Party on, Nguyen

---

Sapa

An impatient rapping at the door followed by a screeching "Lao Cai! Lao Cai!" wakes me from a sad dream. It takes a minute to piece together where I am. Empty wine bottles are rolling over pistachio shells that litter the floor. I am in a bunk bed. Barry and Cay are sleeping in a bunk bed next to mine. We are moving. We are on a train. But where are we going? Lao Cai, apparently. Then it all comes back. Lao Cai, end of the line for the train from Hanoi to the Chinese border.

We were put on the train the night before by Pete Wilkes, an Australian artist/entrepreneur who has devoted his life to improving the lives of the ethnic minorities who inhabit the mountains of northwest Vietnam. Several years ago he opened a guest house in Sapa, where he promotes responsible tourism. We were a little alarmed when we learned that Pete wouldn't be accompanying us. He said he would come up in a few weeks, when the weather was warmer.

Joined by Emma, a school teacher from Perth, the four of us shuffle like zombies through the eerie 5 AM darkness toward the Sapa bus. For the next hour I am aware that our bus is climbing a winding mountain road, through darkness at first, then through heavy fog. Every gain in altitude is accompanied by a drop in temperature.

Although small and humble, Sapa is the big trown in its remote valley; the town where tribal women from surrounding villages bring their handicrafts to sell to the Australian and Vietnamese tourists who get this far.

Apparently the record cold has exhausted the hotel's heating system, which was designed with much milder weather in mind. In 24 hours there will be no water, either. We freeze in the lobby while waiting for our rooms to be ready. Dozens of Red Dzao and Black H'mong women press their faces against the hotel's glass door. Each time someone steps outside I hear a chorus of "You buy from me? You buy from me?" These women will stand there until nightfall, even in the rain, shuffling back and forth to keep warm. We are warned not to say "later" when they ask us to buy from them as this will be taken literally and they will stand there all night and the next day waiting for later to become now.

For visitors, Sapa is the jumping off point for treks into the surrounding mountains. Over the next few days we trek from village to village through fearfully thick mud that oozes over the tops of our inadequate walking shoes. Occasional rain adds to our cold and misery. We pick up an entourage of tribal women as we walk. Some have babies strapped to their backs, the rest have baskets filled with handicrafts in case we are overcome with the urge to sit down in the mud and purchase tiny beaded water buffaloes.

Our guide is an intelligent young woman who is well dressed and speaks good English. She takes us to her parent's house when we pass through her village. It's shocking. It reminds me of an abandoned tool shed. The floor is dirt. There are no windows. The main source of light comes from two bare light bulbs that dangle from electric wires. The family huddles around a tiny open flame in the "living room".

Top five annoyances travelling with Barry

5. Does calisthenics every morning. I don't know if he needs help getting up or if his epileptic lurching about on the floor is simply part of the routine.

4. Sleeps in the nude. Sheets must be burned each morning.

3. Travels with a giant suitcase filled with garlic. No, I'm not making this up. His suitcase is the size of a bloody steamer trunk and it reeks of garlic. My suitcase reeks just from being next to his in the bus. He claims garlic is a great source of vitamins. I show him my tiny baggie filled with vitamin pills. "Yeah," he says with a satisfied grin as if he's just checkmated me, "but those aren't organic." I think he's afraid of vampires.

2. Always tries to order waffles in Vietnamese restaurants. Lusts after my stash of granola bars.

1. Every morning he recounts his ridiculous recurring dream that my "snoring" keeps him awake.

Ha Long Bay

Absurdity must be a stronger force than majesty. When you put them together the former always manages to trump the later. This was demonstrated again tonight. Playing the role of the majestic was Ha Long, a bay on the northeast coast of Vietnam that's peppered with thousands of island spires that breech out of the water like needles. We spent the day weaving through them in a beautiful junk. After sunset we ate an elegant meal in the junk's dining room. When the last plate was cleared the carpet was rolled back to reveal a glass floor lit from below. Previously unnoticed disco balls started spinning, washing the room in colored lights. Now in the role of MC, the captain informed us that it was time for our party, which was apparently included in the package we had purchased in Hanoi, yet another lesson in reading the small print. Who knew that the Vietnamese really know how to throw a party? Seriously, who knew? A karaoke machine began to blare. The absurd was about to commence.

Horrified, we watched as our fellow guests were led one by one to the center of the spinning room and forced to sing Hotel California. I thought of the scene in Deer Hunter when the Vietnamese torture captured US soldiers by forcing them play Russian Roulette. Did they want us to sign confessions? Pay ransoms? Did our captors mean this as an enhancement of the natural wonder that surrounded us, like carving faces on Mt. Rushmore, or was it meant as an assault, like strip mining?

I gave the captain a look that guaranteed my speedy return and stepped out on the deck to get some air and to remind myself where I was. It was then that I noticed that our ship was anchored in a small bay along with dozens of other junks, each radiating colored lights and hesitant voices croaking Hotel California.

More Photos

---