Every year, every spring, my hometown jubilantly opens a boat racing festival on the Red River. That morning, the two sides of the river throughout the 1000m long race track, the perpetrator, the trumpet player, crowded and bustling. The race started at the top of my village. In the river five racing boats were lined up at the starting line. On the boat, the riders are healthy young people sitting in rows, with five oars. Each team has a different shirt color. By the time of departure, the horn of the bassinet cradled, the boats rushed to the finish line. On both sides of the river, the cheers and cheers of viewers stirred up a whole river. My village team finished first. At the end of the festival is the troa section, everyone is present enough to congratulate the riders.
