Pig's bowel porridge

After the rush - the last few customers finish their meal at the Chao Long restaurant before it turns back into a house

There was a slight air of fun and frivolity about the office. I was the only westerner in and the only male, it was close to lunchtime and a conversation was happening in Vietnamese around me which I was not part of. Eventually someone spoke to me. “Will you have lunch today?” “No” I replied, “I don’t think so”. “Oh come on…. have lunch” I enquired what was on offer and the interest in my attendance became apparent. The proposal was to go to the Chao Long restaurant next door to the office.

I had previously declined an invitation to this establishment. It’s very popular and it only exists during lunchtimes. The rest of the time the restaurant is a gateway to a house. The ground is black with stuff left from previous days but there are no other outward signs of its lunchtime function.

By mid morning each day a glass display cabinet on wheels has appeared along with masses of small plastic tables and stools. There are even tarpaulins erected to keep the rain off. By 11.30am it is heaving with people and the entire pavement has disappeared under the seated masses all talking loudly and eating this delicacy of Vietnamese life.

I steeled myself, in a moment of weakness I’d rashly promised I’d try anything once and I’d always presumed dog would be the one which would take most effort to actually do. But there was something about pig’s intestines which was holding me back. The torment continued with ever wider grins from my colleagues “Oh just do it!” said one. OK I said with more confidence than I felt and we headed downstairs and onto the pavement.

At first it looked like there was no way we would get in – the place appeared more packed than usual. Then, miraculously we were ushered into the gateway itself and in a corner behind the glass case a small wooden table had been cleared and a collection of stools assembled. I stepped over the debris of squeezed lemons and abandoned paper towels, ducked under the plastic sheet acting as a roof and slid around on the greasy floor until I was seated with my knees under my chin. Everyone smiled. Once again I found myself the only westerner in sight and a young member of staff came over and touched me on the arm to make sure I was real.

When I mentioned this meal later both expat and Vietnamese friends were horrified – “You must not eat that dish! It is so unhealthy!” This apparently relates to the inclusion of fresh pig’s blood on the menu, something we didn’t have but which was in evidence on other tables, bright red thin liquid with lumps of white fat looking for all the world like diluted tomato ketchup and boiled tofu. The problem is that the fresh blood may contain pathogens and other nasty things so the Government has official prescribed it.

I knew none of this as I sat and watched the food arriving. The sequence of events was very similar to eating dog. First the salad of mint and other assorted leaves which you can use to wrap the….. what shall I call it? Meat? Offal? To wrap the stuff we were eating. Next the cold boiled intestine and stomach bits with slices of cold liver chunks of kidney and the strong and salty shrimp paste which gives it some flavour. Then the black-pudding-like small intestine dish, more crunchy than the dog version but not unpleasant on the palate. Finally the porridge itself, a large bowl of rice porridge with shredded dried pork on top, more leaves and other garnish I didn’t recognise. Slurping this with a spoon it soon became apparent that it was full of all the things we had already eaten, particularly the small intestine black pudding. It was surprisingly pleasant and I cleaned out my bowl.

As I looked around it was clear this place sold a lot of different delicacies from the inside of a pig and I think I was grateful not to have to try them all. We paid and walked out through the tightly packed tables, my presence still a source of interest to the cliental and staff alike. “Did you like that?” I was asked by one colleague. “Yes” I replied, but I must say I’m not in any rush to go back there. I wonder how many more obscure delicacies they have up their sleeves to keep me on my culinary toes?

Chuc Mung Nam Moi!

A typical street in Hanoi in the run up to Tet

It’s over a month since I wrote anything here, and that means it’s also over a month since Tet and the start of the lunar New Year – hence the title “Congratulations on the New Year” (more or less). It’s been a busy period (and that’s one excuse for not writing), we’re having a succession of power cuts because of the low rainfall – everything is relative – which means the hydro-electric generators are not contributing enough to the national grid (that’s another reason for not writing), The internet only works spasmodically (that’s incredibly frustrating!!), its also been the most miserable weather so far (I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel now) and there’s not that much happening (well that’s not true at all).

The run up to Tet was just like pre-Christmas in the UK. Traffic congestion got worse and worse until gridlock was the norm. Cumquat trees are the Tet equivalent of Christmas tree here and with their small shiny orange fruit they look quite cute on the back of motor bikes as the proud owners scurried home to decorate their houses for the biggest celebration of the year. The other main decoration, which seems painfully scandalous if you’re a gardener, is young cherry blossom trees. These range from a couple of feet high up to six feet tall and they are simply chopped off at the base as the blossoms break out. They’re sold by the road side in their hundreds and three days after Tet they’re sitting in the rubbish skips of Hanoi. Literally thousands of cherry trees grown each year then sacrificed for three or four days of decoration!

Tet presents seem to consist of small red envelopes containing new 10,000 dong notes which are given to children (lucky money) and food baskets given to friends or more likely as a gift from one organisation to another. These baskets look at bit like what you might get a giant Easter egg in and they are wrapped in cellophane so you can see the neatly arranged contents. Prices for pre-packed baskets sold in the Tet markets range from £6 to over £50 and they include such delicacies as Lipton Tea bags and instant noodles. Organisations give and receive Tet gifts and in many cases recycling goes on – the received gift is unpacked, a few interesting components removed, add in other stuff you don’t like, and then make it up as a new gift and send it to someone else. I guess if you are at the end of this food chain you just get tea bags and noodles.

The streets during this time are adorned with red and gold to welcome the New Year. In the old Quarter there are several roads which are closed off (in so far as that is ever possible) and strewn with red and gold market stalls selling decorations and every conceivable design of a pig – it’s now the year of the pig – from pig Buddhas to piggy banks to pigs in feather boas.

The rate of pregnancies is up significantly since everyone wants to have child who is a pig. Pigs have an easy life – they appear lazy but everything comes to them and its easy for them to get fat (read healthy and rich for fat) so to have a son born in the year of the pig is a big thing.

In the last few days before Tet itself everything reaches fever pitch, we were invited out to eat Lau no less than five time in just over a week, the rice wine flowing freely on all occasions. Traffic got worse and worse whilst the amount of work that was done rapidly diminished to zero. Contractors were not available, jobs could not be done now and people started to disappear. Expats in the know made a rush out of the country, whilst locals started to trek home to their family village and the new middle class headed off on family holidays. It’s the most expensive time to travel – ticket prices go up and hotel accommodation can be as much as ten times normal prices.

It was in this climate that we decided to head south for a week to the delights of Nha Trang, a holiday resort, and Whale Island a small French resort on an island about two hours drive north of Nha Trang where the humpbacks are known to appear in the summer.

With the benefit of hindsight it might have been better to stay in Hanoi and experience the city at its quietest. As the masses leave on Tet eve and the first day of Tet itself the population shrinks by over 30%. Everything is closed and the roads are deserted. Unlike the UK at Christmas this condition last for a full week. A society where most people still shop for food twice a day closes down entirely for a week! But instead of that experience we headed for the sun and the watersports.

Our trip started with an early taxi ride to the airport to meet two volunteers flying up from Saigon on their way to Laos. They had intended to go into Hanoi for their four hour stopover, but the realisation that everything was closed and they might spend the whole time just getting to Hanoi and back resulted in a change of plan and four hours in the only airport coffee bar which was still open. We chatted for half an hour then left them and moved to the departure lounge to be greeted by an announcement that our flight would be delayed by half an hour.

The flight was uneventful and we landed at Nha Trang’s new airport – a collection to tin huts amongst the sand dunes half an hour’s drive from the town – to be met by smiling bus driver. There was another party of six people with us for the transfer and as we got on the bus it dawned on us the we knew them from previous encounters so lively conversation followed as we made the transfer first to Nha Trang and then to Whale Island. It’s a trek but the road was exceptionally good and looked a lot like the coast road from Malaga to Nerja in Spain. When we commented on this fantastic piece of tarmac the owner of the resort looked downcast. It’s the first step in turning the inlet around the island in to an $8billion container port, which he does not think will be good for business! There are no public enquiries or appeals procedures here.

The island was quiet and I am putting some photos on Flickr – if our internet connection ever works properly!! - Its getting very annoying and if we could work out how to do it we would probably change the service provider. On the island which is only half a mile offshore we stayed in bungalows buried in palm trees along the edge of the beach. The walls and roof made from bamboo and palm leaves; a solar shower in a tiled ensuite, and doors which you lock by tying a piece of string from one handle to the other.

I was going to dive for the full three days we were there but visibility on the first day was as low as six metres so I saved the rest of my money and snorkelled instead. We canoed round the island, walked round the island ate, drank, read and stayed out of the midday sun. Derek gave a few windsurfing lessons without the assistance of any wind and we ran up a healthy drinks bill. And so it was that we passed into the year of the pig, without any celebrations. The staff told me they had a party after all the visitors had gone to bed, but in this expat paradise the New Year passed without comment.

The contrast between Whale Island and Nha Trang is that which exists between a desert island and Blackpool. We transferred back in the late afternoon to our seafront hotel without a sea view and re-entered the world of Vietnamese traffic chaos. We discovered we had agreed to pay a price which was twice the high season rate for each room and we also discovered that many of the better restaurants had closed for Tet.

We went our separate ways for our only full day in the town and I found myself with two friends at the mud baths in the late morning. The usual ritual of trying to get you to buy the top price packages (£75) followed by acceptance that you really are only going to buy the standard package (£1) and an optional massage (£2) leads to the issuing of tickets which have to be stamped and torn by various officials until you finally arrive at the preliminary spar shower in your bathers. After the shower, depending on your soggy ticket, you are allocated to a concrete bath which the attendant fills with muddy water from a four inch faucet. We shared ours with three boisterous Vietnamese young men. Plastic saucepans are provided which you can either wear and pretend you’re a Dalek or use to pour the liquid chocolate solution over your head. The boys went for the Dalek look. A strictly timed 20 minutes in the mud then off to sit in the sun for 10 minutes while the coating on your body bakes to the point where it’s difficult to blink then into the showers again. The two shower areas are clearly marked up as “men” and “women” but no one took any notice. Next stop a short cold blast in corridor of water jets which come at you from all angles and then 45 minutes in a bath of hot spring water, also carefully timed. After that we headed for the massage parlour where a girl who looked about 14 but was apparently a lot older than that walked up and down my back for half an hour. There are lots of pools and different seating areas – Sunbeds for executive guests, Sunbeds for foreign guests, Area for ordinary guests. Each of these has similarly reserved swimming pool areas. It’s a waste of time really, no one takes any notice at all.

We left about three in the afternoon as the place was packed out and the queues resembled a football match. Outside a long row of coaches full of Korean and Chinese tourists were winding through the narrow streets towards the baths. I hate to think how full the place must have been by the end of the afternoon.

In the evening we ate at a seafood restaurant and experienced the worst service I’ve ever had in Vietnam. They were operating western style serving individual courses. My main course arrived before anything else, so I sent it back, and my starter twenty minutes after everyone else’s starter. It was difficult to see how they could get so mixed up given the number of staff on hand versus the number of customers. Other people were leaving without eating as the waiting time was so long, but the management were only concerned with the fact that one of the waitresses on another table had not filled out the computerised order form correctly. The manager stood staring at the screen of his new toy for the whole time we were there. He appeared mesmerised by it and unable to move.

We returned to Hanoi to find the weather had finally changed. The season of cold damp drizzle had arrived. It’s very deceptive, you leave the house thinking it’s not bad and get to your destination to find you are soaked and you really should have put on the raincoat. The twice daily heavy rain for four days followed by a week of perpetual drizzle increased the humidity and washing hung out to dry on the covered balcony was still as wet a week later. The humidity permeated the house and walls, windows and doors ran with condensation. The ceramic tile floors became death traps with a fine film of water on the surface. Even the stair banisters felt wet to the touch. Bed clothes felt cold and damp and the air began to smell dank. It was the most uncomfortable time I’ve had since I arrived. Faced with mountains of wet clothes the landlord’s maid resorted to hanging wet stuff in the wardrobes which just contributed to the smell and the only way to get things dry was to iron them over and over. My washbag developed a thin film of mould and my bike began to rust despite frequent applications of oil.

Given that the Vietnamese electricity system has no earth I began to hold my breath whenever I switched anything on – wet floors and walls don’t mix well with the number of bare cables you see around here! But then the Electric Company helped out by announcing a series of 12 hour power cuts because of the low output from the hydro electric plants – there’s not enough rain and mountain reservoirs are low. It’s starting to feel like home though no one has actually said there’s a drought… yet. At least the generator at work and candles at home mean life can go on. Chuc Mung Nam Moi!