Trekking Sapa

Now we cross the river," she says, stealing a glance to gauge my reaction. My guides are a pair of Hmong youths, 13-year-old Chi and 11-year-old Sue. We're en route to Chi's home in the Hmong village of Y Linh Ho. At first I'm confused why we're not embarking by motorized transport, as most trekkers do. That is until we turn off the road and begin descending a steep, rocky cow path descending straight to the bottom of the valley, some 500 meters (1,650 feet) below.

Despite the 90-degree heat of what is surely the hottest day of the year in Sapa, my sure-footed companions zigzag down the steep mountain terrain like mountain goats. I struggle to keep up, occasionally pausing to snap a quick photo of the stunning terraced mountain scenery before continuing the descent.

"Don't forget, I'm an old man," I shout ahead.

They giggle.

"Really, I'm probably your father's age!"

They don't believe me.

"Nooo, you're like our brother. We're your sisters," they tell me. Later, when I meet Chi's mother I'll understand why. For now I let it lie, happy to pass for younger than my 40 years.

I stop and gaze wistfully at the rushing river below. As if reading my mind, Chi calls back, "you can swim in the river if you like," confirming my worst fears: we're really going all the way to the bottom of the valley.

Sapa trecking

That was an hour ago. Now at the river there are indeed children swimming naked in the cool, clear water, without a trace of modesty or self-consciousness. On the bank a handful of Hmong women decked out in indigo tunics and black leggings stare at me with curiosity, apparently they don't get a lot of visitors this far up the valley.

"Go ahead and swim if you want," insists Chi as she and Sue begin unwrapping their leggings from around their calves. Unsure of the local etiquette I'm hesitant to strip down to my BVDs and dive in. The girls settle for removing their leggings and simply wading into the water. I roll up my jeans and follow suit, splashing my face with the cool water.

That's when Chi informs me we have to ford the river. I follow them into the swift current. It's only thigh deep, but the current is strong and the loose rocky bottom makes for difficult footing. Chi instinctively reaches for my hand, her grip firm, hands rough, undoubtedly the result of working the rice paddies.

Safely on the far side of the river we continue our trek along the valley floor in the shadow of Mount Phan Si Pan,

Vietnam buffalo

Vietnam's highest peak. Balancing stone to stone, passing within arm's reach of curious water buffalo, the girls sing a folk song in their native tongue.

Both girls speak surprisingly good English in addition to Vietnamese and their native Hmong. They explain they grow up speaking Hmong at home, learn Vietnamese in school, and later English selling homemade wares to tourists in town. Both girls are charming, funny and very bright, not to mention tireless!

I ask if any of t