Buzz
We arrived there right in the midst of hibiscus season. Perhaps those were the finest clusters of hibiscus I've ever tasted in my life. The sweet fruit clusters akin to the affection of a couple by Mu stream for weary travelers.
Exploring Hoa Binh during the hibiscus season – traversing nostalgia
Canceling and rescheduling Ngoc Son – Ngo Luong trip with the Dirtbike club, until the last minute, there's still a chance to don the backpack and hit the road. It's been a while since I've had a trip with mostly unfamiliar faces. Like a journey searching for the past, for a time we once knew.
Our destination lies downstream from Mu Waterfall, within the territory of Tu Do commune, in the Ngoc Son – Ngo Luong Nature Reserve, Lac Son district, Hoa Binh province. The locals here have embraced community-based tourism within the well-built stilt houses, clean with woven bamboo mats and cotton mattresses.
The road to this place is still rugged and stony, yet it cannot deter adventurous hearts always yearning to ignite the flame of exploration on these paths. Escaping the city to the forest and arriving here makes one understand why the western border up north, from Hoa Binh down to Thanh Hoa, is so appealing to backpacking tourists.
The scenery of mountains and forests along with the village's breath has a strange allure, making everyone who has been there long for a return. Surely, everyone has once embraced the peaceful emotions it brings.
It's hibiscus season. Besides the highway or even in the capital city, hibiscus is sold everywhere, at an affordable price, and it's a favorite gift among friends. A type of sour-sweet fruit with numerous health benefits such as relieving colds, reducing fever, treating sore throat, and aiding digestion.
In the past, I used to joke with my friends that hibiscus is like 'n' fruits in one, just eating one is enough to taste its sweet, bitter, spicy, sour, and astringent flavors. Indeed, if you try chewing a hibiscus fruit including the seed once fully!
Crossing over to the other side of the stream to cook breakfast, when returning, your friend hands you a cluster of hibiscus, ripe and shiny, small and lovely, not as big and round as Hanoi hibiscus, yet beautiful like sunlight without the brownish hue of fruits picked long ago.
After the rain last night, the water still lingers on the leaves while the sun has already tinted the sky golden. Looking around the village, hibiscus can be seen everywhere, each house has at least a few trees, some even have dozens.
Clusters of hibiscus stretch and sway amidst the lush green leaves, above is the sky 'as if ripped out and blue'.
The Muong people call hibiscus fruit 'quả nhâm', precisely in the Muong ethnic language, it's called 'quả goòng'. Sister Phoi at the Suoi Mu stilt house finds it odd when I keep saying 'hibiscus fruit'.
Seeing me engrossed with the cluster of fruits by the window of the stilt house, where the wooden door adorned with flowers opens up a peaceful world of the Northwest mountains, my friend immediately asked the host to fetch some more clusters.
The 'keo nèo' is a long stick with a hook used to extend the arm for picking, as hibiscus grows in clusters right at the tips of branches and twigs, so one must extend the arm to bring the cluster closer for picking.
Like a children's game, Sister Phoi picks each cluster with the 'keo nèo' and hands it to me through the window, while I inside the house detach the cluster and hook it onto the wooden ladder, then wait for a new cluster on the stick to be handed in.
Arranging, displaying, and eating as if playing with merchandise, reminiscing the scent of hibiscus in a page of a book I've read, 'it tingles the nose, slightly spicy, a bit pungent but not as piercing as the scent of orange peel or kumquat peel'.
That mysterious scent wafts swiftly through the olfactory senses, stirring up some dormant emotions deep down in the heart that have been asleep for so long.
I only woke up when I heard your voice and the homeowner's call from below the stilt house, where the children were laughing and playing. Rushing down the stairs, I saw on the table several clusters of hibiscus still on their branches and leaves.
Sister Phoi asked if it was enough. As I softly suggested she sell some more to me, you immediately scolded, don't talk about buying and selling, the villagers don't like that, if they like it, just give it to them.
Sister Phoi also chuckled and said, there's plenty of 'quả goòng', no one's eating them, if they like it, just give it to them. After she finished speaking, her husband returned from the fields, shoulders carrying a bag, hand holding a knife, his work clothes soaked in sweat. Sister Phoi asked him to climb the tree and pick quickly.
I was confused, before I could think about how many clusters of hibiscus I wanted to bring back to the city, her husband was already up on the tall tree, using a knife to cut off a branch as thick as a wrist, then slowly lowered it down. Everyone hurriedly picked the clusters and piled them on the table, one branch after another, in a flash, the table was full.
As I fumbled among the hibiscus on the table and asked if cutting branches like that was okay, he said it's fine, cutting will make the tree grow new branches. He also reminded his wife not to remove the leaves, to keep the fruit fresh, and then advised the guests that when they take the bag out to the fields again, they should put it in the fridge, it'll taste even better when eaten.
Those might be the finest clusters of hibiscus I've ever tasted in my life. Sweet as the affection of a couple by Mu stream for weary travelers. Spicy like tears about to fall from my eyes as I stood in front of a table of hibiscus gifts. Sour, bitter, like love thought forgotten but awakened again in the scent of hibiscus...
I've lost count, those months of longing. Right now, all I want is to sit by the window day and night, listening to the sound of Mu stream flowing gently around the house, the garden lush with greenery, the chickens crowing at noon, the children playing under the floor, the pigs grunting in the pen. My heart doesn't want to leave...
The scent of hibiscus wafts swiftly through the senses. In this life, 'how many people pass by in longing and forget each other?' ()...
() Poem by Nguyen Phong Viet
According to Tuoi Tre
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Reference: Travel Guide Mytour
MytourAugust 16, 2016
