Part II - Sapa
After a day of walking through the streets of Hanoi we boarded the night train for Sa Pả. The train would take us from the capital to Lào Cai, a town on the Vietnamese-Chinese border and from there it would be a 30km bus drive to Sa Pả.
We walked briskly in between the trains of Hanoi station. The wagons were painted in blue, white and red and had a vintage feel to them. The wagons, divided into cabins, had flowery curtains that were tidily bunched at the sides and a small light topped with a pleated lampshade. Though it was April some of the cabin windows had Christmas decorations on them or a Santa Claus sprayed on in fake snow. We could see people settling into their cabin, either with a book, snuggling up in the fluffy duvet or uncorking a bottle of wine to enjoy during their journey.
Think of night trains and invariably you think of Harry Potter on a draughty train to Hogwarts hiding from Dementors, or Agatha Christie’s ‘Murder of the Orient Express’. But there was no murder on the train, although the person who kept snoring came close to being. There were no Dementors either but the lights flickering through the paper shades of the doors gave the train a spooky effect. Lying on my bunk, wrapped up under the duvets, I woke up several times to shadows floating by the paper shades. I thought it was someone going to the bathroom but I saw no feet walk by when I when I looked at the gap between the floor and the door. That could only mean one thing: Ghosts! After speaking to other passengers the following day I was not the only one think that. Our nocturnal hauntings were not ghosts but rather lights flickering from outside the train. Or perhaps I was wrong and we were travelling with spirits…
The train left Hanoi just after 9pm and arrived at Lào Cai just before 6am. Everyone stumbled out of the train, half asleep and slightly groggy. Men were unshaven and ladies’ hair, untied and messy was fluttering in the wind like candy floss, but everyone was in the mood for an adventure.
That afternoon we joined a tour group of Australian and British tourist for a visit to a traditional H’Mong village. There are around nine million H’Mong people worldwide of which roughly one million live in Vietnam and are considered are a minority group. Our guides came from the Black H’Mong group so named because of their indigo dye. Sa Pả is also home to the Flower H’Mong who take their name from the floral patterns and bright colours of their clothes.
We would be entering Giàng Tả Chải, a remote and traditional H’Mong village with a population of 1,500. It was not a place where tourists just wandered into so we needed our guide called Nhu (pronounced ‘new’). It felt like social voyeurism and I felt uncomfortable; a little like being caught snooping through someone’s medicine cabinet.
We followed Nhu as we strolled through the village, greeting people and waving at the young kids who giggled when they said hello. Nhu took us to the local kindergarten where the kids were playing on the climbing frames. We walked past fences made of bamboo with cobwebs so thick they looked like cotton wool. Pigs lay in the mud sleeping, the little ones nuzzling against each other. Roosters hopped from tin roof to tin roof.
Eventually we found ourselves in the far end of the village in front of someone’s garden.
‘Come in please’ said Nhu. We followed her into a courtyard and were then stepping into a family’s home.
‘Is this allowed?’ I asked Nhu.
‘Yes. Of course. This is part of your tour’ she laughed as if going into someone’s house was completely normal. The house was made of planks of wood nailed together. Gaps between the wooden beams allowed rays of light to shine through and small holes made sunlight looked like twinkling stars. The ground was flattened earth, which had been made hard by the countless footsteps. The kitchen was an area with a lit fire, the red fire gently glowing, and next to that was a small room next which belonged to the grandparents. A mezzanine of wood above the kitchen was the sleeping area of the parents while the children slept in the middle of the house where we were standing.
‘There is a toilet outside but no running water’ explained Nhu ‘so they boil water for their baths.’
‘How do they arrange it?’ I asked. ‘Is it one day men and the next day women?’
Nhu did her best to explain although my question may have been too direct and though I did not understand I dropped the subject.
We spoke to the grandmother who held her grandson, a toddler, lovingly. Being uncomfortable with people in his home he began to tear up. By western standards the home was poor but it did not feel that way. There was an elegance and deep sense of pride emitted by the grandmother and newly-weds whose house we were in.
I asked Nhu where she learnt English. She told me that she learnt it by herself by downloading an app on her phone and repeating the words. Another guide learnt English by watching TV and YouTube. Nhu’s motivation to learn English was to become a guide, which paid better than other jobs, and provide for her three-year old son. We left the village feeling a little awestruck by Nhu’s discipline and motivation. With whatever resources she had she was determined to create a better future for herself and her family.
*****
The following morning we walked through Sa Pả. Strolling through a street selling tourist knick-knacks and souvenirs we discovered a park. Not knowing where we were or where we were going we paid, entered and walked around aimlessly passing what looked like a garden designed by a mad landscape designer. It had rows of small fluorescent plants and trees of large mossy leaves. On one unused pond sat a statue of a large frog. There were willow-y trees, its rope-like branches swaying in the breeze just above wooden stools. It felt like we had stepped into the feudal kingdom of vengeful faeries ruled by a leprechaun. The whole place had an eerie feel and the fog only made it seem more atmospheric.
We made our way through the park to discover a number of oddities. There was a statue of a snake wearing a red cowboy hat, a two-metre statue of Tom from ‘Tom and Jerry’ and my personal favourite, a statue of a dragon that was reclining on an island in waterless pond, which was easily over four metres in length. It was kitsch to the core and I could not help but love the place. We walked through the park, amid mossy rocks and small crevices to reach the summit, which had stunning views of Sa Pả. The weather was temperamental so the lush green hills that was covered in sunshine were shrouded in mist in the space of 15 minutes. The park is called Ham Rong Mountain, meaning Dragon Jaw, and within Sa Pả town was the best thing we experienced. Interestingly it was not mentioned in our (well-known English-language) guidebook. So readers of Rey Magazine, you heard it here first.
*****
Wanting to see more of the area we signed up for a walking tour of Sa Pả’s rice paddies and later that afternoon we were greeted by our new guide, Chị, her name meaning elder sister. She was to guide us to the village of Cat Cat and then to the rice paddies.
Chi explained that the word for Cat Cat came from the French word for waterfall: cascade. A number of words in Vietnamese came from French such as ‘ga’ Vietnamese for station, which came from the French gare. ‘Ga tô’ came from the French work for cake, gateaux, and ‘xa lát’ means salad. However it was the English language that lent Vietnamese the most necessary word of all for tourists: ‘bia’. It is pronounced as it is read and if you have not figured it out by now, ‘bia’ means beer.
We began our tour through Cat Cat, whose main point of interest was a waterfall. Along the river were bamboo walkways and windmills made of corn. From there we walked along a wide road flanked by large bamboo trees growing to the height of a five-storey building. Bamboo can live to a decent 60 or 70 years. As the road narrowed we found ourselves walking amid the rice paddies, climbing over the dried earth and jumping from rock to rock. It was the beginning April and the soil had not yet been prepared for planting meaning we were not destroying any crops.
North Vietnam and the Sa Pả region has two seasons a year meaning that farmers can grow rice twice annually. By contrast, south Vietnam, which has all seasons allows farmers to collect rice at least three times a year meaning that they make more money. Having fewer seasons to grow rice means that farmers in north Vietnam need to find other revenue streams, so they work as farmers during the rice-harvesting season and find other employment when it comes to an end. Tourism is one option, for which Sa Pả is currently experiencing a boom, in terms of jobs in tourism and in construction. Seven years ago there were seven hotels in the town. Today there are over 300 hotels being built. At times the town felt like a big construction site with some odd architectural choices. One building, with a domed entrance whose external walls were painted in yellow, resembled something that could be found in Almaty and not amid a rural Vietnamese town surrounded by rice paddies.
By late afternoon we were high up in the hills and deep among the paddies. The sun’s rays jutted gently from behind the green mountains. We stopped for a moment to take in the view only to be disturbed by an odd squelching sound. It sounded like someone walking slowly in mud. Up ahead we spotted four water buffaloes grazing.
‘Water buffaloes are intelligent animals’ Chị explained. ‘They understand instruction and recognise your voice.’
We watched them graze but avoided them. One Australian man on the tour, who sensed our hesitation, told us that ‘water buffaloes have always been around humans, I doubt they would pay any attention to you.’ He made a fair point. They did ignore us as they masticated calmly on the plants and placidly plodded through the mud. Still, we kept our distance.
As we neared the end of our tour Chi pointed to what seemed to be a small mound of earth on a rice paddy. ‘This is a grave’ she announced and explained that the H’Mong did not have cemeteries and chose where they wanted to be buried, such as in a peaceful place in a rice field. There was no sign indicating it was a grave. The H’Mong people knew that it was, and that’s what mattered, but to anyone else it could have been anything. I wanted to ask how the system worked but it was getting late, people were tired and I was covered in mud from photographing the water buffaloes.
Suddenly we were surrounded by small children, some as little of five or six, who were making their way home from school, having walked an hour each way. Though they were strangers to Chi, she spoke to them as if she knew them. Familiarity and a strong sense of community were common among the H’Mong people.
As we approached the bus for our return some boys were climbing up the side of the mountain. It was as steep as it was beautiful. An old lady walked up the hill carrying a basket on her back. She wore colourful clothes and light green boots that protected her feet from the mud. One girl rushed to us selling us woven bracelets of H’Mong patterns for ₫500 each, the equivalent of US$0.20. We all bought one. How could we not?
The bus slowly made its way back to Sa Pả rattling along the road and was effortlessly overtaken by a young lady on a motorbike. She wore a helmet and her red dress fluttered in the wind as she zoomed by. She waved at us through her helmet and smiled. To me she was a symbol of Vietnamese resilience and hospitality and was, without a doubt, the coolest lady in Vietnam.
*****
Gold Stars
The food. Phở is a classic and make sure to try Bun Ca.
Temples. Make sure to read up about them to know the context.
Historical sites. Such as the Citadel, the Temple of Literature.
Rice paddies at sunset and water buffaloes.
The people. Always helpful, honest and welcoming.
Black Holes
Traffic. It can be tiresome hearing the honking.
Pollution. At times I could feel the pollution in my throat.
Tourists. Some are like ostriches running amok.
Vietnam in popular culture
Films: (Overwhelmingly on the Vietnam war). Good Morning Vietnam. Apocalypse Now. Platoon. Indochine. Heaven and Earth. Full Metal Jacket.
Books: ‘The Sympathiser’ by Viet Thanh Nguyen (2016 Pulitzer Prize Winner). ‘The Best We Could Do’ by Thi Bui (graphic novel).
End
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