November starts the rainy season in Central Việt Nam, and this year’s rains have been tough. The city of Huê has had five floods since the end of October. The slow steady rain isn’t heavy, but there’s more water than the flat countryside can handle and the overflowing Perfume River runs through the middle of the city.
Streets are swift flowing rivers. In some places, the only way to travel is by boat. The main thoroughfare on the north side of the river is under three to five feet of water. Pedestrians can walk across an intersection, but only at the risk of having their legs swept from under them by the current. A xich lo driver has the weight of his
pedal-driven machine to keep him from ending up in the river.
(Be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version.)
Many Huê residents earn their living on the river, and small boats are common place. The enterprising 
Vietnamese are always looking for ways to make an extra dông, so when a walker gets to the end of the pavement, there is always a boat available – for hire, of course. Nobody gets upset and thinks the boat owners are taking advantage of the situation – they’re just happy to be able to get home from the market.
The main marketplace is on the river’s banks and is flooded out. However, the food vendors know
people have to eat and an impromptu market place was set up on the slope of a nearby bridge. Most Vietnamese women buy food twice each day owing to the lack of refrigeration in poor people’s homes. The families need to eat and the vendors need to sell. A friend who buys food for a small cafe told me the price of an egg doubled.
The Vietnamese are a coping people. Floods are so common they are almost considered normal.. When the waters get into your business, its time to stack up furniture, keep dry, and watch the world go by. Floods are not as disastrous in Việt Nam as they are in the west because the buildings are intended to cope with dampness and water. There are no heavy carpets – they wouldn’t last in the high humidity – there are no thick drapes or overstuffed sofas. Just tile (or cement) floors, plastic tables and chairs, and some nicer wood chairs that can be moved upstairs easily. The walls are solid brick or concrete – there is no drywall in a Vietnamese home.
Not all people are so lucky. Some have had their flimsy shacks washed away and are now homeless. At
the moment, there is no other place to go than the steps in the front of the city auditorium. There is some shelter from the rain, and one’s bag of belongings makes a pillow.
There is no sense fighting nature – many people find a little sidewalk café, order a cup of coffee or tea, and chat with friends until the world dries out.
It’s the Vietnamese way.