I'm enjoying following along on your trip. Thanks for writing. Eagerly waiting for more.

Love your writing and your adventures! Keep writing.

This is my seventh attempt to write an entry since 4:30 am and I admit I'm jaded. I keep hitting some button and it has repeatedly erased hours of creative work, and man, that has gotten old. I started out enthusiastically and now, after losing six long entries, ladies 'n germs, this gets old. I don't know what I am doing wrong here. I should probably shorten them and ensure that something, anything, gets posted!

Well, here goes, trying again. Our second day dawned cool and misty, which for the long hike we were about to embark upon was perfect. It stayed misty our whole time in the northwest, anbd while that cost us some vistas, there's something to be said for that mystical layer of cloud that hovers over the evergreens. For us, it kept the temperatures reasonable for our athletic endeavors and that worked.

Today we headed off for a two hour hike along the same paths as the villagers, along the irrigation ditches. Passing bent over blacktoothed grannies, people carrying burdens ranging from babies to bamboo to building materials. Scooters, cyclists, pedestrians, kids, everyone is on that walkway, and not a single person is overweight. People in the paddies are up to their calves in the mud prepping for the April planting, using very basic hose. Vietnamese potbellied pigs are happily digging for goodies, blissfully unaware of the impending fate, the coming New Year's celebration. Water buffaloes either graze in the distant paddies or are hard at work at the plough. It's deeply quiet, yet busy, industrious, and there is bustle and activity everywhere. The hike, which is not necessarily hard, is challenging and a great wakeup call for us.

What I like about this trip is that it gives us insight into daily life. Because we see no other tourists, we are the minority here. That is hugely pleasurable. We are a curiosity, and so when we take a photo and share it, that gives pleasure. Kids shriek with delight and run away, and then come back for more. It's wonderful to be a novelty, rather than an annoyance, as I felt at times in Tanzania. We saw not one other tourist, not once. That alone was worth the cost of the trip to me. We could walk for hours and stop and talk to a woman cleaning casaba and ask her about her life, and she was happy to talk with us.

After the sometimes muddy up and downs of the hike, we found ourselves at our lunch stop at 11 am. This house, dotted with bird cages like little gems, provided a respite and we decided to eat before our two hour bike ride. Our host plied us with pork, beef,soup, vegies, all the goodies while we listened to a backdrop of lilting birdsong, far more melodious than anything electronic. Thus rejuvenated, we mounted our bikes.

Now I dunno about you but the last time I rode a single speed, push pedal bike was about fifty years ago. The one I have has WAY too many gears and you clip into the pedals, so when your foot apparatus goes up, the pedal does too. Yeah well. Ain't happenin, man. We go flyin' down a hill and suddenly pedals are going one way and my feet are going another and I have this nasty feeling that I may end up in the river at the bottom of this gulley. At the last possible second I get that under control, but then I find another challenge.

Any time we are off the sweet quiet and safety of the pathway along the irrigation ditches and paddies, we are on the main road. The "main road" is a single lane road which accommodates everything and everybody, including VERY LARGE VEHICLES THAT MUST PASS EACH OTHER. You, on a bike, are insignificant. Kind of like a gnat. So there you are, pedaling along, minding your own business, when some massive lorrie creeps up on your backside, to your shoulder, then emits this blasting BLAAAAAAAAT

which of course sets you to wobbling around in the gravel while you struggling to put your heart and lungs and brain back into your body cavity as this behemoth rumbles by you about two inches next to your shoulder. Thank god for panty liners, all I can say. Next time Chi says "Left!" onto the country path in the paddies I weep with joy. Hey, it's just me.

After two hours of death defying road cycling and riding along the countryside, we are back at the bird house, where we return our bikes, and are taken to a large market where we can buy lots of tangerines and other goodies for our next homestay. Chi is going to cook us a dinner. Here is where I learn a key lesson about toilets. I know how to ask for one in Vietnamese, a very good skill, but sometimes you don't want to go to one in a public place. I asked, I went, it was worse than the Cleveland Zoo in 1972, and Baby that was memorable. The market however is fun, and Chi loads up on bag after bag of candy, and Serge and Marie pick up bananas and bonbons.

Thus set for the night we are left off on the road, sort out our things for the next overnight at a home stay and hike a short way down the Black River which is a euphemism for what is now a big lake created by a hydroelectric dam. It's a ten minute hike, and we approach a thatched roof house which house a goodly number of people as well as the first friendly dog I've met since landing. I promptly sit and lavish affection on this animal, who promptly lies down in my lap and sucks it all up.

The stilt houses where we've been staying have bamboo floors, are all wide open inside, basically one big room. When we arrive, the host family usually brings us green tea to greet us. There is bedding that is set on the floor, mats and pads, and a very common, very bright kind of comforter that I saw in every house. It's a brilliant red and fuschia flower pattern, big, bulky and warm. Everyone has mosquito netting. There is a kind of skeeter up here that causes Japanese encephalitis but it is out of season right now. Still it makes sense to protect yourself as there are still plenty around near the water.

As the Vietnamese are not known to be a tall people, their houses reflect this. I am a rather tall women, perhaps not by the Amazonian standards of some athletes and models today, but at 5'8" I'm not short. I tower over the average Vietnamese. So at this house, to get to the kitchen, there was a wooden walkway that skirted the sleeping area,and to make the corner you had to go under a beam that would be about right for Granny, who was about 3'8". Granny sat in the kitchen, at the window, overseeing that very corner, so that she could watch the festivities.

All right so you can see damned well what's coming. There's this big thick wooden beam over this corner, which means that anyond over about 4' tall better lean way the heck over or else get your egg cracked, which I managed to do brutally, three times, which got Granny to giggling through her black teeth as I collapsed to my knees. This is the "Stupid White People Who Don't Duck" Comedy Reel, until I realized that there was another, safer, very obvious alternative route which meant walking around the outside of the building without clobbering the coconut.

I don't mind being the entertainment at all unless it's causing me severe pain, which in this cause, I was using up my pain meds in short order. Sorry Grams.

That afternoon the breezes blew through the trees and mists persisted, and I also persisted in pestering the pup, who was pleased to be patronized. He was a yellow boy, and loved to be lavished upon. My suspicion is that not too many dog get a lot of love over here, as you don't want to fall in love with some critter that could easily end up in the cook pot next Monday night. Sigh. Whaddya do. So I gave him the Dreaded Butt Scrub went sent him to paroxysms of joy and he was still recovering when dinner was starting to smell really good.

I meandered the safe way to the kitchen which was a close hut with a big fire going. Chi, her hair up in a big towel, was on her knees and managing several very big woks of vegetable and meat dishes at once very skilfully. The fire was very hot and smoke burned the eyes, and dad was smoking, and Grams was in the Corner with a View. She grinned at me with that smile that said "hey stupid how's the pumpkin?" and I sat down to watch the proceedings. You can't blame her, the best entertainment around here has got to be watching white people whacking their noggins on that beam. She's so short she sails underneath it without brushing a hair.

Finally we all helped carry the massive, gorgeous dinner upstairs. The homestay family had theirs in one part of the room while we feasted on Chi's delectable dinner. More food than we could finish, by quite a bit. No one has a refrigerator out here, so it will get eaten right away. Sated, we all had beds out in a minute, to bed shortly after the sun went down, netting down, night upon us.

The next morning I woke up at 4 am, more to the insistence of a certain body part than anything particularly responsible on my part. There was a short hike which involved tripping on Mr. Please Scrub My Butt Again at the base of the stairs, and another back, this time with a planned stop to do just that. I sat down with him and his sweet nature to enjoy the absolute silence that the mountains and quiet lake provided. There were no waves, just mist, and pure stillness. After the bedlam of honking and shrieking that both Ho Chi Minh and Hanoi had provided, such quiet was as pure a gift as anyone would ask. When you grow up on a farm such as I did, and could escape to a big thatch of woods, our silences were broken by the Southern symphony of cicadas, noon insects, buzzing, humming and whirling and birdcalls. Its own perfect blend with frog calls, especially right after a rain. Here there was nothing to interrupt the night. Such silence we get after a snow, in the high country.

The man who owns this house was a proud Communist, his photo and medals and acknowledgements up on the wall over the tea table. He could not be more kind. When we arrived, however more things had been afoot, including his foot, which he had somehow damaged rather badly along with a severe scrape on his knee. Marie, who is an RN, came the rescue, with her kit and some very hot water, and she took him out on the walkway out of our sight and later led him back in nearly good as new. He was beaming and smiling and clearly delighted to have been in such capable hands.

After a hot steaming breakfast of pho and fruit, Marie and Serge and I were trundled off to the fishing boat for a 90 minute tour of the River-Now-a-Lake. We pushed off the shore in the solid mists, and took note that just a few others were out and about, two to a boat. One stood in the front with a big net and the other moved the boat with his feet on the oars as adept as with his hands. As we watched, the fishcatcher did just that, and someone's dinner landed in the boat's belly, slap!

As we slowly traveled, we noted a number of fish "pools," which kept the creatures corraled until needed. They had obviously been there for some time as grass had taken up residence on the perimeters. There was active commerce taking place on the shoreline, otherwise we could see the crisscross pattering of thousands of feet- animal and human- on the hillsides.

On our way back in, Serge leaned his head forward on Marie's shoulder and she leaned her head back to touch his in a sweetly intimate gesture. I caught it on camera, a completely perfect moment of two people who are wholly sympatico. It's one of my favorite photos of the entire trip.

We did a long, slow circle, and finally came back to rest, at which point we docked and made our way back to pick up our backpacks, hike back out and resume our journey.

Our homestay owner had left by motorbike, but happily, he found himself stopped behind us when we had found some sun and the perfect light to photograph a waterfall that had escaped us the day before. Sitting behind the tour bus, I recognized him and ran to his cycle. He grinned ear to ear. At first I shook his hand, and then on impulse, I just hugged him, and he hugged me back, hard. You cannot manufacture that, not in any way, shape or form. That's just pure, simple, 100% joy. It's why we do this. Pure and simple.

On the next night we were at a hotel, where I finally was able to get the wifi to work. My guide insisted on my letting her have my passport for the police for the night, which I equally and with a polite face, rather strongly insisted she could not have. The hotel could see it, take the information, take a copy, but it could not have my passport overnight. Not in Communist territory, not with a blackmarket business in American passports, not on your life, not when the American consulate requires we keep the passport on our person at all times. My very young (maybe twenty? Maybe?) guide was furious with me on this point, and this was perhaps a turning point for us. The hotel receptionist understood and had no issue with it. However, Chi did. And she didn't forget either, because it came up three more times. This wasn't a battle she would win with me, and when I tried my best to explain she rudely cut me off mid-sentence over and over. I gave it over to youth, inexperience, bad manners, and a few other things I won't mention here. An American passport is gold and I'm not willing to risk not getting it back. Being a Vietnam era vet, I'm also not willing to risk being hauled in for some spurious reason and not being able to go home either, none of which she understood nor cared to hear about. Ah well....

So we had another wonderful dinner and I was able to dream about a certain kayak for sale on ebay, which had begun to call my name, and now the wifi had confirmed a counter offer. A distraction. There was a birthday coming up and hmmm.

As we began to climb higher into the mountains, and this was really tribal country, we saw several things that were new. For the first and last time I saw horses- four of them. Two small brown horses, about thirteen hands, pony sized, were set up for riding. Another was driving a cart, and a fourth was being ridden by a man in tribal costume. The mists had come to the ground or rather, we had driven into the heavy clouds. The mud was deep, sticky and tough. As we drove, we hit big trucks mired in the stuff. Our warm bodies and breath steamed up the car and between the internal steam and external mist we couldn't make out a thing for hours. I suspect we missed out on some spectacular scenery, but all we could make out were some ghostlike apparitions on motorbikes passing by us, or the shape of a big truck that we were passing or vice versa. Linh, our driver, was very competent, which was a sigh of relief, given the awful condition of the roads and the driving conditions in general.

At one point the mists lifted as we drove through a small village, and the most striking thing I recalled was looking into a tiny salon and seeing a young woman with her hair loose, and it fell to her ankles. I should say cascading, for that's what it did. As she worked on her client, the light from the shop sparkled in the waves of her hair as it moved with her body.

Today at lunch, we ended up with some fried river fish. This was the same fish we'd seen drying by the Black River cum Lake, and the smell had nearly sent me running then, and deep fried it nearly sent me running even faster. It did an excellent job of making me unable to consider eating anything for the rest of the day. I respect- I really do- different tastes in food, but there are times, especially when it comes to things like fish- that I cannot stop the flip flop of my gut, and when I walk by the loads and loads of dead dried fish in the markets it is just all I can do to walk as fast as I can and not lose my lunch. It's what you're used to, I guess. Like anchovies. Oy.

That afternoon we were put out again for a good long and very wonderful hike so I shouldered my backpack and set to with my group. This hike took us through a village and some very long ups and downs that got quite steep. Chi, who was carrying her annoyance with me like a badge, wanted me to run uphill with her. So I did. But she can't run uphill and I can. Mind you she has no backpack on, I am carrying twenty pounds. We did this repeatedly, and I really want to do it because believe me this is precisely the training I want. We're on the very very long steep hill and Chi is demanding that I run with her. So I do. Past her. Now I find this amusing, (trust me I know where this is going, but those of you who are my age also understand there is teaching point here). She's doing her absolute level best to show me what an old lady I am, but she cannot possibly keep up. So when she poops out for the last time I speed hike the rest of the way, and eat three tangerines until she catches up. I probably shouldn't have, but there's a wicked streak in me which I fully admit is there. Chi had been argumentative and condescending and rude, none of which I particularly appreciated, and now she was trying to put me in my place physically, which she most certainly could not do. Besides, this is not how you treat a paying client, and I was starting to get a little annoyed. The upshot of this was, and I quite welcomed it, was that she turned her attention to flirting with Serge and making friends with Marie. That was perfectly fine by me. I loved not having to deal with her and if left me to call on her only if I needed help with translations or negotiations. Problem solved for the most part. Chi had many things going for her, but let's just say customer service wasn't one of them. I usually love my guides, but this time, it didn't appear to be working out that way- and my suspicion was that there would be a good learning along the way.

We finally cleared the mountain pass and when we did the valley opened out below us in such scalloped beauty we stopped. Not only to take in all in with all our senses and take pictures, but to take the van aside and next to the stream of water and wash the layers and layers of mud. We all got in the act, with Linh and Hieu and Serge doing most of the hard labor, getting each other wet in the process (of course) and having a grand old time making the van look spanking new again. Duly cleaned up, we climbed back and began to see who and what was on the road. Chi had arranged for us to take photographs of some tribal girls, who had organized themselves under an umbrella, all in tribal clothing. They giggled and collapsed into each other's laps as we approached, and were very shy about our cameras. And they were stunningly beautiful, every single one of them. Their costumes were identical, turquoise and black, with many coins and ornaments causing light and movement on their bodies. We were lucky to have sun so the photos were magnificent against the mountain and rice paddy backdrop.

A mother say nearby as chaperone, Chi knew her, and we were able to speak with her as well. She was sewing, all the mothers sew, most by hand and some with machines. That is a primary activity and what is sold most often to the tourists.

Before we'd had dinner last night, Chi had taken us into a very small village where we saw some friends of hers. This was a place where white people simply didn't go. This was the part of Chi that I so appreciated and valued. We were able to see inside houses, meet the kids and the families, see food being prepared and it was not in any way staged or organized for tourists. This was the real thing, real life being lived, and you don't forget that you are being allowed back stage. We were asked to join them for dinner and for a sleepover- these are very very poor people and the hospitality is just astonishing, they were cooking an entire pig that night. Chi explained what we were doing and begged off but still the invitation was remarkable and touched me deeply. The kids got a huge bang out of the puppy who peed on my hand when I picked her up and petted her, it caused peals of laughter for quite some time.

We had been offered fresh water at this friend's house, which I had some concerns about drinking. It's hard to refuse what's offered so I had to pull that age old drink of seeming to drink without actually drinking. Considering that Marie was sick the next day and several days after, that ended up being a wise choice. I doubt we have the immune system for what might be in the local water, and I am not going to put a Steripen in a glass of water just offered by my host.

The higher we got into the mountains, and I say this about Chi as well, the women got more and more lovely. I mean this in every single way. Chi is from the Sapa area, she is tiny and delicate, and I think Black Hmong although this was never made clear. At every juncture we were able to see the tribes very close up, and their features were astounding. Men and women, they were truly attractive people, and each tribe had particular characteristics. Not just the costumes that differentiated them, but cheekbones and the cast of the eyes.
This is the part of exploration I love best. I love the nature, but to see the variation of the peoples, their diet, and how they receive strangers is such a joy. The languages varied and the farther north we got the less people spoke Vietnamese, so my limited language was pretty useless. Up here, it was your intent, expressed in body language, facial expression, and the calmness of your presence.

We also began to see pines, and a kind of tree that looked precisely like a green ostrich plume, stuck in bunches coming out of the ground. Tall, and lovely, graceful. No more horses, anywhere.

At market today, because I am dying for something milky for protein (no yogurt since Saigon because no one has electricity for a refrigerator), Marie helps me pick out a kind of super vitamin milk for babies. On a whim I try it, and while I've never had Ensure, my guess is that this is kind of like that. This becomes my new supply for driving along. I buy a big fat supply of the peach kind, and slurp it up by the gallon. At the hotel tonight, the water is a series of ice cubes on my gooseflesh. We are paying for hotels and the hotels have no hot water. Okay. Hmm.

Chi, true to her nature, has not let the Battle of the Passport go, although each hotel has quite happily accepted my request to take the information and give the passport right back. This is one of those die in a ditch, gotta be right battles that I choose to back away from because to argue is to be cut off, but I just handle it with the hotel staff and bypass Chi. It's not worth the headache. I wake up feeling not very clean and wanting to get on with the day in hopes of finding hot water somewhere, anywhere, so I can wash my hair (it's been a looooong time and dreds are beginning).

Today we are going to pass a waterfall. Waterfalls happen a lot here, and I've learned that this is not the season for them. Chi has repeatedly pointed at a waterfall that has no water. So it was no surprise today when we pulled over on the highway to look at a waterfall that for the life of me I could not find. There was a whole lineup of tourist tents where tribal people were selling trinkets, but not a waterfall. I guessed at its location, then I went looking for a bush. On our journey, the other thing I got used to was finding bushes, trees, ditches, low spots, and working fast, because you never knew who, or what, would come around the corner at any time. Could be a bad dog, a big buffalo, a guy with a wide load of siding that would take your punkin head off as you were getting up to zip, no telling. And there were eyes absolutely everywhere. Knowing that you just dealt with it. Hell, everybody else did. So you'd announce to the driver, Linh, I need a bush, and he'd start keeping an eye out for some kind of protection. Suddenly he'd pull over and point. You'd run, squat, shake and zip and run back. You'd get pretty good at it too. You had to.

The other thing is that you learned to nick a little paper where you could. I never travel with out a big fat roll of Charmin, not like what you find here, but thick soft Charmin, and try to make it last the whole trip. Then you learn to start taking bits and pieces here and there. For when there is none and up here in the woodlands, that happens a LOT.

Love it! Thanks. (Consider pasting here from text written and saved in a word processor such as Word.)

What a wonderful experience you are having! Suggestion though - next time start a new thread and tag it as a trip report. I'm enjoying the read and wish I had been as adventurous as you.

Thanks for the suggestions, and they are good- and of course, obvious ones. Now duh, why didn't I think of that??
So the end of this waterfall story is that I'm at a waterfall that isn't a waterfall and that gets certain body parts thinking that there should be a bush around here someplace, and so off I toddle past the tourist tents with everyone yelling at me (I must have been the only live one that day) with a tinge of desperation in their voices, and finally see a WC sign but missed the price, and I went down to the porta potty line up. I went inside to a squat porta potty, which was a new one on me, and of course there is neither paper nor a water source, this is a squat n shake, and this is why we bring Charmin, ladies n germs. So out I come and this very skinny guy with a Fu Manchu cops me at the top of the stairs and points to a sign I can't possibly read and wants 5000 dong. Not much for private relief. So I pay up and off we go.

As the sun begins to reveal more and more of the valley the big ostrich plume trees show more and more on the hillsides and more people are on the roads, as there is less sticky foul mud to struggle against. Cows, water buffalo, grandmothers, babies on backs, the omnipresent scooters, big construction trucks all crowd the road. Moms and babies and families are on the roadside where we stop to take photos and they graciously allow us to take theirs. I drop off double handfuls of mandarins and candies which they fall to and are in the middle of thinning out when we drive away.

As we head through yet another village, we are greeted by the sight of Easter egg colored houses, painted precisely like the Victorian places in San Francisco that are so meticulously detailed. Lavender, pink, yellow, soft orange. They stand out like Petits-fors against the dark background of wintry mountains as we drive by.


As we begin to approach Sa pa, we see the beginning of the end of a way of life. I hate to say this but this is what you see: huge hotels going up, major construction work, and it's as obvious as the nose on your face. Change is coming. And with it, everything that the people we just stayed with know and love as their way of life. Because what can be monetized will be, and what tourists are curious about (like everything I just treasured as private and special and quiet and simple and in the middle of nowhere) is going to likely be opened up to tourism for its curiosity factor to the outside world. Am I a cynic? Yep. Being a Floridian, I watched what happened to my state pre and post Disney. Living in Winter Haven, where Cypress Gardens was the only tourist trap in the entire state prior to Walt. And then after. Trust me. I don't trust a developer with a "vision" and a government talking about "progress." So we drove through "progress" and into what the hell that "progress" had wrought in Sa pa.

By that I mean what had happened to the way of life for the tribal people. With thousands and thousands of tourist invading and their land overwhelmed with hotels and roads and "progress" and resorts, the tribal women are reduced to standing around on the streets in great numbers and accosting every single tourist and asking you to buy the very same thing over and over and over and over and over. Their kids do too. They follow you into shops, out of shops, on the street, across the street, they hover at door jambs, they wait at hotel entrances, they have become used car salesmen and beggars. And it breaks my heart. What else are they to do? They are insistent and aggressive and unrelenting. If they weren't in tribal dress they'd be considered something much worse. As it is at least they are picturesque but no less harrassing. And it frankly ruined my experience of the town, which was as traffic choked, noisy, pushy, full of beeps and honks and shoving as any downtown I've ever been in including Hanoi. I couldn't wait to get out. However, I was in for one great treat for which I am very greatful. And some fun stories.

Once we were in Catcat view hotel (read my TA review, NOT recommended unless you bring your own generator for heat) we headed to lunch which was lovely, then Chi led me off to the real tribal market. The real one. And it was. Now you have to realize a few things here. Chi's mom works here, she has a shop in the corner. Everyone knows everyone, this is a group of grandmothers and nieces and sisters and women mostly too old to go hawking on the street.They are damned good with their hands. What's in here is the real thing. They all know Chi and if Chi brings someone in that person has money. And that means fresh meat. And then the fun begins.

Chi's mom's shop was way in the back in the far corner. As soon as I'm in the door eyes are on me, and I'm checking them out too because I know damned well what's about to go down. Women start yelling hello! Where you from! What's your name! all in an attempt to waylay you into conversation and to get you to stop, and once stopped you're done for, because they have vice like grips on those old overworked hands, and once you're gripped, forget it. I make it to the corner, at which point I'm mobbed as Chi and her mother and I begin to decide what I want. I can feel hands grabbing at my shoulder, wrist, arms, waist, bulk pushing at me, people shoving purses in my face, women putting determined faces in my face (or as close as their stature could get) and trying emotional blackmail.

I had to simply ignore the cacaphony and focus on the business at hand, and I found a brilliantly colored runner which Chi's mom hemmed for me, and Chi and I picked out some hemp material and some beautiful turquoise designs for pillowcases. We agreed on a price.
At the other end of the market I spotted a splash of color that interested me among the blacks and deep indigos, and slipped past the crush to investigate. At the far end was a young woman sewing away, and she had a very pretty tribal skirt that was just the ticket. She let me try it on, it was inexpensive and I bought it, and Chi took a photo. I went back to her mother and on the way suffered murderous glances from the stiffed matrons, but when they saw I had a skirt, suddenly skirts were shoved in my face. One very large woman bullied me with her bulk and insisted that I would buy from her. I'm sure intimidation works with some people- and with her it was significant, but I looked at the gorilla grip she had on my right arm and the Mike Singleterry eyeball she was giving me (Bears fans can appreciate this if you're a defense lover) and I said, very calmly, "Kindly do NOT do that." And I stared her down. She let me go and walked away. Damn.

By the time early afternoon had rolled around, Chi's mom had finished the pillowcases and as we returned to the Saturday fray she was putting the finishing touches on the second, and cutting off the final strings. They were beautiful, pricey, but it doesn't get more handmade than when you can see it made right there. And it's done by someone you have met and enjoyed and you have a sense of the family the money is going to. All that felt terrific. All the same operators came back, including Chi's auntie, who returned with force but her goods didn't look any better the second time around. However, I had spotted some silver metal jewelry the first time through and I called on Chi to help me negotiate.

On this kind of thing Chi simply excelled and I really appreciated her help. These were her people, she knew the pricing and had a good sense of the value of things and what was real or not. I had chosen a very heavy, very narrow necklace that only people with very thin (read: scrawny) necks like mine can squeeze on. There are no clasps, you have to force it on. Heavy as the dickens so you have to have some size to wear it. The woman wanted a LOT. I offered way too little. She made a show and offered way too much back. This went on for a while and Chi told me to walk away. So I did, and this woman sat and stewed for a while. As I was walking out, I had to walk by her booth, and we made one last offer, which, natch she accepted, with a great flourish. She was happy, I was happy, now I have to carry the heavy damned beautiful thing. And it is gorgeous. Sure is.

So armed with our purchases, and our laundry at a local laundress through Chi, we head back to the hotel for the night. I've got food for the night and Chi is spending the night with her family (she needs a break too) so I am off to take a bath in what appeared to me to be a scuba gear only size tub. I cannot wait.

One has to keep in mind that this is winter, and that Sa pa is COLD. The hotel has no heat. The receptionists all wear down clothing and they are all freezing. They happily inform you that there are fireplaces in the rooms. What they don't tell you is that the guy with the wood doesn't get around to showing up until, say, around 9 pm, at which time you are a person shaped block of ice. I have Reynaud's disease. This is just not a good idea. I didn't bring expedition clothing on this trip, and this is wet wet wet cold, that misty humid cold that wiggles past down and sneaks into everything, and I am layered up with two hoods and my wool hat. I trundle downstairs and through chattering Chicklets I ask about heat. Ah! yes! For an extra ten dollar a night you have heater! GET ONE UP THERE NOW.

For an extra ten dollars I got a bright orange sun that sent a considerable amount of heat radiating into the ceiling, left the rest of the room icy, but did a nice job of keeping the sheets on the side of my bed from getting cold. And it lit the room up like a Florida beach all night too. It was right cheerful.

The bathtub? Ah yes. Dreams of submerging and soaking those hiked out bones. Well, I turned on the hot water only and figured that I'd see how far it would last. Good thing I checked it frequently because it didn't. I ended up with a tub of fairly warm water about a third full. Now I am a very thin woman, but I am long, so a third-filled tub means that to submerge this part means that these other wet parts are out in the cold air growing large goosebumps. So something was perpetually cold. Well soap was soapy, warm water is warm water, you work with what you got, and tell you what, after multiple nights of scrubbing just the three basics and not cleaning the rest it was very nice to get everything scrubbed red and clean. And moving very very fast to get it done.

At 6:30 I heard Serge and Marie's door open en route to dinner and I met them in the hallway, and while Serge protested, Marie got what I was trying to do, which was give these lovely people a nice dinner on their own. And me some privacy. I mean, come on, they had planned a trip for two with guide, I wasn't in their plan and vice versa, at some point they had to be wanting some time on their own. I really really enjoyed them, and in fact the photos I took of their holding hands and being sweet were very emotional for me.
We were going to exchange emails and photos and would continue this later.

I crawled into my bed which had- get this- a heated blanket, for which I was rather and let me not understate this EXTREMELY grateful since the heater was doing little more than acting like a Halloween light and warming the rafters. I slept like the dead. No wifi, btw, if you wanted that you had to go sit downstairs in the reception dressed like the Michelin Man. I will say they took pity on me, they did bring me a delicious cup of hot ginger tea, which was wonderful, and lasted a little while, but then the frost started forming on my lips again. I rolled over and put my head under the comforter to block out that brilliant sunshine,

On our next to last day I woke up to brilliant sunshine. Oh crap. That's the heater. I scraped the frost off the other side of the bed and hurtled towards the toilet where things weren't a great deal better, screamed when my nether parts touched the toilet seat (I've always been intrigued by the tonal quality of one's voice when those particular areas are involved because it's almost always preceded by a very sharp intake of breath). Danced the one legged Maasai stork dance when I washed my face until the water finally warmed up and thoroughly entertained myself until I finally heated and I got dressed enough to brave heading downstairs and see if I could get wi fi. Now in saying all this, I should also state that this is the same person who, a few years ago, when putting in the first and most beloved Mannheim Steamroller Christmas album of the season, went leaping across the house and landed in dining room shouting "BRING ON THE GRANOLA!!!"

An act which so stunned her that she walked into the bathroom, took a very close look at her reflection, mouthed "bring on the granola?" And she sat down for a long time, the cheery music flowing around her. After a while, deciding it was a fluke, and in fact a rather funny fluke, and not a sign of early onset dementia,it has become one of her favorite stories. So taking this in stride, don't trust much of anything she says. Ahem. The fact is that the Bring on the Granola story, is sadly, a true one, and had I been living with anyone else at the time I'm quite sure I'd have been quietly admitted by now. But no, I'm at loose and at large.

So I am downstairs working on my laptop with cold fingers when the rest of us appear, and off we head into the deep thick mists of the morning. Today we are off to go down the canyon towards our last homestay, and I hadn't read the itinerary (foolish me) and while I'd put aside stuff for the homestay I actually didn't really understand I'd be hiking about ten miles with a great deal of weight on my back- and this in particular when I later got a chance to see the conditions of that hike it would have been extremely difficult in the sticky, slippery, evil mud and streams and wet rocks we had to climb. Chi was annoyed with me (again) but we sent my overstocked bag along elsewhere, no biggie, and I hoisted Chi's backpack. We embarked on a very long downhill climb, which if anyone has done this before can be ugly on knees. If you duck walk it's much kinder, and also better for your pelvis. On and on. All the big lorries beeped. The motorcycles beeped. Everyone beeped. It hurt the ears. Incredibly annoying. People beeped when there was no call at all for it that you could see. Just to have a voice I think. BEEP BEEP BEEP. I wanted to punch someone for the headache that was forming between my eyes from the noise.

Along the way we got ambushed repeatedly by extremely young children trying to sell us bracelets, and I mean three year olds, who just walked up and murmured, god what do you do with that? I'm not going to encourage it, it's just short of begging, and underscores my point. They need to be in school not accosting tourists for money. If the damned government wants to spend money on progress let it invest in its children. My head gets hot. Grr. Not my country, not my people but you see my thinking here. People are poor where there is little education, especially where women are uneducated.

The hike took us up and down long roads, thin roads, washed out paths, up rocks and rivers and through villages. There was a tourist group just ahead of us. We walked along paths were indigo crops were grown, next to water buffalo. Up large hills to overlooks where we could see the terraced valleys below. The mists would part and come back again like theater curtains. The hills of bright red clay would sometimes have footholds cut into them like stairways, where they were too steep to climb, where the clay was too wet. We followed animal trails and concrete pathways, some of which widened out into real roads that were being built on very steep ground. There were signs of motorcycles making attempts up impossible hills. And always, we went down, and the hours went by, one by one.

Now those of you who have done this before know that fording streams while heading uphill on uneven slippery rocks is hard enough, with a backpack with no belt is also unpredictable, and in a conga line worse. So a great deal is done by momentum. Your eyes pick out the likely rocks and move move move move move move move. Until some June bug moron stops and says Lookee that over thar- and the whole damn line stops and there goes your momentum and you are now teetering with your backpack going here and everywhere and you shout MOVE IT with no malice but because you don't fancy landing on hard rocks, in icy cold water, breaking your bits and parts and getting really cold because some moron up front has no understanding at all for his place in the universe. Now trust me it's funny afterwards when you are on solid ground and then June bug moron is all offended because you called out his tender ego, but believe me, I have no problem letting people know that there is a responsibility for everyone behind you when you are coming up a mountain and it is a dangerous climb. Not just you, June buggy. I love it when we are more on our own and there's no OSHA around but I am big on personal responsibility.



Somewhere around 11:30 we found ourselves in a small village, again marked by women in tribal dress selling the same things as before, again following people everywhere. Our group went into a restaurant and Chi ordered for us. Soon a big meal landed at our table: chicken with vegetables, rice rolls, soup, a beef and vegetable dish, hot sweet cabbage, and fried eggs. about four minutes later I was looking at the remains of those dishes- what was left after I'd devoured my third of them- and Serge and Marie were laughing at me. They pushed what was left at me and urged me on. I hadn't been so hungry in days and days- not with dried river fish and some of other questionable smells wafting about. But this lunch was overwhelmingly delectable and I simply couldn't get enough. It was like making up for lost time, that, and we were buring a great deal of calories as we were hiking. While we sat at the table, our interpreter was giving us instructions and we were all listening to him. One of the tribal women came up behind him and mugged face at us and held up things for us to buy. We all shook our heads no. She pushed in closer and got in his way. We did this same thing. I shot her a warning glance because we needed to hear what this guy was saying and this was intrusive. This woman would not get the message. This went on and on and on. She held up item after item ignoring that she was interfering with a private conversation. It annoyed the holy poop out of me. As determined as a forest tick on wart hog. And that's what those three year olds are going to grow up into. That's what the VN government is creating with its progress. Oh hell, i don't have any feelings about it. Nah, not me.

We made our way slowly down into a pleasant, almost verdant valley, the rice paddies beginning to show a little green here and there. Chi led us into one of the villages which, because there was access from a road on another side, had some tourist traffic. This was obvious from the signage in the village, advertisements and the homestays in town. As we walked through I saw a shop featuring tribal ware and asked Chi to stop with me. Two things caught my eye- a full Flower Hmong outfit and a Black Hmong jacket. I tried both on, and the Flower Hmong outfit actually fit, only because I am small boned and very light. The skirt was too short, but not by much, and it wrapped around me several times. The problem, although it wasn't the skirt's fault, was that it was very very heavy with the magnificent hand embroidery which made it so beautiful. The other things, and this is what I had to do with in Argentina as I thought about a poncho, was would I wear it. The truth was, probably not. A big, heavy clumsy item that's expensive,a burden to carry that I wouldn't wear. Not good. But I sure loved it. However there was an equally interesting apron which could be worn over a pencil skirt as a statement piece and that did come home. Chi took photos, and I left happy. I have often since thought about that skirt, but it was the right decision.

We had another two hours of seriously challenging hiking to go so we escaped the backpackers and tourists and tribal women and continued on through the valley. Eventually the hike flattened out and it was mostly clear sailing until we reached our final destination, a homestay next to another homestay. No view, but with an unexpected bonus which showed up later. We came in, organized our luggage, and tea was served. There was a small bowl of intensely hot wood chips on the floor with low seats so we all sat around it.

As the evening drew on, and those in our party took hot showers, I realized we had a visitor. A puppy had inserted itself between Serge and Marie and was enjoying some attention. A while later said puppy found herself installed on my lap, getting the works, ears, neck,tummy, the whole shebang. She twisted her head around and landed some kisses on my mouth and promptly fell asleep on my lap. After being in country for two weeks and trying to do so much as simply pet an animal and getting snapped at, to be able to hold and cuddle a happy puppy was heaven on earth. I am never so joyful as to hold a warm animal and find all its happy places. Puppy (Bunny, as I was later to call her) stayed with me til we had to evict her to eat dinner, but she came back all night and scratched at the door. I'd have just as soon have come sleep with me, that would have made me delirious. But it would have exacerbated the problem I'd already started.

One last story from the previous night. As we hiked, Chi had gotten increasingly quiet, and I asked after her. She commented that her feet were hurting, and she was wearing really bad plastic shoes which were poor choices for the kind of hiking we were doing. Chances are she had blisters and there was no support. So after we'd all had showers and before Bunny had made her first appearance, Chi was sitting next to me next to the wood chip fire, barefoot. I grabbed up a foot, and massaged it. This wasn't a fumbling I have no idea what I'm doing massage, I am a trained massage from Esalen Institute so I know what I'm doing, and I did a really nice job on her. When finished I didn't get much of a reaction, more other people in the party made a deal out of it than Chi. Considering the strain in our connection this wasn't surprising. I'm quite sure at that point she didn't know how to say anything nice.

When I woke up early the next day the first thing I thought of was Bunny, so I headed out as soon as I could. I clapped my hands four times in the cool morning mist and second later a ball of brown and black fur came hurtling out of the bushes making a beeline for me, with a doggie smile wide as the sky. Hot on her heels was clearly daddy, a full blooded German Shepherd, who skidded to a stop with his big cold nose buried in my face, long tail waving. He was as pleasant and friendly as his daughter. Introductions made, as soon as that was accomplished, daughter and daddy set off to the morning's romp. They became a blur, which I did my best to capture on film. Mock rage and outrage, tumbling, growling, tossing, rolling, wrestling, daddy chasing, Bunny being hurled the ground, you'd think world war III was going on. I got called for coffee which I got quickly down my gullet, then returned to join the fun. This time I sat down on the patio, and Bunny landed on my lap. At once, so did ninety pounds of very energetic Dad, so the battle ensued on top of me, with legs waving and teeth flashing and tufts of German Shepherd hair disengaging and floating off in all directions. The host family came outside to see what on earth the fight was all about and watched me get snowed on, which every Shepherd lover is very familiar with. Bunny was in ecstasy: Daddy was here, we were playing, a human loved her, life was so good. Until. Yeah.

Well Chi and I had to go, we all said our final goodbyes. Except Bunny. Bunny didn't understand goodbye, she had just said hello, and that was the end of it. She was coming too, and come she did, right through town, which got her attacked, and when it became clear that she wasn't going home we had to come up with Plan B. We had to leave Bunny caged with a friend of Chi's and Chi called the homestay family to get her picked up. To this day all I have is Chi's word. I have very strong feelings about animals, I know they aren't shared in this culture, it's not my business, and it's not my place to criticize it. It just is. As we climbed I heard her distress cries all the way up the hill, and they still haunt me. Chi made a point of saying she'd probably be eaten, something I know full well, understand completely, and that hadn't needed to be said, except that Chi wanted to cause pain. Another reason I really wanted to get the day over and done with.

In sum, Ethnic Travel does a great job taking people to the isolated places of this country, and for that I am deeply grateful. I could have been better matched but hey, I really liked the French couple and there were some fun times and equally funny stories, and what is life without conflict? It was a long and silent seven hours back to Hanoi, I got a lot of reading done, and I am quite sure Chi was most happy to get in her cab and have me out of her hair. The reverse was true. I am currently hiding out from the rain in cool Hoi An, considering my options as I take a full day off to write, catch up, pound down lots and lots of cold yogurt, and take as many long, very HOT showers as I please. I'm a prune. But not for long. My birthday comes soon and adventure awaits.

More, please. And Happy Birthday!

What a great adventure. Hoi an will be much more relaxing and a bit of down time for you after all that hiking. We enjoyed our time there. Hope you also get to hue. Waiting for more and enjoying your well written report,

Thanks again to all. I spent a most happy day yesterday buried in my comfy bed making trips outside to buy strawberry yogurt which disappeared as soon as it was bought, and writing oodles and oodles of emails and trip reports. Today I am off to find a motorcycle company for local adventures, a place to fix my breaking watch band, and a long hike to work off the enormous and yummy breakfast that Sunflower Hotel offers. This is a tip for anyone who is looking for a place to stay. Sunflower's private rooms are just fine- when I landed, I'd signed on for the dorm, and this indeed a backpacker's haven, but I realized that I really just didn't want to deal with that kind of chaos at the moment. They had one room left and I nabbed it, and what a delight it's been to spread out and have a fridge and enjoy the real quiet of a top floor room and a big bed to myself and just BE for a while. $20 a night, fine by me, worth it. The backpackers here are as they are in all places, friendly and loud and happy and at night, drunk and disorderly, and while I can deal with that most of the time, not right now.

Yesterday morning was a special one because I buckled down and bought myself a lovely Jackson Rogue 9 bright red kayak for my birthday, and that will be waiting for me when I get back to Colorado. I used to buy designer clothing but now it's sports gear. I chuckle when I think about all those closets that used to house Armani that now are experiencing "gear creep," as scuba suits and backpacks are pushing the clothing towards consignment shops. Good riddance, I say.

Thanks for your kind compliments. And btw, I had to amend that piece about LONG showers when I assessed the size of the hot water supply in the bathroom. I'll be able to wash my hair only if turn off the water in between shampoo and condition and move really fast. Sigh. But hot it really is. And one more thing about Sunflower. So many places promise, but do not really deliver, on breakfast, and you end up with a hard roll, some jam and a piece of fruit and coffee. Here, there is a buffet that takes up half the room (not making this up) of noodle dishes, meat dishes, fresh fruit, bread, an omelet/egg cooking station, fresh juice, coffee and tea, you have more food and variety that you can possibly consume in one sitting. And it's terrific. You can prep yourself for a day's worth of stalking the stalls and emptying your wallet or going out on an adventure with the motorcycling folks, or doing what I did yesterday which was loll around and act like a pot bellied pig in my room all day and do nothing but write and shop and spend too much money on a kayak. The staff here all speak good English and they are very helpful, but this place only takes cash. There is a wall of shame of all the people who used bad credit cards next to the front desk as an explanation of why they not longer take plastic.

I had in my dreams imagined scuba diving here, which is a huge laugh, as I drove in my taxi along the shoreline to look out at the pounding grey China Sea. Not on your life do you dive in that. Not til around March. No worries. On my travels today I plan to go track down that cute little brown dog that climbed up in my lap the other day when I bought fruit. He decided that it was a very nice place to be when I gave him the Whole Body Scrubover, and he gave me this Look that said Where the hell have you been all my life Kiddo? So we stayed like that for a while until my thighs and knees started yelping and I put him down and he gave me a resigned look and walked off. He knows the drill. Sigh. So do I.

I have this hope that I will find something tribal out there after I buy a day on a motorcycle -it's overcast but not raining right now, and yesterday the first shy rays of sun actually slanted across the roof outside my windows so there is hope.

Loving a bit of down time but the long walks to the shopping areas are welcome exercise, gotta keep that up. Again, thank you for your kind words.

Loving your trip.