The next day I knew I was in for another walk, but counted on it being shorter. It was indeed shorter, only 1 ½ hours, but all uphill on a concrete path with no shade and in really hot, humid weather. We drove for half an hour to a village in a valley with local radio screaming out from a loudspeaker, and where the guide took me to Mr Lan’s house for a cup of tea. Mr Lan had built an upstairs storey on his house where he had made a dormitory for overnight visitors, he had to just ask the village elders for permission to do so. They made all the men of the village there help build it, and in return, Mr Lan had to throw daily dinner parties for them – no money changed hands. It sounded like a jolly good system.
Anyway, we trudged uphill, my guide picked leaves and crushed them with his fingers and put them under my nose until I recognised the smell as coriander or lemongrass or whatever. There were tiny piglets and chicks, geese, kittens, cocky dogs, a baby buffalo, and peasants of all ages from the village at the top, all striding along with a stamina that comes from daily necessity. It was not enjoyable at all, but was too embarrassed to tell the guide I wanted to turn back, and hoped that the next day I might enjoy it in retrospect.
Two small village kids at the top took my empty water bottles and bashed them up happily whilst their mother clearly wondered why I was so red-faced and sweaty, and breathed so noisily. The guide took me to another farmhouse in the village – they just say hello and can we come in – and again, it was just a large wooden barn but with electricity. It was lunchtime and the family were eating bowls of rice together at a low table, and paid us little attention. The village was poor and ramshakle like the ones yesterday, not charmingly rustic as the tourist guidebooks imply, and I felt like an intruder. We walked back down to the car and climbed gratefully back in.
But I am still enjoying both walks immensely in retrospect!