Back to Beyond

So on our second day in the Mai Chau area we went up – up increasingly small and winding roads and up steeper inclines to higher passes and upcountry to what felt like an area increasingly back of beyond – to where the H’Mong live in the hills. This area is high and mountainous and socked in enough that some people come here as “cloud chasers” – somewhat like storm chasers looking for tornados – seeking out the moments when the clouds hang in the valleys below and the sky is blue above. We drove there almost completely locked in clouds until right above our destination, when all of a sudden the clouds parted, and so lucked into the phenomenon without even trying.

We had run across the H’Mong before, in Lao, at a centre run by an organization dedicated to preserving artisanal skills in the outlying villages, and had seen their intricate and beautiful weaving, In Vietnam, we were told by our very urban Viet guide from Hanoi, the H’Mong had a different traditional trade – opium sales. It was explained to us that historically the local people, who lacked formal education, did not understand the “rule” that one should not grow poppies high up in hidden valleys and process them into the “white powder” and trek it over the nearby Lao border to be put into the international stream of commerce and thereby make millions of Dong with which to buy contraband arms sufficiently impressive that the regional police would not be inclined to drop in to check up. It was also explained to us that once this “rule” was explained to the H’Mong, and it was suggested that they could have electricity and simple paved roads if they switched from opium to small scale tourism, they responded positively and left the old ways behind. We later saw the concrete archway into what used to be the local head guy’s home and saw the large iron gates politely moved aside (by the tanks) and the attractive speckle pattern in the concrete (from the machine guns) to get some insight into how exactly the government explained all this.

We had lunch in a homestay’s dining area, on the open main floor of a stilt house, with a couple of dogs sitting hopefully nearby and a chicken wandering around looking lost. We were fed, as always, in a style that seems to combine both the desire to be a good host who ensures that their guests are fully provided for with the view that westerners eat like pigs. This meal featured gently spiced goat (a local specialty), “caramel pork”, deep fried fish, deep fried vegetarian and pork spring rolls, stir fried chicken, mango salad, steamed vegetables, deep fried sweet potato and deep fried banana, rice, and an egg, over easy. OK, but what’s for desert? On the wall was a peculiar multipiped traditional instrument, pictured below, on which our proprietor’s father was apparently an expert practitioner, and we heard a few notes played, and realized it sounded a bit like a Scottish bagpipe if you subtracted the drone and the urgent need to rip out your own eardrums to stop the pain, and wondered at the musical similarities of these two hill-living backwater people in such different parts of the world.

We walked off about 4% of lunch by putting in a few thousand steps to circumnavigate the village we were visiting. Dogs litter the landscape in this part of Vietnam, many lying in the middle of the road and getting up to move with no sense of urgency as we approach in a car. Presumably natural selection has fairly quickly sorted out the sufficiently attentive from the inattentive, as we never saw a dog get hit or a car really slow down. This may explain the complete absence of pugs, though it does not explain the corgi we saw one day. Anyhow our Viet guide from Hanoi is a little afraid of strange dogs – he says village dogs can tell if you are a stranger – and so he enlisted the son and nephew of our restauranteur to help us with local dogs. As the son was 10 years old, and the nephew about 5, it was not clear whether the intent was for the boys to scare off any dangerous dogs or whether we would feed them to the dogs to buy ourselves a head start. But we needn’t have worried. We saw only friendly dogs. And when we saw a large water buffalo being led on a string by a toddler and his younger sister we knew we were in good hands. And so we were able to have a relaxed walk, see the traditional houses in which these people live, and the beautiful woven skirts worn by all the women, and bask in the first sunshine we’d seen since coming to Vietnam almost a week ago.