Bay Mau Coconut Forest

Not far from the old town of Hoi An, sunlight reaches the water only in small pieces. This is the Bảy Mẫu coconut forest of Cẩm Thanh, where the fronds of the palms weave together so thickly that sky and river seem to be one.

The forest lies east of Hoi An, along the branches of the river and the small canals that run out toward the sea. Dừa nước, the water coconut, does not grow tall like the ordinary coconut. It grows close to the water, with its fronds hanging down like a roof. That low, dense, cool shape turns the river into a soft green tunnel.

The people of Cẩm Thanh have used the thuyền thúng, the round basket boat, for generations, to go to market, to cast nets and to carry rice. It is not a long wooden boat. It is woven of bamboo and coated with an oil called dầu rái so that it keeps the water out. On the narrow canals that thread through the coconut forest, it is the only boat that can turn around.

Inside the forest, the noise from outside falls away. Traffic and loud voices are held back by the canopy. What is left is the paddle stirring the water, the rustle of leaves, and sometimes the call of an unfamiliar bird from somewhere in the green shadow.

The families of Cẩm Thanh have long lived with this forest. Their fishing follows the rhythm of the water rising and falling with the tides. The older women and men know exactly where the shrimp tend to come in, and where the fish shelter through the cold season. Children learn to paddle a basket boat before they learn to ride a bicycle.

Dừa nước is more than a plant. Its leaves are split, dried and laid as roofing, which shelters the whole village from rain and sun. The base and trunk are soaked under water and plaited into barriers along the canal banks. The fruit is small, translucent white and mildly sweet, and plenty of it is sold at the Hoi An market. Every part of the plant has its own work.

Fishing in Cẩm Thanh is not the trade of the open sea. People paddle their baskets into the narrow side canals, cast nets in the shade beneath the fronds, and then sit and wait. It is a trade of patience, of people who can read the surface of the water and know when the fish will come. Children go along with their parents from an early age. They learn the work not from books but by sitting still in the basket and watching.

When evening comes, the light passes through the fronds in pale gold streaks on the canal. The paddler at that hour usually does not say much. A single stroke of the paddle in the water is enough. There is one round basket, one person paddling, and all around them the silent green of the coconut forest as the day ends.

Along the shaded stretches of canal there is a stillness that the people of Cẩm Thanh have kept through generation after generation. It is not the stillness of an empty place. It is the stillness of a place that knows who it is and where it came from.

The water here mirrors the green canopy overhead and makes a dim green color that runs on along every bend. The basket boat turns slowly. A fallen palm frond drifts past.