It is actually 5 AM on the 22nd. The roosters are sounding the alarm and I can’t sleep due to the rock solid bed. Old bones need soft landings. I am watching dawn arrive from my cabin in the mountains. fog surrounds us, as darkness did last night. I have yet to experience this eco lodge’s as we arrived too late. Lighted pathways led us to our individual cabin.

Our six hour ride yesterday was interspersed with stops to photograph people drying and grinding tea leaves for preparation to send to be packaged. Frequent stops created views of rice fields clinging to mountainsides, interspersed with tea plantations and corn. Layers upon layers of patterns, and color inspired us.

This region is known for the most beautiful rice fields in Vietnam. Being more accessible than our previous location we began to experience more tourism. Where we did not see any foreigners before, we began to see more buses and obvious tourists. Having been spoiled and privileged with no one stepping into our photographs with a cell phone or posing to take selfies, we did not take kindly to the intrusion.

Information as to our daily activities comes slowly, or as we all suspected, purposely being sprung on us at the last minute. We found out we would again be on the back of motorbikes. The particular viewpoint we were going to was up at the very top of a steep mountain. A toothy grinning teenager motioned me onto his bike. Hardly on the back, he took off as if we were being chased by bandits into traffic, cutting across oncoming traffic to a narrow concrete pathway and up a hill at about a 40 percent grade. Hanging on the back, we sped around switchback curves, narrowly missing chickens, dogs, people and oncoming motor scooters while edging to the side of ten thousand drop into the valleys.

Arriving at the top, we experienced our first “tourist” experience. Shops rented various degrees of fancy Hmong dresses to wear while walking in the rice fields. People old and young hire photographers to come while they model. Groups of the younger generation gather to take selfies or Instagram style pictures, never bothering to look at the incredible view around them. It is all rather bizarre.

Once over the shock of this intrusion into one of the most spectacular sites I have ever experienced, we were able to walk away from the crowd and find areas with no tourists to photograph. Although I will say, the scene provided a form of “street photography.” Meanwhile, in the valley were workers cutting and thrashing the rice into a large container. The heat was oppressive and you wonder how they could stand it, dressed head to toe with protective clothes to keep them from getting sun burned.

The contrast with valley workers probably making three dollars an hour to the money spent by the tourist at the top shocked us. I imagine it is not much different in the U.S., with people posing against mountain scenery. The fields were beautiful with marigolds, and purple flowers planted along the rice paddies, wooden huts dotted throughout, and the ever changing shadows on the mountains, it creates an unforgettable scene.

One more ride up to the top of another mountain, this time I chose an older woman as my driver. The road was not as steep. I am becoming used to this form of getting to the top of mountains and for my 81 year old self I am happy not to be climbing up in this altitude and steepness.

Today brings another motor scooter ride and lunch in a family home. We are still among the Hmong tribes. The colors and patterns of Vietnam is what I will take with me.