Last month, Ha Giang was cold. He and I took the bus from Hanoi to the city center at 5am. Walking in the fog and yellow lights, the cold of Ha Giang seeped into my thick coat, I inhaled the scent of the early morning dew, to satisfy my longing for the mountains and passes for the past few months. And so, the two of us - each with a backpack on the hazy road, walked to the motel to rest and rent a motorbike.
The weather this season is less sunny and more foggy. After finishing our bowl of bun cha, we started our 160 km journey to Lo Lo - Lung Cu village.
Ha Giang is very strange, every time I go up there I see something different. Different mountains, different clouds, the faint smell in the air is also different. Sometimes I go up there and the mountains seem very close, the clouds hovering close to my head. Sometimes I see the mountains as far away, the clouds high and silvery, I can’t smell the damp mist, I only feel the dryness of the sun running straight into my nose, making me awake. This time it was foggy. It was 10 o’clock, it was still raining and Quan Ba was still lying quietly under the opaque white blanket.
This time in Ha Giang, we decided not to enter any tourist attractions that charge fees. No Pao’s house, no Vuong family palace, no Lung Cu flagpole, no stopping along the way to take pictures and give a few tens of thousands to a few kids.
Of course, I understand that when I come to a place, visiting - with - a fee - is a way for me to contribute "a little" to that place. But this time, let randomness become the answer of nature, of enjoyment.
The road near Yen Minh pine forest
And, here are the places we went...
The green forest is vast, while the Nho Que River is as thin as a thread.
Ha Giang, everything is green. Blue sky, green mountains, green forests, even the river is deep green. I like to stand in areas with less tourists, on the extra land beside the asphalt road, watching the convoys of cars going down the pass below, occasionally a few people passing by, waving as if they have known each other for a long time. Below, the Nho Que River still rolls, as thin as a thin thread, also the thread that ties people to Ha Giang, so that whoever comes once will come again, whoever goes far away will always remember it...
Nho Que River seen from the Northernmost trekking route
Earthen houses with rows of golden corn
On the way to Pao’s house, we stopped in front of a small yard. Initially, I only intended to take pictures of the rows of yellow corn drying in front of the porch, but the “uncle” came out and waved his hand, inviting me to come in and explore inside. His Kinh accent sounded pleasant to the ears, and the house looked pleasing to the eye, making me stop and play for nearly half an hour.
The rammed earth house near the tourist attraction “Pao's House”
Lo Lo village precariously located at the headland of the Fatherland
The weather in the highlands is very strange. Cold rain, early evening, then evening quickly. At 5 pm, people's faces were still clearly visible. But half an hour later, the whole pass to Lung Cu was covered in fog. It was pitch dark, the wind blew into our jackets, freezing cold. At that time, only cars from Lung Cu went to Dong Van, not many people went back to Lo Lo. So, we were like people going against the flow on a one-way street. Cars and motorbikes rushed through the sharp bends. We went slowly, and very focused. Traveling in the dark was extremely difficult, but in return, a full day in the village was extremely worth it.
Early the next morning, the sky was clear. Drinking a cup of filter coffee, sitting on a swing watching the hills. The sound of cow and goat bells echoed on the high mountain slopes... it seemed like no one could break this freedom. At 10 o'clock, we started trekking to the real northern landmark - located in the forest, not Lung Cu flagpole. The road was not too difficult, just a little tiring for those who are not used to long journeys. On the way back, we stopped by Seo Lung village, which is also the first point marking the Nho Que river flowing into Vietnam. Usually, tourists would hire a tour guide, but we "risked" it, we explored it ourselves and felt it was really worth it, just like a faraway traveler lost in a new land.
And, the people we met...
The lovely village chief, the Japanese "uncle" who loves culture
Anyone who visits Lo Lo village can easily see the village chief and his Japanese "uncle" carrying a stick to pick up trash. Every day, they go around and pick up trash on the road. When I asked, I learned that the Japanese man had spent 20 years traveling and learning Vietnamese. He was extremely interested in the culture of ethnic minorities, especially the Lo Lo people, so he stayed here to research.
Lo Lo village chief and the Japanese man
The children are as beautiful as "flowers blooming on rocks"
I love watching the children in the highlands. Their faces have a somewhat innocent expression, a little excited and even suspicious when they see "strangers" visiting their homeland. But just spend a few minutes chatting, they can comfortably smile at me, and at the camera.
On the road to Dong Van, we met some children with baskets full of celosia flowers. They didn’t sell them, didn’t ask me for money. They didn’t understand what I was trying to say. But they were willing to knit me a flower crown. In return, I gave them some lollipops. And so, they kept looking back at me when I had to get back in the car and continue. A long look.
The old couple had their wedding photos taken for the first time.
In the afternoon, before leaving Lo Lo, we went around to visit the houses on the opposite side. I don’t know if it was still Lo Lo village, because there were no signs or labels. That was nice. I chatted with an old man. He invited us two to his house to visit and smoke tobacco. They were unusually hospitable. The old couple lived together, and only he understood Kinh language. His wife only looked at us and smiled from beginning to end. I teased: “You two are so affectionate, how long have you been married?”. “More than 50 years” - he replied. The mud-walled house had only one small lamp, the dim light not enough to illuminate the main room. I pointed at the camera and said: “Do you want to take a wedding photo to make up for it?”. They smiled. And so this photo was born. She looked at the photo, still shy like a girl who had just come to her husband’s house, stole a glance at him and then went to light the fire. So adorable!
22 years old young woman - with 4 small children
I don’t remember which village she was from, only vaguely on the pass near the foot of Meo Vac. The house was on the side of the road, exposed to gusts of wind. She was holding a little girl, and three other children were lined up beside her. She spoke to me in Kinh quite fluently. Out of habit, I called her sister, until she asked my age and said: “That’s the same age.”
Do Bich Thuy often talks about Mong girls who have many worries and age prematurely. But they are simple and content. Her smile to the little girl made me think about it as I left. After all, what makes them so happy? In a small house in the middle of winter, in a thin outfit and bare feet… And what makes so many people in the brightly lit city often frown and sigh in their warm rooms?
Our wandering journey in Ha Giang gradually came to an end. With the sound of the wind and the "intoxicating" mountain passes. With the laughter of children, with the drizzling rain on the roofs of the rammed earth houses, with the mist covering the stone fences...
Coming home, I feel dizzy again. Like a greedy and selfish traveler: I love Hanoi, but still miss Ha Giang dearly.
And then, today I sit down to write for the short and meaningful journey I have just passed, to write for a time in the future when I feel tired and need to calm down. I write for the beloved Ha Giang in my heart…
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Title taken from the poem "Buckwheat Flower" by author Lang Du Nguyen
