I finally bought some water from the old woman who had a small stall set up in front of the hotel after I'd promised to buy something from her on the first day we arrived. Somehow, I'd missed her every time we walked up and down into town. She wished us luck for our journey to Hanoi as we descended the hill for the last time.
Whilst waiting at the bus station we witnessed our first scooter accident. Both vehicles and riders ended up on the floor but after a quick dusting down and inspection of wheels and goods, everybody went off on their way and it was business as usual. No exchange of details, insurance numbers or anything - just a few sharp words and glares.
Dusk fell as we left Sapa on the windy road down to Lao Cai and beyond. The silouhetted mountains of the Hoang Lien range overlooked our descent in their murk and I watched them pass by with traditional Vietnamese folk music playing through the bus, feeling a sense of peace and sadness.
The Vietnam my parents speak of is one of beautiful landscapes, of the sea and mountains. Here I sat watching scenery now only a distant memory to them. We drove by countless rural homesteads which were basic in construction and flanked by banana plants and other leafy green vegetation.
The road was barely wide enough to accomodate the passing of two large vehicles and many times the bus had to slow down to edge past a truck or bus coming the other way. Otherwise, the driver kept up a speed round the winding cutbacks capable only of somebody who knew the roads or was being reckless.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt but could not fully relax. The deep ditches and steep drops which appeared regularly on the side of the road, plus the memory of the overturned lorry on the way up to Sapa prevented this. Our overnight journey was routine apart from a random stop by the police to check the bus for contraband.
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