Upside Down at the Top of the World and Romancing the Vietnamese Jumping Leech

In my old age, I have started - at least on the shorter flights - to be semi-narcoleptic whenever I sit down in an airplane. It has not always been so. In my younger years, I was wide-eyed with wonder at the novelty of air travel, excited at the possibility of seeing new lands outside my window seat, and shockingly overcome with the anticipation of wondering what delicious snack the flight attendant would place onto my tray table.

Now, it's not surprising to find me sleeping before the plane lifts off - not to be roused until the earth-shattering rumble of landing. And as the attendants often pass over any premature sleepers, I hardly know what they serve for mid-flight snacks anymore!

To spread the blame a bit, I will say that my recent history of flying has been rather horrific, so perhaps this automatic sleeping mechanism that engages whenever I set foot on any sort of domestic flight is just a matter of self defense.

Whatever the case may be, this past week we took an airplane from Saigon to Hue for a 5-day whirlwind (and thoroughly exhausting) tour of the Central Highlands of Vietnam. We had arrived at the airport around 3:30, and every spare second that we were not moving or checking in, I would scurry off to a quiet corner, enthralled by the fifth Harry Potter (which I just finished for the first time).

I read in line at our check-in. I read going up the tiny escalator to the main terminal. I read against a post on the floor of the terminal. I read in a house. I read with a mouse, and really just about any other rhyming thing that Dr. Seuss could have conjured up, including the ENTIRE flight.

Perhaps it's just Vietnam Airlines, but I found myself thoroughly enjoying the flight (minus the snacks, which since I have been sleeping for the past five years, have started to include little mixed nut goodies again...which is never good for me). My eyes grew wide again as I watched these thousand story clouds lurking around our plane and then as we began descending into Hue, I just about passed out with awe as I stuck my head into the little window to behold the sun setting over a shimmering, rippled ocean, being watched over by a range of misty mountains just inland from the beach.

Being in a bit of a magical mindset (thanks to Mr. Potter and friends), I couldn't help but think that this place was a bit mystical - a Shangri-La almost. And while I was completely dumbstruck with the entire landscape forming outside of my window, it was the mountains that drew me the most.

So it would come as no surprise, days later, when I found myself on a dinghy, vinyl-sided house boat contraption, cruising down the Perfume River towards the beach, that I would twist myself on my plastic chair - perched so daintily on the rickety wooden boards that exposed the brown (and un-perfumed) water - to look back to the mountains.

"I just want to climb up into them sometimes," I heard myself say.

And that's exactly what we did the next day, as we boarded a bus at 6:30 (with much groaning) in the morning, on our way to Bach Ma National Park - where we would be hinking to Bach Ma Summit as well as to a waterfall in the middle of the park (and the mountains).

***

In the Bach Ma mountains, the higher you go the more your surroundings begin to resemble the bottom of the sea.

The rain was a pleasant drizzle at the bottom of the mountains, but as our van began to wind its ways up into the hills, the rain began to pick up, such that by the time we got out of the van at the mouth to the trail of the summit, we found ourselves in a cold, torrential rain. While the breaks in the trees on the road up the mountain had initially been frames to breathtaking countryside, any openings in trees where we got out of our van yielded only a white wall of cloud.

Nevertheless, to avoid making our 6:30 wake-up call completely fruitless, we pushed on and started the hike to the summit, where we arrived 30 minutes later.

By the time we had reached the top of the mountain, we had passed so far as to rise above many of the view-obstructing clouds. Now they lay in little sandy puddles in the palms of the mountains. From time to time, a particularly strong gust of wind would pick up and suddenly the clouds would look like the sand on the ocean floor disturbed by stomping child's foot. The trees' foliage swayed and waved like coral and other ocean-bottom dwelling plants, and the wind would get so strong at points that the rain not only swept sideways across the hills, but upwards.
*Thinking it would be fun, Pablo, David, and I moved to the edge to test how far our spit might fly if we spat into the vicious current. While David and mine both darted away into Cambodia, Pablo's formed itself into a perfect sphere and floated slowly just past David and my horrified faces.

After a quick lunch, we started our second hike deeper into the mountains to find the waterfall.

This was a much more jungle-like hike as the sun became obscured by the thick bamboo and trees that surrounded us - giving the sense of walking through a tunnel. We walked, trying to take in the beauty of this seemingly untouched (not counting the cleared path...and signs... with directional arrows) place that we were treading across. We walked - heads up - taking in our surroudings, when suddenly a shrill scream leapt out from the back of our pack.

"GET IT OFF!! GET IT OFF!!"

We had met the Vietnamese Jumping Leech.

*In fairness, I'm not sure that they're actually called "jumping" (or Vietnamese) but judging by the places these creatures began to appear, we could only assume that they were jumping to get there.

A quick note on leeches. I'm sure many of you have seen inchworms before. They are cuddly, innocent little worms that crawl by shifting their bodies between a straight line and a shape resembling a horse shoe. They are harmless and were created for the sole purpose of humans spend afternoons pointing at them and remarking how cute they are. Now imagine their evil cousin, and you will have the Vietnamese Jumping Leech. Although both are the same size, there are two primary differences between the two creatures. First, the inchworm is green, while the leech is black. Second (and most importantly), while the inchworm showers you with love and goodness, leeches suck your blood.

Needless to say, the remainder of our journey to the waterfall was spent skipping over murky puddles with our eyes glued to the jungle floor rather than our magical (and probably equally hazardous) surroudings.

By the time we reached the top of the waterfall, our shoes had filled with water, our clothes were soaked with rain, and our legs were aching with exhaustion. Yet despite our exhaustion, we had promised ourselves at the beginning of the hike to take the 700 steps down to the bottom of the waterfall.

The pain set in almost immediately. I watched my shoes foam with water every step I took down the steps. David began singing "Waterfalls" by TLC. Rob and Kelsey took turns counting each of the 700 steps (Rob would exclaim "SEGA!" as he jumped down onto the 600th step. Our exhaustion and enthusiam began to peter away into something more along the lines of drunken hysteria, until finally to our relief (or disappointment...I'm still not sure which) we came to the end on step 675 (liars!).

Without the luxury of a picture (which could never capture the true beauty of this hidden valley we found ourself in), it is almost impossible to explain how beautiful the valley was. I think every last drop of blood had rushed to my legs rather than my brain, making thoughtful observations non-existent. Again, it was mystical.

We struggled back up the 670 stairs and collapsed at the top of the waterfall with our thighs howling in pain. After another leech check, we went back through our previous, leech-filled path to a final opening and the end of our hike.

More leech checks and screaming followed as we boarded the van back to our hotel. When we arrived we stripped down to underwear, shaking with terror at the leeches on our legs and feet (Rob and I managed to have none, while Annalee seemed to have the most...including one she would discover after having napped) and began to smash the blood-filled creatures all over the patio of our hotel. Finishing the battle, we passed out for a while, waking up just in time for dinner and the most complete, perfect rainbow we've ever seen.

We watched as it grew more vibrant and clear - it's end seeming to fall right into the trees on the side of our valley. We watched - exhausted and yet fulfilled - and I could only think that the leprachaun (or whatever was waiting at the end of the rainbow) would have to wait until next time, because it seemed like hardly any pot of gold would ever be enough to sway us away from the prospect of dinner. And, anyway, there were leeches out there.