Open horizons

The three mongrel dogs are panting, waiting for me next to a sprawling fig tree.
They are our guides.
A green tangle presses in firmly on all sides and the deep, rich smell of wet earth clings to me. The incline is sharp and the dogs are following a path that I can’t see.
I’m sweating heavily after the steep, humid climb.
When I get close, the dogs rustle forward again into the long grass and the mountain maze, expecting me to follow.
I can’t see the top yet.
I’m with my sister on Cat Ba Island, in Vietnam’s Halong Bay. The island is built from the same spectacular thrusts of karst limestone that the bay is famous for.
We’re staying in the centre of the island at the Cat Ba Eco-Lodge, which leans over the island’s national park.
Thao Nguyen, the owner of the Lodge, has lived here for most of his life and grows food on the property for visitors.
He is slim, well-tanned, and he is rarely seen without a cigarette. He eagerly welcomes us into the wooden bungalows, perched on stilts in a clearing.
My sister and I came here to get off the beaten track, to peak underneath the neon signs and the ‘socialist capitalism’ that are covering Vietnam.
“For the mountain, the dogs guide you up,” he says after we’ve thrown down our bags, pointing to the closest peak.
“Our other guests go there now.”
We throw on shoes and walk over to the pack: three dogs, three other tourists.
“Is it dangerous up there?” I ask.
“No,” he replies smiling, “the Vietnamese eat anything. We have eaten most of the spiders and snakes - even the poisonous,” he explains.
“The dogs scare anything else off.”
I don’t know if it was that reassurance or if it was the rush of green and black and brown that brought out some instinct in me, but I realize I’ve been running with these dogs for the last thirty minutes.
My sister is below with two young Brits and an older ex-military American.
I can’t see them but I can hear them in the distance, crackling through dead leaves.
I take a deep breath, look up, and smile hugely at the canopy.
I hear a rustle to my side and find one of the dogs staring at me - it’s back to make sure I’m still following.
His tongue is out and his tail is wagging vigorously. But then he pauses, his body still. He seems to be asking me: ‘do we have to stop?’
I look back up at the tops of the trees then shake my head, smiling again.
I call out to the others to hurry up then scramble over a rock to get in front of the dog.
We’re sprinting upwards, teeth bared in something like a grin.