Looking out onto the terrain from the ridge of a mountain, Meo Vac looks just like a chessboard, with the H'mong peoples' new steel-roofed houses dotted across the landscape.
The houses were built under the policy of ha son, or moving down from the mountain, which helps relocate the locals from crags to lower lands.
My visit coincides with the middle of the dry season, so the dearth of water in this area is evermore apparent. The dry season, which lasts from October to April, turns the entire area into an arid landscape. Until recently, the only way the H'mong people could bring water to their homes was by carrying baskets on their backs from small streams. It could take several hours just to bring a small can of water back home. Nowadays, many families in Meo Vac have built water tanks, but when we arrive at their village, most are empty. Cultivable land is also no less scarce.
There's a brief respite between the dry reason and the rainy season that arrives in June and lasts for three months. Then, heavy downpours in the mountains sweep away the few patches of dirt that are nestled between the steep rocks. This forces the H'mong and Day people to lug soil and dirt from the lowlands so they can grow corn among the rocks.
Like the Kinh people (the group to which most Vietnamese belong), the H'mong people view Tet as the most important festival of the year. To prepare for the event, each household will try to have two pigs, killing one late in November or early December. The pork from the first pig will be cut into large pieces, mixed with salt and kept in the kitchen. On the 27th or 28th day of December, the second pig will be killed to use in other dishes. Besides pork, H'mong people also make cakes from glutinous rice and sweet potato.
The first through to the third day of the New Year are most important to the H'mong. The biggest gathering takes place on the third day, when all H'mong get together to look back on the past year.
Our next stop takes us on the road to Sang Pa B village, a pass that has been greatly improved with the recent addition of stone stairs. Our bus stops right by the side of the village and we're all received with curious stares from the children. Some years ago, the place only had a few houses, but with the relocation programme, it has become a rather crowded village. The availability of electricity and TV have increased people's expectations for Tet.
"On normal days, there are many interesting films on the television," says villager Thao Mi Thung. "But during Tet, there are so many more, my whole family loves it."
Meanwhile, Vua Mi Su is making maize wine to sell at the market to get money for Tet. He said that a 65-millilitre bottle of the wine can sell for about VND4,000 (25 cents). Some say this strong, hot spirit helps fend off the chill of the region. Others say it provides escape from the poverty and sadness. But to H'mong people, wine is as indispensable as water. It's something you have to drink with your whole body and soul, no matter if you're at home or at the market. Night seems to fall earlier in this mountainous town, turning the already cold air into frosty darkness, save for a few lights illuminating the road. From some spots, Meo Vac looks like a replica of Sapa.
On the way back, our bus nearly crashes into a truck, struggling with a turn that's too narrow and a view limited by the rock walls. Reaching the Quan Ba "heaven gate," the driver breathes a sigh of relief, because he feared we'd have to sleep on the bus due to the heavy fog.
The fog looks thick enough to put a knife through it, prompting the local saying, "I know you're near, but it will take half a day to meet you."
Time out