The bus headed northwest from Hanoi, firstly through the mass of humanity that is every street in Vietnam, then into luscious green countryside of rice paddies and villages.
The surrounds then changed again to mountainous terrain with steep drops on either side - no roadside barriers here.
Stopping at the summit, we could see our destination, the hill tribe village of Mai Chau far below in the valley.
We walked the last kilometre into the village, passing ponds with hundreds of ducks, plantings of taro and rice, and people going about their chores while children played with dogs. The mountains on either side of the valley with clouds of mist gave the area a travel-brochure feel.
Our host family occupied a long-house, living on the top floor with storage area and utilities below. It was basic and cool. On one of the beams were several framed photos of Ho Chi Minh and others with a young Vietnamese man.
On inquiring, I was told our host had been the Viet Cong commander in the area and received several commendations during the Vietnam War. As I looked towards this slight 77-year-old man my thoughts were negative and questioning. After three days in Vietnam we were still in culture shock.
Objectivity soon returned as I realised how grateful I was that war had not been my reality.
After a delicious meal and some colourful entertainment we prepared to settle down for the night. Thin mattresses, pillows and cotton blankets were given out. A mosquito net was drawn along a wire the length of the room, dividing it into areas large enough for two.
We could hear muffled sounds outside and I took what seemed like ages to get to sleep, only to be wakened by drumming, animal noises, wailing and the occasional motorcycle going by. What a night.
At 6.30am our house was awake and we learnt that the night noises were the start of a funeral two doors down, with mourners coming to pay their respects bringing money and food.
A pig arrived with its legs tied, carried on the back of a motorcycle. White scarves were worn on the heads of family members and on the shoulders of friends.
After breakfast, we walked around the village, coming across women cleaning a pig carcass in a waterway. We soon understood the truth in the saying that they use everything except the squeal.
Our gracious hosts bid us farewell and we returned to the chaos of Hanoi, enriched with an acceptance of another way of thinking and doing.
- Kay McKenzie lives in Dunedin.
