Hue – hotting up for Tet; of tombs, temples and ruins; we are reminded once more what a small world it is…

We boarded the coach with some trepidation and discovered that our ‘bed’ for the night was a narrow strip of passageway sandwiched between the first two lines of two storey bunks. There were three lines of bunks in this bus and so two passageways. It meant that in normal circumstances no one had to sleep directly next to a stranger, but our situation made this rather more intimate! The driver laid down a couple of thin and stained foam mattresses for us to lie on and we shuffled ourselves into position – flat on our backs, wedged tightly between the lower bunks and with our knees up as there was not enough room to store our small rucksacks AND stretch out our legs. A Chilean man who was in the ‘cave’ behind me (at the very back of the bus, the beds were crammed together to fit more people in and the bunks overhead formed a dark cavern for those below) kindly offered to store my shoes for me so I had more room. Whenever anyone near the back of the bus needed to get on or off, they had to scramble like a monkey over the network of ladders so that they didn’t tread on us. My neighbours were very nice and didn’t appear to mind too much about my proximity, seeming to feel sorry for us more than anything! The coach finally pulled out of the station, and our 17 hour journey commenced! It was a rough night, where we slept in fits and starts, waking at intervals feeling stiff and wriggling to alter our positions in the confined space. At one point we went over a big dip in the road causing the whole of the bus to give a massive jolt and we heard the Chilean man cry out as he bumped his head on the ceiling.

Luckily, by the time the bus stopped for breakfast at 9am the next morning, enough people had got off for us to move into bunks, although Luke inexplicably decided he preferred to stay in his uncomfortable nest in the corridor – possibly as some sort of self-punishment? The ‘service station’ consisted of a large, open barn with rows of plastic tables and chairs and a small canteen at one end. We queued up with the rest and got our bowls of hot chicken pho – delicious noodle and spring onion soup to which we added lime and chilli. The bathroom area was interesting – it was in a sunny yard, where shoots of plants sprouted from the cracks in the concrete, and along one side were cubicles of squat toilets. There was no running water, so the loos were flushed with basins of water scooped from a large tub outside. The floor could also be ‘flushed’ and there was a drainage hole at the back. Everyone performed their duties properly and the result was that the toilets were very clean and smelt pleasantly of soap! (Much better than those at Haiphong coach station where the toilet attendant sat reclining on an armchair lazily beckoning for money with one hand. As I paddled my way through the quagmire they had assigned as toilet, I felt like asking for my money back.) In a sheltered part of the yard, there were two large pools of water about waist deep dotted with plastic tubs, and the passengers clustered around these scooping out water to wash faces and brush teeth.

After everyone was fed and had performed their ablutions, we reluctantly got back onto the bus. Shortly after we set off we realised our Chilean friend, Christophe, was not on board, yet all his luggage was. Luke hurried to tell the bus driver, who didn’t seem to take much notice of his urgency and refused to turn back. He took a phone call and told Luke to sit back down. Thankfully, Christophe had managed to get onto another bus, which caught us up at the next stop. The driver knew all about this, so hadn’t been planning to desert him as we had originally thought! The more we got to know Christophe over the ensuing weeks, the more we began to realise that what had seemed like an unfortunate incident that could happen to anyone, was actually quite in keeping with his character. Lovable and kind-hearted, you couldn’t help but warm to him, though he did seem to attract misfortune through his blithely optimistic, happy-go-lucky nature. He appeared to bumble around the world, charming everyone with his enthusiastic conversation and slapstick episodes of clumsiness.

The journey dragged on and on, but the scenery was beautiful. We passed vivid green rice paddies and people in conical hats working in the fields. Several hour after our projected arrival time, we arrived in Hue (pronounced Hway). As we stepped out of the bus we were struck by the blazing heat of the afternoon sun. Luke was in his element, but I was melting!

We said goodbye to Christophe and headed our separate ways to our accommodation. As it was Valentine’s Day, I had chosen the aptly named Valentine Hotel, partly because it made me chuckle but also because it was cheap and well reviewed. The staff were incredibly welcoming and in honour of their hotel’s name day, they gave us each a free beer wrapped in wool and a crocheted heart. We later found out that their extravagant friendliness had been helped along a little by the Tet celebrations as they were all a little drunk!

We were both stinky and sweaty after our long, cramped journey, so the first thing we did was have a much needed shower, before going out for an early dinner. As we walked through the streets, it felt like there was a constant stream of people asking us to hire motorbikes, cyclos or to take a boat trip and we had so little energy left to deflect them that after eating, we turned in for an early night.

The next morning we went for a wander along the banks of the Huong, or Perfume River, which was much cleaner and more pleasant to look at than the one in Haiphong! It was another very hot day, and we hadn’t been out for long before I started to feel dizzy and strange, so we returned to the hotel and I had a lie down and drank a rehydration drink. I remembered the cooling neck scarves my mum had given to us which we had not needed until now and left one to soak in cold water. Once I had recuperated, we had an excellent lunch at a small café called Gecko, which turned out to be the best meal we had had in Vietnam so far. Opposite the café, an elderly lady with wonderful fine bone structure was sat on a step packing salad leaves. Luke drew a picture of her and the waiter asked if he would do his portrait too. He was a very good model, evidently taking the whole thing very seriously!

After lunch, we decided to visit a famous pagoda that was on our map, but we hadn’t realised quite how far away it was. We navigated busy roads and crowds of people buying flowers for the lunar new year. The streets were lined with vendors and row upon row of huge tubs of bright yellow chrysanthemums, so that there was a gorgeous sunny sea of blossoms. They all looked the same to me, so I don’t know how people chose who to buy from. Now and then there would be dahlias, bonsai trees and apricot trees (hoa mai) with their delicate yellow blossoms. The latter are like the Tet equivalent of a Christmas tree and they are gorgeously pretty and very expensive. Luckily, once you have spent your hard earned cash on one of these beautiful trees, you can rest assured you will have a successful year ahead as they are a symbol of prosperity and well-being for your family! Eager customers, including several monks and nuns, were strapping these enormous pots on to the back of their motorbikes and they would wobble precariously as they zoomed off. In the north of Vietnam, the peach tree with its pink blooms is very popular. The hoa mai cannot grow further north as it is too cold, but the peach tree is hardy and symbolises strength. One legend tells of how the land was terrorised by evil spirits. The two powerful deities who protected the people lived in an enormous peach tree, and the mere sight of this tree was enough to scare away the demons. However, the deities had to visit the Jade Emperor at the lunar new year and so people started the tradition of placing branches of the peach tree outside their houses to keep the baddies at bay. Another popular Tet tree is the kumquat. Representing wealth and happiness for the family, an ideal specimen has mature dark green leaves, buds, and both green and ripe orange fruits.

In the ornamental park by the river, there was a large display of bonsai trees and people were out in their best clothes having their photos taken. Bonsai trees always instil in me a feeling of guilt, as I remember the two that perished under my care. I don’t know what the knack is, but I certainly haven’t got it!

We entered an area of scrubby parkland just outside the walls of the Imperial City, and asked an elderly man on duty in his cabin how far it was to the pagoda, by way of the pointing and waving technique. He had evidently been drinking and was theatrically funny as he made a show of producing his glasses and peering at our map.  With a merry grin, he indicated that we had a long walk ahead, then gave us a high five and a whoop as we left!

It was indeed a long way and after passing a row of grand Christian monasteries and convents, we caved in and took a xe om taxi (a motorbike) to the pagoda. It was in a secluded area, right next to the river, on a small hill. Thien Mu Pagoda is one of the great symbols of Hue, but we had arrived so late that the sun was already sinking low in the sky. A steep flight of stone steps led up to the pagoda and at the top of the steps were four tall pillars. The pagoda itself was octagonal in shape and had seven layers. Each storey was quite significantly smaller than the last, and this tapering perspective gave the impression that it was taller than its 21m. The current pagoda was built in 1844, but construction of religious buildings on this site first began in 1601, on command of the lord Nguyen Hoang. Legend tells of an old woman who made a prophecy about a lord who would build a pagoda on the hill, before disappearing. Naturally, hearing of this, Nguyen Hoang thought this was a jolly good idea. Over the years, much destruction and rebuilding has taken place, but it has certainly retained a certain charm of ancient grandeur.

On either side of the pagoda were two pavilions – one housed an impressively large bell (supposedly when it is tolled it can be heard 10km away) and the other a stone stele mounted on an enormous tortoise. We then meandered through to the Buddhist temple complex which lay behind the pagoda. The gardens were beautiful, a fragrant smell hung in the air and it was so peaceful away from the hustle of the city. Vibrant yellow Tet chrysanthemums flanked the doorway and the magnolia trees that edged the path thrust their stubby fingers to the sky, proudly showing off their new leaves that had just started to poke through from the tips like flames of candles. Around the back of the temple we saw some young teenage monks playing badminton!

We caught a couple of xe oms back towards our hotel, stopping by a nice looking Italian/Vietnamese restaurant. Quite by chance, we had parked up right next to the English couple we had met crossing the border from China to Vietnam! They were sat outside having dinner with the girl’s father and sister who had come out to visit them. Their food looked great, so we decided to dine there as well. We felt the necessity of eating Vietnamese food, and it was certainly very tasty, but the pizzas looked amazing, so we resolved to go back.

Next door to our hotel they had been finishing work on a new café bar and as we passed it on the way back, we noticed a buzz of customers and heard a brilliant live band. They told us it was their opening night, so we stopped by for a cocktail and cookies, which actually turned out to be an enormous milkshake. The décor inside was like a stylish mud hut, which sounds a bit dodgy but was really rather effective. The music was a mix of classical guitar, Latin rhythms and jazz, and as well as two guitarists, there was a cajon player (one of those box-shaped drums you sit on) and a female singer who had a lovely voice. When other customers got up to sing with the band, I went and got my flute. I played along to ‘Tears in Heaven’ and then they called me up to play the Boyzone hit, ‘When you say nothing at all’, which I find cringeworthy, and I certainly didn’t do it any favours! I partially made up for it with a rendition of Scarborough Fair (everyone seems to know that!) and then we retired to bed.

The next day, the hotel arranged for a taxi to take us on a tour of the city sights. The banks of the Perfume River are dotted with tombs of Nguyen lords, who ruled southern Vietnam from Hue from the 17th to the 19^th century. From 1802 to 1945, when the power of the Nguyen dynasty reached its pinnacle, Hue was capital of a united Vietnam. Our driver took us to see two of these tombs – one in traditional Vietnamese style and the other a hybrid of colonial French and Vietnamese influences. Along the way, we chatted to our driver. He told us how he spent years in Malaysia in the 80s and 90s as an economic refugee. It was there, with the help of a dictionary, that he taught himself English – highly impressive!

The first, traditional, tomb, Tu Duc, was my favourite. Perhaps like me, when you think of a tomb, you think of an elaborate grave. Then you remember that the Taj Mahal is a tomb… The complex was huge; set in a pine forest and packed with crumbling buildings in shabby colours – terracotta, blackened stone and mosaics of blue and white ceramic. There were temples, a royal residence, lakes and pavilions. The whole area with its lush greenery and dilapidated buildings exuded peace and tranquillity. As I was rounding a corner of one of the buildings, I bumped into Christophe again! He was as taken with the ruins as we were.

In fact, the mausoleum was designed by the emperor (who ruled from 1848-1883) and built as a place of reflection for him before his death, so at least he got to enjoy it before he popped his clogs! There were several tombs: one for the emperor, one for his wife, one for his lesser wives (!) and one for his adopted son, who sadly died aged 15 and only ruled for around 8 months. I found it interesting that he had no children of his own despite the myriad wives, but it turns out he had smallpox as a child, which may have left him sterile. There was a stele in a pavilion that was engraved with his self-critical autobiography. Normally these would be written by the heir. I thought he must have been quite a philosophical man; it is rather refreshing to think of a leader who is happy to criticise their faults – most of the places like this we have visited simply assert how wonderful the leader was and how utterly irreproachable. Of course, I couldn’t read what it said, but I liked the idea. However, it turns out that he only wrote it himself because he hadn’t fathered a son to do it for him, and my original impression of a sensitive, introspective soul is quite far from the truth, as he was in fact something of a tyrant. He isn’t even buried at his tomb – he ordered all the people involved with his interment to be executed after his death so that no one would know the location of his final resting place. It seems he was quite the control freak and a nasty piece of work! As we wandered through the site, we were oblivious to all the gory details, so they didn’t tarnish our enjoyment!

Khai Dinh tomb was our next stop. This particular emperor, who ruled from 1916 to 1925, was the last of the Nguyen Dynasty to order a tomb built in his honour. He was closely involved with the French colonial government and was unpopular with his subjects because of this. However, this influence led to the extraordinary fusion of styles in his mausoleum. Drawing on elements of western architecture and blending them with those of the orient, it is an unusual and interesting building of grey stone, with a grand flight of stairs leading to the entrance and a large pair of carved dragons poised to greet (or scare?) visitors. Inside, the walls were covered with beautifully intricate mosaics of glass and ceramic depicting wildlife, flowers and trees. Elaborate designs seemed to dominate every surface, and in the back room, atop his coffin, was a life-size seated statue of the man himself. Apparently he raised taxes by 30% to pay for this tomb, so you can see why he wasn’t well-liked! I found it fascinating, but much preferred the crumbling, secluded Tu Duc to this showy masterpiece.

Whilst studying the frieze on a wall, I spotted the man I had made pose for what I had thought to be an arty photograph at the Temple of Literature in Hanoi! I felt embarrassed, but decided to pre-empt any awkwardness by saying hello (partly because Luke kept telling me to in loud whispers, which only made it worse). Luckily he didn’t comment on what a pile of rubbish the photo was and we had a brief chat about how you always seem to bump into the same people when travelling. I think this is especially true of Vietnam as all tourists seem to be funnelled along the same route. As it is a long, thin country, there are two main routes you can do – one is up, the other is down!

Our final destination for the day was the Imperial City and we spent a lovely two hours wandering the grounds. Huge thick walls fortified the imposing Citadel and within these walls a moat surrounded the square enclave of the Imperial City, which itself was bordered by a tall wall. The layout was similar to the Imperial City in Beijing, only smaller and even in its dilapidated state, I felt its grandeur was of a more accessible type. Gardens seemed to be integrated into the whole complex here, whereas in Beijing, the sweeping stairways and vast courtyards dominated the space between buildings. Many of the structures were destroyed during the 1968 Tet Offensive of the Vietnam War, but this means there is more space for greenery; in some places nature had quite taken over, and horses could be seen grazing amongst the rubble. Some of the intact buildings included temples, libraries and even a theatre. Within the grounds there was another walled off section – ‘The Forbidden Purple City.’ This was exclusively for the emperor, his mother, wives, concubines, female servants and eunuchs. Any other man crossing the threshold would be killed. I think they liked their privacy! Some buildings have been restored and it may be that more restoration will take place. It is indeed a great pity that the Imperial City suffered so in the war, but its scars tell another chapter of Vietnamese history and I find there is beauty and poetry in a ruin that you just don’t get with the perfectly preserved.

There were so many gateways and paths that it was easy to get lost, and we nearly got locked in at closing time! After a kindly member of staff had unbarred the big wooden door for us, we walked back along the river, to a backdrop of pretty colourful lights on the bridge whose reflections twinkled on the water. The ‘Risotto’ restaurant did not disappoint, and we finished the day with the best pizza we had had in months! Once again, we saw Christophe, out with a group of girls from his hostel. Luke asked him if, like us, he was off to Hoi An the next day. I knew he was because he had told me at Tu Duc that he had just bought his ticket. He replied with a furrowed brow and a look of deep concentration on his face, ‘No, it’s called….. Yes, yes! Hoi An!’ We were pleased and hoped that our paths would cross again.

Cat Ba Island (mostly)

The next morning, we took a very efficiently run bus-bus-boat-bus trip to Cat Ba island in Ha Long Bay with the Hoang Long bus company. We bought some horrid greasy doughnuts for the journey and when we found we couldn’t stomach them, tried to satisfy our hunger by having a gwadzerr (sunflower seed) eating competition. You should try it. You count out an agreed number of seeds, then race each other to de-shell and eat them as quickly as possible. It is quite stressful, possibly not a sport for those with a weak heart. I don’t like to brag, but in case you were wondering, I won.

On the subject of games invented whilst travelling, I will here take the time to introduce the ‘onny offy’ game. This game is best played in a subway carriage, and would be perfectly suited to anyone bored by their London commute on the tube. You could play it alone, but a sense of competition heightens the excitement. Select a door on which to focus your attention. At a point between stations, you must either say or hold up fingers to indicate how many people you think will board and how many will exit at the next station. For instance, 2,1 would stake your bet as two people boarding and one getting off at your chosen door. Any participants must stake their bets on the same door, which should not be altered for the duration of the journey. The same bet cannot be placed twice in the same round, although one of the numbers is allowed to be the same. All bets must be placed prior to the announcement of the next station. If someone places a bet you were planning to place, you must alter your bet, as the earlier bet takes precedent. As you can see, there are pros and cons to staking your claim early and also by delaying until the last second, when rustling of passengers may give more clue as to their point of disembarkation. When you know a city and its stations well, it becomes all the more interesting and you may find yourself judging people by appearances. On arrival at the station, you count the number of people getting on and getting off. If you get it exactly right, you have a ‘turn up’ and score zero points. The person with the lowest score is the leader. If you stake a claim on 2,1 and the actual number is 3,1, your score would be 1 point, as your prediction deviates by 1 person from the actual number. If the actual number is 4,4, you would score 5 (4-2 plus 4-1). As you can see, the game also helps to hone your mental arithmetic. I do hope that in sharing this thrilling pastime, I can alleviate some of the drudgery of underground train travel.

Ha Long Bay is a stunningly beautiful stretch of coastline in the north of Vietnam, notable for its fascinating karst scenery, where craggy, forested islands jut out of the water and picturesque junk ships ferry visitors around the bay. We did not visit Ha Long itself, having forgone the classic but touristy vistas for the more laidback atmosphere of one of the larger islands. Ha Long Bay is a World Heritage site, and the Cat Ba island archipelago is a Biosphere Reserve, home to numerous endemic and rare species. As our final bus wove its way along the bumpy track that led to the main town of Cat Ba, we passed steep slopes of thick jungle, small clusters of houses peeping out of the greenery and close to the coast, farmers tending fields of bushy plants in knee-deep water, which we later learnt to be mangrove fish nurseries.

Our hotel room, a real bargain at £4.50 a night, commanded wonderful views of the harbour, where colourful little fishing boats manned by fishermen in conical hats bobbed in the water. Behind the boats, limestone outcrops carpeted in lush vegetation reared chaotically out of the sea. Eager to explore the reserve, we went in search of Asia Outdoors, a company that organises treks, climbing and kayaking trips. We signed up for two days’ worth of adventuring: one 6 hour trek and a full day of kayaking.

Not having a plan for the rest of the day, Luke somehow managed to persuade me onto a motorbike. There was very little traffic on the island, the weather was good and the man we hired from had new, automatic bikes and spoke good English. Neither of us had ridden a motorbike before and so he gave Luke a quick lesson. After a short ride around the block to get petrol, Luke was feeling confident enough to take me as a passenger. First of all, we took an uneventful ride to a small beach, where we had a quick dip in the sea, and then Luke drove us on a partial loop around the island. The coastal sections were especially beautiful and the roads were nice and quiet, which was good for my sense of self-preservation! I have to say I was very impressed with Luke’s biking skills, but loathe to try it myself – I just don’t trust myself, particularly on winding, hilly roads! We arrived back at the bike hire place just as it was getting dark. Having spent half a day on bikes we felt a little stiff, but the shop had thought of everything, and we were immediately offered shoulder and foot massages for an additional fee, which we gratefully accepted! It is quite rare for businesses here to specialise in just one thing – the more you can offer, the more customers you are likely to attract, so massage parlours, hairdressers and guesthouses often go hand in hand.

The next morning we woke later than planned, and had to rush to get ourselves ready for the kayaking trip. After a hurried breakfast at the café where Asia Outdoors had their home, we piled into a minivan alongside our companions for the day and were driven a short distance to another harbour, where we boarded a small wooden ferry. The cruise through the bay was spectacular; the karsts were swathed in morning mist and we passed settlements of boat people, whose homes consisted of wooden vessels painted in sky blue and minty green, linked by pathways of floating planks. The washing lines hung with clothes added a colourful splash of decoration and the dogs that guarded each home trotted along the planks watching us intently as we motored past, ready to bark and snarl if we were to come too close. It must be a strange life for a dog to be perched on small floating island like this. Four of our party were picked up by another boat to go climbing, leaving just us and an American called David, for the morning kayak trip.

Our guide for the day was a lovely young English man called Matty. He very much looked the part of the outdoor pursuits instructor, with his dreads and that particular kind of sunglow that comes from spending a long time out on the water. It always seems to me that those in this line of work are particularly lovely people, and Matty was no exception. We clambered into our bright yellow, double kayaks – I in front and Luke behind taking on the responsibility of steering. Matty led us around the karsts, into sheltered bays with quiet lagoons. As we entered them, we all felt the necessity of being silent, the only sound being the gentle splash of paddles and the whirr of insects in the trees. In one we were lucky enough to spot a Cat Ba langur, one of the rarest primates in the world. It was very far away, but it was still a very special moment! There are only 65 left and they are only found on Cat Ba. Apparently they can drink sea water, so their kidneys must be rather impressive! We paddled on, stopping a couple of times to explore secluded coves; one where there was a cave and another where there was a small wooden temple on the beach for the boat people. Every now and then we would see a black kite swooping majestically through the blues skies above.

We returned to the main boat and waited for the climbers to return to join us for lunch. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity, we filled the time by leaping off the boat into the sea for a pre-lunch swim. We were pretty shivery afterwards, but lunch made up for it! It was a fabulous spread and no doubt tasted all the better for the fresh air and exercise. Two of the climbers, a Danish couple, left us after the meal, but the Swiss couple stayed to kayak with us in the afternoon. We were relishing the peace and quiet and enjoying the gorgeous scenery, when we were rudely interrupted by a booze cruise party boat from Hanoi Backpackers, with loud music pumping away and scantily clad drunken young tourists gyrating on the decks. We managed to lose them and entered a final lagoon via a low tunnel. Matty told us it was good for swimming, and game as always where swimming is involved, Luke and I decided to take the plunge. Stupidly, we had changed out of our wet swimming things, so we had to contort and wriggle our way back into them whilst sat in the kayak. No one else swam, so we felt all the more conspicuous as everyone waited for us to perform this feat! We succeeded in changing, swimming and getting back into the kayak without capsizing, although I cannot say it was very glamorously done and I think the other kayakers probably had a rather unflattering view of my behind as I launched myself back on board! We paddled back to the ferry and as we were changing, the awful party boat went blaring past again. A half-naked man was stood on the roof thrusting his pelvis at us and whooping. I don’t really understand the mentality of going to a beautiful, peaceful place and ruining the atmosphere with pumping house music. It’s not so bad if it’s in a building as people can avoid that building, but to drive around and foist your music on other people at deafening volumes is inconsiderate. As Matty pointed out, the boat people have this every day – it must drive them mad! He told us that the tourists on the boat have paid for three days on a small island. It sounded like hell to me – trapped on a scrap of land where the main form of entertainment consists of drinking games. Matty said they sometimes have groups from the island – they are either drunk (and so not allowed to do the activities), hungover or simply desperate to escape!

As we motored back towards the harbour, the rosy glow of the late afternoon sun dappled the water with peachy reflections and the karsts, now dressed in varying shades of blue and purple, seemed to be easing themselves in for an evening dip. It was gloriously beautiful, still and calm; a perfect end to the day.

Back at the headquarters, we thanked Matty and gave him Luke’s body warmer. He was very pleased as he had come to Vietnam with no warm clothes and outdoor pursuits instructors don’t get paid very much! Luke was very pleased as his bag would be lighter. We were well aware that we were heading to warmer climates and were carrying an awful lot of clothing we wouldn’t need – I was carrying crampons for walking on ice for goodness sake! I couldn’t bear to throw them away though as it seemed like such a waste, so I decided to shoulder the weight until such a time as we found a willing recipient or got around to posting them home.

We had dinner with the other kayakers later that evening. David didn’t stay long, but we had a lovely chat with Christophe and Marika, the Swiss couple, and got to speak some French, which was fun. They were halfway through an 8 month trip and told us about their favourite places in South America – they said Bolivia was incredible. They had also been to the Galapagos Islands, a place that I would love to visit, but is notoriously expensive. They said it is worth it though and their stories of swimming with sea lions made us feel like it was a must do! Now we just need to figure out how to make it happen…

The next day was trekking day! Now that our arms had had a thorough workout, it was time for our legs. We were picked up by taxi and joined by two other trekkers, a German man, Marcel, and a Taiwanese girl, Erin, who were good friends. We were driven down winding country roads before stopping outside a house with a bamboo veranda, surrounded by plants. Our guide, Tuwon, came out with a big smile to welcome us. He has been running treks from his family home for several years, so knows the area really well.

A man was ploughing part of the field behind the house with a buffalo. Tuwon led us across the meadow and up a steep slope along a goat trail through the jungle. The karst landscape really made itself known, as the path we took was riddled with limestone escarpments, and for much of the trek we were clambering up jagged rock faces or picking our way carefully over a latticework of sharp spikes and deep holes. Physically it wasn’t particularly demanding – climbing is pretty easy with so many handholds – but mentally it was exhausting. If you were to let your attention slip, you could injure yourself very nastily on those rocks! As if to illustrate this, Tuwon showed us a place where he had fallen when a rock gave way; he gashed his wrist and knee and couldn’t work for eight months! Luckily the worst we got were a few scrapes and bruises and we all thoroughly enjoyed scrambling through the rugged terrain. As we moved amongst the rocks, we were reminded of their origins by the occasional fossil shell, and I was very excited to see petrified wood as evidence of ancient trees. Most of the time we were moving through thick jungle and the trees and vines were quite close around us, but now and again we would emerge onto an outcrop with views of the canopy below us. Many of the trees were embraced by lianas, some of which were long and thick enough to swing from like Tarzan! One banyan tree had numerous prop roots extending from it, which formed a bizarre cage-like structure at its base. It looked like something out of a folk tale, and I could imagine an angry tree spirit imprisoning a hapless human there.

After 4.5 hours of hiking, breakfast felt a very long time ago and I began to feel shaky and low on energy. We had thought lunch would be midway and hadn’t brought any snacks with us. I was a bit worried I might stumble and lose my footing if I didn’t eat soon and impale myself like Tuwon had! Luckily, Marcel had a spare chocolate bar and that gave me a much needed energy boost.

We tramped back over the field to Tuwon’s house a couple of hours later and were greeted by a chorus of frogs, and more importantly, dinner. Tuwon’s mother certainly knew how to reward exhausted hikers! There were several delectable dishes and her spring rolls were deliciously crispy. It goes without saying that we polished everything off! Matty had told us about Tuwon’s homemade honey rice wine and I asked if I could try it, thinking I might buy some. It was pretty potent though and not something I felt I could stomach!

The next day was supposed to be our last on the island, so in the morning we dutifully packed our things in readiness for check out. Heading downstairs, we were unable to find a member of staff, so decided to have breakfast in ‘The Like Café’ next door whilst we waited for them to return. The café was a relatively new establishment, owned by a young couple. They had an extensive list of coffees and smoothies on offer and in the evenings were always buzzing with local Vietnamese. I chose an egg coffee with my breakfast, which the owner assured me was very special. It was sweet, but tasty, with a whipped egg white mousse on top of very hot black coffee. Luke got out his sketchbook as usual and set about drawing a motorbike. The café owner spotted him and got very excited about Luke’s artwork. He asked if we would paint the front of their café for Tet. That wasn’t an offer we felt we could refuse, so we decided to stay one more day!

We spent a peaceful day happily painting the outside of the café with the traditional seasonal blossoms in yellow and pink and the new year greeting ‘Chuc Mung Nam Moi 2015’, with ‘Happy New Year 2015’ in English on the other side for the tourists. The local Vietnamese found our employment as artists rather entertaining, but they seemed to approve of our artwork! The café gave us free meals and lent us bicycles to go up to Cannon Fort to see the sunset.

I hadn’t cycled far before I had to get off and push as the road to the fort was so steep! The bunkers there were built during the French occupation but the location was also used during the American war. There were a couple of large cannons manned by model soldiers and some marvellous views across the bay. We bought a beer just before the shop closed and wandered around the fortifications. The sunset was rather underwhelming due to the cloudiness, but the seclusion made up for it. We mounted our bikes just as it was getting dark, but not before I had tripped over mine and bashed my legs on the pedals – more bruises to add to my collection!

On returning to the café, we made a few finishing touches to the paintwork. I then discovered that I had got some of the myriad Vietnamese accents wrong, so the following day I corrected my errors with help of Google translate and supportive thumbs up from watching customers. The owners invited us to have lunch with them before we left the island, and we were treated to fish eggs, steamed fish and shellfish – it was a test for me, not being fond of seafood, but one I feel I passed! After breakfast I had gone to try and buy sleeper bus tickets to take us from the mainland to the city of Hue (pronounced Hway). I was told by the travel agent there were only two left and after getting money, I planned to return and buy them, as I was worried the bus would fill up quickly due to Tet. However, over dinner, the café owner assured us we needn’t buy the tickets beforehand as there would be plenty left. He told us the cheapest route to take and kindly arranged for a bus to collect us and take us to the port. I still felt we ought to buy the tickets on the island and pay the commission, but Luke and the owner were convinced it wasn’t necessary and would be a waste of money, so I reluctantly conceded.

An hour later, the bus arrived and we were driven to the port on the other side of the island. The small passenger ferry that awaited us was rickety looking to say the least. We were among the last to board and found the cabin seating area full, so sat on plastic stools on the deck with around ten other people and piles of luggage. I thought this was bad enough, but then they began to load the motorbikes. There must have been at least fifteen of them. Every inch of space on the battered boat seemed to be occupied by something very heavy. We set off with a sinking feeling (quite literally), and spent the journey mentally plotting our escape route. I noted that the lifejackets were helpfully tied up on a shelf. However, the journey was short and we were never that far from land, so I figured we could swim if it came to it! As the ferry hauled itself into harbour forty minutes later, we heaved a sigh of relief. We then boarded a second bus to the town of Haiphong from where we were to make our connection to Hue. The short walk through Haiphong we had been promised was rather longer when carrying big backpacks. We walked along the riverside, which you would expect would be nice, but the banks were full of junk. Luke suggested playing a game where you had to think of something that couldn’t be found on the banks of the river, and it was rather depressing to think that this was a viable option. The people there were really friendly and welcoming though. It is a pity that they are forced to live surrounded by their own rubbish like this – Ha Long Bay surely must have more rubbish production than here due to all the tourists, but because of the tourists and its World Heritage status it is kept pristine. A little further along the coast and it is a different matter entirely.

We arrived at the bus station feeling somewhat drained, and then, to cap it all, guess what? There were no tickets left on any of the buses that night! We were magnanimously told that we could pay the same price and sleep in the aisle. There would be no discounts for the inconvenience. I felt that flash of anger and self-righteousness that comes with a true ‘I told you so’ moment. We were desperate to move on before New Year, and so we grudgingly had to pay the money for the privilege of sleeping in the passageway. I couldn’t stay cross for long though as Luke was so mortified, and after he had ensured I was well fed (because a full stomach always alters your perspective), we quietly resigned ourselves to an uncomfortable night and decided to try and make the best of it!

Last day in Hanoi

Evidently having felt the side effects of our early start the day before, we woke to find the morning was slipping away from us. We had planned to meet Bruce and Ash at the Ho Chi Minh museum, but owing to a mutual lack of organisation, we did not succeed in meeting them there. The museum was quite a peculiar place. Given the title, I had been hoping to discover more about Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam’s legendary leader from 1945 to 1965. However, instead I found the entire set up somewhat frustrating. Perhaps we were missing a trick, or perhaps we should have had the foresight to organise a tour and then our visit may have shed some light on this fascinating man. The information in the first room was very poorly presented, with tiny writing on framed A4 sheets. For someone wishing to browse, it was not particularly attractive – you would do better to sit at home and read a book. The main part of the museum at first glance appeared rather impressive, being situated in a huge room, with a path which swept around the exhibits. However, the numerous promising flip charts scattered about merely displayed copies of letters (in French or Vietnamese) and photographs with no context, translation or explanation, other than to say who the letter was from and to and who was in the photograph. The exhibits consisted of a series of venerated artefacts once in the possession of the great man – his spectacles, his writing desk, his pencil case and even a stone which he had used to remove leeches. In the midst of this, we were confronted by baffling works of modern art imbued with a deep symbolism which I was unable to appreciate. One exhibit, an enormous, towering white table bedecked with a bowl of larger than life fake fruit and a pile of coal lurking in the corner, was representative of Vietnamese youth. The most enjoyable part of the trip was having a four year old Vietnamese boy foisted on me so his father could take a photograph. So, I concluded, Ho Chi Minh was a man who wrote a lot of letters (at a writing desk), appeared in countless photographs, wore glasses and occasionally had a problem with leeches. In essence, the museum (and I suspect this may also apply to the many other Ho Chi Minh museums in Vietnam) was really an edifice constructed to honour his memory; more a place of worship than a place to learn about his life and his struggles. Like a god, he moved in mysterious ways.

So who was Ho Chi Minh and why all the adulation? A promising young scholar, Ho Chi Minh (or Nguyen Tat Thanh as he was then known), decided to leave his home country in 1911 to travel the world working on ships. At this time Vietnam formed part of the French colony of ‘Indochine’, which was under French governance from 1887 until around 1945. During his travels, he visited and stayed in the UK, the USA, France, the Soviet Union and China, and as he travelled his political consciousness was awakened. In France, he became a member of the Socialist Party, and petitioned for an end to colonialism and Vietnamese independence. In Moscow, he studied at a Communist university before moving to the Canton region of China, where he gave socialist lectures to young revolutionary Vietnamese who were living there. By this time, he had another name, Nguyen Ai Quoc, which later on was to change once more to Ho Chi Minh. From 1923-1941, Ho Chi Minh oscillated between the Soviet Union and China, with sojourns in Europe, Thailand and India. Sometimes he moved due to exile; at other times of his own volition. However, in 1941, he finally returned to the country of his birth, in order to lead the Viet Minh campaign for independence. During World War II, following the crumbling of the French colonies under pressures of war, Vietnam was occupied by the Japanese, whilst still ostensibly under (Vichy) French rule. After the eventual defeat of the Japanese in WWII, the Japanese withdrew from Vietnam as the Viet Minh influence grew stronger. The Vietnamese Emperor, Bao Dai, abdicated in 1945, relinquishing control of the country to the Viet Minh. However, the new Democratic Republic of Vietnam was not recognised by the international community.

The French refused to acknowledge the declaration of independence, and Vietnam was plunged into several more years of fighting, both with the French themselves and between Communist and non-Communist Vietnamese. Echoing the situation in Korea, the result of the 1954 Geneva Accords was that Vietnam was split in two, with Communist rule (the Democratic Republic of Vietnam) taking hold in the north and anti-communist factions controlling the south. During the assertion of Communist power in the north, many civilians were killed, sent to labour camps or imprisoned because their political beliefs did not harmonise with the Viet Minh vision for the future of the country. In his later years, Ho Chi Minh no longer ruled North Vietnam, but his role as a figurehead for the revolution was reinforced. The split was not set to last for long, and eventually the Vietnam War, that infamous bloody conflict, resulted in a unified Communist Vietnam. Communist sympathisers from the south (the Viet Cong) and the Northern Vietnam army (The People’s Army of Vietnam) defeated the anti- Communist southern Vietnam and the US army. Ho Chi Minh did not live to see this reunification, but the southern stronghold of the South Vietnamese army, Saigon, was renamed to honour his memory. This was no doubt a bitter pill to swallow for many Southern Vietnamese.

‘Uncle Ho’s’ image is one of an irreproachable saint-like ambassador of the people. Kind to children, understanding of the poor; a wise and humble leader who liberated the people from years of foreign rule. Undoubtedly, he was a remarkable man, like many zealous politicians driven by an unshakeable belief in his doctrines. He was imprisoned, exiled and went through numerous hardships to pursue his goal. Vietnam today is a unified, independent country and that is a wonderful thing. The same cannot be said for the Korean peninsula. I cannot pass comment on what the merits of one political system over another might have been; any attempt on my part to envisage a Vietnam where the south had won the war would be mere conjecture and comparisons cannot be drawn. However, no political leader I know of, no human being, is flawless. Political upheaval on this scale inevitably leads to bloodshed on both sides. The pursuit of ‘utopia’ entails sacrifices; it engenders suspicion and paranoia. It follows that a revolution never comes about at the will of one man. Skirmishes and petty rivalries of civilians provide the background against which battles are fought, and the great cause provides the justification for atrocities. This is true for both sides in a conflict; no one side is innocent, and each seeks to validate their actions or else resign themselves to defeat. Our own so called humanity is sacrificed at the altar of some higher goal. The legacy of Ho Chi Minh is apparently one of unity, harmony and peace, but dig a little deeper and you see the trail that led to this point. There can be no saints in politics.

We had a delicious lunch in KOTO, a charity restaurant which provides training opportunities for disadvantaged youths, then headed into the Temple of Literature that lay opposite. It was serenely calm inside the temple walls, with its beautiful courtyards and gorgeous, time-worn architecture. This Confucian temple housed the Imperial Academy. From 1076 until 1779 students were educated here and it is widely heralded as Vietnam’s first university. As a testament to this, one courtyard was lined with stele (stone plaques) commemorating high achievers of the past. There were some incredible and ancient trees in the gardens whose twisting roots seemed to creep down to the earth from the branches, quite unlike anything I had seen before. Upon research, I believe they are banyan trees; whatever they are, I found them extraordinary.

Our visit coincided with high school graduation and the courtyards were full of students celebrating their academic achievements. Looking around at the happy, smiling faces, you could imagine rewinding the clock a few centuries to envisage graduates of the Imperial Academy feeling the same elation on this very same site. However, many of the students here today were girls. They were dressed traditionally in white silken trousers and elegant, high-necked, long-sleeved fitted tunics that were slit at the sides up to the waist level. The cut is extremely flattering and it has to be said that the Vietnamese are graced with beautiful figures. I talked with some of the girls, who were, needless to say, very excited!

In one corner, I spotted a young man painting. I pointed out Luke to him as a fellow artist, and later found them chatting away. He was a trainee in architecture. The temple itself was framed by chunky, bright red wooden pillars with gold accents. I was struck by the contrast of a man in a blue coat sitting on the steps, and sensing it would be weird of me to take a photo of him but feeling seized by some kind of altruistic artistic urge, I told him that he should let me photograph him with his camera. However, I am no Guillermo Ibañez, and I rather feel that my picture fell short of my lofty aspirations. Feeling a little embarrassed, I scuttled off to inspect a pair of identical statues that flanked an altar. A tall crane with a round object in its beak was perched upon the back of a large tortoise. We have encountered this type of statue several times since, and I believe it symbolises good luck and longevity.

Close to our hotel I came across a shop that sold second-hand village handicrafts. The owner was lovely and her little daughter took great pleasure toddling about and pulling out all the skirts in a big heap for me to peruse. I had wanted an embroidered skirt since visiting Sapa, but had not found one in my size at the street side stalls there, so now with the help of the toddler I picked out a colourful Flower H’mong skirt that fitted me. The lady confirmed our suspicions that we had visited Hanoi at the busiest time of year; just before Tet (Vietnamese New Year), everyone is rushing around buying goods and gifts and having repairs done. When Tet finally arrives, the city empties as people return to their village homes to spend the holiday with family.

That evening, we finally managed to make contact with Bruce and Ash and arranged to meet them at a barbecue café at the end of the night market. Unfortunately, events and senses of direction conspired against us and we spent a good hour waiting in the wrong place. Once we realised our error, feeling hungry and frustrated with each other, we battled our way back through the throngs of people who now seemed like they were intent on getting in our way. Perhaps this is how salmon feel when they are trying to reach their breeding site! However, as is wont to happen, all our mutual exasperation evaporated once we found ourselves in company and with a hearty meal before us.

When travelling for a long time, it is always especially lovely to meet people with whom you are acquainted. I had never met Bruce or Ash before, but Luke’s familiarity with them imparted a sense of home to me as well, which made our meeting all the more enjoyable. We were to head our separate ways the following day and whilst Hanoi had been hectic, the encounter with friends had left us refreshed and eager for the next stage of our journey.

To Hanoi!

After an hour’s journey along winding, misty roads, which left Luke feeling rather nauseous, we arrived back in the border town of Lao Cai. The town itself didn’t have much to offer, and we had 8 hours to kill before the departure of our sleeper train to Hanoi, so we decided to pay for a hotel room for a half day so we could nap, have Wi-Fi and just get away from the dingy streets for a bit.

The sleeper train was our best yet! Our compartment had all the old school charm of French colonial era furnishings, with wooden panels, comfy beds, lamps and to cap it all, a table with a lace cloth and a little vase of fake flowers. We slept really well, possibly because the train travelled at such a sedate pace, taking 8 hours to travel 180 miles! We arrived in Hanoi around 5am, and still quite groggy allowed ourselves to be hustled off the train and into a waiting cab. Rather suspiciously, the company name was absent, but the sign on top proudly proclaimed ‘metered taxi’. I watched the meter like a hawk, and as expected, it whirred through the numbers at an abnormally fast rate, so we stopped the cab by a lake in the town centre and walked the rest of the way. The streets were misleadingly quiet at that hour, and it was quite a pleasant walk to our hotel.

As our room was still occupied, we relaxed in the lobby for an hour, helping ourselves to the free tea. At 6.30am, we headed to the park once more and watched people doing Tai Chi and early morning stretches. Feeling stiff from our night on the train and our walk with our heavy rucksacks, we decided it was a very good idea and did some stretches of our own. On our way to find some breakfast, we spotted a shop called ‘Lucy’. Of course, I had to pose underneath it for a photo!

We stopped at a local café for a bowl of pho bo, Vietnam’s answer to the ubiquitous noodle soup we had encountered throughout our Asian travels. This consisted of slender white noodles in a tasty broth, a liberal sprinkling of spring onions and thin slices of beef. There was a bowl of marble-sized cut limes and ground chilli which you added according to taste. The owner and his son were really friendly and enjoyed teaching us a few Vietnamese phrases, including how to count from one to ten. Despite Vietnamese having six tones, we found our pronunciation attempts were more readily accepted and understood than when we had tried to speak Mandarin – but perhaps they were just being kind!

At 10am, our hotel room was ready, so we headed up to shower and made arrangements to meet Luke’s school friend, Bruce, and his travel pal, Ash. A little later we ventured out into the streets once more – and found quite a different story! The early morning tranquillity was long past, and now the streets were packed with scooters, which zoomed unexpectedly around corners, weaving and swerving out of each other’s way. Shops and street side stalls spilled out onto the pavements, so most of the time we had to walk in the road, cringing as the bikes whizzed past. It was much crazier than anything we had encountered in China and I had palpitations when it came to crossing the road. Nowhere have I felt the need for 360° vision so keenly! There were women walking the streets with baskets suspended from a bamboo pole that they wore over their shoulders. They were selling fruit and veg, fried doughnuts and vivid salad greens and had the traditional conical hats on their heads. The traffic that rushed by was equally laden – tuk tuks and motorbikes alike had improbable loads strapped precariously on the back. Where shops did not occupy the prized pavement space, cafés had set up rows of plastic tables and chairs where customers tucked into pho bo, or drank the local bia hoi (a home brew that is drunk the day it is made) and watched the whirlwind of Hanoi life as it seethed around them.

In the afternoon we went to the Thang Long Water Puppet Theatre. Water puppetry was invented in rice growing regions of northern Vietnam around 1000 years ago. Flooded rice paddies were used as the stage, and a pagoda was built to hide the puppeteers (who stood waist deep in water) from the audience. It is thought that the performances were staged to celebrate the harvest or to mark special occasions. We filed into the stalls amongst the tour groups and found our places near the front. The front of the large, watery stage was draped in red velvet, whilst the backdrop was a pagoda fringed with embroidered curtains. Below these, bamboo screens reached down to the water’s edge. To the left, an orchestra of traditional Vietnamese instruments was setting up. After a short introduction to explain a little about the art, the band struck up and the show began.

The combination of the music and the colourful, lacquered wooden puppets frisking about in the water was quite magical. The show consisted of a series of vignettes illustrating rural life, folk tales and legends. The puppets were incredibly clever. Operated by wooden poles and strings under the water, they appeared to glide on the surface and some could even move their limbs, in a charming, jerky fashion. We saw a little boy playing a flute on a water buffalo, a cat chasing a duck up a tree and fishermen pursuing beautiful silvery fish whose slick bodies gleamed in the lights and were jointed so well that they writhed and cut through the water like the real thing. There were gaudy, sinuous dragons that breathed crackly flames of sparklers and sent puffs of smoke out across the water and rows of farmers planting rice in the paddy. Many of the scenes had a silly, slapstick sort of humour that had me giggling like a child at a Punch and Judy show. In all this time, we did not spot the puppeteers once. The acts were tightly choreographed and some required quite some coordination – men trying to catch a slippery fish in a basket for example, so it was all the more impressive that the puppeteers were such a distance away behind a screen.

Whilst I was mesmerised by the antics of the water puppets, Luke had fallen asleep because it was warm and dark in the theatre. When I nudged him, he indignantly whispered, ‘What’s up? I’m watching it!’ – but I noticed his eyes were closed when he said this. He is rather adept at sleep talking. At the end of the show, the eight puppeteers emerged from behind the screen in their waders to take their bows. It was fun to see the hidden performers!

On leaving the theatre, we decided to do a guide book walking tour of the town, ending up at the hotel where we were to meet Bruce and Ash. It was hectic, but we survived! One street was completely given over to stalls selling trinkets for Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. I like to call it Tat for Tet. Lanterns and plastic decorations with tassels and New Year messages were stacked at every stall, which glowed red and gold in the street lights. We each bought a dangly ‘Chuc Mung Nam Moi’ (Happy New Year) charm for our rucksacks. Finding ourselves pressed for time, we had to rush through the jam-packed streets as fast as we could to reach Bruce’s hotel, getting a little lost in the process and with the traffic fumes stinging our throats. Eventually we arrived, some twenty minutes late, and I worried in case they were a tad Hanoid…

Bruce and Ash were both extremely tall, and whilst I had been starting to feel like a taller than average person myself after travelling through China and Vietnam, I now felt distinctly diminutive. We headed to a lively street lined with bars and restaurants and had our first burger and chips in a long time! It is nice to ring the changes from noodles and rice now and then! We had an enjoyable chat exchanging news and travel stories. They had come through the US, New Zealand and Australia and showed us some rather terrifying close up photos of a cage-diving trip with great white sharks. On wandering back through town and dodging the traffic, Ash told us he had seen a lot of tourists on crutches – it was easy to see why and we hoped it wasn’t going to be us! Now and then we would see a tourist zooming through the throngs on a hired motorbike; they were braver (or more stupid) than us!

Sapa

We traipsed through the streets in search of somewhere to stay, and were guided by our Lonely Planet to the bottom end of town where a guesthouse with a nice review was located. ‘Lovely and quiet round here,’ we thought. ‘And how strange that none of the lights are on!’ We tentatively opened the door to the guesthouse and were immediately welcomed by a smiley lady with a candle and two children shrieking as they took it in turns to slide down a mattress propped against a sofa. We had walked all the way through Sapa and chosen the only street that had had a power cut! We were led down to our pretty room by candlelight, and were pleased to discover we had a balcony from which we could admire the view. Just as we were about to go out in search of dinner, we heard the clatter thump of someone tumbling down the marble staircase, and rushed out of our room to find a young lady in a moaning heap outside our door. Stiletto heels, marble stairs and power cuts don’t go well together! We helped her up and she seemed okay but rather shaken. Her mother (the guesthouse owner) took her to the clinic for a check over and we continued on into town.

Sapa’s small town centre was lined with the welcoming lights of guesthouses, cafés and restaurants. Everywhere offered set meals, which were a bargain and great if you were feeling indecisive. The shops occupying the spaces between eateries fell into two main categories – outdoor clothing (with cut price hiking clothes and accessories) and hill tribe crafts.

After a lie in the following morning, we ambled into town for a late breakfast. It was still very misty and so we were unable to make out the surrounding mountains. H’mong women had come into Sapa from their mountain villages to sell their handicrafts – traditional headscarves, beautifully embroidered bags and skirts and copper bracelets. It was hard not to get drawn into a conversation no matter how resolute you were about not buying anything! In this part, most of the hill tribes are Black H’mong, but there were a few Red Dzao as well. The Flower H’mong, famous for their elaborate needlework and brightly coloured clothing, do not make it into Sapa. We were approached by a persistent and enterprising 18 year old Black H’mong girl, Lily, who after discovering we were not interested in buying anything, became intent on selling us a village tour and homestay. She was tiny and had the most beautiful smile, spoke very good English and her little notebook contained the most glowing reviews that we couldn’t say no, and arranged to meet her the next morning.

We ate breakfast at the charity café, Baguette and Chocolat, which had been set up to help disadvantaged youths. We had wonderful chocolatey rich Vietnamese coffee and listened to the staff practising classical guitar. Luke asked me to pull a face like a gremlin eating a sock so he could draw me. I obliged, using a napkin in place of the sock. I think it was rather convincing. After a time, I had to relax my face lest it should stay that way, and I wandered over to listen to the guitarist. He had a beautiful voice. When they brought out a bamboo flute, I played Scarborough Fair, which is the piece that so pleased the pig in Yuanyang. Thankfully they didn’t run away! The mist seemed like it was there to stay and so we spent the rest of the day catching up on our own little projects.

We had a somewhat confusing breakfast in our guesthouse the next day. Luke ordered a pancake with egg and cheese from the menu, was given one with cheese and banana and then when we explained, ended up with a cheese omelette, which he ate. I had a delicious black coffee, but was startled to find a puddle of very sweet and thick white liquid at the bottom. I presumed it was a huge amount of sugar which hadn’t dissolved properly, but later found out that it is very common in south-east Asia to drink coffee with condensed milk. This intense sweetness is something I have never got used to and so we always drink it black or specifically request fresh milk, which they often don’t have.

Having packed a small rucksack each, we met Lily outside our hotel and set off on the hike to her village, accompanied by a Korean father and daughter and another H’mong lady, who had a two month old baby boy bundled up in a shawl on her back. He was bound up so well that we didn’t see his face until we arrived at our destination and he was unwrapped. We tramped along the misty road for a few minutes, before turning down a muddy track. After this we started to head below the cloud level and the scenery began to emerge from the swathes of mist. Everywhere we looked was lush and green, with bracken, bamboo and various trees, including banana. There were rice paddy terraces and scattered wooden dwellings. Lily and her friend made us each a heart shaped wand from bracken and then on my request showed us how to make them. They would make lovely and cheap wedding table decorations! The bracken horse they made was a little less convincing, but fun all the same! A small black puppy decided to tag along at this point and gambolled along beside Luke, racing him. As we descended into the village, he spotted some other dogs and, probably quite sensibly, decided to scamper back the way he had come to avoid an altercation.

Lily pointed out the village school, a smallish yellow painted concrete building. Most of the buildings in the village were made of wood and bamboo, with dirt floors and small earthen yards where a few chickens and pigs ran around, but the official buildings were concrete. Lily attended this school until the age of 14 and so she could read and write, but her parents could not afford to send her to high school, so her education stopped there. Their first language is H’mong, but all children learn Vietnamese at school as well. She, like many H’mong women, had learnt English through contact with tourists, and also had a smattering of French and Spanish. The men, who tend to work in the rice fields or go to the mountains collecting ginger, do not have much contact with foreigners and so foreign languages remain a feminine occupation, something which I feel gives the women an important role in this society, as tourism is the main source of monetary income. Most families, Lily’s included, only grow enough rice to feed themselves, as in this region there is only one rice harvest a year, so there is nothing available to sell on and make a profit. Lily was clearly an intelligent young lady, and I think she would have liked to continue studying, but she is forging her own path and seems fairly optimistic about the future.

On leaving school, she got married to a H’mong boy her own age and moved in with his family. She spoke of this happily and seems very much in love. The following year they had their first child, a daughter called Dinh. Dinh is now three years old and has a one year old little brother, Su. By this reckoning I could easily be Lily’s mother and a grandmother; quite a scary thought! I asked her if they planned to have any more children, and quite sensibly she said they wouldn’t, she is happy with two and indeed once they are grown up, she will still be quite young. Hopefully her children will have more opportunities than she had herself. A year before, there was no electricity in the village, but a hydroelectric power station has now been built, and as tourism channels more money into the region, things are likely to improve further.

As we walked through the village, we were joined by three young girls of 7-9 years who were selling friendship bracelets and in plaintive, pitiful voices with a well-practised mournful lilt repeated, ‘will you help me buy something…?’ Lily had told us we shouldn’t buy anything from children as it encourages them to bunk off school, so we did our very best to change the subject and engage them in conversation and silly games instead. Luke remembered a Catalan clapping game my niece Sylvia had taught him, and we also played I spy and the yes/no game. After a time, they began to relent and giggle and eventually joined in, only occasionally getting back into character and starting up the ‘will you help me buy something…?’ mantra again. The Koreans gave them a pack of Hello Kitty pencils and I gave them each a pen, as I found it so hard to do nothing, though giving gifts is probably just as inadvisable as buying from them. The girls walked with us all the way to Lily’s house and only turned back when we entered the yard.

Lily’s mother in law came out to greet us with big smiles as we arrived. The house was quite spacious, although a lot of people lived there, and was built in the local style with wood and bamboo, a dirt floor and split into large rooms by partitions. The yard contained a bamboo pipe system that diverted water from a stream, so that there was a constant supply of running water for washing, and a drop toilet in a small cabin that was overlain with the ceramic casing of a squatting loo. Most of the house was laid out on one floor, but there was a staircase leading to what we presumed was a bedroom. In the main room, there was an open fire around which the women sat on low stools and cooked and gossiped. The men mostly sat in a smaller separate room where they passed around tea and inhaled smoke through a bamboo bong. There were lots of little children pottering around. One little boy of about two years old was a bit of a nutter, racing about, pushing the other children and lurching and dancing energetically. Lily’s children were beautiful like their mother and very sweet natured. Her eldest, Dinh, had gorgeous dark eyes and a searching, serious expression. Su was wide-eyed and quite shy around strangers. We recognised some of the women from Sapa and some were new to us. All were dressed in the traditional H’mong costume of a dark tunic covered with embroidery, black culottes which were dyed with a local plant, and a colourful head scarf of a kind of lurid tartan in green, blue or fluorescent pink. Their calves were bound with a length of black fabric and most had beautifully engraved bracelets and earrings.

Lily set about preparing our lunch and we sat around a low table, observing the chatter going on around us. In the back room, we could hear chanting and the rhythmic banging of a gong. This was part of a new year ritual and would be repeated twice more over the coming days to ensure good fortune in the coming year. Shortly after the chanting ceased, we heard a horrific squealing noise. This went on for around a minute, and then stopped rather abruptly. Lunch was a simple but tasty meal of chicken, beans, noodles and egg. When we had finished, Lily left with the Korean family to walk them back to Sapa. Whilst she was gone, we were invited out to a field at the back of the house where the family were cooking rice and pork. As a bowl of bright red herby congealed pig’s blood was passed around, we put two and two together and realised that the source of the squealing was dinner being killed. I think this was quite a delicacy and people eagerly slurped spoonfuls before passing it on. I declined, but Luke took one for the team and tried some. He said it was a bit like licking a cut from your hand, or like ketchup with an aftertaste of iron. He has been reluctant to eat ketchup since! We both ate a little of the pork and rice as the dogs darted about our feet, hopeful for bones and titbits. After this second meal, we were instructed to huddle with the family as a man circled around us solemnly banging a gong. We were told that this would bring luck to everyone in the centre. I think we were quite fortunate to be part of it!

After eating, we sketched to pass the time, talked to the women of the family and played with the children. One girl, I will call her Anna, was just a little older than Lily and had a one year old daughter, who was merrily toddling about. Anna was kind hearted and very interesting to talk to. She had a naturally smiley and upbeat character, but there was a tinge of sadness in her manner. She, unlike Lily, was unable to read and write, something which no doubt pained her as she seemed like a very intelligent girl. She told us how an Australian lady had come and stayed for a few days the previous year. The child had apparently grown rather fond of her and the woman had offered to take her back to Australia to live and have a ‘better’ life. She had told them she would be returning in July to hear their decision. The family have decided not to let her go. Life is evidently hard here, but the children seem very happy, and to take a child away from the heart of a loving family is not a decision to be taken lightly. Obviously it was very tempting for them – they see foreigners all the time and are well aware that opportunities are greater abroad and in rejecting the offer they may feel they are closing a door for the child. However, simply having more money and increased opportunity does not mean your life will be happier if it also entails a shift in culture and separation from those you love. What memories would she have of the village and her family? How would she feel to know her family gave her up, albeit with the best of intentions? I am sure the lady would have done all she could to address these issues, and I am sure there are many children who have successfully made a similar transition, but it is always going to be a gamble. It is easy to feel complacent, to feel that we have the best way of life, but I try not to lose sight of the fact that there are other ways of living, other ways of finding happiness. The farmer nomad we met in Mongolia was a case in point. Some might see his life as lonely, hard, unrelenting, with few material possessions and little income. However, he was able to see for himself what life in cities of Russia and China was like and satisfied himself that the life he was living was that which made him happiest.

We had dinner with the whole family that evening, sat around a long table. At intervals we were offered shots of rice wine, a potent home brew. With a shout of ‘HAI!’, the drinks were downed and no sooner did we finish, then our cups were refilled. After a couple of rounds, we took to sipping so that we wouldn’t fall off our stools! I fetched my silver flute and played a few made up tunes. They had only seen bamboo flutes before, so the instrument was passed around and the men turned it over, looking at the mechanisms. The children were playing with paper that the Korean family had brought and Luke gave Lily’s children, Dinh and Su, a coloured pencil each and carved their names into the wood. An older girl of around 10 drew some cute pictures. Dinh really enjoyed scribbling and held her pencil very well. She would quietly observe the others before commencing her own work, and seemed like a bright little spark. In general, the children were all very loving towards each other. They would always be checking on the babies, kissing them and wanting to hold them. Dinh wanted to carry the two month old baby like the adults. He was duly strapped onto her back with a shawl and with a helping hand, she waddled off looking ever so proud of herself!

That night, we slept in a back room on a bed under a mosquito net. As there was not much lighting, the family all retired early, so we had a good night’s sleep. In the morning, Lily made spring rolls with rice paper, carrots, cabbage and egg. Dinh came running up to show me her outfit for the day, which was black with white hearts on it. I was touched that she seemed to like me! Her fringe was a little long and she would thoughtfully sweep her hair from her inquisitive dark brown eyes as she studied newcomers. She carried a little embroidered bag in which she kept a few small banknotes and a marble. Every now and then, she would take the marble out and drop it into my hand and then silently ask for it back. I remembered I had a tiny pottery good luck owl I had bought in Japan, which was around the same size as the marble. I fished it out of my camera bag and gave it to her. She looked at it curiously and inspected it, noticing there was a small hole in the base and seeming to wonder what it was for. I used the hole to stick the owl onto a twig of bamboo as a demonstration as to what it could be used for. She seemed pleased with this, and her auntie broke off the stick and gave it to her to hold. She trotted about for a bit waving the owl stick and stopping now and then to pull it off and put it back on again. Later on, after breakfast, Dinh regarded me quietly from a distance. Then, appearing to have made some sort of decision, she purposefully came over and cupped her little hand around my cheek and looked into my eyes. She took my big, pale, veiny hand and studied my fingers and fingernails, comparing them with hers, which were titchy in comparison and somewhat grubbier! I have to say I felt rather honoured; her eyes burned with such a quiet and wise intelligence, that it was hard to believe she was only three years old.

Not long after this little episode, and rather abruptly, we were leaving. We hiked with Lily a little way out of the village, where we passed a plantation of the indigo dye plant they use for their clothes, and stopped by a waterfall, which was not particularly powerful as it was the dry season. We headed into the Red Dzao village, although we didn’t see many people there. At the next village, we stopped at a café opposite the school and waited for Lily’s husband and his brother to arrive with motorbikes to take us the rest of the way back to Sapa. We hopped on behind, I with Lily and her husband and Luke on the brother’s bike. The ride back was fun, and we watched the scenery emerge and disappear from the rolling mist.

Back in Sapa, we paid Lily and gave her a tip, but then all her friends wanted us to buy from them! It was hard as we really didn’t want more stuff to carry. We eventually relented and bought one of the chequered headscarves as a present for much more than it was worth, but we didn’t feel annoyed as we had seen how much they needed the money.

In the village, I felt aware of a kind of conflict – it is wonderful for us to be able to meet these people and experience their way of life, to observe their traditions and take photos to share with family and friends. However, the people are really poor and rely increasingly on tourism to bring in much needed cash. With tourists comes a greater awareness of the world outside the tribal community; perhaps some would leave if they could, perhaps some are content to continue life as they know it and preserve their traditions. Still others may just wish all the tourists would go away and leave them alone! And what do we want as tourists? Can we be thinking what a pity it would be if all these quaint little villages were to be sucked into the whirlwind of modern life? If every house had a tiled floor, adequate plumbing and windows, would we feel cheated because it is no longer the authentic rustic experience we were seeking? Of course, the stark contrast with our own lives forms a great part of the attraction, but I feel uncomfortable that I relish these differences. Hopefully, opportunities in the village will improve in the coming years, more children will be able to go to high school and healthcare will become better and more affordable. I believe if people can be empowered through education and not held back by sickness or obstruction by the state, then they have the possibility to make decisions of their own free will. It is inevitable that traditions will erode with time, but this is a cultural evolution and the course it takes must lie with the people.

After lunch, we encountered another of Lily’s friends, ‘Buy from me too!’ We didn’t that day, but I felt bad! We had a lovely catch up with family over Skype that evening, before heading out for a late dinner of Vietnamese hotpot.  It was very different to Chinese hotpot – not nearly as spicy as the Sichuan variety and with a delicate lemongrass flavour.

The next morning, we saw Lily’s friends again. Luke had taken to running off in mock horror when he spotted them, which made them laugh, but this time I succumbed and bought a copper bracelet. Anna was there and she thanked me for playing the flute for them. She had never seen a flute like it before and she told me the music would always stay in her heart. I had really warmed to Anna so her comments made me feel rather emotional!

That night over dinner, we got talking to a girl from the Wirral who had been teaching English at a charity school in Siem Reap, Cambodia. She had really enjoyed her time there, and the online reviews were fantastic, so we decided to write to the school to see if we could volunteer. The next morning, we received a very enthusiastic reply, and began to get excited at the prospect of doing something a little different after our Vietnam trip. We had to check out of the guesthouse in spite of an invitation to stay longer and attend the family’s new year party, as our next destination was to be Hanoi, where we were meeting up with one of Luke’s old school friends, Bruce and his friend, Ash. On our way to the bus station, we spotted Anna and her friends again, sheltering from the drizzle in the porch of a shop. They put on their wellington boots and walk from the village into Sapa every day, whatever the weather, and it certainly had been miserable when we were there. Lily was not there, but had given the girls a handful of friendship bracelets for us to give to our family, which was a lovely gesture. Feeling a little sad, we bid the girls goodbye and traipsed off into the damp mist. We never did see that spectacular Sapa view!

STOP PRESS!

We have just found out that the lovely lady we stayed with in Moscow was so distraught after our surprise 1am eviction from her apartment, that she went to the British Embassy to tell them about it. The embassy lodged a complaint with the police and the result of this was that the policeman who evicted us that night was fired, as what he did was illegal! In retrospect, we think had we paid him a bribe, he would have allowed us to stay, but we were far too naive to think of that!

Walking to Vietnam

Paranoid that we wouldn’t make it to the border crossing on time, we were standing by the roadside at 7am with our belongings to flag down one of the minibuses that shuttle people to and from the nearby town of Xinjie. Thankfully we didn’t have to wait long, as the mist was thick around us and it had just started to drizzle. We picked up a couple of other people along the way and hour later arrived at the bus station. We were pleased to discover that a bus was leaving for Hekou in an hour – everything was going to plan!

We met several other westerners on the bus to Hekou, including an English couple who were also on a year-long around the world trip, but had only three months left, a Belgian couple and another English chap who planned to buy a motorbike and bike around Vietnam. The journey was supposed to take four hours, but owing to a traffic jam in a village market where we were bumper to bumper with worn out lorries and hemmed in on both sides by motorbikes, it took closer to 7 hours. Some bikes had entire families crammed onto the seats and one had a live pig in a bamboo basket strapped to the back.

We eventually reached the border town of Hekou, and as we were all evidently heading to Vietnam, decided to walk to the Red River crossing together. As we disembarked, a taxi driver came up to offer his services in ferrying us to the bridge. We all felt like seasoned travellers and, possibly not wanting to lose face, decided en masse that it was not far, we had a map and would not require a taxi, thank you very much. In fact, it was a rather long walk, and we were all quite sweaty and exhausted by the time we arrived at the bridge. However, there was a suspicious lack of other pedestrians and a surprising number of lorries. We tentatively approached the guards and showed them our passports, hoping (but not really believing) they would just wave us on. They looked extremely confused, had a brief discussion, and then told us we couldn’t cross there. We had walked to the wrong bridge.  As we turned to trudge shame facedly back the way we had just come, we spotted the taxi driver from the bus station! He had anticipated our error and followed us, bringing a friend along with him! Grinning, he asked if we wanted a lift now, and sheepishly we all agreed.

Once at the right place, everything was straightforward. We queued up, our bags were scanned and our passports checked and stamped at the Chinese side. We then crossed the bridge on foot into Lao Cai, Vietnam, where our passports were checked and stamped once more. For the first time in my life I succeeded in making a passport control officer laugh because I can’t keep a straight face whilst being scrutinised. Usually they are so deadpan that you don’t even get a smile.

I exchanged the remainder of our Chinese yuan with a dodgy dealer by the border checkpoint. I definitely need to brush up on my haggling skills and not agree straight away out of embarrassment as I got a worse exchange rate than anyone else! However, I comfort myself with the thought that I make somebody’s day a little brighter every time I get ripped off.

The five of us who were heading to the mountain town of Sapa hopped on an electric taxi bus, and our driver hailed a passing coach a little way along the road. We hastily threw our bags in the hold and piled on. It was a one hour winding journey into the mountains, where the scenery was supposed to be beautiful. By the time we arrived, it was dark, misty and gently raining; in other words, worryingly reminiscent of Yuanyang, but we optimistically hoped that if we stayed there long enough the weather would improve.

The rice terraces of Yuanyang

The alarm rang several hours before we would have liked, but having only one day to see the wonder of the rice terraces in the mountains, we somehow managed to haul ourselves out of bed. It was dark outside and we converged with the trickle of Chinese tourists on our way to the viewing platform for the Duoyishu scenic area. As we were walking we were hailed by shadowy figures trying to sell us things that we couldn’t quite identify in the blackness.

We paid 100 RMB (about £10) for the privilege of looking at the scenery for a day and filed onto the wooden tiered platform where there was already quite a crowd developing. China’s best amateur photographers were out in force, occupying the prime positions with tripods poised at the ready and making last minute adjustments to settings on cameras with zooms so long they needed counterbalancing.

We spotted two young men we had met on the bus, French and Belgian, and joined them on the second tier. Shortly after, the sun began its glorious ascent. With the first hint of light, cameras clicked and whirred in anticipation. The sun was definitely out there somewhere as we were able to see a little more than before. After a couple of minutes, it became patently obvious that no one would be taking prize winning sunrise photos that morning: the thick white mist that had settled in the valley overnight was illuminated for all to see. The cameras, which had hitherto been pointing hopefully towards the shrouded terraces, sheepishly swung their zooms away, and as if wanting to prove their worth (and who needs another stupid sunrise anyway?), turned their attentions to the little row of four westerners on the platform behind them. We smiled our sunniest smiles and exchanged a little rally of shots with them before filing back out onto the road.

Undeterred, we decided to follow a dirt track that led past a small village and down towards the terraces. The sun began to burn off some of the mist and we got tantalising glimpses of the waterlogged paddies winking in the sunlight. Once below the cloud level, the views got even better and we crept along the edge of the terraces, admiring their snaking formation, and the way the water gleamed like scales of a silvery dragon, as cottony wisps drifted past.

The Hani hill tribe colonised the Yuanyang area around 2500 years ago. In order to eke out a living in this mountainous region, they modified the landscape around them, sculpting the hillsides to create narrow strips of land that curved around the contours of the slopes like haphazard steps. These flat areas could then hold the water needed for growing rice. It was hundreds of years before other civilisations started to use the same technique, which highlights the ingenuity of the Hani people. They still grow rice here to this day, but in spite of the fame of their terraces, the villagers are poor and life here is hard. I hope that a substantial portion of the ticket price for viewing the terraces goes back to the local community.

A smiling Hani woman came towards us, and we paid her for a photograph. Their everyday costume is quite plain; a dark navy smock and trousers and a blue headscarf. She had definitely done this before; she knew how to strike a regal pose! Having exhausted all the photographic opportunities, and feeling hunger gnawing at our bellies, we climbed back up towards the village. Luke stopped to draw some buildings and a gaggle of little children gathered around to peer over his shoulder. After a few minutes an older man came down the path driving a cow. On seeing us, he pointed upwards out of the village, so we took this as our cue to leave. It must be annoying having your village infiltrated by tourists with their fancy cameras when you are trying to go about your daily business.

Back at the hostel, we had a lovely surprise: our wedding photos were ready! Viva La Wedding (my sister Joanna and her husband Guille’s company) had done us proud, and we spent a happy hour browsing through them, reliving the fun of the day, pleased to see the faces of family and friends we are missing so much and marvelling at the stupid faces I can pull!

We joined the family of the hostel owner for a tasty lunch. He spoke excellent English and we were all the more impressed to learn that he was entirely self-taught. In the afternoon, we borrowed bikes from the hostel and cycled along the winding and hilly road to another scenic area, the Bada terraces, which was supposed to be an excellent place to visit for the sunset. People stared as we pedalled past, perhaps because I had my rainbow coloured striped sarong wrapped around my head to protect me from the sun and looked like I was a member of a tribe of my very own. There were lots of women carrying huge loads of firewood, gravel and sand on their backs; sometimes packed into big baskets and sometimes bundled into sacks. Many had the strap across their foreheads. It looked like back breaking work. There was a lot of construction of new buildings going on, and the women seemed to be doing much of the manual labour. Most women were wearing the plain navy clothes, but there were others in colourful beautifully embroidered garments and jingly coin-like headdresses.

Once at Bada, we chained up our bikes and set off for a walk. We headed down a narrow road and Luke stopped to draw whilst I practised my Chinese bamboo flute. A black piglet was snuffling for bugs in the soil at the side of the road, and when I started to play, she came trotting excitedly towards us, snorting and grunting with every step. For a moment, I thought I was some sort of Pied Piper for pigs, but without a sideways glance she ran straight past, so I guess my playing wasn’t that good after all! We continued on down into a village. The road narrowed and became very steep and the houses that were perched higgledy-piggledy on the sharp incline looked like they might skitter down the slope at any moment. A damp mist wreathed the buildings, making the paving stones slippery underfoot. More women with blue headscarves tramped past under heavy burdens, a party of panicked chicks scurried after their mother, two cockerels marched up and down crowing at intervals to announce their presence and a huge black pig slumbered against a wall. Every now and then a couple of cows would wander past. People here were evidently very poor, and I felt a little uncomfortable intruding on their private life, turning their daily grind into a tourist attraction. I also noticed there was a lot of rubbish littering the side of the road; they probably do not have the infrastructure to deal with waste. It is a pity that the scenic sites that attract so many visitors should be kept so pristine whilst the villagers who tend that land live in squalor.

We traipsed back up the road and positioned ourselves on the viewing platform, waiting for the sunset. It did not look promising, as the valley here was also bathed in white mist, but hope springs eternal and we decided to wait in case there was a miraculous gust of wind. The sun occasionally peeped out, but was eventually swallowed by cloud before it touched the horizon, and the vistas of gleaming terraces were nowhere to be seen. The hostel owner had very kindly offered to collect us and the bikes after the sunset, which was extremely fortunate, as the fog hung heavy over the road and there is no way we would have been able to cycle back in those conditions. Visibility was approaching zero and he had to drive with his head stuck out of the window, peering through the haze to follow the curve of the road. It was a bit scary, as we had seen the steep drops on our cycle trip, but I reassured myself with the thought that he must have to do this all the time.

After dinner, we turned in early, feeling exhausted. We had to find our way to the China-Vietnam border crossing the following day so we needed to recharge our batteries! It had been somewhat of a mission to get to Yuanyang, and we were a little disappointed that the weather had not been in our favour, but at the same time, the sunrise/sunset experiences had been rather amusing!

Kunming to Yuanyang

We had planned to go hiking, but were so tired that we slept in. This wasn’t such a bad thing as we both had plenty to be getting on with. At lunch, we took a break to wander around Green Lake Park and sat a while sketching and playing Uno, watching the crowds of delicate white gulls waiting eagerly for titbits. The lake’s edge was lined with people young and old throwing food for them. Every now and then, someone would whoop, sending them whirling into the sky in a frenzy, before they settled back down on the lake like confetti. A man who was passing us stopped when he saw Luke’s pictures. He snatched his sketchbook, flicked through it and then seized his pen and right in the centre of a crisp white page, he drew a rather small and childish looking seagull. I could tell that Luke was rather cross about this, but he did his best to take it gracefully! I couldn’t help but giggle!

That night, Flora and Pan came to the hostel again. Flora arrived on two mini skateboards – one for each foot, not joined in the middle and with no straps to hold your feet in place. We all had a brief lesson in how to stand and move on them and Luke, being a keen long-boarder, was smitten. We then joined forces with other backpackers and played cards and a game called Mafia, which is always great fun. Before we headed to bed, we thanked Flora and Pan for their hospitality and wished them luck in their exams. They gave us a packet of flower cakes, a Yunnan delicacy. They are flaky pastry buns, with a sort of flowery jam in the centre. I can see how some people would love them, but to us it was a little too much like eating pot pourri!

The following day, our bags packed, we made our way to the Vietnamese consulate. It was cramped on the bus, and I was stood next to a lady with a baby who was whimpering and crying. The baby was so surprised to see my strange white face that she forgot why she was upset and spent the rest of the journey peeping and beaming at me happily! So cute! Our passports and visas were waiting for us at the consulate as we had hoped they would be. In our glee at having finally obtained the visas, we got onto the wrong bus, but this was soon remedied. Shortly after, we arrived at the station and were boarding a late bus to the Yuanyang rice terraces, our final destination in China.

This was our first journey on a sleeper bus. Instead of seats, there were two layers of bunks: ‘double beds’ on one side and singles on the other. We had a double on the bottom level. Your feet had to slot inside a metal case, on top of which was a basket for your belongings. Pillows and a blanket were provided. It was quite a comfortable set up, and once we were on our way, we decided to watch a movie on my laptop. Troll Hunter is a wonderful, very funny Norwegian film and perfect for a bus journey. We left Kunming at 7pm and arrived in Xinjie, the town nearest the terraces, at 1.30am. I slept in fits and starts, not being used to experiencing the jolting and lurching of a coach when lying down and being sporadically awakened by the lady behind me who seemed to spend a good part of the journey spitting into the bin.

Luckily, we had had the foresight to arrange a pick up from our hostel, as the village we were staying in was far away, and there were no taxis at such an early hour in the morning. Several other travellers had not arranged transport and so our hostel owner made a tidy profit ferrying them to their hostels too! After about 45 minutes of driving along winding roads in thick mist, we finally arrived at the Grain Inn. We were advised to shower before heading to bed as there would be no hot water in the morning, so we obediently had 3am showers! Bleary-eyed, but clean, we reluctantly set our alarm for 6.30am, so we could be up in time to watch the legendary sunrise over the rice terraces.

Shilin – The Stone Forest

Having made an early start and after two public buses, a sweet omelette bread and a longish coach journey, we arrived at the Stone Forest region around 10am. We had encountered two young Hungarian chaps on the coach who were based in the huge city of Tianjin (near to Beijing) where they were on a scholarship programme learning Mandarin. Like many young westerners living in China, they were also teaching English in their spare time. They spoke excellent English, as so many Europeans do, albeit with a noticeable Hungarian accent! They told us that schools prefer native English speakers, but if you have white skin and can speak English well, then you look convincing enough to the parents. One explained that in his kindergarten class, he didn’t really have to do much – he would mainly assist the Chinese teacher who took the lessons, although photos were taken to show the parents that they had a white person there. For this reason, black or Asian native English speakers may find it harder to secure work and may even get paid less, even though their English is better! Crazy!

It was a beautiful day and so we opted to walk the short distance to the park entrance rather than pay for the shuttlebus. Once we had purchased our tickets, we hopped onto one of the free electric buses that took us on the first loop. We were dropped off by a lake, and then entered the Stone Forest itself. The first section was very touristy, but even drifting a short way up the paths you could escape the crowds. The scenery was extraordinary; I felt like I had entered Jurassic Park, and half-expected a velociraptor to peer around the karst slabs. All about us, huge shards of limestone soared skywards, amidst an emerald carpet of grass and the lush green tangle of the trees. It was so refreshing after weeks of desert landscapes.

There are two main theories as to how the landscape was formed. The first explanation comes from the local Sani people of the Yi minority. They tell of how the gods smashed a mountain into hundreds of pieces to create a hiding place for two young lovers. The second theory is less poetic and a little harder to visualise! I will do my best to explain.

First of all, imagine a vast ancient sea, teeming with life. As the little sea creatures die, they settle on the sea bed and become compacted, layer upon layer. Fast forward several millennia, and the sea has receded. What you now see is a huge rocky landscape, where the skeletal fragments of sea creatures have turned into limestone sedimentary rock, which is composed of calcium carbonate. Limestone, given enough time and the right conditions, is water-soluble. Rain that has reacted with carbon dioxide in the air and in the soil enters cracks in the rock. The weak carbonic acid that is formed dissolves the limestone and the cracks become fissures. Over millions of years, the progressive erosion causes the fissures to widen and deepen until we are left with the karst landscape we see today. At Shilin, it resembles a forest of stone. Karst landscapes can be found all over the world and can vary widely in appearance – the limestone pavement at Malham Cove in England is another example. They can also be formed from other water-soluble rocks, such as gypsum and dolomite.

The limestone at Shilin is around 270 million years old and the region covers an area of 400 square kilometres. The tallest of the rocks is around 30m in height. The karsts vary in topography and the outcrops are given fanciful names that reflect their appearance. ‘A mountain of knives and a sea of fire’ is a Chinese proverb that suggests a dangerous and difficult situation, and in this region the stones were closely packed, jostling together and stabbing their sharp blades towards the heavens, whilst slightly softer forms licked around them like flames. The paths wound around the base of the rocks and sometimes you had to squeeze or duck through the gaps, climb down into a deep gorge or cross a small stream. Every so often there would be a pagoda from which you could look out over the landscape and marvel at the view. It was easy to lose your way in spite of the signs and we encountered one Chinese man again and again. He was on his phone and seemed quite agitated. After seeing him for the third or fourth time, we turned a corner and saw a family also on their phone – we triumphantly waved them together and gave a little cheer!

Some of the tallest rocks were named after characters or scenes from Sani folklore: ‘The Shepherd Wu’, ‘Woman and child’, ‘Woman expecting her husband’. The most famous of these was ‘Ashima’, a beautiful Sani girl who was deeply in love with a young man called Ahei. The head of the village wanted Ashima for his son, and she was kidnapped. Ahei came to her rescue and after a three day long singing match, he was declared the winner and the couple were reunited. However, in a fit of jealousy, the evil son called up a flood, which drowned Ashima and she was subsequently turned into a rock (and grew in height by several metres!). Her namesake stone is supposed to bear a striking resemblance to a Sani girl with a head dress and knapsack on her back. We could just about visualise this one, but some of the so-called likenesses were rather more tenuous! We amused ourselves by spotting our own animals and people and making up stories for them.

As the day wore on, we meandered into less frequented sections and had a picnic lunch at a secluded viewpoint. The karsts were more spread out now and we passed a small lake and some farmland before entering into the Eternal Mushroom zone. This sounds a little like a drug addled episode of the Magic Roundabout, but Dylan the Rabbit was nowhere to be seen. Here, the rocks really did resemble giant mushrooms, with fat stems and bulbous tops. In the distance we could see skyscrapers of a cityscape ranged like the display on an equaliser, and the contrast between the cluster of stone mushrooms and the urban forest on the horizon made me feel like we were at the junction of two separate worlds.

We finished by taking a quiet route back towards the exit and paused a while at the Lion Pavilion, which afforded superb vistas across the park. It was a peaceful end to a wonderful day. We could easily have spent a couple more days there, as we had only visited a tiny snippet, but our time was running short and we had to head back to Kunming.

As the park was only just closing, we assumed we would be in time for the last bus. Unfortunately, we were wrong! An enterprising individual with a minivan was hanging around for stragglers and called out to us that the last bus had just left. Feeling sceptical and like seasoned travellers wary of a scam, we traipsed into the silent station to see whether he was telling the truth. He followed us at a distance and after we had ascertained that he was indeed the only form of transport available, we sheepishly asked for his services. He charged us an appropriate amount for a pair of idiots and took us to a local town from where we could catch a bus to Kunming. As the Chinese say, ‘dripping water can eat through a stone’ – perseverance will lead to success. We feasted on tasty street food whilst we waited, feeling like everything had turned out for the best in the end anyway.