nature

September 21

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Back on the motorbikes for a climb to the bamboo forest. This was more terrifying than the ride yesterday. It started out what has become the norm, 3-5 foot paths, steep hills, switchbacks curving in on each other, dogs, chickens, cattle, and the motor bike with grass sticking out from the back of the bike, threatening to knock you over as you pass. This time, there was a toll halfway up, which slowed down the progress. As if to make up for it, my driver zooms full sped plunging down a steep bank only to start up an incline that was half washed out. My last look, before I closed my eyes, was a tire width path with stones popping up everywhere, and a drop to nowhere you would want to look. In your mind you imagine being flung somewhere along the hillside, crashing downward. It makes no difference if your helmet fits or not, as it would do little to protect you. As you are hanging on, you are bouncing from side to side, the motorbike is rocking this way and that, coming close to the edge one minute and seemingly bouncing off the bank on the other side.

At this moment, you are asking yourself why it is so important to see a bamboo forest when your life is hanging by a thread. You imagine the phone call to your kids informing them their mom died while sailing off a motorbike into an abyss. Oh and if that is not enough, you finally get to the top of the steep hill where the path turns into a 2 foot path when down comes a loaded motorbike full of hay. The path maybe widened to 3 feet for the rest of the journey as you continue to climb ending at the top of the mountain. Your fellow travelers are either behind you, or are waiting with expressions of horror as you arrive. A group hug seemed to be necessary to calm our beating hearts.

The rest of the morning was spent walking through the bamboo forest and practicing portrait photography with a model dressed in her traditional Hmong clothes. We had an opportunity to really spend time with lighting filtering through the forest, and different setting. Lunch was served at a Hmong family home who specialized in batik. Then back on the motor bikes, waiting in anticipation for the single track, rock strewn path you had traversed earlier. By this time we were seasoned travelers prepared for the terror and the faith that we would come back to the road alive.

Off to another mountain, shaped like a dinosaur’s spines, but the light was too harsh. We stopped for a coffee. I mentioned to the guide that it would be nice if we could find an intimate spot to photograph rice workers without tourists in the shots. This is difficult because it is hard to stop on the narrow roads. However, we climbed to the second floor of a coffee shop only to discover rice workers right below us. I decided to go around the back of the building and there I found a path to walk down to the rice fields. An adorable puppy followed us as we descended the steep narrow path. Once down to the bottom we were able to photograph the workers at the same level.

Back in the van after an hour heading to the mountain range, with motor bikes, only to pull in as a rain storm began. Change of plans to head back to the lodge, with a walk through the forest on the way back if it stopped raining. Which it did. As we headed out on the path, views of rice fields, sunset reflections in water, and evening shadows advancing on the mountain with moon rise over the trees. Of course, we all stopped to get pictures when after 10 minutes our guide informed us that we had an hour walk ahead of us. None of us realized the “walk” was really a hike, nor did we realize our vans had left and were meeting us at the other end of the trail. Sometimes it is helpful to know the plan, but flexibility is the key word when you are on a trip like this.

We were rewarded with dinner of crispy fish, and the promise we could sleep in late (7:00pm), have a leisure morning before we left. The guides and our leader seemed very impressed that 8 older people were able to do what we accomplished, which is why I believe they decided to give us a “rest.” Or maybe they needed it more than we did.

September 21

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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.

September 15,2026

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The alarm sounds at 4:30 AM, ready for the dawn patrol, and a 5AM meeting time. What’s Ap starts binging with messages of pouring rain and decisions of whether we should go to the market which is only partially covered. Pouring rain was an understatement, one could not hope to step outside without getting completely soaked. We had been provided with raincoats that would fit the average 6 ‘5″ man weighing 350 pounds. So coverage was not the issue, however, suffocating under them and having them drag in the mud proved to be a challenge. Yet,we stoic dedicated photographers loaded ourselves into the vans provided.

Off a just waking up market, we were warned to look in all directions as not to be annihilated by motor scooters with 100 pounds of cabbage, or plywood, or just about anything you can load on a truck. Narrow pathways divided the stalls. The motorbikes wove in and out between people pushing loaded hand carts. Meanwhile the tarps that were held up by bending poles were releasing the water weight like a waterfall, dumping pounds of water onto the muddy lanes. Where were we? Trying desperately to stay dry. Some of our cameras went on strike from the moisture, even the iphones refused to submit to the weather. The raincoats for the camera did not really fit, the plastic bag trick failed, and whatever head gear we were wearing also failed. Our feet sloshed around in our shoes, and the inside of the rain gear was just about as wet as the outside from our sweating from the humidity.

After two hours of shooting we got together and exchanged stories of our interactions with people, animals, trucks, motor scooters and the rain. Off to breakfast of Pho in a tiny restaurant, then back to the a another market called the Thief’s market. Full of mechanical tools, wires, rubber, saws, compressors both used, and stolen, anything you could want to fix something was found here. Finding pictures to take was interesting, my favorite being the millions of electrical wires tangled together on poles, trees, or just about anywhere you can use to attach something. How anyone could figure out where wires provided electricity to what, would be anyone’s nightmare. Despite the rain, we had a great experience.

We are now looking forward to our massages before we get on a night train to Lao Cai outside Sapa. Up north into a non tourist areas, where we are hopeful it stops raining.