I've been to Su Phì a few times and, coffeed and loaded up with water and bananas, I'm soon off. Over the river and head for Bản Luốc and my first home stay. Road is pretty quiet. A few motorbikes an hour scoot past. A couple of them slow down and offer me a lift. "Tôi thích đi bộ," I say. Given the choice between a motorbike and walking, I'm definitely in a minority here. "Where are you going?" says one young lady, offering me a lift. "Bản Luốc". "I live in Bản Luốc, maybe see you there," she says. I wave goodbye.
I arrive in Bản Luốc, a little hot and ready for lunch. Bản Luốc is a pretty small place. Well, maybe not a pretty small place, but a small place nonetheless. I sit on a wall by the post office and dig into my bag for lunch. A young boy turns up with an ice cold energy drink for me. The girl from the motorbike turns up a few moments later with some fruit. "Is this your son?" She laughs. "Brother." It's hard to judge ages in Vietnam. Well, it's hard for me, but she takes it well. And there's a continual battle to stop marriages involving girls who are under 18 or boys under 20. Posters round the region warn of the disadvantages and the punishments available.
I dig out the details of my homestay and check the map. Word has got around and the local policeman turns up. He points the way. I am dubious. He seems certain. We set off together. I don't think he gets much excitement in an average day and he seems happy to escort me to my homestay. Down down down we go. I am increasingly convinced that we're heading for the wrong homestay. We arrive at Nậm Lỳ Retreat. That was definitely not what I booked. I'm looking for Bản Luốc House. Much confusion. My Vietnamese isn't up to this. I get Diệp on to it by phone. I'm in the right place. It's just got the wrong name. I don't know anymore, but they've got tea, cool beer, great views, rice terraces. This is good. I settle in. This is what I came for. I dump my stuff and go exploring. Time well spent.
Still somewhat jet lagged I have two days here. I can see the Skyview Khánh Đinh homestay up the hill. Time to see what the view from there looks like. I hike up through the forest and rice terraces, getting lost along the way. The sun is beating down and their cats are zonked out on the concrete.
A cold Coke is forthcoming, but I have no change. The view is stunning. I book in for tomorrow. I'll pay you tomorrow, I say. No problem.
Back the next day for my first bit of real off road walking. Drop off my bag at SkyView.
Head off to see some rice. It's nice.
Breakfast time.
Decision time. Jet-lag is gone. Walking is not a problem. I can do this. Routine becomes walk to next homestay, drop bags, explore, fantastic food and just the right quantity of rice wine with my new hosts. Perfect.
Every homestay is empty, so I'm happy to be the first sign of recovery for them. Along the way, I am invited in for tea, or just a rest in the shade. This is not coffee country and many homestays don't run to coffee or cold beer, but tea is fine. Finally I hit the 30km stretch.
A lot of the route is a zig zag through the hills with no real shortcuts due to the steep terrain. Every time I take a picture, my phone suggests that maybe I should take a panorama. It's not wrong. As I walk, I see something happening in the distance at an isolated house. Robes, drums, people. I look up the words for funeral and wedding and prepare my question. As I get nearer, I can see that it's not a wedding, but I have been seen. I ask my carefully prepared question to a lady standing by. "Đây là một đám cưới hay một lễ tang?" "Lễ tang"" she says, "Xin mời vào"
The wooden house is dark and cool. Huge chunks of what is recognizably an ex-pig are cooking as the women bustle around preparing a feast. Neighbours are turning up in their finery. I go sit up at the far end with the old men drinking tea. It's not at all a sad affair. But it's not my affair and it didn't look like they were expecting any vegetarians. I am invited to stay for the feast, but I don't want to put them out. I know they would be happy to rustle something up for me, but this is not the day for that. I explain I have to go since I have miles to go before I sleep. I feel very privileged to have met them and will call in again next time. The camera never lies, but it often intrudes and so many times along the way, I collected special memories and, as recommended by the magisterial Mr Fripp, used my ears to record and my eyes to video them.
I already knew it in my heart, but walking is the perfect holiday speed. There is always time to stop and stare and I am at one with the landscape. This turns into a 35km day thanks to the ever helpful "Vâng" in reply to a navigational question.
But finally I find my target homestay. I am shown my sleeping quarters in a huge house, dump my bags and settle down for a nap. I wake to silence and a deserted house. I explore and then open the thick wooden doors to go out. My sandals have gone. Left on the door step and my only footwear, I am barefoot and alone. Strange. Who would want to take my sandals. They have all but become part of my feet. Surely no-one would want them?
Barefoot, I explore around the area. Ah, there they are. Only slightly chewed. Well, that's good. I hope the dog didn't catch anything. I've had my rabies jabs, so I'm sure I'll be fine.
I slip them on and go off to explore. A waterfall crashing down among the trees gives me my second skinny dip on this trip. Perfect. I drop back down to the road and head back towards the homestay. A roadside shack has drinks. My em ơi! creates some activity. A young pregnant lady comes down and fetches my drink. We chat family and my walking plans. I notice that she's missing a hand. Her mother arrives on a motorbike and my lady calls her husband down to take over as she sets off on her own motorbike, the stump jammed into a stiff glove cable-tied to the handlebar. I notice the husband is blind. We chat walking plans, then I notice that he too is missing a hand. Undoubtedly just another pair of victims of Vietnam's terrible road accident statistics getting on with life with the quiet dignity that is so common in Vietnam. I count my blessings.
Back to the homestay for a stunning vegetarian feast with my host and extended family. I am having the time of my life. Up with the lark, I call in and stock up with drinks at the drinks shack. The longest leg is over and today is an easy 13km or so down to the river at Quảng Nguyên. And I have yet to see a drop of rain.
On to Part 5
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