"One must endure a few caterpillars if one wishes to become acquainted with the butterflies." (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry)

This morning, we sit around the breakfast table, waiting for the rain to ease. No one is particularly enthusiastic about starting the 4-kilometre walk down to the bus. The group hopes for a ride instead. But then our guide David confirms: "We still have to walk down. With this weather, it isn't safe for the bus."
And the magic happens again.

Those kilometres of descent are filled with views of drifting clouds and shifting mist. The fog reveals only fragments of the landscape - parts of mountain peaks, parts of rice terraces. Against the white fairy-tale backdrop, the contours of the forest become even more striking.
Even those who were most sceptical about walking in the rain cannot help stopping, stunned, to take "just one more photo" of this dramatic landscape, which changes its appearance from one moment to the next.

Many people pass us on motorbikes, wrapped in plastic rain covers, struggling through the mud, yet still greeting us with that warm Vietnamese smile.
 

Peaceful scene in North Vietnam - Ha Giang | Mr Linh's Adventures

The rain grows heavier. And that is when a parallel between rain and culture comes to my mind:
It has been the same with this country from the very beginning. Those who are not willing to embrace a different breakfast, unfamiliar dishes, difficult roads, or long walks under the sun and rain will never truly get to know Vietnam.
We leave the Dao behind. We get from Thong Nguyen to Thon Tha village near Ha Giang. A two-hour bus ride brings us to new landscapes and a new ethnic group - the Tày, who traditionally live in the valleys and therefore build their houses on stilts.

And then it happens again.
Vietnam does not stop surprising us.
We thought we had already seen every kind of traditional house and village. We thought those endless rice fields had started to become ordinary, no longer capable of stopping us in our tracks or filling our cameras with yet another photograph. I must admit it: this is one of the most incredible walks of our entire journey. And I feel sorry for the two members of our group who chose to stay behind and rest at our Tày homestay.
 

Nhà sàn - traditional housing of the Tay ethnic group | Mr Linh's Adventures

I live among the Tày people by Ba Bể Lake, yet I have never seen anything quite like this. Here, without exception, every house is made of wood and bamboo, with roofs covered by seven layers of palm leaves. Some of these homes are more than seventy years old, even though the roofs must be replaced every thirty-five years.
These Tày houses are not merely built near the water, they seem to float upon it. Standing close together, they reflect the importance of community among the Tày, perhaps even more strongly than among the Vietnamese in general. When something significant needs to be done, such as building a house,  the entire village comes together. And when the new house is finished, the celebration is shared as well. Each guest arrives carrying a chicken, a kilo of rice, a bottle of happy water, and some firewood. And then the festivities begin ; three days of eating, drinking, and celebrating together.

The colours. Once again, the colours stop us in our tracks.
How many times have we been told that we should return in autumn, when the rice fields turn golden? But there we are - the end of May brings us our desired autumn! The heavy heads of sticky rice bow toward the earth. Some of these abundant sheaves have already found their way home, resting beneath those traditional roofs.

David leads us directly into the heart of the fields, with only the narrow concrete edges of the irrigation channels serving as our path. And so we immerse ourselves completely in the most iconic landscape of Vietnam.
We become one with the rice.

And, as the cherry on top, we are invited into the beautiful wood-and-bamboo Tày house of an eighty-seven-year-old man named Úp. The actual living quarters are upstairs, which means it is time to take off our shoes.
 

Local and rural life in the remote regions of North Vietnam | Mr Linh's Adventures

Yes, some of us do not like it. Is it because taking off and putting back on hiking shoes is a bit of an effort? Or because some are embarrassed by the smell that may have accumulated inside them? I do not know. All I know is that the people here do not care about the smell of shoes that have walked the world.
And there we are, gathered around this humble man, who sits cross-legged on his wooden floor - at eighty-seven years of age! - smiling at us and telling his story.
His two great-grandchildren appear for a moment, only to disappear shyly again. Yes, he lives here with four generations under one roof. He has five children, nine grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren. His wife passed away three years ago.

I look at him, and I feel honoured. I feel that we have a great deal to learn.

And as I said : to get to know water, one has to get wet.
To hell with those hiking shoes!