Three days in Vietnam

  Step on the rough salt fields on the coast of Nha Trang with bare feet, and let the sea water overflow from the toes and cover the insteps.
  Getting lost among Pan Lang’s pagodas, and following the young man who ran around the pagodas, he had an epiphany in the softening sunlight and the slow flow of time.
  Please sit down in silence, in the noisy morning light of Mui Ne, watch the pier greet and send you off, and allow your thoughts to drift freely like a bamboo boat…
  This is the Vietnam I met.

When going to Vietnam, shooting in the salt field is essential. In the big picture on the left page, the square salt field is built on the coastline of Vietnam. Here, no modern technology can be seen, and everything is done by the most primitive manpower. In the picture on the right page, under the sun, the female workers in the saltworks wrapped themselves tightly to prevent sunburn. They carried poles and bamboo baskets filled with snow-white sea salt. Their figures of hard work are the most beautiful scenery in the salt field.

  When you are tired of your daily life, the best way to heal is perhaps to use a plane ticket to “send” yourself to a foreign country, a barren mountain.
  This time, I sent myself to Vietnam.
  A camera, accompanied me from Guangdong, and crossed the border with the time of watching a movie. Outside the porthole, on the vast ocean, a small emerald island flew past. I can’t tell its name, and I’m not even sure if it belongs to Vietnam, but it lights up my expectations of Vietnam. I knew that there must be some strange feeling waiting for me there.
1 Nha Trang coastline, its color is sea blue and salt white

  The salt worker, who had been busy all day, walked briskly on his way home with a load on his shoulders. Just turn a corner and throw me out of several field ridges. The setting sun withdrew its light and reflected the calm mirror-like salt field in red. The ancient salt field, which was bustling just now, returned to tranquility in an instant.
  At the exchange window at Nha Trang Airport, I exchanged 100 yuan for 300,000 Vietnamese dong. Holding the exaggerated denomination, I suddenly felt that my wallet was full, and I just wanted to find a place to spend it happily. At this moment, the local photographer Mr. Wu came to the airport to welcome us with his accompanying interpreter Ameng. The 19-person photography group used a 45-seater bus grandly. Ameng said that because we are “VIPs”, one person can have two seats, which made everyone smile.
  My first impression of Vietnam comes from the scenery outside the bus: the winding mountain road is parallel to the endless coastline, and the blue sea is like a gem, which is caught off guard. After getting off the bus, the hotel we stayed in was full of sea views as far as we could see, one piece after another, until the blueness of our dreams.
  In the afternoon, my itinerary was of course related to the sea: I went to the sea salt field to photograph the workers in the salt field. Vietnam still retains the traditional sea salt drying process, using seawater as raw material, relying on sunlight, wind and special evaporators to make salt. There is no machinery and equipment in Yantian, and even the transfer inside the field is done by hand carts. Here, ancient civilizations can be seen everywhere, and the productivity of modern technology has nothing to do with it.
  The translator Ameng said that you can step into the salt fields wearing slippers. I was dubious, and tried to dip my toes into the salt water, but seeing no one scolded me, I rolled up my trouser legs and stepped into the warm salt field. I feel a little uneasy: Will I eat the salt I stepped on with my feet? Soon, rough salt grains poured into the soles of the feet, with edges and corners, like irregular gravel, grinding the feet painfully. I couldn’t help but “violently” turned back to look for Ameng, but he didn’t know where he was hiding for a long time.
  Under the sun in the sky, the female workers working in the salt fields are fully armed for sun protection: they are wrapped in thick trousers and long sleeves, long rubber boots on their feet, bamboo hats on their heads, and plastic gloves on their hands. If a towel is not enough, another thick towel is added to cover the whole face, leaving only a pair of eyes alive under the low brim of the hat. In contrast, my sunscreen was not very useful. This afternoon, I was as tanned as a dusty oil can, with greasy shine in the gray and black.
  In the evening, the sun is no longer scorching, and the salt mountain is no longer dazzlingly white. In the afterglow, the salt crystals shone like jewels. Salt workers salvage the last basket of salt ashore. In the watery salt fields, the figures of the salt workers intertwine with the bright red clouds. The breeze blows, and the reflection dances with the ripples on the water surface.
  The salt worker, who had been busy all day, walked briskly on his way home with a load on his shoulders. Just turn a corner and throw me out of several field ridges. The setting sun withdrew its light and reflected the calm mirror-like salt field in red. The ancient salt field, which was bustling just now, returned to tranquility in an instant.
2 There is coffee in Vietnam, Phan Lang’s Cham Towers and Coffee

  Different from the convenience of instant coffee, after the drip coffee was served, I could only stare at the filter cup intently, and fell into a long wait as the liquid slowly fell into the coffee cup drop by drop. The sunlight passes through the coffee shop, casting long, coffee-colored shadows on the old wooden coffee table.
  Phan Lang, once the capital of Ninh Thuan Province in South Vietnam, was also the birthplace of former South Vietnamese general and former president Nguyen Van Thieu. This seaside town, famous for Nguyen Van Thieu, dates back to the 8th and 9th centuries. At that time, it was still ruled by the Champa Kingdom. Among the ancient countries in Southeast Asia, Champa and Funan (now Cambodia) are the earliest countries with historical records. According to historical records, Champa Kingdom first belonged to Xianglin County in Rinan County, which was established in the Han Dynasty of China, and its territory is located in the southeast of the present-day Indochina Peninsula. In 137, Shi Limoluo, the son of Gongcao of Xianglin County, killed the county magistrate, proclaimed himself king, and founded the Champa Kingdom. In its heyday, Champa’s territory stretched from Hengshan Pass in Ha Tinh Province in the north to Phan Lang and Phan Li in Binh Thuan Province in the south.
  However, the territory of the Champa Kingdom was not peaceful. At that time, it often had long-term wars with China in the north and Cambodia in the south. It is also adjacent to the first feudal dynasty in the history of Vietnam, the Great Quyue Kingdom. The Great Quyue State expanded outwards and encroached on the territory of the Champa State, resulting in a feud between the two countries. From 970 to 1650, there was a dispute that lasted nearly half a century between the Great Quyue Kingdom and the Champa Kingdom. In 1697, the Cham Kingdom was finally completely disintegrated, and the Cham became one of the ethnic minorities in Vietnam.
  There are three well-preserved Buddhist pagodas in Panlang Zhouao Mountain. They are the Pokrang Galeta during the Champa Kingdom. The culture of the Champa Kingdom is deeply influenced by India. The main religion of the Cham people is Brahmanism. He worships Shiva, one of the main gods, very much. In the Pokrangata, it is the Destroyer Lord Shiva who has dual personalities of reproduction and destruction, creation and destruction.
  The tower group includes three towers, one is the main tower dedicated to a female incarnation of Shiva, Goddess Tianyi and King Pokrangalai, the east gate tower, and the Vulcan tower in the shape of a boat. Although there are many well-preserved Cham towers in Vietnam, and some towers are large in scale, Phan Lang’s Pokrang Gale Pagoda is still simple and outstanding, which can be called the essence of manta-style architectural culture and ancient Cham culture.

Pan Lang’s Pokrang Gale Tower is a well-preserved relic of the Champa Kingdom. In the picture on the left page, under the sun, it is plated with a layer of gold, which is quite sacred. The picture on the right page is the Nangang Sand Dunes in Vietnam. It is hard to imagine that there will be such a huge sand dune in Vietnam. The golden gravel and the women in colorful costumes in the distance are like a beautiful oil painting. The small picture on the right page is a corner of a Vietnamese coffee shop. Vietnamese drip coffee is very popular among people.

  Zhou Ao Mountain is only more than 200 meters high, and the ground on the top of the mountain is covered with thick red dust. Every step you take, the soles of your shoes will bring up light dust. Overlooking from the west of the top of the mountain, the farmland is criss-crossed and green. At the time when the early-season rice is heading, there are no farmers busy in the field, only the gentle breeze and the sun shining. The setting sun hangs on the treetops, and the mottled tree shadows sway on the Pokrang Galeta, which is ancient and mysterious. I thought it would be like this, watching the sunset quietly, listening to the beautiful melody of harmony between man and nature, but unexpectedly, the local photographer who was traveling with me found some dancers, dressed in the costumes of Goddess Tianyi, in Po Po A coy pose was devised in front of Crangaletta. These local photographers are very familiar with walking among the three towers, directing the actors to line up and pose, and guiding the photographers of the photography group to stand and take pictures.
  The performance in front of me is a farce whitewashed as “humanistic” photography. Regardless of whether it is viewed from the religious or artistic level, it is an aesthetic that I cannot agree with. So I hid in the shade of another temple tower, but accidentally saw a boy playing and running around the main tower. With the wind blowing on his feet, the dust was blown up, and he drew circles of “Wheel of Time” under the shroud of light, as if he was about to break through the limitation of time and space and go to another dimension. There was an inexplicable sense of strangeness and mystery. It baffles me but fascinates me.
  The vulgar performance ended, and my thoughts also returned to the world from “another dimension” and returned to Pan Lang. After the show, I was attracted by the aroma of coffee, so I happened to visit a coffee shop on a secluded side street and drank a cup of drip coffee. The coffee shop is run by an old couple, a little far from the main street, and the surrounding area is a bit quiet. The old mother grinds the coffee beans into powder, pours them into a filter cup with a cover, and adds a small amount of boiling water, just enough to cover the coffee powder. The old man put a coffee cup with sugar and milk under the colander, and served it on the coffee table with a tray. Filtered coffee is both fragrant and mellow.
  Different from the convenience of instant coffee, after the drip coffee was served, I could only stare at the filter cup intently, and fell into a long wait as the liquid slowly fell into the coffee cup drop by drop. The sunlight passes through the coffee shop, casting long, coffee-colored shadows on the old wooden coffee table.
3Miscellaneous thoughts in the fishing village of Mina, thoughts drifting to the starry sky in the “bathtub”

  Standing on the high seawall of Mui Ne, I asked my dad again: “Do you still remember that wooden tub I was sitting on back then, does it look like this boat?” I didn’t hear his answer, he was away from me. Far away, he is on the other side and cannot be heard.
  Mui Ne, Vietnam is a leisurely small fishing village.
  This is not a wide road, full of motorcycles, bicycles and buses. Which car has to turn around and back up, which will inevitably cause traffic jams. But in Mui Ne, traffic jams are not a distraction. Those who like to ride forward against the sun, handsome European and American guys, and beautiful blonde girls have to pause and turn back when they are stuck in traffic, and their words and smiles become the most beautiful scenery under the morning sun, which is pleasing to the eye.
  Looking up at the vast sea, thousands of fishing boats come and go. The guests of the restaurant on the shore are waiting for the freshly caught seafood from the boats. Steamed fish and boiled prawns have a hint of sweetness; clam soup is very delicious with just a little salt.
  The fish market here is also by the sea, and trading starts as early as before dawn. The big fishing boats that have completed the fishing task are parked on the sea several hundred meters away, and the small fishing boats are babbling and shaking their paddles to transfer seafood to the market at the pier. By the time we finished shooting the sunrise over the sea, the noise and bustle of Qianfan entering the port had long since dissipated. The fishing boat is moored on the shore, the fisherwomen sit and chat in a corner, and the fishermen sit on the boat and smoke silently.
  The small fishing boat is uniquely round, like a huge bathtub, mostly made of wood and plastic, interestingly, it is also made of bamboo strips. There is a ring of rubber tires around the side of the boat to absorb shock. Except for the oar tied to the side of the boat, there are no other accessories or tools in the boat. I stepped into the bamboo boat, the curvature of the bottom of the boat compressed the standing space, and it is estimated that standing with three people may lose balance. I was amazed, the feeling of staying inside was completely different from watching it outside. I couldn’t find the bow from the round hull, and I didn’t know which direction to paddle from, let alone how it navigated through thorns and thorns on the sea. Ride the wind and waves.

Mui Ne is a cozy little fishing village. The big picture on the left page shows the blue sea, the sea and the sky, the fishing boats float on it, and the unique round fishing boats of Mui Ne fishing village can be seen everywhere. The small picture on the right page shows the narrow avenue in Mui Ne fishing village, where there are often traffic jams, but the beautiful scenery everywhere makes people feel happy.

  When I was a child, I often asked my parents, where did I come from? My mother said: Pick it up! I asked: where did you pick it up? My dad said: In the river! I don’t believe it, why didn’t I drown? My dad started to make up nonsense: There was a big flood, you sat in a wooden basin and rushed down from the upstream, I saw that the girl was good-looking and had two dimples, so I swam over and grabbed the wooden basin You picked it up. I was in a hurry and insisted that he take out my tub as a witness. He just laughed and said, “You’ve grown up so much, you stepped on that basin a long time ago in the shower.” For a long time, I was bitter about their refusal to admit that I was their own. Standing on the high seawall of Mui Ne, I asked my dad again: “Do you still remember that wooden tub I was sitting on back then, does it look like this boat?” I didn’t hear his answer, he was away from me. Far away, he is on the other side and cannot be heard. Only after I arrived at that place, could I tell him the memories I remembered standing in the bamboo boat, and the loneliness I felt while wandering.
  Behind the restaurant where we dined, there is a village, extending longitudinally along the gentle slope, with a long and narrow space. On both sides of a cement road that can accommodate one-way traffic of motor vehicles, villagers lie or sit, enjoying the leisure time in the afternoon in front of their houses. At the end of the village, overgrown with weeds, littered with rocks and rubbish. Across the mess, climbing up the sand dunes, a large number of graves appeared in the wilderness—just now, I mistook them for villas far away from the hustle and bustle.

  On the sandy ground in front of the mass grave, a group of teenagers are playing football without fear of the surrounding environment. The vigor of youth is like a “beep” screaming, domineering cart, running over the lifeless tombs, I think, I am afraid that even the “dead souls” will be busy admiring the young man’s heroism, and have no time to mourn. The younger children, holding balloons and mingling among them, kicked up decently, and the shots were quite accurate. Tired, they sat on the edge of the “court”, turning their heads around following the only football, without blinking their eyes. The “facilities” of the stadium are very primitive, except that the football is real, and there is no sideline, center line, or goal line on the ground. At the north and south ends, four branches are inserted into the sand, and they support a goal for the goalkeepers of both sides. I zoomed in on the camera, leaving behind the images of these children running in the desert, as well as the vitality that moved me.
  If you miss Pan Lang in the night, you can’t miss the stars in Mui Ne.
  The coastline of Mui Ne is very long. At night, there are no lights on the sea, and the sky and the earth are in chaos. I turned on the flashlight, followed the sound of the waves, and walked towards the darker beach. After walking for a while, I gradually adapted to the surrounding environment and could barely see the boundary between sand and water. On the way, I accidentally ran into two men fishing in the dark. The night light drifted with the ups and downs of the waves, and when I lifted the pole, a small grouper came up. The grouper struggled desperately under the shining white flashlight, and the hook tore its lips open. I couldn’t help grinning along with the “pain” and shivering.

In the picture on the left page, under the setting sun, the fishermen of Mui Ne are putting away their fishing nets and preparing to go home to rest. The small picture on the right page shows the bustling fish market in Mui Ne. These fresh catches are transported back to the shore by the villagers in their round fishing boats. In the big picture on the lower right, on the beach of Mui Ne, a group of children were chasing red kites, playing happily, and their laughter spread far and wide.

  I looked away and looked at the night sky, which was dotted with stars. Maintaining ignorance of the mysteries of the universe, and then looking for the five planets in the depths of the vast sea of ​​stars, I admit that this is futile, but I am still immersed in the dreamy and bizarre at the moment, unconsciously thinking, maybe Van Gogh really discovered it. What, to draw the flowing, jumping, rotating starry sky, and the amazing power of the unknown world behind the starry sky. He said: “If there is no longer something infinite, profound, and real in life, I will no longer be nostalgic for the world…”
  It was late at night, and I was still riding the waves with a flashlight, like a grain of water floating up and down. night light drift.