The Festival Long Tong,
has just drawn to a close. The lanterns are down, the giant speakers that shook the limestone cliffs have finally stopped red-lining, and Ba Bể Lake has returned to its glassy, leaden stillness. But as the roar of the crowd fades, it is the echoes of nearly forgotten games that still linger in my mind.
Amidst the modern chaos, there is a bubble of resistance: games that barely make a sound, yet tell the entire story of a people’s agility.
Đánh Yến
Long before 4G reached these valleys, Đánh Yến was the original “ancestral Tinder.” The concept? A handcrafted shuttlecock (chicken feathers fixed into a wooden base) flicked back and forth with a small paddle.
Here, the goal isn’t a power smash. It’s connection. It was a highly coded game of courtship: keeping the shuttlecock in the air meant keeping the conversation alive. Dropping it was the equivalent of leaving someone on “read” ; a clumsy move that ended the moment. A social network of feathers and wind, far more poetic than any algorithm.
► Learn more : The Tay of Ba Be
Đánh Quay
For those who prefer a bit more impact, there is Đánh Quay. Let’s be honest: this is the “Heavy Metal,” 1.0 version of our kids’ Beyblades.
Except here, there are no neon plastic launchers. We’re talking solid, hand-carved ironwood tops, spun with a cord in a religious silence. The goal is to strike the opponent’s top and knock it out. It’s a duel of grounding and precision. When wood meets wood, the thud is dry and deep, a reminder that agility was once a matter of survival, not just a high score on a screen.
Đánh Khăng
In a similar vein, Đánh Khăng (a stick-tossing game) tested the reflexes of future hunters. A small stick, a sharp flick, and a trajectory that must be intercepted mid-air. It’s the school of discretion: these games require no shouting, no stadiums, just a clearing and unwavering focus.Why these echoes still matter
These games are on the decline, nibbled away by globalized entertainment. But watching them, you realize that the agility of the Tày and Nung people didn’t lie in brute force, but in the economy of movement and a respect for silence. The festival is over now. But if you listen closely near the shores of Ba Bể, you might still hear the frou-frou of a feathered shuttlecock or the “clack” of a wooden stick. It is the sound of a culture refusing to fade away without one last dance.
