That is the deep affection and strong bond of the people of our homeland for each other, for their homeland, rivers, and seas. When people love and are attached to each other, to their homeland, and to the sea... what hardship or challenge can't they overcome?
On those chilly highland nights, my mother would often tell me about the day our family left our hometown for the Central Highlands in search of a new life. She said that I wasn't even born then. It's been almost 10 years since my family last returned to our ancestral home. My hometown is far, far away in Ha Tinh province. For some reason, my girlfriend, Ngoc Anh – a teacher born in the 80s, who teaches Literature at a village school, originally from Nghi Xuan but born in the highlands – has been feeling down lately. One day she said to me:
- We've been in love for years, yet all I know about my hometown is the "spicy ginger, salty salt" you've told me. We need to go back to your hometown for a visit so I can see what it's like, and also to introduce myself to your uncles, aunts, and cousins, honey.
A view of Tien Dien town, Nghi Xuan district. Photo: Thanh Nam.
"Hearing those words was like a weight lifted from my heart," I was overjoyed, and we packed our bags and set off. The train was heading north, and as soon as it passed the Deo Ngang tunnel, the sun blazed down and a hot, howling wind howled outside the window. That morning, still wet from the journey home, Ngoc Anh insisted on going to the beach. Luckily, we met Mr. Nguyen Thanh Nam, a fisherman who had spent his whole life connected to the sea. Standing on the beach, looking at the imposing concrete dike stretching endlessly along the shore, she was stunned. As if guessing her thoughts, Mr. Nam smiled:
- The sea surprised you a lot, didn't it?
- Yes! I'm very surprised, sir. I was born in the Central Highlands and have never been to the sea. I've heard my parents and other people from my hometown who migrated there to start a new life talk about the sea, about storms, and about terrifying floods. I've also seen movies and imagined what the sea is like, but seeing it with my own eyes here is... so strange. It must be very difficult for people from my hometown to live with the sea and storms like this, isn't it, sir?
- As a teacher, you must know the saying, "Salt remains salty even after three years, ginger remains spicy even after nine months..." That's the deep affection and strong bond between people in our homeland, with their rivers and seas. When people love and are attached to each other, to their homeland, and to the sea... what hardship or challenge can't they overcome?
He paused for a moment, gesturing broadly towards the sea and the river, his voice lowering:
"You know, children, this land is like a peninsula sandwiched between three sides of water. The Lam River flows swiftly to the west, the sea to the east, and the Cua Hoi estuary to the north. Even on calm days, you can hear the waves crashing against the shore from the banks of the Lam River. During floods, you can hear the roaring sound of the water rushing from the river. That's why floods and storms are a constant threat. When it rains, it's a torrential downpour; when it storms, it's a devastating storm. To the west, the Lam River brings torrential floodwaters from upstream. To the east, the sea rises, its waves eroding the shore. In the past, after the war, the government didn't have the money to build sturdy concrete dikes to protect against storms; they could only mobilize the people to build earthen dikes. Earthen dikes couldn't withstand strong winds and big waves; they couldn't withstand storms and tidal surges." When the storm came, the waters of the Lam River, in conjunction with the strong winds, tore apart the river dikes, eroding fields and turning them into rivers and canals, sweeping away many houses. The land could no longer sustain the people, so they had to leave their homeland with tears in their eyes, venturing to seek a livelihood in new lands. If those who left faced hardship, those who remained were far from secure. Every rainy season brought constant worry… Everyone longed for a sturdy dike to withstand the raging waters, strong winds, and crashing waves, so they could live and work in peace…!
At that point, my uncle's voice choked up. It seemed Ngọc Anh was also moved. She tremblingly took my hand as if seeking solace and understanding…
The Cua Hoi Bridge connects the two banks of the Lam River. Photo: Nguyen Thanh Hai
Uncle Nam, my sister, and I strolled leisurely along the dike towards Cua Hoi. The August sky was a vast, clear blue. Looking at the sea, with its countless white waves crashing endlessly against the dike, Ngoc Anh exclaimed:
- It's so beautiful, so magnificent!
"It really is beautiful and magnificent!" Uncle Nam nodded in agreement.
"Our homeland is so beautiful now thanks to the people's ability to control the sea and the river. Ha Tinh has resolutely built concrete sea and river dikes. Each dike is 5-6 meters wide, tens of meters high, and tens of kilometers long. In our countryside, to the west, there's a dike to prevent flooding from the Lam River, and to the east, there's a concrete sea dike about 10 km long running from Dan Truong to Xuan Hoi, plus the Cua Hoi Bridge - the longest bridge in Central Vietnam - crossing the river. Vehicles and people can travel and trade conveniently. Now, thousands of hectares of cultivated land and thousands of hectares of aquaculture farms no longer fear being breached by floods. To the east, the sea dike protects the villages, so they no longer fear crashing waves; the land is peaceful."
The Lam River estuary, formerly known as Dan Nhai estuary, is now called Hoi estuary. Photo: Dau Ha.
Uncle Nam pointed towards the fields within the dike, which were in harvest season, then towards the shrimp ponds on the sand, their shimmering, iridescent water splashing up like flowers in the sun thanks to the aeration fans; then he gestured towards the village with its jumbled high-rise buildings, and said cheerfully:
"Look, children, since the sea and river dikes were concreted, the land has been protected and is peaceful; many economic projects have emerged in this coastal area. Dozens of kilometers of ecological roads and inter-village roads have been widened, concreted, and asphalted, completely replacing the dusty, narrow dirt roads. Industries such as carpentry, construction, and services have flourished throughout the villages. To give you an example, right here in our commune, many children who went away to work and prosper have returned home bringing with them projects to build farms and eco-tourism areas, beautifying and enriching our homeland."
Sunrise at Hoi Gate. Photo: Dang Thien Chan
After saying goodbye to Uncle Nam, I nervously clasped Ngoc Anh's hand. Before us, the sea dike stood majestically, like a link between the deep blue autumn sea and the vast, clear blue sky. The free-spirited sea breeze ruffled Ngoc Anh's flowing hair. I looked at her:
- Do you think the sea, our "homeland of spicy ginger and salty salt," is beautiful?
- It's so beautiful, brother! I know there are still many challenges ahead for the minds and hardworking hands of the people of Ha Tinh. But I think the stories about the sea, the people, and our beautiful "land of ginger and salt" truly reflect a deep and profound bond, brother...
Nguyen Xuan Dieu
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