Mr Hung, 51, had been a deep-sea fisherman on larger boats for many years. But he gave up in 2019 to help his daughter run the beach restaurant they opened in 2017 in Hoi An, a historic former port, to cope with the surge in international tourism in the city brought by Western adventurers and Asian package tours is being driven.
Le Van Hung inspects his round basket boat, which is filled with a fishing net. He bought the coracle in August for 8.5 million dong, or about $ 370, which nearly depleted the family’s savings. He fishes about half a mile from the shore.
Rehahn C for the New York Times
The tourists and most of his family’s income disappeared when the coronavirus hit in early 2020, and in one particularly cruel blow in November, a monsoon dragged their dune-based Yang Yang restaurant into the sea.
Now, like many others in Hoi An who stopped fishing to work as a waiter, security guard, or speedboat driver in tourism, or to open their own business for travelers, he has returned to what he knows best, and to the Ridden waves for a living.
Mr. Hung, a short man with a light stomach and bad back, supports six relatives who live with him in just a few rooms under a tiled roof with wooden shutters. You can hardly get through.
Severe storms since September, and more recently high winds and rough seas, kept Hung out of the water for fear that his hot tub-sized boat would capsize.
When he looked at the waves at the end of February and half of the brick bathroom of his restaurant was still on the dirty beach below, he said to himself: The day after tomorrow will be safe.
Before a two-hour fishing trip, Mr. Hung refueled with noodles next to his basket boat at sunrise.
Rehahn C for the New York Times
Mr. Hung tied floats and weights to fishing nets on the concrete slab in front of his house and waited for the waves and wind to subside.
Rehahn C for the New York Times
The calm of the sea was almost meditative. But yard after yard of the empty net worried Mr. Hung.
Rehahn C for the New York Times
At sunrise on a Tuesday, Mr. Hung was standing in his boat paddling across the bubbly 3-foot surf. About 400 meters from the shore, it began to unfold a clear fishing net in undulating aquamarine water. As he paddled, the net followed the boat, creating a 6 foot deep screen that eventually stretched 500 meters and was ready to catch schools of fish.
Mr. Hung grew up in Hoi An, a fishing community that has been nestled between the turquoise sea and the emerald green rice fields for centuries. The atmospheric ancient city is lined with long wooden Chinese shop houses and mustard-colored French colonial rulers.
Over the past 15 years, Vietnamese developers and international hotels have invested billions of dollars in building waterfront resorts, while locals and outsiders have opened hundreds of small hotels, restaurants, and shops in and around the city’s historic core. International tourists flocked to the city, huddled on the beaches during the day and packed the old town at night. The pandemic hit particularly hard because Hoi An relied excessively on foreigners. In 2019, 4 million of the 5.35 million visitors came from abroad.
Mr. Hung pushes his boat into the sea. A few dozen sole fishermen were also in the water on their coracles that day, some had set out in the middle of the night.
Rehahn C for the New York Times
When hotels were emerging around Mr. Hang’s house on Tan Thanh Beach near the old town, the family borrowed loans from relatives in 2017 to buy a few dozen sun loungers and straw umbrellas, and built an open-air restaurant on the dune behind the House.
His daughter Hong Van, 23, made fish dishes such as shrimp and squid spring rolls. His two sons helped with cooking and waiting for tables and he did the dishes. Mr Hung left deep-sea fishing altogether in the summer of 2019 and was convinced that tourism was her ticket to a better life.
“I was happier,” said Mr. Hung, a widower, through an interpreter. “Working at home is mentally relaxing and pleasant in everyday life with my family.”
He collected five times the 3 million dong, or about $ 130, that he earned at sea every month.
But the restaurant tables were emptied as the coronavirus crippled Southeast Asia, and Vietnam imposed a nationwide lockdown for most of April.
Then Vietnam suffered its second Covid-19 outbreak in July, 40 minutes north in Danang, just as locals were hoping for a looming recovery in domestic tourism. With that, everything in Hoi An was switched off again for weeks.
Almost exhausted with his savings. Mr. Hung knew he had to go back to the sea. In August he managed to propel his round boat through the waves with a single paddle. His daughter sold his extra catch on her Facebook page. But the sea became too risky as the 2020 rainy season pushed into 2021.
On his boat, which was fishing on a calmer sea, Mr. Hung put on a plastic smock and gloves and began pulling in the net and winding it into a pile. Occasionally he would pick out a small jellyfish, clear as a round ice cube, and after 20 minutes the mesh skirt made a 5-inch silver fish and a tiny crab, and 15 minutes later another small fish.
Because the sea was stingy, Mr. Hung paddled back. You’d save pennies by grilling the fish, he told himself, instead of frying them and wasting oil. He dreams of abundant catches.
“We hope,” said Hung, “but I never know what happens underwater.”
Patrick Scott, former business editor for the New York Times, lives in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. Follow him on Instagram: @patrickrobertscott.
