Up In The Hills

I'm in Sa Pa, north of Hanoi, up in the hills, away from the heat. It is close to the Chinese border. Up the narrow winding roads, surrounded by rice terraces, perched precariously on the steep hills and little villages dotted by the road. Unfortunately, the fog has rolled in and the rain has come down. So, we sit and look out the window thinking of the things we could be doing.

Ah well, it's good to rest, I guess. It's a good time to eat, drink coffee and haggle with the peasants. "You buy from me? You buy from me? Good price." The Mong girls are waiting at every doorway, with something to sell. When we turned down bangles and beads, we were offered hash, dope, opium and girls. I'm guessing we would have been offered boys, if we'd indicated our preferences. They are persistent, I'll give them that, if you make eye contact they are at you, you have started the proceedings.

Sa Pa reminds me of one of those Swiss mountain villages up in the hills. Kind of. It is reminiscent of the architecture and the layout; narrow streets that wind and buildings that are two and three stories high, with balconies on three sides to take full advantage of the views that fall away in every direction.

Tomorrow we are going trekking, if the weather holds off. Maybe we'll hire motor bikes and ride ourselves, maybe we'll get guides and pillion on the backs of their bikes. We'll see.