Through the glass noodle

Cu Da village is famous for its traditional glass noodles and ancient architecture. It has such an idyllic charm that even the younger generations seem perfectly content. Duc Hanh investigates

“An Italian chef in Hanoi even comes to my workshop with his restaurant’s flour and asks us to make noodles in our traditional way for him.”
Woven bamboo boards lean nonchalantly against the walls of Cu Da village pagoda. The near-transparent sheets draped over the boards that have been left out to dry will eventually be cut up into threads of mien dong or glass noodles, which are made from a kind of tuber plant similar to cassava.
Even in the thin alleyways around the village, dozens and dozens of bamboo boards are lined up, as if a local farmer tried to invent his own wooden solar panels.
In the glare of the afternoon sun the boards shimmer, beautifully so. It initially blinds me from the village’s famed architecture, which boasts well-preserved abodes built under the Le and Nguyen dynasties.
But as the sun is shining, the focus is on mien. Entering at the village’s arched gate, you feel as if you are entering another era. Inside workshops, craftsmen toil over massive pots, stirring the paste that will become mien dong. A barefoot man drags a cart full of dried mien down an alley. Meanwhile kids, too young to be roped into work, cycle off towards the river with giddy smiles.
These glass noodles can be found in a number of classic dishes throughout Vietnam such as mien luon (eel with glass noodles) or mien ga (chicken with glass noodles). Not just a Vietnamese staple, these clear, yellowy threads are exported to countries such as Japan, Korea, Russia and France.
The village has nearly 200 households making glass noodles. With the assistance of machinery, a household with an average of eight people can produce 900kg in four hours. Using the traditional method it takes four people nine hours to finish 300kg.
However those still producing mien in the traditional way claim with the drain on power and maintenance costs the profit margins are much the same. It could be sour grapes, though the villagers seem too honest and open to be resentful.
“The work is hard and the income is not so good. We also have to grow rice as well to make ends meet,” says Nguyen Cong Han, whose family has made glass noodles for three generations. “Although that’s hard to do as now the fields are smaller because of urbanisation.”
This kind of hardship for scant reward often leads to an urban-rural shift, as younger generations head to the city in search of higher income jobs, but what’s striking about Cu Da is that people seem quite satisfied with their lot here.
A young couple Loan and Thach claim they’re not interested in packing up their trunk and heading for the city, where they say a good job is hard to find.
“Anyway, I am very proud to keep our village’s craft alive. My family still makes the finest glass noodles by hand despite the introduction of machinery,” says Thach. “An Italian chef in Hanoi even comes to my workshop with his restaurant’s flour and asks us to make noodles in our traditional way for him.”
“We still make noodles as it still brings in quick money,” says Loan. “We also get to preserve this traditional craft, which means a lot to us.”
While the town’s architecture has inevitably aged over time, with vast rolls of mien hanging from the scaffolding like golden fleeces, sparkling in the sun, the town seems dreamlike in its beauty.
But visitors be warned – the weather dictates the pace of work as sunshine is needed to dry the mien. On a rainy day you’ll only find the villagers happily dozing indoors.
“The villagers always seem to know if the weather will be sunny or rainy the next day. Today the craftsmen are busy and the village is filled with glass noodles, but when you come back to take more pictures tomorrow, it might be a quiet village with no fires lit and nothing left out to dry,” laughs artist Van Pham.
The villagers know you have to make hay while the sun shines.

Source Vietnamnet