Small foggy copy

Despite the hustle and bustle of life everywhere, Pac Ngoi village (Nam Mau commune, Ba Be district, Bac Kan province) is still quiet and peaceful.

Dozens of houses appear and disappear on the mountainside. The gentle slope is bumpy. The large trees cast shadows, the tangled vines seem to preserve something mysterious about the mountains and forests. In the distance, clouds descend to cover the deep blue Lung Nham range, sometimes shrinking, sometimes loosening as if a hand were grabbing and throwing up white dust. Along the path to the village, there are wild sounds. The leaves of the forest rustle. The birds sing. The insects chirp. That alone is enough to evoke a heartbreaking desolation and desolation. Who has forgotten this place? No! Let that nature exist. Let the squirrel leisurely pick up dry fruit on the young grass wet with night dew. Let the bird carrying the morning dew gently fly by the window sill and chirp. People who live according to nature will find life peaceful and quiet.

Pac Ngoi Village. Photo: mytour.vn

The sun had risen but was not strong enough to lift the veil of mist. Pac Ngoi was even more beautiful when it was covered in mist. Mist wandered lazily on the faded tiled roofs. Mist clung to the wooden pillars. Mist peeked through the window cracks following the streaks of light into the house. Cool and hazy. The forest trees were also covered in mist. Dew drops rolled down the leaf tips, trying their best to swing themselves into the air. The morning sun tried to shine its rays on each sparkling glass drop. Under the porch, mist was still lingering. The wildflowers were shyly blooming their pink petals. The women in the village had gotten up early. The stove was red with fire. Smoke wafted out, mixing with the mist, drawing a thin pattern in the sky. The aroma was warm and fragrant. I threw off the blanket and sat by the fire. Ms. Duong Thi Thoa, the owner of the motel, was cooking sticky rice for breakfast to serve the guests. The sticky rice pot was steaming. After a while, the heat was so intense that it seemed to want to rip off the buttons. My feet were running on the wooden floor out into the hallway. Oh my! The mist blew coolly against my face. I reached out as if I could catch the mist. The wind carried the cold air from Ba Be Lake and blew into my suffocating chest. I stood there and inhaled deeply. I felt ecstatic. If only I could wrap up the mist, I would bring it back to the city as a gift. In a place of suffocating dust and smoke, just inhaling this mist would be so precious. The mist in Pac Ngoi seemed to have its own beauty. Thin wisps of mist from Lung Nham peak flowed through Puong Cave, hovered over Ba Be Lake, and glided over cornfields and rice fields in the valley. When entering the village, the mist carried the breath of the mountains and hills, the scent of green-leafed forest trees, and the rich taste of rice and corn. I don’t know if that’s why the dew-dried wild meat and the overnight stream fish were more flavorful and delicious. I just stood there watching the morning mist. Somewhere, in those distant, hazy houses, there must be some traveling eyes sending their love into the mist. The mist is like a painting that blurs everything so that for thousands of years the mountains and hills have remained silent, the Tay village is still peaceful and quiet. Even visitors from far away who come here to stay are captivated by the mist, not strong enough to make the scenery noisy and agitated. Therefore, Pac Ngoi is still beautiful, attractive, magical, and allows the imagination to wander. Visitors just follow the Then singing, follow the hillside, and are moved by the white mist to find their way here. There, the Tay women with black teeth and indigo shirts blow sticky rice every morning, blending into the smoke and mist to serve the visitors. Pac Ngoi is a meeting place for those who come to explore Ba Be. Come early to immerse yourself in the small misty village.

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