Xin Chao (Hello in Vietnamese),
I am sitting on the same computer that eloquently produced the last update but under different circumstances for these are the final days of our incredible journey to northern Vietnam. I am not speculating about future events or experiences but reflecting on the life changing ones that we had these last few days. When Steve and I had planned this trip all recommendations pointed to the indigenous epicenter of Sapa, a quaint mountain town, nestled in the Tonkinese Alps, which is only a stones-throw away from the Chinese border. When we departed the capital city of Hanoi with a population of 3.4 million, via sleeper train, we were craving a much quieter travel experience than what we have here in Hanoi with the continous movement of humanity at all hours of the day, congested traffic and BLARING horns.
After awaking from a nine hour slumber on a moving bed, also known as a sleeper train, we arrived in Lao Cai, the staging area for numerous rural cities like Sapa and the fabled Dien Bien Phu (the last French strong-hold before releasing their colonial grasp on Vietnam in 1954) as well as cross border travel into China. The eight of us boarded our prearranged micro bus and drove the windy road through the mist over Tram Ton pass (Vietnam's tallest), admiring the mountainous terrain. Upon our arrival to the 36,000 person town, consisting mostly of indigenous people, we were greeted by some of the Motignard hill tribes. The two primary groups are the Black Hmong, who wear black, indigo died, hemp apparel and the Red Xiao wear predominantly red, have shaven hair lines and sport this hat that is something similar to the Twi'lek tribe out of the Star War's saga. Both were there to greet us as soon as our van door opened with, "Hello, how are you?" and "Where you from?" After dealing with the "pusher man" mentality and broken English of the Hanoi street "hustlers" this seemed like a gracious interaction with the locals. Yet as we would soon find out these timid, diminutive mountain people are quite savvy in a free capitalist culture where the dollar/dong rules.
It was after breakfast where our group met the hordes of Hmong and Xiao street peddlers pushing trinkets and textiles that made the the hustlers of the big city seem tame. Common comments were, "Remember me? You say you buy..." With babies strapped to their back, rotten tooth smiles, and dark blue stained hands (from working with the idigo die they use to stain their clothes) it was hard to deny their merchandise. In reality it was overwhelming at times and after the first interaction with them their charm began to dwindle and the realities of a currency driven economy came to light. With a couple of students, as well as myself, on the rebound from a stomach ailment we trekked up a hill to find an impressive vista that provided a nearly 360 degree view of the area. While there, we were serenated to by a Vietnamese music group who sang us a few songs in their native language alchapelo style which was a beautiful treat to an equally impressive day.
Our next day was spent walking to the local tourist village of Cat Cat which, for many of our students, was a peek into third world living. With half naked children running amuck with snot rolling down their faces and a cough that made someone with emphezyma envious they became prime candidates for beautiful photos. Thatch roofed houses and harvested rice fields seemed to be common place as well as vendors selling their goods from stall that sporadically lined the streets. Upon our arrival to the centerpiece of the tour, a four foot cascading waterfall, the Asian music blaring from the speakers seemed to all of us a bit over the top. But when in a foreign country who are we to judge? We headed to the exit and rode on the back of some scooters the three kilometers back to the entrance of this "indigenous" theme park.
Our next day was the highlight of the trip as Steve had arranged to have a local H'mong woman, June, who was a 17 year old street peddler, take us to her village. With about eight Xiao and H'mong women with us, sporting their traditional wicker basket backpacks, our group hiked up and over a substantial hill and down an open valley to get to her house in a humble village called Zet Chan. Throughout our experience we hadn't seen many H'mong men and soon realized, through conversations with the women and actually viewing, their roles were to cook and take care of the water buffalo at home while the women tried to eek out an existence for the extended family.
When we entered June's rustic hut it was evident that they hadn't much except a plethora of mouths to feed and a roof over their heads. Because we were there to eat lunch and take in as much of the culture as they would allow our group began the initial stages of the immersion process. Following my lead they began to take pictures of the children and show them the pictures they took to the untrained eyes of the two to four year olds. I sat in the wood-fired kitchen with a couple of students watching the family prepare for us a cornucopia of meats and vegetables that would constitute our lunch. After, we then began the six kilometer migration loop trip through the passes, valleys and remote villages that made this trip so unique.
Along the way, we talked with our guides who spoke very good English about life as an indigenous female. It was shocking to hear these women who can speak Vietnamese, their local dialect and English, up to a fifth grade level, explain that they can't read or write. Also, they walk these same 13 kilometers every day to get to and from work and that growing crops (a staple of their heritage) was not being grown using their own hands because, "they have to make money to feed the children." Who said Globalization was a positive contributor to the global community? We then jumped on some motos and drove back to Sapa much to the elation of our students' tired legs.
Our last day was spent at the Sapa market buying more textiles and gifts for family and friends, fraternizing with the locals, smiling and saying goodbye to an area of the world that many of us want to return to some day. The question one has to ask is, will it be better than we remembered or worse? When I asked a beautiful H'mong woman, who was 33 looking like she was 43 due to the over exposure of a hard life and carrying a seven-month baby on her back what she thought about tourism? She sheepishly replied, "Of course I like it. I can buy things."
We are now in Hanoi writing a final paper on the novel we read this trip, Sorrow of War, by Bao Ninh and getting excited to return home to the States.
Until Peru,
