The Sampan Tour Boat traversed the vast expanse of chocolate brown water, heading towards the town of Vinh Long and the floating market of Cai Be. The three friends were the sole occupants of the simple thirty seat wooden cruiser. They all sat under the canopy that covered the boat. Jamie laid across his seat, head on the rucksack he carried with him. Jenny snoozed with her head on Oliver’s shoulder, whilst he took in the view. Houses of vastly different condition lined the banks of the Delta, from smart and neatly built brick houses to shacks made of corrugated iron and tarpaulin.
Van stood at the back, by the boats pilot, with his fixed beaming smile on display. He had an enlarged photocopy of Dyers picture pinned to the wooden frame of the boat. It fluttered and curled in the early morning breeze that whipped across the river.
“I am still drunk from last night’s cocktails,” Jamie muttered from under the baseball cap that covered his face, “what time is it?”
“Nearly six a.m.” Oliver replied checking his watch. Jenny opened her eyes and stretched.
“Why so early? I missed the point of why we have dragged ourselves out of bed at four?” she asked.
“Van says the market is busiest between five and nine in the morning,” Jamie took the cap from his face and sat up, “and the most likely time for Dyer to be shopping. It’s as easy as that.”
“It’s a start,” Oliver enhanced his opening word to counter Jamie’s sarcasm, “and maybe Dyer won’t be there but the regular traders will, they’ll recognise him.”
“Hey don’t doubt me good looking guy,” Van called from the rear of the boat.
“God,” Jamie muttered placing the baseball cap over his face and laying back down, “stop calling me that, fucking homo.”
“I ain’t no gay man Jamie,” Van replied surprising Jamie that he had heard and understood, “just know a good looking guy when I see one.”
Jamie held up his hand and spoke more loudly, “Sorry Van.”
“Hey no problem,” Van walked towards them where they sat at the front of the boat, “Early starts are always best to leave Ho Chi Minh and to cross the My Thuan Bridge, after seven the hour trip would take three.”
Jenny pointed back down the Delta towards My Tho, “You can still see the towers of the bridge from here, it is a beautiful structure.”
“It was the first bridge to cross the Mekong Delta and it has opened up road connections with Ho Chi Minh for the sixteen million who live south of the river.”
“We crossed a bridge?” Jamie asked sitting up.
“Yes,” Van replied, “It was built by the Australians, our closest friend in the west, I would have told you all about it Jenny as we crossed but these boys were sleeping.”
“Thank you Van,” Jenny said.
“No problem, I know all there is to know about Vietnam but so far I have told you nothing, one of you always sleeping,” Van smiled, “You are pretty shit tourists.”
He turned and walked away, “Once we get to Cai Be we can have breakfast.”
Oliver called after him, “I thought Vietnamese people were shy and humble Van?”
“They are Oliver, but not me, that’s why I make such a good tour guide,” Van tapped the picture of Dyer as he arrived back at his place at the front, “I’ll find you this guy, but you better give me a decent tip.”
“We will Van, though how we will find him out here I do not know,” Oliver turned back to look forward. Jamie had pulled out his water bottle and was pouring it over his face to wake himself up. Jenny tucked herself back into Oliver’s shoulder. Jamie looked across and winked in recognition of their intimacy.
Oliver continued to scan the wide expanse of river and endless banks busy with houses and adjacent roads running parallel with the river. He noticed the increased number of motorcycles and vans that were zipping up and down as Vietnam buzzed into life for another day. Oliver stroked Jenny’s hair. They were intimate in that they were now some kind of item. Joined now by this quest, a pursuit he did not question. They had embraced often, kissed occasionally but though they shared a bed they had not made love. Yet it was entirely comfortable and things would progress if and when it was right for them both. This aspect of their relationship was different to what Oliver has experienced before, he was used to attraction being closely followed by sex. But he did not feel the need or desire to try to make moves towards a greater level of intimacy than they were currently enjoying. He rested his head upon hers.
Cai Be floating market is a beautiful spectacle at any time of day but it was at its best in the early hours of trading. At six fifteen a.m. the residents of Vinh Long and surrounding areas swarmed the market in small boats. The market comprised of boats and junks of different sizes. Some were simple flat bottomed wooden boats, with large flat pans full of colourful spices covering the decks or baskets of fruit and vegetables. Larger boats sold cooking oil in five litre drums, dried fish and cured meats, second hand clothing, refurbished electrical goods but mainly food goods. Some of the boats were moored together with ropes.
The market bobbed gently against the backdrops of Vinh Long and the main delta tributary. It was a colourful spectacle with tropical fruit hanging from pillars on the boats, all types of spices and snake whiskey bottles, each with a dead snake inside. Some sold trinkets and objet d’art that would interest foreign visitors. A number of the floating wooden vessels were houseboats with other houseboats floating nearby. Jenny was humbled by the simple wooden structures suspended on the muddy waters, with worn wooden planks holding them together. The bedrooms were open on three sides with simple blankets draped over to provide minimal privacy. Inside she could see clothing and underwear hanging on wooden frames that acted as wardrobes.
As their tour boat neared Oliver searched the scene expectantly. Rafts of water hyacinth floated by. The market was busy, very busy, with much haggling and selling between traders, locals and tourists. The sound of Vietnamese and French languages echoed over the water lapping against the boats. There was several tour boats surrounding the floating market and several dozen western tourists stretching over from boat to boat to buy goods. Not goods they necessarily needed, more to experience this unique Vietnamese scene. Oliver walked to the front of the boat and peered across the busy market. Van looked from the photo to the market and back again.
Jamie shook his head unable to take the search seriously. Dyer was a recluse, this was not a scene any recluse would entertain.
Jenny stayed under the canopy but also stood and looked across the market.
On the far side, buying cayenne pepper, paprika and lemons an older man stood on the edge of a trader’s junket. He wore a large straw hat and shades to protect him against the rising sun, which was already providing notable warmth in the morning air.
Van spotted him at the same time as Oliver, who looked back down the boat towards Van.
“It could be,” called Van, “first time lucky?”
Jenny moved to the front, “What is it Oliver?”
Jamie turned back from watching fishing boats through binoculars, which were chugging some distance away in the middle of the river.
Van spoke to the tour boat pilot in Vietnamese, pointing across to the other side of the floating market where the older man shopped alone.
“I’ve asked him to take the boat around,” Van called to Oliver.
“What?” asked Jamie generally wanting to know what was causing the sudden activity.
The bow of the Sampan, where Oliver stood, veered away from the first market boat they had been approaching. Oliver looked over again at the old man, he also looked at the distance they had to traverse to get in and around the jam of tourist boats, small local boats and single man canoes. It would take several minutes to navigate.
“They’ve seen an old man, might be Dyer, can you see him,” Jenny explained to Jamie, “over the far side on his own.”
Jamie lifted his binoculars and scanned the floating boats and junkets, “It’s hard to say who is under that hat an
d glasses.”
As the boat began to straighten the bow came within inches of the first flat bottomed boat selling fruit. Oliver hesitated, looked at Van who was urging the tour boat pilot towards a gap in the tour boats, and then jumped onto the first market boat.
“Oliver,” called Jenny surprised at seeing him jump.
Oliver had decided that he would not keep the old man in sight whilst they toured around the maze like floating market to reach where he stood buying spices. He wasn’t certain it was Dyer but the older man held a close resemblance. Oliver wasn’t going to let the chance pass him by.
The flat boat rocked as Oliver balanced along its side, the owner smiled and called to Oliver, but then yelled as Oliver ran down the side of his boat. As Oliver jumped off the boat the final sway toppled a basket of bright fresh oranges, sending them rolling down the deck.
“Xin lỗi.” Van called to the owner of the boat, an apology which he would shortly be repeating to several traders.
Oliver landed on another flat bottomed boat, completely laden with bright green melons, but only for a few short steps and then jumped onto a larger junket.
“Sorry,” he called to the owner, who smiled and seemed very accepting of Oliver walking down his boat from bow to stern.
At the end Oliver held onto a rope, he looked across the market, he wasn’t even a quarter of the way but the old man seemed engrossed in buying more spices. Oliver countered his weight with the rope and eased himself down onto a smaller junket, selling rice wine and snake whiskey.
Jamie lowered his binoculars, “this is embarrassing.”
Oliver took quick steps and jumped from boat to boat, by now attracting the mild ire of traders and the amused gaze of western tourists. He looked up as the old man made his final purchase. The man in the straw hat placed all his bags of spices into a smart rucksack and placed this on his back. Oliver saw a small canoe with an outboard engine moored to the spice boat. He had seen locals travelling around in this type of vessel earlier. He now felt sure the old man was Dyer, shopping for food not trinkets, travelling alone in local transport, the resemblance. Then the smile, the older man smiled as he paid. The same smile Oliver had seen in the photograph. Oliver quickened his steps.
“Mr Dyer,” he called as he ran, “Professor, Professor Dyer.”
The old man stood motionless. Oliver arrived at the next boat, tip toed along its edges, which was a persons height above the boat where the older man in the straw hat stood. Oliver crouched down and, gently this time, lowered himself onto the spice boat, which was the furthest point away from the first boat he had started from.
Breathless, he spoke gently, “Professor Dyer?” then he softly laid a hand on the mans shoulder, he wore a beige brushed cotton safari jacket. The old man turned and looking puzzled and slightly nervous, he tried to smile.
“Professor Dyer? I’m sorry are you Robert John Dyer?”
The man spoke, but it was German words that came out from his mouth. Oliver had not noticed the tourist boat at the opposite end to the small motor boat, such was his focus on this elderly man. A younger man had dropped down from the tourist boat and was walking quickly along the edge of the spice boat to join them.
“Can I help you?” he asked in clear English but with a soft German lilt, “my father doesn’t speak any English I am sorry.”
Oliver breathed out, beads of sweat trickled down his brow, “No, it is me who is sorry, your father looks so much like a family friend, I was convinced, so I rushed over, please give him my apologies.”
The young man spoke in German to his father, who first raised eyebrows and then smiled, then laughed and spoke back to his son. He turned and shook Oliver’s hand.
“He says no harm done, he is surprised there is anyone as good looking as him living in England,” the young man offered a weak smile, while his father laughed loudly.
As Vans tour boat cruised past the many flat bottomed boats and junkets Oliver had ran across, he waved and apologised at the traders, “xin lỗi,” he repeated and when one complained back, “I know, I know,” Van said acknowledging their complaint in English.
Oliver re-appeared into view, climbing up onto a junket above the traders boat where he had encountered the elderly German man. He waved a thumbs down to communicate his mission had failed. Jamie shook his head and walked back down the boat to Van, where he stood by the pilot and the picture of Dyer pinned to the wooden pillar. Van acknowledged Oliver and guided the boats pilot towards him. Jenny stood on the bow and smiled and waved at Oliver.
“You’ve never seen this man here,” Jamie said to Van tapping the picture, “have you Van?”
“No,” Van confessed, “but it doesn’t mean we are in the wrong place, look.” Van pointed at the picture where Dyer stood smiling on board a small canoe on the delta. Van pointed into the background where a large church stood.
“See the church?” Van said.
“Yes, I can see the church,” Jamie answered.
“Well look behind you,” Van pointed over Jamie’s shoulder.
Jamie turned and on the far bank, at the front of Vinh Long town, facing out over the water, stood a large Roman Catholic Church. The same church as in the picture. Dyer had had his photo taken here, probably within metres of where their boat was now. Dyer had frequented Cai Be market even if it was some years before, this probably was his local market.
“I am not a bad man Jamie,” Van said, “if you’re man is in the area I will find him, my family home is on the Delta, I know my way around.”
Jamie smiled, “Okay Van, I believe you.”
Oliver dropped down onto the tour boat and Jenny put her hand around his waist and her other on his chest sympathetically.
“Come on you guys, I’ll show you where you can get the best breakfast on the delta,” Van said to them all, his smile unswerving.
Jamie, Oliver and Jenny sat in the Phưồng Thủy restaurant in Vhin Long, with spectacular views out towards the floating market and out across the Mekong. Jamie and Oliver ate a breakfast of banh mi, a French baguette, with scrambled eggs and grilled sardines, sprinkled with spring onion and soy sauce. Jenny had the same minus the dead sardines. Van had explained how the French colonial occupation had created wonderful fusion foods, none better than this breakfast roll.
They now watched Van as he delicately went from boat to boat, talking to traders, showing the photograph of Dyer, trying to secure a lead. Jamie had shown Oliver the church on the banks of the river, and its place in Dyers picture. This had the effect of immediately lifting Oliver from his disappointing encounter with the old German tourist. They drank fresh mango and orange juice and spoke little they were so hungry, hung over and tired.
Van spoke to his last trader, shook his hand and hopped onto the tour boat. It made its way to the quay side which served the restaurant. After a short while Van skipped into the diner and sat down beside them.
“Food good?” he asked.
“Fantastic,” Jamie said with his mouth full.
“Really tasty,” Jenny said.
“Any luck?” Oliver asked.
“Of course, our trail gets warmer.” Van handed the photograph back to Oliver, who returned it to his pocket.
“Several of them have seen your guy, one as recently as last month,” Van explained, “he speaks pretty good Vietnamese but makes little small talk, he is a nice guy but they don’t know where he lives. One thought he might be from just the other side of the Co Chien River, about a kilometre that way,” Van pointed out westerly beyond the floating market.
“That’s excellent Van,” Jenny said excitedly, “it means Dyer is still alive and still here.” Jenny put her hand under the table and squeezed Oliver’s hand tightly. He smiled and nodded.
“Even better,” Van continued, “Mr Song, who has the large junket with the electrical goods, says he has seen the old man talking with Mr Hai Hoang, who runs and owns the big ceramic factory on the delta. My family knows Hai and he is the guy
who knows everyone, does some work for the Government approving social enterprise licenses, he will know where Dyer is.”
At this point even Jamie believed this was true this time and they might find Dyer after all.
20.