According to the young Red Dao woman with the incisor decoratively encased in gold, her village of Ta Phin had not seen the sky, let alone the sun, for six long weeks. The winter had been so cold and hard, she explained as we slopped along the muddy track (she in her plastic sandals, me in my hiking boots), that many villagers, including her own family, had lost at least one of their precious water buffalo, animals that cost upwards of eight million dong (£250) to replace.This level of hardship rather eclipsed our own. Yet there was no denying that our little group was feeling downcast by the lack of visibility in this remote region fabled for its glorious landscapes. Someone had even dared to breathe the word “depressing” as we peered into the monochrome murk. The hotel lobby was heated only by a mean little corner fireplace that had been reluctantly stoked with kindling by the hotel manager in his shiny, too-tight suit. The only reliable source of heat was bed, where the electric blankets were switched on around the clock; but you don’t journey to a hidden corner of Asia to go to bed. We had just arrived…