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Published: September 29th 2009
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Standing guard...
...while I eat my lunch Sapa in the Rain
My first sight of Sapa was the rain drenched evergreen trees crowding the side of the road and spilling down the rolling green hills and valleys that wrapped around us like a cozy blanket. Between the quiet meandering streets, shockingly verdant wilderness, and vibrantly patterned apparel of the local minority women, I felt as though I had left the bustling pace of Vietnam far behind me.
Walking through town I quickly gained an entourage of women from the Black Hmong tribe who were determined to stick as close to me as physically possible while I scoured the town in search of something to eat. They kept so close to me, in fact, that while attempting to sidle away to gain a bit of breathing room, I stepped right out in front of passing traffic. A woman speeding down the steep road on a motorbike was unable to completely avoid me and ended up ricocheting off my right hip. Thankfully I was able to absorb some of the impact, which prevented her from completely running me down. Despite knowing that it was at least partially my fault, I waved a fist after her in anger as
Hawking their wares
Minority tribal women selling their handiwork through the streets of Sapa she blithely continued on her way without even sparing a glance to see whether I was ok. Checking out the damage later that night, I wasn’t surprised to find a network of bruises along my shoulder, hip, and leg. But though I was pissed off that she hit me, I did find it slightly amusing that I would traverse through the streets of HCMC and Hanoi unscathed, only to get hit by a motorbike in the tiny little town of Sapa.
Eating lunch on a tiny veranda overlooking the main street, I watched as a ceaseless parade of minority women marched up and down the street attempting to sell their wares. Only the bravest approached me though, as my newfound friend Moo arrogantly staked out her claim and hissed at anybody who dared wander too close. Despite this domineering attitude, she still managed to gradually win me over with her brilliantly beautiful smile and soft-spoken speech. She offered to act as my guide the following day and take me out to her home for lunch. She promised me that it would be off the beaten tourist trail, and despite my skepticism, I agreed.
The next day, unfortunately, rained
cats and dogs. Moo and I rescheduled for the following day, and I spent my unexpected free time poking through the markets and meeting up with some friends that I had met earlier in the month.
When I woke up the following morning, I saw that the sky was grey but relatively clear. Wandering into Sapa, I caught sight of Moo’s older sister and stopped for a chat. She informed me that Moo was very upset because one of the other girls had told her that I had agreed to walk with her that day instead. I protested that this was not true, and her sister - in typical Vietnamese fashion - proclaimed that the other girl must have been joking. It continually baffles me that the people here maintain that even the most cruel and petty actions are merely “little jokes”. I guess I just don’t understand their sense of humour. Or maybe they don't understand the true definition of the term 'joking'.
Eventually I joined up with Moo and her sister Ma, and we went to the local market to pick up supplies for lunch. After a few unsuccessful attempts at bargaining, she eventually got me
Surveying the view...
...finally at the top of the mountain! to go and stand somewhere else as apparently my presence beside her caused the vendors to jack up their prices to twice the usual fare. Apparently I am perceived as a walking cash cow over here. TAfter 7 months in Asia, this attitude doesn’t surprise me.
We finally set off outside of the city limits. Initially I was walking with a rather large crowd of tourists and locals, but we soon veered off into an obscure little dirt lane and left the crowds behind us. Walking up a hill, I noticed that the air was becoming more damp and chilly. A fog began to rise up from the ground, obscuring the view and contributing to the eerie sensation that I was ensconced within an episode of the Twilight Zone. A misty rain began to fall, and Moo and her sister both whipped out an umbrella to shield them from the damp. I had not brought any raingear, on account of the fact that I didn’t own any, and so squeezed under Moo’s umbrella. The rain quickly picked up, drenching my sneakers and splashing over my pants. Moo eventually paused to wrap her daughter more firmly in a blanket. This
Slippery slope..
...the train down to her house caused the little baby to growl unhappily at being denied the view. I can’t really blame her…despite the rain, the view WAS pretty spectacular.
The rain began falling in earnest when we were about 2km from Moo’s home. It was too late to turn back, and miserable to continue forward. The walk down to her home was treacherously slippery, and I needed to grip her hand tightly in order to prevent myself from taking a tumble down the side of the mountain. It amazed me that these women could be so sure-footed in their skirts and rubber flip-flops.
Her home was a surprisingly large wooden building, complete with an outhouse, cooking deck, and multiple pig pens. Inside it was dry, dusty, and extremely dark. Electricity was out of the question. The only light came from 2 small doorways and a large fire pit in one corner. Moo introduced her mother-in-law by gesturing vaguely to an unsmiling and austere old women rocking a young child in her lap. A young child scampered back and forth across the floor, chasing and poking at a yowling kitten. When I asked her who the little boy was, she replied coldly that it
Moo's house...
A lot bigger (and darker) then I was expecting was her daughter. Oops. The child obviously took after her father.
Moo and her sister served up a delicious meal of rice, vegetables, and eggs. I got the opportunity to meet her husband, who was as cute and friendly as Moo herself. Mama stayed in her corner and no amount of food could tempt her to come out of it. The rain, which had begun tapering off while we ate, soon picked up force again. Thankfully Moo was able to produce a spare umbrella, and taking it to shield myself from the wet, we set off once again into the rain.
The road, which had at this point been fairly well marked and maintained, diminished to a mere footpath down the mountainside. The ground turned into a veritable mudslide, and I was forced to tightly grip Ma’s hand for the entire 4km trip to the village in order to prevent myself from falling. I’m fairly certain that I owe her my life, or at least a leg or 2, as the slippery clay path would surely have defeated me on my own. I can only imagine how impatient they must have been at the ridiculously slow pace I
Moo making lunch
...with her daughter (?) set. This is a route that they have probably done every day, and in every form of weather, for their entire lives. In flip-flops. Unbelievable.
Eventually we made it to the neighboring village where Moo’s husband was going to meet us with his motorbike. Unfortunately, the steady rain had caused the road to be completely washed out. We ended up waiting there for over an hour before her husband was able to make it through to us. And that was only the beginning, as we still had an additional 5km to travel before we made it back into Sapa. The road was a mess, and we had to stop 4 times to walk our bike across washed out sections of road. At times, I was trudging through swiftly flowing water that reached up past my knees. I wondered whether my running shoes would ever be the same. In addition to the miserable driving conditions, I also had the unique experience of being the 4th person on the back of a single motorbike. Granted, one of these individuals was a 5 month old baby, but still. It was an adventure. I managed to keep silent by mentally reviewing a litany
of prayers every time he took a corner recklessly fast. But though I was practically hysterical by the time we reached the town, and drenched through to the bone, I still wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything.
Although, if I ever do go back to Sapa, I will make sure that it is in the dry season.
Signing off,
Jen
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