Following the river crossing of limited success, Lee stays off the beaten track. We’ve been gaining altitude steadily all day and by now are into the jungle. We head along an extended loose, rocky path, dotted with small dwellings, piglets dashing from the undergrowth as we approach. For a complete off road noobie like me, this is challenging but a huge amount of fun. I regain some pride by completing it with no feet down, made easier by having only Lee, confident and practised ahead of me to follow. I don’t think I’ve stopped grinning like a lunatic all day and now I’ve discovered that I need a dirt bike when I get home. Who knew?
Riding today ends when we cross a narrow suspension bridge into Bho Hoong village, home to a tribe of Co Tu people, one of the 54 ethnic minorities of Vietnam. Broadly equivalent to American Indians or Australian aborigines. Formerly nomadic, this village is part of a government project to integrate them more into the general population, while maintaining their history and traditions.
We park up, grab a beer and make ourselves at home in one of the thatched bungalows before a tour of the village. The 104 year old lady isn’t in the mood to be paraded today, but the war hero Mr Bui, credited with shooting down 5 American helicopters with a single shot hunting rifle, is on fine form and humour. Smiling, he plays five instruments for us on the steps of his home, including the local courting instrument that allows a man to turn into music, all the suggestions that wouldn’t be proper to say out loud to one’s beau in this society.
After the village tour, we are treated to a meal in the community hut. Traditionally used for tribal meetings and celebrations, the Co To seem comfortably pragmatic with using it to feed westerners tasty home cooked food – not much more authentic than this, miles off the beaten track. Mark doles out some mildly spicy coated chicken, and lets dad get halfway through the battered head before telling him what he’s eating. Being so humble, dad decides that he isn’t entirely comfortable with receiving such honor. We are insulated from the financial aspect of the Co Tu pragmatism by the tour company, but the villagers are welcoming and friendly without the slightest hint of resentment.
All chicken heads consumed (exclusively by Mark) we head out onto the steps of the hut for a display of Co Tu tribal dancing. It’s fair to say that several of us have reservations about this. Village tour and authentic food is one thing, but tribal dancing for the tourists stands a good chance of being painfully twee and put on, and just a bit naff. Happily, we couldn’t be more wrong. The drumming, chanting and rhythmic movements of the villagers around the fire are mesmeric. The children, a few years ago shunning this old dancing, are nowadays keen to take part for a puff on the crack pipe of attention. The older members happy that the dance gets to live for another generation. Circling the fire, a tapering semi-circle of men and boys, beating wooden swords on shields, follows and is followed by, a complimentary formation of women and girls, the smallest being tiny and cute as a button. Swaying, arms aloft and bent at the elbow, in time with the music.
Some of the guys take up the invitation to join in. Once the demonstration is over, we all relax over a few beers, reliving moments from the day, before fading away to an early night. It’s been a big day and we have an early start tomorrow.
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