Lanscape, Nature, Journey - Danh lam thắng cảnh, hồi ký

[Lazy cat]

Nha Trang

Nha Trang has earned its place on Vietnam's tourist mainline partly on merit and partly due to its location. Much has changed here since the days when the Chams knew the area as Eatrang, the "river of the reeds" and the city now supports a population approaching 300,000.

By the time the Nguyen lords wrested this patch of the country from the Champa in the mid-seventeenth century, the intriguing Po Ngar Cham towers had already stood, stacked impressively on a hillside above the Cai, for over 700 years. They remain Nha Trang's most famous image, yet it's the coastline that brings tourists flocking.

Boasting the finest municipal beach in Vietnam, Nha Trang offers splendid scope for mellowing out on the sand, with hawkers on hand to supply paperbacks, fresh pineapple and massage. Scuba-diving classes are available here and several local companies offer popular day-trips to Nha Trang's outlying islands that combine island visits and snorkeling with an onboard feast of seafood.

Nha Trang is much more that a dozy backwater, however. The downtown area, which swirls around Cho Dam ("central market"), its colorful epicenter heaves with life; while the route up to the Po Nagar towers ******s you past the city's huge and photogenic fishing fleet. These, and other lesser sites around the city, are best seen by renting a bicycle for a day.

Should none of this appeal, Nha Trang is still a convenient stopover on the long haul between Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh, and blessed with a crop of decent restaurants and hotels.

[Lazy cat]

Halong bay

By Pham Thanh Long

History of the name "Halong"

"Ha Long" is literally translated as "Bay of Descending Dragons." Prior to the 19th century, this name was not recorded in any document or archive. When mentioning the present-day Quang Ninh Sea or Ha Long Bay, old historical books often referred to them by the names of An Bang, Luc Thuy or Van Don. Not until the late 19th century did the name of Halong Bay appear on a French Marine Map. "The Hai Phong News", a French newspaper of the time, had an article, "Dragon appears on Ha Long Bay", reporting the following story: In 1898 a sub-lieutenant named Lagredin, captaining the "Avalanse" reported seeing a huge sea snake on Ha Long Bay. This was also witnessed by many of the crew. Thus emerged the European image of the Asian dragon. Whether this appearance of a strange animal looking like a dragon resulted in the name of Ha Long Bay is not known (Reference Quang Ninh: Art and Culture published in 2002).

There is also a local legend, which has been handed down, relating to the name Ha Long Bay, which tells the following tale:

Long ago, in the first founding days, the Viet people were attacked by foreign aggressors. The Jade Emperor sent the Mother Dragon and her band of Child Dragons to help the Viet people fight the invaders. While the enemy vessels were launching massive attacks against the mainland, the dragons descended in flocks from the sky. They spat out innumerable pearls which changed into jade stone islands the moment they touched the water. These islands linked together to form firm citadels that checked the enemy's advance and smashed their vessels to pieces.

After the invaders were driven out, Mother Dragon and her Child Dragons did not return to Heaven but stayed on earth, right at the place where the battle occurred. The spot where the Mother Dragon landed was Ha Long, and where the Child Dragons came down was Bai Tu Long. The place where their tails violently wagged was called Long Vi, the present-day Tra Co Peninsula with its soft sandy beach stretching many kilometers.

[Lazy cat]

Bac Ha

By Samantha Coomber

The gateway to the mountains and hill tribes of North-east Vietnam begins with the inconspicuous Tran Quy Cap Station in Hanoi. Waiting for the night train, the cramped city terminal is standing room only, packed with Vietnamese families armed with mountains of bags and international backpackers resembling turtles. They are all heading for Lao Cai, the last stop in Vietnam before the Chinese border. For many, their final destination is the former French hill-station Sapa, a pretty mountain town with stunning overviews of sweeping valleys and the mysterious Mount Fanzipan. Having previously experienced the joys of Sapa, this time however I am en-route for its' relatively quieter neighbour, the sleepy Bac Ha - located on the other side of the mountains.

The overnight train journey is always a bit of an adventure and this time is no exception. I am squashed in a six-berth rail carriage with an over-enthusiastic Vietnamese family. They unravel bags of fresh fruit -plums, oranges and jackfruit, which they kindly offer me. I notice that they have managed to smuggle in two live chickens in a plastic basket, which the ticket inspector fails to see. Feeling worse for wear the following morning after sleeping on wooden slats (which is why the carriage is termed "hard sleeper") we sit dazed and look out through the iron bars across the train window. It is nearly 6am and as the train approaches Lao Cai, it passes a swollen river lined with coconut palms and water buffalo. As the sun makes its' first appearance, the mist slowly rises off the surrounding paddy fields. We are now only a few kilometres from the Chinese border.

The chilly, early morning temperature hits me as I stumble out of the train. A mass of passengers make their way through to waiting minibuses to whisk them up to Sapa, two hours away. I seem to be the only one travelling on to Bac Ha, apart from one German tourist. As I frantically look around for transportation, I quickly realize that this is fruitless. An enterprising local motorbike guide comes to my assistance. In faultless English he explains,

"There aren't any buses up today. You could hire a jeep together with the other boy to get to Bac Ha...."
He tells me the price. I nearly pass out.
"Or I can give you a lift up there..."
"What on?" I innocently ask. Although I know the answer, I am somehow in denial.
"Well you can ride on the back of my motorbike...it will take us about two hours and I can quote a reasonable price...."

With a choice of being stranded in dreary Lao Cai, taking out a second mortgage on a jeep ride or risking my life for a cheaper alternative, I wisely choose the third option. The negotiated price isn't bad and at least he can lend me a crash helmet - a rarity in Vietnam. My main concern is the horrendously large backpack (I never travel light) but this canny guide obviously has experience of this and straps it firmly to the front of the motorbike. There isn't much room on the pillion seat, so I keep sliding forward, a bit too close for comfort to the driver. And I don't even know his name.

After initial wobbles and heart seizure, I actually begin to enjoy the journey. Thankfully, it isn't raining, the skies are a clear light blue and the sun shines brilliantly. The road leaving Lao Cai gradually elevates up to the peace and serenity of the mountains. Some of the local minority hill-tribes, - the Flower Hmong people - so named because of their distinctive traditional costumes of embroidered flowers -wave us through with broad smiles. Snaking its' way up the mountainside, the route becomes increasingly steep with breathtaking views across terraced rice fields and smatterings of hillside communities. There isn't a problem with traffic because there isn't any - we have complete free reign of the roads.

At long last, we arrive at Bac Ha - surprisingly in one piece. Surrounded by distant mountains, Bac Ha is refreshingly timeless and seems to have escaped the onslaught of tourism as witnessed by Sapa. An unassuming agricultural community, its delightful rustic charm is still intact. The smell of musk wood fire permeates the morning air and chickens and pigs run amok along the dusty main street. During the day, all and sundry head out to the neighboring fields to work. Tourists are hardly catered for here - English is little spoken and there are no tourist agencies. There are only a few guesthouses and one or two simple pho restaurants. In mid-week- when I arrive - the place resembles a ghost town. At the weekend however when Bac Ha's Sunday market is underway, the town brims to capacity with tourists and many of the hill-tribe groups arriving in from outlying areas. But by Sunday evening, a mass exodus takes place and Bac Ha returns once more to its old deserted self.

[Lazy cat]

Thanks to my friendly guide, I find a delightful family-run guesthouse away from the centre- not that there is a great deal of noise to avoid. The room has simple wooden shutters and a shared balcony with excellent views across town. Thick bedding quilts and open fires indicate the drop in night-time temperatures. Each morning I am handed a thermos of hot water for concocting fragrant Chinese tea.

There are some interesting little hikes around Bac Ha that can keep you entertained for days. Some of the fourteen hill-tribes in the vicinity can be visited; as well as the Hmong, these also include the Tay and Dao. The circuitous, narrow paths from town lead up to their remote bamboo thatched huts and deep-inclining cultivated land. Farmers and bell-clad cows sidle past regularly. Every so often there are large, dilapidated barns crammed to the rafters with harvested gourds, sweetcorn and grain. On one of several forays with a local guide, we arrive at a remote hamlet. Friends of the guide invite us inside their simple abode; dirt poor, their hospitality is overwhelming. We sit on the bare floor and they encourage me to partake in the ritual of smoking on the family's pipe. The inhalation of the purest tobacco takes my breath away- literally -and we spend a few idle moments chatting and smoking.

It is the markets however that are the greatest attraction here. Whilst the most convenient and well known is the market held in the town centre, there are also a couple of markets located outside Bac Ha. Although quite difficult to get to, they are well worth the effort. I am particularly keen to visit Can Cau Market: held each Saturday morning this ties in perfectly with a weekend of market therapy. Although only 18kms north of Bac Ha, it is however a treacherous journey, especially if it's undertaken during the rainy season. Travelling independently again means that I must hire a motorbike guide. This time round though, my guide hardly speaks a word of English: he is just instructed to get me from A to B. This is probably not a wise arrangement if anything unfortunate should happen en-route. But setting off early, it is thankfully another gloriously beautiful day. Although a relatively short distance as the crow flies, it takes us over an hour to reach our destination on a hazardous tough track littered with stones. The route is extremely precarious, crossing fords and with the risk of sporadic landslides. The wide track hugs the side of the mountain and from its subsequent dizzy heights offers panoramic views across everlasting plains. After climbing high for some time, the final leg of the journey descends dramatically down into a secluded wooded valley.

Sprawling near the banks of a river, Can Cau Market is a clearly defined shantytown, packed with crude stalls covered with thatched roofs. The start of a few simple settlements can be seen high above, many of whose residents now make their weekly pilgrimage to the market. We are only 9kms from the Chinese border and some traders make the journey across from China on horseback. Unfortunately foreigners are not allowed to reciprocate this set-up, however tempting it may seem.

By 9 am, the market is crammed to capacity. It's lively and surprisingly fun. The locals are mostly of the Flower Hmong minority group. You can't miss them -their traditional costume of green checked headdress and multi-colored, meticiculosly stitched and layered garments are simply stunning. Few foreigners make it to Can Cau; those that do brave the journey come either with a small tour group in four-wheel drives, or - if half-mad and on a tight budget like me -on the back of a motorbike. The handful of Westerners here this morning are the object of intense - though friendly- scrutiny. There is much laughter as we try to make basic conversation. Although the majority are painfully shy and not accustomed to seeing foreigners, some cheerfully allow photographs to be taken.

Can Cau is predominately a livestock market and not the sort of place to buy some choice gifts for the folks back home. Beyond the fenced-in perimeter, pot-bellied pigs, chickens and water buffalo wait patiently by the river to be sold. They rub shoulders with magnificent wild horses, some of whom will be transporting their masters back over to China. But the market also sells the basics: traditional clothing, sacks of rice, bundles of coarse, raw wool and ironware. Some stalls sell fresh tobacco and a rather sad array of root vegetables. Many women sell their wares from large, wicker baskets and sit weaving whilst waiting for a sale. I note that there are many giant plastic containers lying around with attached tubes. I mistakenly think this is gasoline, but it is in fact the omni-present rice wine and some folk are spotted wisely filling up their water bottles for the long ride home. Food stalls serve bowls of steaming fat noodles in broth and indescribable plates of what I can only assume are some sort of animal innards. It is almost like being transported back in time. There are few traces of the outside world, save the occasional soccer tee-shirt cast off and digital watch. As I observe the incredible costumes, deep shyness and the dark, weather-beaten skins, it is hard to imagine that this is the same country as freewheeling Saigon City in the south. It might as well have been on another planet.

In the mood for more markets, I am in luck. Bac Ha's main draw - the town market - is held Sunday morning in the centre of town. Many tour buses direct from Sapa arrive especially for this event. They and the many hill-tribe groups arriving from out of town help swell the throngs and by midday, the large patch of cleared land is packed to capacity. Whilst somewhat more commercial than Can Cau, Bac Ha Market is still mesmerizing. This is a colorful and animated occasion; full of gaily-clad locals who gather each week for gossip, bartering and stocking up on goods. An indistinguishable riot of vivid designs from the hill-tribes' attire blurs with faded red umbrellas, used as a welcome relief from the scorching sun.

Like the previous market, hours are spent wandering around watching engaged sales and chatter. On the ground, piles of embroidered garments and bags, basic household goods and antiquated farming implements are neatly laid out. There are curious things to eat, such as honeyed rice cakes, unrecognizable fruits and a great line in fresh offal. At the side of the market, there are plenty of makeshift food stalls and interestingly a few rice wine outlets, where many of the men seemed to have congregated. Some who appear to have enjoyed one too many, gesture for me to come over and join them. Easily persuaded, I perch on wooden benches and am surrounded by an inquisitive crowd of males. They immediately hand me a chipped china cup that has seen better days. It overflows with rice wine, although it seems more like rocket fuel as it burns the back of my throat. The men giggle at my screwed up nose and after three glasses I have to make my excuses. I seem to float back to my guesthouse with not a care in the world. As I recover later on my balcony, sipping hot tea and watching the orange sun sink slowly behind faraway hills, I guess I haven't.

[Lazy cat]

Da-Lat

By MyLien Nguyen

Da-Lat.... a little, tucked away, mountainous town of Viet Nam. It is the place where I always long to go back. After the fall of Saigon into the Communists' hands, things became different. I visited Da-Lat for a week during my memorable and emotional trip back home last December. Still the same scenery but the atmosphere had changed. It was not quite like in the days of my youth. It was not quite like the picture that I had in my dream. The dream that I had recently in a happy moment of my life.

We are at the Valley of Love. We find ourselves lost in the thick of the hilly slopes covered with thousands of slender pine trees. The breeze from a bordering lake sweeps the sweet pine scent through each and every crack and crevice of our lungs. The trees with their long leafy stems swaying rhythmically in the howling wind like bows sliding up and down the violin strings, serenading our hearts. The sun is setting in the far west. Long wavy orange strips of sunlight weave to the movement of the water on the clear quiet lake adding beauty to the vision. The brisk cold evening air feels like it's cutting my blushy warm face. We silently meander through the forest, hand in hand, feeling the warmth radiating from each other's body and heart. Words are simply unnecessary. Silence is our accomplice. Explicit verbal exchange is reflected in our starry eyes and through our intense sensation of unity and harmony.

Wings of my dream carry me to the Romance Garden and gently lay me down in an embellished meadow of sunflowers. I lie there comfortably in my misty state of mind. The multitude of tall, straight-stalked sunflowers with their large leaves and perching heads surrounding me gives the comfort of a safe sanctuary. In the midst of the misty twilight of the day, a little jolly girl aimlessly and mindlessly hops on one flower then another, her transparent white frilly long dress floating in the west wind. Behind her, a handsome young man frantically follows her path, his arms waving to get her attention. He finally catches up to her. The crickets and the birds stop their chirping and lend their ears to the couple's giggling that echoes in the tranquillity of the late evening.

Dim vision of various familiar, spectacular, scenic settings flash by in the subconcious zone. Too quickly for the mind to register or be aware of the physical and emotional details of the events. The Lamenting Lake with its sadly ended and brokenhearted legend forever wears a mysterious and eerie expression, even more so on rainy days or in the foggy dawn or dusk of the day. Secretly tucked in the neck of the faraway woods, the foamy white Bridal Veil Waterfall, as always overpowering, energetic and aloof, stands up high as a monument of beauty and wonder. With its small population, primitive amongst others, the town has always been a center of tourist attraction. The hilly, shaded, deserted streets with the well-manicured lawns and patches of vibrantly colored exotic flowers bordering the villas give the town a classy character. It is not a ski resort but it resembles one. The refreshing mountain air and the ambiance of a small close-knit community remind me of Aspen, Colorado. The uniqueness of the town stems from the mixed traits of an urban district nestled in the wilderness where lifestyles reflect the dichotomy and the ambivalence between civilization and the old traditions.

We sit in a cozy little cafe' overlooking a thick green valley of pines. The me'lange of the sweet pine scent and the warm coffee aroma offers an exotic and tantalizing treat to the senses. The view, though blocked by the surrounding soft hills, seems to plunge into the limitless horizon. The romantic and melancholic sound of the music is therapeutic and soothing even to the most troubled minds.
Deeply moved by the surroundings, I blurt out a few poem verses in my native language, simple yet revealing. They come from the bottom of my racing heart. He smiles. A smile that is imbued with a touch of admiration, understanding and contentment. We talk for a long time. Things of the past, the present and the future. The meeting of the minds is so powerful that unspoken words and subtle expressions come to be revealing still. Time comes to an absolute standstill. We both plunge into the serene silence of the night.

The soft voice of the waitress suddenly brings me back to reality. To my dazzlement and disappointment, I find myself thousands of miles away from my most favorite place, alone in my half-lit bedroom. The morning sunshine diffusing into my room prepares me for a new day. Another day in the life of a single parent, alone on her way to the discovery of her own identity and the fulfillment of her dream.

Fallen leaves of '98

[Lazy cat]

at Ba Island

By Jeff Greenwald

29 March 2006, Cat Ba Island, Vietnam

What's an endangered monkey worth?

If it's a Golden-Maned Langur - found only on Cat Ba Island, off the coast of North Vietnam, a few hours' drive from Hanoi - the answer is, about a hundred bucks.

The Cat Ba langur is one of the world's most endangered primate (second only to China's Hainan Gibbon). There are only 64 Cat Ba langurs left - but that fact doesn't mean much to poachers.

Before coming to Vietnam, I'd had the impression the monkeys were hunted for their meat; the Vietnamese eat just about everything, including dogs, cats, and porcupines. I was mistaken. Since the langurs eat very tannic leaves, their meat is bitter; it's usually just thrown away.

The profit is in their bones, which are boiled down to a paste-like consistency, then steeped in rice brandy to make a medicinal tonic called "monkey balm wine."

"It's part of the belief that eating jungle creatures will make you powerful," says Rosie Stenke - a wiry and intense woman who supervises a German project, funded in part by Seacology, to save the langurs. "Especially black creatures. And the Cat Ba langur, though it has golden hair, is mostly black." A single monkey, she tells me, can net a hunter 1.5 million Vietnam dong: close to $100 U.S. dollars.

Trapping a langur takes luck - and commitment. They're rare and elusive. A poacher has to be ready to spend days in the jungle, climbing over jagged rocks and fending off snakes, mosquitoes, bees, and centipedes.

It's illegal to hunt langurs, of course, but enforcement is sketchy: Dr. Stenke and her project serve as the eyes and arms of the law.

Since Rosie is thin and dresses in black I expect her to be manic and cynical, but she's neither (not to excess, at least). She has been on Cat Ba island for more than five years, and has learned to be a politician as well as a conservationist. This means threading her way through the serpentine bureaucracy and iron-clad customs - many of which involve ritual toasts and drinking - of Vietnam.

Cat Ba is actually an archipelago, consisting of 366 islands. Many are tiny, and very close to the main island. In days past, huge mangrove swamps connected big Cat Ba with its satellites. When the mangroves were cut to build shrimp farms, a handful of langurs ended up marooned on separate isles. At present, the langur population on Cat Ba itself has 60 primates. There is a group of three females on an adjacent island, and one lone female on another. (Eventually, these females will be repatriated to the main group - although exactly how this will be accomplished is not yet clear.)

* * *

My first afternoon on Cat Ba island Rosie and I sit at the Nam Phuong Café, enjoying a lunch of noodles, spring rolls, and strong Vietnamese coffee. I learn a bit of her history. Rosie began her career studying primate behavior, "but once I understood the real issues, I switched to conservation." She spent 20 months in the Australian outback working with endangered wombats - the world's largest marsupial - before moving to Vietnam in October 2000 to run the Cat Ba langur conservation project for Germany's Zoological Society for the Conservation of Species and Populations (ZGAP).

Though Cat Ba is a pretty island, Cat Ba is not an attractive town. There's a utilitarian feel to the tourism industry, a display of hospitality with little real warmth.

"Two kinds of tourists come here," says Rosie. "For Asians, it's all about karaoke, seafood, and, for some, prostitution. For westerners, there's even less." The first part of the only hiking trail in the national park was recently paved by the park department, in a misguided attempt to promote tourism. Kayaking has been introduced, but it's sketchy, as the tides can be extremely low.

One attraction, for visitors like me, is boating between the hundreds of limestone islets, which tower out of the misty bay like tree-shrouded skyscrapers. On good days, it's like sailing into a traditional Chinese landscape paintings, gliding amidst a panorama of high karst cliffs.

But tourism development, Rosie tells me, affects conservation dramatically. "We have loss of habitat, and habitat fragmentation. Tour guides who have no education take tourists wherever they want; we even had people rock-climbing next to the caves where the langurs sleep. We're trying to reach an agreement now not to do such tours. That's why you don't see much advertising for langurs here. Luckily it's not easy to see them, either, so tour operators can't guarantee a sighting."

Some of the worst impacts on the natural environment have come from infrastructure for tourism - roads and hotels - and fish farms. Though Cat Ba is a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve, Vietnam's deputy Prime Minster declared in 2001 that Cat Ba was to be turned into a center for tourism and agriculture. Here, that means seafood farming.

Dividing the primate populations with such activities - road construction, new settlements, dikes and dams for shrimp and fish farms, even a proposed golf course - means cutting off communication between langur groups. This, needless to say, impacts reproductive activity. The situation is made even worse by the fact that the lead males are often the ones who get killed.

When trouble arrives, explains Rosie, "the lead male sits exposed, protecting his harem with obvious display behavior: a very loud call that can be heard for miles, as well as running, jumping and calling. So it's very easy to shoot them."

* * *

Cat Ba National Park Headquarters is located 8 miles north of Cat Ba town. The langur project's offices are housed in a typical "modern" Vietnamese building, built in the French Colonial in style. Rosie introduces me to her assistants. These are two enthusiastic young men - Hung, 25, and Tuyen, 24 - and a willowy British primate conservationist named Sally.

Rosie and I leave her office, and walk along the newly-paved trail leading from park headquarters into the jungle. Bauhinia trees - a favorite of langurs - flower with white blossoms, and tiny frogs hop across the bitumen roadway. Limestone cliffs surround us, vanishing into the fog. These are the flanks of ancient coral reefs, uplifted over the eons and smothered with vegetation.

A self-guided nature loop describes some of the jungle's greatest hits. I'm especially fascinated by the fish-tail palm, a tree that saved the lives of Cat Ba's residents during the American War. Haiphong harbor was under siege, and no food was getting to the locals. The palm's pith has a dough-like consistency, which the islanders used to make breads and cakes.

We talk as we walk. When Rosie arrived on Cat Ba Island, she tells me, there were 52 langurs in existence. Today, there are 64. The increase in numbers is due to an ingenious strategy that involves enlisting high-level commune members and leaders - some former poachers themselves - to serve as guardians for the primates.

"We needed to find people we could trust," says Rosie. "This means people who have a stable income from a business other than forest exploitation or hunting. Otherwise you put the hawk to guard the chicken house! They also needed to have influence in their community - you can't take the lowest community member, and put them into a position to protect langurs. So we ended up with people who, in the past, were among the most famous langur hunters. They had incredible knowledge about these animals, as well as a knowledge of the forest.

"The selection process took more than a year," she sighs, "but now we have three families who are direct langur bodyguards. They keep areas clean of hunters, and patrol jungles outside of the national park. These are our core langur bodyguards."

These individuals are certified law enforcement agents. They can confiscate boats, destroy hunting equipment, and expel or arrest poachers.

"Isn't that a bit dangerous?"

"Yes, it is. It's not often we are successful arresting people - but we do confiscate boats. You see a boat tied to a rock in an area that's clearly marked as a protected langur area. Depending on what you find in the boat, you can figure out what they're doing. If they are hunting, our men take the boats while they are still in the forest, so they can't escape."

* * *

[Lazy cat]

Sapa Rhapsody

By Ian Stuart

Hmong, Tai and Red Zhao have lived in Vietnam's North West since the 1700's, when the nomads began arriving from China.

Todays trekkers, marvelling at the lush Hoang Liem valley vistas, a tail end of the Himalayas, share in the diversity of village life and the customs when growing up and romancing here.

Fog and rain smother treks for almost half the year, but the curtain of fog parted at the start of this June four day trek.

Mr.Lan at the Sapa Heritage Centre directed me to a local Black Hmong guide.

Twenty kilometers from Sapa Miss Chang and I were dropped off. Way across the range, triangular firs forest the granite pyramids that jaw the upper valley. Vase shaped terraces slice the hills, pinned with lime green rice stalks. Arched backs plant rice for the annual harvest or press bullocks to plough on. Rooves lapel the hills down to the river.

But even forest habitats above 1,500 metres are being eroded and hunted in this nature reserve.

Hopscotching stones on slithery clay we pass an American woman blanching:

"Does it get any easier?"

Naively nonchalant, soon it's my feet sinking in three feet high mud ridges. Miss Chang's helping hand and broad valley smile see me through. She's pursuing her guide career, though illiterate. Hmong treasure their oral stories and musical heritage, especially for spring romancing.

Orange beak geese snap ochre butterflies whilst we picnic, steamed bamboo and rice, at the waterfall of Giang Ta Chai village.

Twenty three up and down kilometers later, fleeing a darkening sky, we reach our Tai guesthouse in Ban Den village. It straddles the Ta Van river, by a tower of greened limestone.

As the dawn sun curves, the Dad plays with his doting daughter on his lap.

'Here I can do what I like, in the fields and store,' he smiles.

His parents emigrated from Southern China thirty years ago to join the 1,200,000 Thais in Vietnam, her largest ethnic group.

Bright rice bundles are dropped by our stilt 'villa', built communally -and nailessly- in two days.

But getting drinking water had taken twelve hours. Setting out, dehydration collapses me under the shady stilts of a bemused local's home. Fortunately, Yoga postures-the headstand and plough - cools and cures.

We walk through scents of evaporating greenery to bird trills and paper trumpet melodies.

After a few hours the path smooths, legs relax, and the sky blossoms blue and white. Miss Chang, sweating, insists she wear the full Black Hmong dress. Her hair is rolled in a headband above heavy silvered earrings. The split fronted, indigo dyed hemp blouse undergarments a long shiny waistcoat which becomes an apron below an embroidered belt. Flower Hmong rainbow embroider entire outfits. Red, Blue and White Hmong colour code accordingly.

Crossing the sunset river leads up to Muong Bo village. Horses amble by as pillars of sunlight beam around the valley vista where shrikes, finch and barbet fly. Homes ring the rice fields.

The guest house is again Tai. A family altar photo shows valley fruits: papaya, guava, banana and mango. Outside, nusing near night shadowed corn, girls run and scream past me!

Perplexed, back on our rattan balcony, I ask Miss.Chang about Black Hmong courtship.

Suddenly, thunder pounds the sky, ziggurat lightening flares through clouds as an electric monsoon sieves the sky. She says friendlily:

'If a boy sees a girl he likes, then he asks friends about her. At Tet, the lunar New Year festival, he may serenade her with bamboo pan pipes, musical leaves, the Jew's harp and song:

'I'm a songbird with no branches
to perch on
You exude perfume like wild flowers
Come here if you've affection for me!'

He's dancing in waves around her, coaxing her to join in:

'You have heard wrong about me,
I'm as ugly as a flower
the bees dare not visit
If you are not teasing me then
Meet me at the next market day!
Village celebrations go on for months after a wedding.'

Lightning necklaces the sky; as green fire flies drift by, her lilting voice confides:

'If you want to marry a Hmong girl, I will tell you how she is, and how to play the pan pipes ! '

But beware: sociologists claim forced kidnap marriages of the girl are still common practise, causing unhappiness. Guides talk of feigned kidnappings of lovers.

By morning the rice trays brim over. All around the valley, bamboo age aquaducts chute water to u indented rice steppes and levers of rice husker arms. Water gurgles down into our bamboo kitchen' washing bowls and even the outdoor loo.

Sunlight spreads out of the grey. The river below churns white water past masses of red and orange mossed boulders.

Miss Chang considerately says the Red Zhao village is just a few kilometers up hill; it's ten. Nearing Sin Chai A, farming women chewing betel nut walk by. Ornate silver, French colonial coins, pom poms and tassels sway from their red cushion shaped turbans.

The cooling air tastes of the valley. Tall,broad thatched homes space forty degree clay paths between fowl ponds and allotments in which medicinal ginger grows. Doors are open and a family lets me in.

While the husband smokes from a broad bamboo tube, popular in Vietnam, his wife embroiders white geometric motifs of people, animals, trees and abstracts on black leggings. Their children look at me wistfully, shoulder length hair around oval faces, eyes warm and thoughtful like the villagers'.

By the fifteenth year they'll have full names, until then a guardian genie name. Genies are common in Vietnam. When Ho Chi Minh died, it is said, he transformed into the Vietminh's Guru genie. After three days a name to tell ancestors is given. Ancestor veneration is akin to religion in Vietnam. The Taoist baptism -Cap sac- bestows the full name: family lineage sequences the particles.

All approve as I try on a home spun long coat and baggy leggings,from their cupboard. It feels comfortable and roomy.

Chinese script between paper patterns festoon the living room wall. Zhao Shamans still recite from Zhao pronounced Chinese texts.

Their altar faces the entrance.That's in line with feng shui, harmonising living space with the elements. Its shelf under side is decorated with purple paper pitchers. A tassel of corn hangs on either side.

On the kitchen hearth sits a four by four foot wok. Dying and corn barrels line the room.

After photos, I walk up past the village square where Miss Chang is chatting in the café next to the school. TheGovernment encourages education and settled communities.

Above, in the shade of a long house, fifteen year old girlfriends embroider.

For the female cap sac, at age 13, mothers shave eyebrows and forehead before pouring hot wax on braided hair. It's then rolled into the dazzling turban. This epitomizes beauty for Zhao suitors.

Beetles zingywhirr from the forested path side is dusk's alarm clock: time to go home.

Field workers are returning, wooden ploughs and hoes over shoulders.

To the pulse of childhood, boys saunter on slopes that ring their rice basin, calling to friends and striding across ridges.

Wrinkly eyed bulls and calves scrutinize me.

It's day four and my lingering return to Sapa, via Supan. Exchanging " Go bo Chi" greetings, locals whoop and cheer us en route. We pass Danish trekkers, blue eyes bulging at panoramic views of the horse shoe valley vista we've been traversing.

Next morning, the Sapa sun genie vanished in a surge of fog and drizzle. Miss Chang returned to her family of twelve siblings. Her neighbourliness had attuned our trek to Mr. Lan's remark:

"The people love the land here so much."

* * * * *

Fact File

Best time to visit: October to December when it's cool and least rainy.

How to get there: The overnight train is clean and comfortable.

Guides: Ask at the Heritage museum about where to find a local guide. Miss Chang can be contacted via the Cat Cat guest house. Do say 'Goyongshizhou'from Ian!

Many tour agencies from Hanoi will organise your trip, such as Footprint, Handspan and Kim's Cafe.

Tips: Local guides care about the valley and so may give you more 'space' to appreciate the trek. Check and write out the route before starting. You may want to minimise the steep up and down trails.

Allow for rainy day activities in Sapa before the trek- such as visiting Dragon jaw park, the Art galleries, Cat Cat waterfall and chilling out. Books and C.D's aren't available in Sapa.

[evietnam]

Bạn có thể tìm thấy tất cả các thông tin tại đây, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Provinc...ietnam#Regions
Cần gì viết cho mệt.

[owen nguyen]

Phong Nha-Ke Bang national park, world heritage

heheeheh,it is frankly no doubt that Viet Nam has many many beauty spots which are recognized throughout the world. and, Phong Nha-Ke Bang in Quang Binh province(my hometown) is one of the most beautiful wolrd heritages all over the world.

Viet Nam's Phong Nha-Ke Bang national park has been recognised as a world natural heritage site by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) at its 27th general assembly session being held in Paris from June 30-July 5.

At the session, delegates from over 160 member countries of UNESCO World Heritage Convention agreed to include Phong Nha-Ke Bang park and 30 others worldwide to the list of world heritage sites.

Phong Nha-Ke Bang park is now the fifth UNESCO recognised site in Viet Nam after Ha Long Bay, the imperial city of Hue, the ancient quarter of Hoi An and the My Son historical site.

Phong Nha-Ke Bang national park, located to the north of the majestic Truong Son range in central Quang Binh province, is one of the world's two largest limestone regions.

The over 200,000 ha of parkland includes beautiful limestone formations, grottoes and caves, and boasts lush forestland covering 95 percent of the park area.

The area is considered a paradise for researchers and explorers of grottoes and caves, and Vietnamese and British scientists have so far surveyed 20 with a total length of 70km. Of them, 17 are in the Phong Nha area and three in the Ke Bang area.

The Phong Nha cave itself which lends its name to the whole system is probably the most beautiful of all, containing many fascinating rock formations, enchanting visitors with evocative names such as Lion, Fairy Caves, Royal Court and Buddha.

Besides the grotto and cave systems, Phong Nha has the longest underground rivers, the largest caverns and passageways, the widest and prettiest sand banks, and the most astonishing rock formations in the world.

According to initial statistics, the primitive tropical forest in Phong Nha-Ke Bang houses 140 families, 427 branches, and 751 species of high-rated plants, of which 36 species are endangered and listed in the Viet Nam Red Book. The forest is also home to 32 sets, 98 families, 256 races and 381 species of four land backboned animals. Sixty-six animal species are listed in the Viet Nam Red Book and 23 other species in the World Red Book. In general, Phong Nha-Ke Bang's animals are more diverse than in other natural reserves and national parks.

Phong Nha-Ke Bang also boasts dozens of mountain peaks of over 1,000 metres still unexplored by men and seen as ideal sites for activities like climbing and exploration. Worthy of note are Peak Co Rilata with the height of 1,128 m and Peak Co Preu, 1,213 m. Lying between these peaks are valleys which promise tourists exciting eco-tours.

In addition to the diversity in the ecosystem, Phong Nha-Ke Bang is home to archeological and historical relics, such as an ancient hieroglyphic script of the Cham ethnic minority, King Ham Nghi's base built for the resistance war against French colonialists in the late 19th century, and the Xuan Son ferry station, Ho Chi Minh Trail and Road 20 used during the US resistance war.

Central Quang Binh province has poured heavy investment into upgrading the Phong Nha-Ke Bang visitor site to turn it into the country's major tourist destination

[dolphin]

Hi, those are really long, nice stories abt Vietnam sightseeings. However, it would be far interesting if you post some pix shot by you. Would it be?