surfers riding a consistent break. I flag one down as he brings his board onshore. He has a deep tan and dreadlocks and walks as if he owns the beach. “I’m surprised,” I tell him. “The waves are pretty big.” He looks offended. “These are tiny, bro!”

Hải believes that waves are better in Mũi Né, but Đà Nẵng is a better place to live.

My new friend’s name is Hải, and he is more than happy to explain why Đà Nẵng is the best surf town in Vietnam. “The waves are better in Mũi Né but Đà Nẵng is a better place to live — here we can party!”

Hải has a relentless energy for surfing, constantly asking me when we were going to hit the beach again. He also clearly loves the community and camaraderie that comes with it. “Where can I find this community?” I ask.

Local Surf Team's hand-painted signage.

“LST, bro!” says Hải, proudly pointing to the LST (Local Surf Team) logo emblazoned across the nose of his board. LST, he explains, is the most popular surf shop among locals, and is joined with FAYA Bar and Cafe, where surfers and skaters congregate in the evenings.

This sentiment is backed up by Hải’s friend Thảo. Thảo lives in Hanoi but is in Đà Nẵng for five days to help run her friend’s surf rental store on the beach. Thảo tried surfing for the first time this February, and loved it so much that she’s been on several trips to Đà Nẵng since. Like Hải, she speaks about surfing with the borderline obsessive tone that I have heard in so many surfers from Japan, Mexico, California, and now Vietnam — that sense that once it clicks, nothing else can compare, because when you’re on your board, nothing else matters.

The friendly face behind FAYA.

“Have you made many friends surfing down here?” I ask her. “Oh yea,” she says. “I think surfing is one of those things where it’s easy to make friends… You should go to LST or FAYA Bar if you want to meet more surfers.”

LST and FAYA Bar and Cafe are technically two separate businesses, but they complement each other perfectly and are connected by an impressive skate bowl in the courtyard. LST offers a variety of services from simple board rental to advanced coaching, custom board design and even bespoke motorbike board racks.

FAYA Bar offers drinks and good vibes, and is the perfect place to mingle after a hard day’s surfing.

FAYA Bar offers drinks and good vibes, and is the perfect place to mingle after a hard day’s surfing. Speaking to the owner Teo, I learn that he neither surfs nor skates. “So why open a surf bar with a skate bowl?” I ask. “Because we got the rasta lifestyle, yo!” When I ask if I can take his photo, Teo casually picks up one of several bamboo điếu cày lying around the bar, lights it, and says “OK” before taking a long tug and blowing a thick stream of smoke through the air. “Now, please excuse me,” he says. “I’m off to play football.”

The following day, I wake up to find the sea completely dead, and, unfortunately, it didn’t improve for the rest of my stay. It’s early September, the beginning of the season, and the surf is naturally unreliable. Thảo, Hải, and everybody I speak to recommends that I return from mid-to-late October when the surf is at its most consistent.

Skating around a small pond, anyone?

Sure enough, when I catch up with Hải in October, he tells me the waves are so high at Mỹ Khê Beach that he’s heading further south to surf a gentler point break. He’s as enthusiastic as ever, asking me when I’m coming back to hit the beach. “Local surfers welcome everybody in the world to come here and have fun sharing the waves,” he says. “I think we’re proud of it.”

It is hard not to marvel at how this sport, which was introduced to Vietnam under the bleakest of circumstances, has forged such communal pride among a small contingent of locals — even some like Teo who don’t surf at all. Đà Nẵng might not feel like a surf town and the waves might well let you down, but go to the right places and it feels like surfing is suddenly the most significant thing about the city’s entire identity. This is not Hanoi with its beguiling old quarter, nor Hồ Chí Minh City with its towering skyscrapers; this is Đà Nẵng, and in Đà Nẵng you can surf… sometimes.

As Infrastructure Lags Behind, Saigon's Poorest Hardest Hit by Worsening Flooding

2023-10-26T10:00:00+07:00

In April this year, in the first downpour of southern Vietnam’s rainy season, the narrow rented room where Mã Thị Diệp and her children were staying in Hồ Chí Minh City was inundated by knee-high water.

“It flooded in from the street and came up from the drain in the bathroom. We couldn’t stop it,” recalls the lottery ticket vendor. “The liquid was black like coal and so stinky I almost fainted.” The water subsided after two hours, and the family cleaned the room until midnight. “My skin got itchy a bit, and it’s lucky we don’t have anything too valuable to get damaged,” she adds, half-jokingly.

Originally from Vietnam’s southern province of Sóc Trăng, Diệp’s family — and many other migrants among HCMC’s 9.4 million residents — live in District 12, to the north of the city centre. Despite lying on the higher and supposedly drier side of the city, District 12 has become one of its most flood-prone areas in recent years. Generally it is Saigon’s outskirts, predominantly home to migrants and lower-income households, that suffer the highest rates of subsidence and flooding.

The 2023 rainy season began a month earlier than usual in southern Vietnam, arriving in April. Heavy bursts of rainfall in which 100mm of water fell in one hour used to happen around once every five years last century, but became a daily occurrence in June and July this year, according to local authorities. Research anticipates that heavy rainfall will inundate the city’s underdeveloped drainage system more regularly in the coming decades.

This dwelling in District 2 of HCMC, which is home to many migrants from the Mekong Delta, flooded following a downpour in November 2021. Photo by Cương Trần.

These extreme weather trends feed into a worrying wider picture. HCMC is one of the world’s fastest-sinking coastal cities, alongside Tianjin and Shanghai in China, and Semarang and Jakarta in Indonesia. The city is also at increasing risk of substantial flooding from rising sea levels: a one-meter rise would be enough to submerge a fifth of the city by 2100, according to a 2020 government report.

The economic engine of southern Vietnam, Saigon produces 22% of the country’s GDP. Chronic flooding is currently estimated to cost the city US$1.3 billion annually, rising to US$8.7 billion — or 3% of GDP — by 2050.

“It is a city built on water,” says Nguyễn Hồng Quân, an expert in environmental hydrology and climate change at Vietnam National University. “And now it is put in front of a new set of changes. Without proper planning, more severe flooding is certain in the future.”

Infrastructure outpaced by urban sprawl

Long-time District 8 resident Nguyễn Tấn Lợi says this swampy region was covered by rice fields and fish ponds until the early 1990s. It has since been built over with university campuses and residential wards. “The city’s surface is now mostly paved by concrete, with little open soil for the water to seep into,” says Hồng Quân. “[Rainwater] is flushed into the outdated sewers, which can hardly handle it and eventually spill it out back to the street.”

In the city’s southern reaches, Nguyễn Trung Hiếu and his neighbors also face inundation. His neighborhood in District 8 — one of HCMC’s poorest districts — is flooded twice a month between September and February by the Bà Tàng Canal that runs through it. “The tides get higher and higher, by roughly 5cm a year,” he says. Hiếu has raised his floor “a few times already” and the residents have all paid towards work to raise their shared road.

Nearly half of HCMC’s area lies less than one meter above sea level. It is also criss-crossed by a network of tide-influenced rivers and canals that covers approximately 21% of the city. This network is one reason why the city has been an important trade port for the past two centuries for ships carrying agricultural goods from the Mekong Delta and other areas of southern Vietnam. Following the war in the 1960s–1970s, it became the country’s manufacturing and financial hub.

HCMC’s District 8 is a low-lying, historically swampy area that has been built over in recent years, hindering water drainage. Photo by Thanh Huế.

This explosive economic growth came with rapid urbanization, stacked mostly upon soft, alluvial soil. Plumbing infrastructure was slow to catch up to the urban sprawl, so groundwater extraction using makeshift wells became widespread. Thousands of these wells remain in HCMC, pumping groundwater for industrial, domestic and agricultural uses. Where extraction of groundwater exceeds the rate at which it can be replenished, this can cause the water table to lower, and the ground above it to sink.

Between 1991 and 2015, Vietnam’s wider Mekong Delta area sank by an average of approximately 18cm during those 24 years; a 2017 study found groundwater overexploitation to be the main culprit. The gradual subsidence of this area is forcing the poorest inhabitants with the least amount of land to migrate, most likely to HCMC and adjacent industrial hubs.

According to a 2015 study, HCMC itself subsided by an average of 8mm per year during 2006–2010. The most severe levels of subsidence, reaching 70mm per year, were noted in the city’s eastern outskirts, along the Saigon River. Following municipal efforts to reduce groundwater extraction and defend against sea-level rise, a 2020 study found that subsidence levels had improved to between 3.3mm and 53mm per year during 2017-2019. However, the fastest subsidence rates were still to be found in the city’s outskirts. Meanwhile, rising sea levels are projected to displace 78% of HCMC’s inhabitants by 2100.

Disproportionate impacts on HCMC’s residents

A 2016 World Bank study found that HCMC’s slums (“densely built small households and shelters that have [a] predominantly semi‐permanent character”) are disproportionately exposed to the consequences of flooding, with 68–85% being at risk, compared to an average of 63–68% across all of the city’s urban areas.

HCMC is Vietnam’s strongest migration magnet, but the city’s environmental challenges tend to exacerbate the problems faced by many newcomers. “We found migrants were initially healthier than non-migrants, but then their health declined really quickly over time,” says Hang Ngo, a public health research scientist. Last year, her research into migrants from the Mekong Delta found that most live in small, poorly ventilated dwellings with substandard hygiene conditions. If these dwellings are in flood-prone areas, the risk of dengue fever and skin infections increases.

Lê Văn Lợi, a garment worker by day and motorbike taxi driver by night who lives in Bình Chánh District on Saigon’s western outskirts, shares that floods are his biggest fear: the waters can knock over drivers, while fixing a waterlogged bike costs more than VND150,000 (US$6). “Not worth it for a few dollars’ ride,” says the 29-year-old. During particularly rainy spells, Lợi’s income drops substantially.

Crucially, the city’s low-income and migrant populations, who tend to live in areas of high flood risk with underdeveloped local infrastructure, usually have fewer resources to protect them from flooding. “It is like a vicious circle,” says Cao Vũ Quỳnh Anh, a University of Tokyo researcher who has studied how HCMC residents cope with floods.

A road on the outskirts of Saigon’s District 2, flooded following heavy rain in June 2018. Photo by Cương Trần.

Grey, green and communal problem-solving

The Vietnamese government is currently betting on engineering to hold back the water in its biggest city. But progress so far has been slow. For example, a drainage infrastructure project for the city was proposed in 2001, but 20 years later, its construction was less than 50% complete. Another project, which seeks to protect a 570 square kilometer area encompassing the city centre with ring dykes, sluiceways and water pumps, is currently behind schedule. Insufficient interest in such projects from both city authorities and private investors is reportedly a factor in these delays.

Critics have pointed out that these flood defense projects are too limited in scope however, because they are mainly concerned with the old, central areas. HCMC’s urban sprawl is outpacing protection plans. “These ‘grey’ solutions may help soothe the flooding problems, but they are not enough,” says Hồng Quân.

According to research published in June 2023, the deployment of “small-scale rainwater detention measures” (also known as the “sponge city” approach) would be beneficial in Saigon. Such measures would include installing green roofs, rain barrels, porous sidewalks and water-detention basins. The research found that these smaller-scale, fragmented measures are a “highly complementary adaptation pathway” when deployed alongside large-scale engineering interventions.

Quỳnh Anh says the city is following the same reactive adaptation approach as other Asian coastal cities like Tokyo, Jakarta and Manila. This approach means “fewer choices of measures are left and time is very tight for any solution,” she says.

According to both Hồng Quân and Quỳnh Anh, Vietnam’s most populous city currently lacks a comprehensive flood-mitigation plan that connects solutions together. But for such a plan to materialise, Quỳnh Anh says “better communication between the city and its people” is essential. “Understanding is very important. It helps the city to come up with more applicable adaptation plans, and the residents can be proactive in coping with flooding.”

Meanwhile, both Mã Thị Diệp and Nguyễn Trung Hiếu are running out of solutions. Diệp has moved her family to a new neighborhood on higher ground, but she says she cannot afford a more expensive room if this one floods. And Hiếu knows the tide will keep climbing, but he cannot keep raising his home: “If we lift the floor any higher, it will touch the ceiling.”

This story was originally produced by China Dialogue and has been republished with permission.

A Glimpse Into the Epic Underground Shows of Vietnam Pro Wrestling

2023-10-20T11:00:00+07:00

Back in 2018, Saigon witnessed the birth of Vietnam Pro Wrestling (VPW), the first and only Pro Wrestlers in the whole of Vietnam, and a lot has changed since then.

Trần Phong jumps on his former best friend-turned-sworn-ennemy, Damien Wolfe.

What started as a teenage dream has become a full-grown Pro Wrestling promotion with nothing to envy of its Southeast Asian counterparts. Judo mats have now given way to a proper ring that they managed to afford, thanks to a crowdfunding campaign organized by Vietnamese-American Pro Wrestler Viva Van, who used her popularity to support them in their quest to create a Vietnamese Pro Wrestling scene from scratch.

Mayhem often happens outside of the ring, for the pleasure of the front row seaters.

The roster has also become more diverse too, with three generations of wrestlers, from old school founders Rocky Huỳnh (The Awesome Taurus), Sid N’guyen (The Prince of Wrestling) and An D (The National Treasure) to the first Westerner in the team the Evil British Horror and newcomers Billy & Bobby (The Classic Night) with their slapstick.

The British Horror accidentally unleashes his secret weapon on his partner Black Orchid.

The crowd has grown too, with around 300 new and old fans of all ages gathering at each show, bringing the intensity to another level with their cheering and booing. Some wrestlers are even known to occasionally use the front-row audience members as props to knock out their opponents.

The crowd can get pretty rowdy and sometimes the fans look even cooler than the wrestlers.

Vietnam Pro Wrestling can sometimes feel like the Wild West — or is it East? To keep the shows rich and entertaining, VPW makes sure to always have plenty of surprises, with special guests and wrestlers from other new promotions coming to defy them.

For one night, VPW and Rooster Beers held a show at BLOQ in District 2.

The growth of VPW can also be measured by the international attention they are getting: some of the wrestlers have been invited to fight abroad (Singapore, Thailand, etc.); they received a 4-page feature in PWI (Pro Wrestling Illustrated) — something no other Southeast Asian promotion has accomplished — and they were invited onto the podcast of one of the greatest professional wrestlers of all time, the American Canadian Chris Jericho.

The Filipina wrestler Crystal sits on top of Singapore star Alexis Lee at VPW Burning Dawn.

The shows are great as standalone episodes, but there is much fun in following the character's efforts and evolution, in thrilling yet sometimes heartbreaking turns of events, across events. It's well worth trading some Netflix time.

Interested people can see the VPW in action, this Saturday at Vietnam Pro Wrestling: Brawl Hallows Eve and check out more photos below:

The British Horror sets foot on Rykioh’s flat, beaten-up body while Black Orchid cheers.

A fan whispers words of support to a tired Rocky Huỳnh, the founder of VPW.

Rykioh crashes cans of beer on his way to smash them on The British Horror’s face.

A packed house at VAIB Studio (D7) looks on while An D grabs the high-flying Sid Nguyen.

Singaporean Jack Chong uses his signature pig face move on Billy (left) while Once long-haired Khoa Trương loses a HAIR VS HAIR match against Kira, who gets to scalp him on stage (right).

The crowd gathers outside VAIB Studio during the intermission .

Although pro wrestling comes from the west, the Vietnamese promotion never forgets where they’re from and they honor traditions.

Rykioh explains one thing or two about life to one half of the Venomshank twins.

An D, aka The National Treasure, finds it hard to swallow his defeat (left) while the one and only Xavier Patricks (aka X-Pat) always brings his A-game as the charismatic and emotional show presenter (right).

A third generation wrestler, ARES is the powerhouse beast to be reckoned with.

The human beast ARES triumphs over Rocky, thus winning the Heart of Darkness cup.

Rocky catches one half of Venomshank mid-air in what promises to be a painful landing.

An Ode to Lục Bình, Vietnam's Invasive, Destructive, Beautiful Aquatic Jerk

2023-09-20T16:00:00+07:00

Knotted gnarls of lush stems, leaves, vines; a verdant scrimmage of tangled plant matter kept afloat by buoyant bladders accented by pleats of pink petals that resemble the skirts of ballerinas trapped inside music boxes: the water hyacinth.

We currently live in a geological age known as the Anthropocene, so named because of humanity’s overwhelming influence on the planet. What is or is not natural is increasingly difficult to determine, let alone how one should assess the effects of the many rapid changes our species has caused. If the age were to have a symbol, none would be more fitting than the water hyacinth. Dubbed “the million-dollar weed,” “Bengal terror,“ “blue devil” and “enemy number one,” lục bình — as it is known in Vietnamese — savages ecosystems, stymies transportation efforts, clogs electricity grids and upends agricultural systems around the world. Yet, in Vietnam, the invasive plant has recently provided surprising benefits for economically disadvantaged communities, and may provide insights into how humans will interact with the natural world in the turbulent decades to come.

Lục bình growing in Long Mỹ District in the Mekong Delta. Photos by Paul Christiansen.

In love and war

Water hyacinth played a curious role during the American War. Natural and expanded canals turned remote regions of the Mekong Delta into chessboards upon which opposing sides would place bases, sometimes within 1,000 meters of one another. Mines and barricades littered the lands in between. Guerrilla soldiers learned to sneak out at night and slip into the murky waters of intertwined waterways, slowly moving beneath a mat of water hyacinth, the only thing betraying their presence a small straw poking above the surface. They could thus move unnoticed right past enemy encampments.

The soldiers were not launching sneak attacks on their enemies, however. They were, after all, practically kids. Even during war, times of great danger, death and hardship, young love couldn’t be denied. They were using the hyacinth for cover so they could rendezvous with their sweethearts at other bases. No doubt the plant played silent witness to innumerable sweet nothings and moonlight kisses.

Hearing this story while overlooking Long Mỹ’s weed-snarled canals wasn’t my first introduction to the complex history of water hyacinth, however. It has been reproducing out of control in my native America since it was inadvertently released during the 1884 Cotton States Exposition in New Orleans, and a brilliant piece of long-form journalism in the Atavist details an outlandish scheme to import and raise hippopotamus to keep it under control. Oddly, it failed not because the plan was unsound, but rather because of political gridlock and an inability to convince Americans that hippo meat was truly no stranger than cows or pigs when you think about it.

A plant that needs no passport

In the 1990s, the world collectively spent nearly US$3 billion to try and control water hyacinth, and largely failed. You’ve no doubt seen it before. The dreadlocked leaves and thick stems float effortlessly on waterways throughout Vietnam and more than 50 nations on five continents. Classified as a free-floating hydrophyte, along with water cabbage and Salvinia, the Eichhornia crassipes, or water hyacinth, doesn’t anchor its roots in submerged soil like a water lily, instead, it drifts atop the surface the way clouds waft over empty fields.

Water hyacinth is native to South American jungles, but from the 16^th century through the 20^th century it was brought by biologists, botanists and travelers to Africa, Europe and Asia. It is believed to have arrived at the Bogor Botanical Garden in Java in 1894 for decorative use in ornamental baths and spread from there throughout the region for similar reasons. It slipped out from the Bangkok gardens and found its way into the Mekong River and expanded, a great green tendril, reaching down the slow-moving river. By 1902 it was brought to Hanoi, and from there spread into China and Hong Kong, where it was also used by locals to feed pigs. It’s surmised that in numerous places it made its way into local rivers, lakes, rice paddies and other natural bodies of water via accidental release.

Water hyacinth has thrived thanks to a number of factors. In general, the hearty plant can survive in and adapt to a variety of conditions, including a range of water temperature and pH levels. While ideal conditions, including abundant nutrients, result in rapid growth, it can tolerate harsher climates and has been known to survive on damp soil for months and recover from leaves that have frozen during frosts. The world’s fastest-growing free-floating plant, under the right conditions, a mat of hyacinth can double in size in just a week or two.

Photo via Jots and Jaunts.

Moreover, like the way maggots thrive inside a decaying body, water hyacinth proliferates in polluted water. Factory sludge, household waste, chemical- and fertilizer-rich agricultural runoff change rivers and lakes’ natural nutritional compositions, allowing hyacinth to gorge itself, growing wildly out of control.

In its native habitat, the glorious, glorious, oh so glorious manatee feeds on hyacinth, which keeps them in check. However, in what is surely proof that god either doesn’t exist or is a vile, vengeful lord, manatees do not live all around the world. In areas where the plant has been introduced, no creature has made it a significant food source, and few insects or diseases impact it.

Modern Vietnam’s enemy number one?

"Though the two banks are just 40 meters apart, it takes me at least two to three hours to go to the other side by motor-boat [because of the plant]," said Tây Ninh resident Nguyễn Hữu Danh. Indeed, the unmitigated growth of hyacinth has made navigating waterways arduous at best. Needing to wait for currents to clear it, or having to hack a path stem by stem, directly translates to extra costs in shipping and supply chains, as well as numerous encumbrances for daily lives. Võ Thị Hội, a small merchant from Đồng Tháp, explained that after 30 years, “we cannot carry goods from Đồng Tháp to Tây Ninh because the water hyacinth has blocked our way. I have suffered large losses due to late deliveries.”

Photo via Môi Trường.

The thick green mats floating on the surface of rivers and lakes ensnare nets and lines, making fishing impossible as well. It forces fishermen to seek new waterways or find alternative income sources. Additionally, in some countries, water hyacinth has clogged hydroelectric power plants.

Not only does the weed entangle propellers, it harbors enemies, like the empty innards of a wooden gift horse. By flummoxing water flow, it provides ideal breeding grounds for mosquitoes carrying malaria, dengue and other diseases, while killing the many fish and amphibians that would normally eat the insects. The stagnant water also often acquires a foul odor and may be unusable for human use.

Not only does the weed entangle propellers, it harbors enemies. By flummoxing water flow, it provides ideal breeding grounds for mosquitoes, while killing the many fish and amphibians that would normally eat the insects.

Along with the immediate negative impacts on human lives, hyacinth upends ecosystems with unpredictable effects. In addition to out-competing native plants for light, nutrients and oxygen, it kills fish and other aquatic animals by changing the amount of sunlight that enters the water and throwing fragile biomes horrifically out of wack; spawning grounds decimated, migratory patterns upended and food chains shattered. The domino effect of this disruption is as wide-ranging as it is impossible to quantify.

In Vietnam, all of these problems come at great cost. In March 2019, Saigon authorities announced plans to spend more than VND28 billion (US$1.2 million) to clear municipal canals of water hyacinth, along with other weeds and trash. Constituting an estimated 30% of the total waste clogging the waterways, water hyacinth collection demands a significant portion of the VND1.1 trillion (US$47.4 million) the city spends to maintain its drainage system and the VND2.8 trillion (US$120 million) allocated to collecting garbage.

Photo via Deep in the Delta.

Cleaning water hyacinth in the city largely involves laborious and low-tech methods, including stringing ropes across canals. Tidal currents result in a disgusting mashup of Styrofoam boxes, plastic bags, bottles, cans, tins and other urban detritus held together by thick hyacinth clumps which workers on boats must collect using long poles or, in some cases, generator-powered cranes bolted onto their skiffs.

In 2013, a group of scientists from the Industrial University of HCMC designed special water hyacinth-harvesting machines that they hoped would improve the clearing initiatives and reduce the physical toll of the workforce. They were first unveiled in Bình Thạnh District, and the following year, department director Phạm Danh said they were being rolled out in Bình Dương Province. The cutting machines were said to reduce costs to just VND220,000 (US$10) per ton of gathered hyacinth compared to VND700,000 (US$33) per ton when done manually. However, just one month after the cleaning operation in Bình Dương, the canal was again completely clogged in some places as the weed grew back.

Photo via Văn Hiến.

Authorities had said that if the machines proved successful, they would also be used in the Mekong Delta. No official report has been released assessing their efficacy, however, and considering that at the time of writing, a long rope stretches across the canal behind the Saigon Zoo gathering hyacinth that city workers regularly hand-clean, it's safe to assume the machines were not the great gear, grease and exhaust saviors the city had prayed for.

There is nothing, however, stopping inventors and entrepreneurs from pitching in. The machines produced by numerous multinational companies are readily available for purchase, with prices ranging from US$2,000 for small models to well over US$100,000 for large industrial models. Theoretically, one could forgo brunch and instead spend a Saturday morning on a clogged canal killing plants to save the planet.

Other nations similarly plagued by the water pest have experimented with a wide range of other ways to remove hyacinth. Various chemicals and pesticides can kill them, however they also put humans, other plants and animals at risk, and if not removed, the large amount of dead hyacinth that sinks to a river- or lake-bed also has significant effects. Releasing black fly larvae and other insects to feed on the plant has been proposed as a possible solution, though more research and experimenting needs to be performed before anything can be introduced on a large scale.

Is that a silver lining or a piece of tin foil?

Em ngồi đan kết sợi đêm.
Lục bình bầu bạn dỗ niềm tâm tư…
Người đi tức tưởi nửa chừng
Để em gánh hết chất chồng gian nan…
Nghiến răng ghìm sóng giữa làn.
Đò em chao lắc, tay đan khỏa niềm

This Đàm Chu Văn poem, which roughly translates to “I sit and knit the threads of night. / Hyacinth comforting the mind... / You walked the halfway / Let me bear the load of all the hardships... / Grind my teeth to tame the waves amidst the current. / My boat jostles, my hands clutched,” introduces the possible upside of the spread of water hyacinth in Vietnam.

Photo via Life at Home.

In recent years, Vietnamese have begun using water hyacinth to craft a wide variety of products for domestic use and sale. Since 2011, the Phú Lâm Export Weaving Cooperative in Đồng Nai Province has used it, along with other local plants, to create baskets, trays, tables, chairs and crates that are then exported to Europe, Japan, South Korea and the US and sell for approximately US$20–30 each. Workers there can earn several million dong a month, which is a significant amount in the generally poor region and allows families to send their children to school.

Photo via Viet Craft.

Similarly, farmers in Hậu Giang Province are able to supplement their income with an average of VND50,000 a day by weaving water hyacinth in their free time. Dried hyacinth can sell for VND16,000 per kilogram and prices are more stable than some other conventional crops. This has led people to plant and care for their plants, with hundreds of households now seeing it not as a weed, but as a potential source of income.

Way back in 1996, IKEA became one of the first companies to begin using water hyacinth, largely sourced from the Mekong Delta, for home items such as napkin holders. The practice has even spread to northern Vietnam, with people in Ninh Bình using the plant to make handicrafts and as biofuel to grow mushrooms since 2005.

Photo by Paul Christiansen.

Trịnh Thi Long, program coordinator for water projects at WWF Vietnam, explains that his organization supports the use of the plant for such crafts because it can help remove it from infected areas. It is also preferable to using plants that are native and slow-growing.

The economic viability of water hyacinth products, however, has had an unforeseen effect. Quality amongst the wild-growing plants varies widely, and thus people have begun planting and tending it. Those that don’t live on land with ponds or access to canals will even go to public lands to plant it. These cultivators ignore the wild hyacinth when doing so and thus don’t help address the issue, instead they simply add to the overall invasion.

Producing commercial bags, baskets, place mats and bins requires chemicals and lacquers which are not biodegradable. Thus, when discarded, they linger in landfills and ultimately contribute more negative materials to the planet than the plants would if otherwise allowed to decompose naturally.

In Vietnam, lục bình has recently provided surprising benefits for economically disadvantaged communities, and may provide insights into how humans will interact with the natural world.

In addition to home products, some entrepreneurs are feeding them to turtles and even using them to raise worms that are used for feeding fish, chickens, ducks, pigs and other livestock. Indian students have developed a way to make them into tampons as well as disposable plates, ready-to-plant biodegradable nursery pots, egg and fruit trays, cartoon models, toys, file boards, multi-purpose boards, and special canvas for paintings. It can also be utilized as ropes, cigar wrappers and, when combined with charcoal dust, made into briquettes. And while they are purported to give some people an allergic reaction even when cooked, some advocate for the eating of young shoots.

In addition to using it for products, paradoxically people around the world are looking to hyacinth as a way to save water systems. When carefully managed, water hyacinth has proven an effective way to remove pollutants and actually improve water quality. If a strict control plan is in place, the hyacinth can be introduced and allowed to thrive and thus absorb a wide range of toxins, while also serving as a bioindicator for the presence of heavy metals. In Indonesia, China, and across Africa, people are using it for those purposes in a variety of waterways.

Photo via Dan Tri.

Critics warn of the accidental release or mismanagement of water hyacinth involved in these water-cleaning operations. Moreover, some studies conclude that the purposeful cultivation of water hyacinth for commercial purposes ultimately results in more harm than good. Doing so comes with all the problems of ecosystem disruption, the establishment of disease vectors, water degradation and disturbances to transportation and daily life. So while people harvesting the plant as it grows wild to use for a variety of commercial purposes may appear an ingenious solution, the inevitable transition to planting and tending it should cause distress. Yet wealth disparities and economic realities makes it difficult to fault those who look to it to escape poverty.

Our reckless and arrogant relationship with nature resulted in the spread of water hyacinth, and those same qualities seem to manifest themselves in our belief that we can harness it to rectify the pollution we have introduced into the world. Whether it's the Asian lady beetle in America or the cane toad in Australia, time and time again we’ve seen that adding more non-native species into an ecosystem cannot clean up the damage wrought from other invasive species. Yet, past experience always wilts in the face of profound hubris.

So what should we collectively make of water hyacinth? Certainly, it serves as a perfect symbol of our failure to co-exist responsibly with nature. But sitting along the Saigon River at sunset, I see a tuft float past alongside hulking barges weighed down with Mekong sand dredged for concrete that will soon constitute the foundation of some bubble tea shop or cellphone showroom; dinner boats ferrying overeating guests; and cargo ships crammed with fast fashion destined for distant shores. Sunlight slips through the skeleton of an in-progress skyscraper and falls on the floating plant with its single pink flower. I can’t smell it, but the subtle fragrance would no doubt satisfy the pleasure sensors of my simple animal brain.

Photo via Mississippi State University.

Saigon Heat Wins Intracity Rivalry Over HCMC Wings, Closing Out VBA Regular Season

2023-09-10T17:00:00+07:00

Families of fans filed into the “Fire Pan” on September 3, wearing red, white, and black jerseys. The atmosphere hums with anticipation.

“Fire Pan” is the nickname of the Canadian International School gym, where the Saigon Heat would take on the Ho Chi Minh City Wings in the final game of the Vietnam Basketball Association's 2023 regular season.

A group of youth basketball players congregated on the concrete — already laced up, ready to go in their Nike's, rocking their black and yellow jerseys representing the SSA Elite, a youth team part of the Sports Skills Academy (SSA). Fans of all ages were seen walking up the street under bright yellow street lamps before passing through black and red banners that read the team's motto: All in Mentality.

As the rain in District 7 promptly began at a quarter to seven, ushering all of us into the stadium, the first thing I noticed was the stands were already filled with... teddy bears. Stadium seating around the perimeter of the gym had been packed with the likes of stuffed Doraemons and Pikachus brought by fans for the game's halftime entertainment.

Last Sunday’s night game during the Independence Day weekend determined first-round playoff pairings. The Heat entered the game tied for first with the Hanoi Buffaloes at 13 wins — a victory would solidify the Heat’s top playoff spot and build vital momentum entering the playoffs this week in Hanoi.

Before the game started, Heat players escorted a group of kids one by one onto the court to take a photo together. They all wore the same debut bright yellow Statement Edition jerseys, glowing in unison like the street lamps lining the sidewalk outside leading fans to the action.

The Heat won the opening tip and Captain Tim Waale got to work right away, scoring 9 of the Heat’s first 14 points, spearheading the team’s first-quarter push. “For me, it really is a team game. So sometimes some players will get more hot than others. Sometimes the man is going to be more open than the other players. So I just tried to share the ball and my teammates do the same. They saw that I was open, I was scoring so they passed me the ball, but in turn, we shared the ball with the whole team. So that's how we play well together,” said the 25-year-old Captain, who happened to also announce recently on Instagram that he will return to Fulbright University Vietnam to continue his academic pursuits as a representative of the 2027 cohort.

"Tim's the heart and soul of our team. He's a true professional. He comes early and stays late. So great game for Tim. That's kind of what we expect out of him at this point," said Coach Van Pelt.

Hassan Thomas (Lê Hải Sơn), one of the Vietnamese Heritage players recruited internationally by the Heat, followed Waale’s lead by hitting a couple of key three-pointers at the end of the first quarter and the beginning of the second. The first half ended with the Saigon Heat up 52-36.

The rain continued outside, but the real downpour occurred inside at half-time. Hoài Vũ, the team’s MC, stood at half-court next to the Heat’s tiger mascot, Ông Ba Mươi (which translates to Mister Thirty simply representing their jersey number), with a microphone in hand counting down: “5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Just then, a typhoon of stuffed animals flooded the court. Dinosaurs, reindeer, Teletubbies, and Baby Sharks came flying in from all directions. Seated at the official’s table mid-court — arguably in the eye of the storm — I see a blue shark drop onto the table to my left leaving me with no choice but to join in on the spectacle of the night: The Teddy Bear Toss, an annual event celebrating the upcoming Mid-Autumn Festival where fans donate stuffed animals to underprivileged kids through a partnership with the Saigon Children’s Charity.

“Other VBA teams also do a lot in the community like school visits and things of that nature, but I definitely think that it’s one of the cool things about being a part of Saigon Heat. To know it’s not just basketball at the end of the day and we just get to play a sport for a living, but to be able to use our platform and do things like that I think is pretty cool and fun,” Van Pelt said.

Beyond partnering with Saigon Children’s Charity for the night, the Saigon Heat and SSA are a part of the MSE Group, a sports ecosystem founded in 2009, aiming to promote sports participation, especially basketball, in Vietnam. The company consists of three branches: brand agencies, sports entities such as the Saigon Heat, VBA, Vietnam University Games, and exclusive broadcast rights to market the National Basketball Association in Vietnam, plus academies like SSA. Before the game, I spoke with a Heat fan, a father whose six-year-old son is enrolled in the academy. He admitted his son was still very early in learning how to play the game, but overall has had a positive experience making friends.

Coach Matt Van Pelt offers a unique vantage point on the value Saigon Heat and MSE bring to Vietnam. Although Van Pelt is originally from Grand Rapids, Michigan, Vietnam has become his new home. After playing professionally in over a dozen countries around the world, using basketball as a vessel to see new cultures, he retired and began coaching four years ago — first splitting time helping out for a few hours a week at SSA, as well as working as the assistant coach for the Heat’s second championship run under fellow Michigan native Kevin Yurkus, the current director of Vietnam’s National Team. But now, after becoming the head coach for the Saigon Heat in 2021, Van Pelt still helps out with SSA and its Performance Lab sector, where he focuses on more oversight to make sure things run smoothly, but his primary focus is following his passion: being on the floor, coaching, and trying to win basketball games.

As far as growing the Saigon Heat and Vietnam’s National Team, Van Pelt notes the need to improve facility standards and further develop overall skills. “We really need more competition consistently to start at a grassroots level, like getting more tournaments, more leagues, more exposure to international competition, even if that's at the school level. So maybe we get schools from Thailand, Philippines, Malaysia nearby to come play us and vice versa. I think that is also needed, but the biggest thing is just getting more competition so it's not just working on your ball handling and shooting but kids are learning how to play right and being able to apply their skills so I definitely say more games as needed.”

And the VBA is moving in that direction. This season, the number of games increased with teams playing each other three times over the course of the season compared to only twice like before. Other rule changes from this season included teams being allowed to sign no more than one imported and two heritage players (players born in other countries but with Vietnamese ancestry) plus U-18 players being able to register (instead of U20 previously).

Whether it’s adjusting to new rule changes, competing in different leagues, taking time to give back to the community or closing out the final half of the season, it comes down to making small but continual improvements, also known as the Japanese concept “kaizen” — the top core value of the Saigon Heat, according to Coach Van Pelt.

“When we first got here that might have been an old school approach, like we just got to work really, really hard but now it's trying to just do something every day doesn't mean you're pushing your body crazy, but we're working smarter. Maybe it's spending a little bit extra time in the film room or just seeing where we can get an edge. I've got some good coaches that helped me too. We got a very international staff so they helped me out a lot” Van Pelt said.

Now, back to the game.

Nguyễn Huỳnh Phú Vinh, who had a monstrous performance in the Heat’s previous game with a win over the Da Nang Dragons — becoming one of only four Heat players to ever put up 25 points, 25 rebounds, and 5 assists in a game — came to life in the second half after early foul trouble with two big buckets and a block that led to layup for the VBA’s leading scorer, Kentrell Barkley.

Down the stretch, the intra-city rivalry game swayed back and forth. Heat and Wings fans alike were ecstatic, rising to their feet and clapping game-day thundersticks, elevating the arena’s energy to a new level in the final minute of the season.

To wrap things up, the Heat won by doing a good job sharing the ball. Waale, Barkley, Thomas, Vinh, and Tony Hoàng — who came off the bench and scored a career-high 17 points — accounted for five Heat players to score double digits, showcasing the Heat’s ability to deploy a well-balanced offensive attack. “It’s big time,” Barkley commented, “because if we have multiple guys getting double digits, it’s easier for me and Hassan so I would take that any day.”

It was veteran guard Dư Minh An, however, who sealed the Heat’s 14^th win of the season by hitting a clutch three with a half minute left in the game, pointing to his shooting arm as to remind Heat Nation: he’s got ice in his veins. With a final score of 98-91, the Saigon Heat made VBA history as regular season champions for the third year in a row, also known as a “three-peat.”

Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions’ began to play as fans from the stands walked down onto the court to congratulate the players. After patiently signing autographs and taking countless pictures, everyone gathered together to take a big group picture at center court and sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Barkley who celebrated turning 27 a few days earlier by enjoying a steak dinner and having a little bit of fun as he told me after the game.

When asked about the end of the regular season, Coach Van Pelt shared his final thoughts: “To be honest, I'm just really happy that we stayed healthy and got the win. But we were balanced so I guess our takeaway is that we got multiple guys that I can trust off the bench and in the starting lineup. We got local guys that have been here before, right? We've been in the playoffs the last three years, four years. So they're used to this and I think we got guys who don't shy away from the moment. So I think just being able to trust my guys and go into the bench, go into rotation is what I've learned most in the last few games.”

Basketball fandom is still in its early days in Vietnam, but anyone who attends a game will recognize there’s a lot of potential for growth. Partnerships with local charities; youth sports programs giving back to the community; teams from the north to the south recruiting overseas players and developing local talent — each development continues to attract more and more attention thanks in large part to the success of the Saigon Heat paving the way forward, with three championship titles in a row. In this year’s playoffs, the Heat will attempt to do something no other team in the Vietnam Basketball Association has done yet: win four championships in a row, or a “four-peat.”

The Saigon Heat won their first playoff game against the Thang Long Warriors on September 7 with a final score of 89-79. For those interested in supporting the Saigon Heat’s playoff run, the team returns to the Canadian International School Arena in District 7 on September 11 at 7:30 pm for the second game in the best-of-three series. For ticket information, visit the Saigon Heat’s Facebook page.