Northwestern Vietnam: Rice Terraces and Hill-tribe Encounters in Sapa - Part 2: Three Villages and a Funeral

A Black H'mong Village on the Outskirts of Sapa

(Continued from Part 1) The harsh beep of the hotel's bedside alarm clock wakes me from a restful sleep, or at least much more so than the prior night's decidedly unsound sleep on the Livitrans night train from Hanoi. My room is pleasantly cool, as I had opted to leave the door to the balcony slightly open during the night, having discovered earlier when I arrived that the room only had a heater (no surprise given the hotel's mountainside location) and was a bit too warm and cozy for my tastes. I figured given the altitude and ambient temperature, there was little likelihood that I would wake up with a room full of mosquitoes, despite the rice terraces lining the hillsides that lead down into the valley. It must have rained, as I can hear the rhythmic patter of water droplets falling on the damp floor of the balcony outside, the distant sound of voices  in conversation (perhaps passing greetings uttered in Vietnamese or H'mong?) and at one point the sputter of a slowly passing motor scooter throttled just barely above idle.

Morning Views from My Hotel Balcony

I roll out of bed and walk over to the balcony doors to take in the morning view before heading down (or rather up, given the layout of the hotel) to breakfast buffet. The sky is cloudy and gray with a light drizzle falling and a thin fog beginning to drift up from the valley. I take a few photos to capture some of the panoramic view that my balcony provides (which includes the rows of neighboring balconies and rooftops of the other hotels that share this stretch of south Sapa ridge-line, with the construction of a new hotel going on nearby), though the view of cascading hills and distant conical peaks directly ahead is becoming more obscured and less photogenic by the moment as the fog continues its advance. A few floors below me a paved one-lane road leads down the ridge, upon which a couple of of local women wearing the woven conical 'non la' hats are making their way uphill, one of them with what looks to be some type of leafy produce in a woven baskets strapped to her back.

The Chau Long Sapa Hotel 'Lion Dog'

A Foggy Start to My Morning Trek

I grab my small day back, some bottled water and my two cameras (the formerly-trusty Casio Exilim now relegated to shooting only video after a few days of use in Singapore) and head to the hotel's dining room for breakfast. The offering on the buffet table are of the standard variety for hotels in Southeast Asia that cater to the tastes of both locals and Western tourists. I opt for some scrambled eggs, bacon, a croissant and some sliced dragon fruit, pair with some black Vietnamese coffee, which is thankfully darkly-roast and pleasantly strong with a semi-sweet, somewhat earthy flavor profile that the coffee grown in Southeast Asia seems to have when not altered by the addition of sugar and cream or condensed milk. I polish off my third refill of coffee and make my way to the lobby, as my guide is due to meet me there in about five minutes. As I approach the front desk, I am surprised to see a small perhaps Pomeranian mix-type dog with close-cropped, tan-colored fur over most of the body, but the fur on the muzzle, around the eyes and the back of the haunches left standard-issue Pomeranian white, and the fur around the head and upper neck, the base of the paws and the tip of the tail dyed a sort of rose color. The intended effect of the owner, to make the dog resemble a miniature male lion, was readily apparent and prompted a surprised look from me followed by a chuckle. The girl behind the counter seemed pleased by my reaction, and when I commented how cute the dog looked, the girl responded, "Is not dog. Is lion...", with a playful smile. I leave my room key at the front desk and walk to the lobby entrance in anticipation of my guide and driver arriving at any moment.The fog is settling in as my guide enters the lobby and bids me a good morning, telling me that our drive is park ahead at the intersection of P Cau May Street. As we walk up to the car he tells me that the original plan was to have a picnic upon reaching the final destination of the trek, which would be the Red D'zao hill-tribe village of Ta Phin, but that we may have to alter the plan if the weather doesn't improve by late morning.

First Rice Terrace Views and Hill-tribe Encounters on the Trail

We  drive about 8 km due northeast of Sapa, then exit the car and being hiking along a rock-strewn dirt road; it leads through a stretch of trees and tall brush to a ridge-line that overlooks a valley veiled in a haze of light fog. Even with the limited visibility, the numerous stair-stepped rice terraces on the nearby slopes are still a sight to behold. As the road follows its sinuous course down into the valley, more expansive views of the terraces are opening up before us. We also begin encountering Black H'mong hill-tribe villages on the trail. My guide greets them as we pass and sometimes stops to briefly chat with them in their native H'mong language, and when the villagers have a child with them, he will take a small treat or snack out of his pack to give them.

Black H'mong Woman with Child Transplanting Rice Seedlings 

A bit further down the trail, we approach the first section of rice terraces that are being actively worked by a group of Black H'mongs. Down in the paddies, the Black H'mong women, many wearing traditional black hemp jackets and Vietnamese style ‘non la’ conical straw hats, appear to be performing the bulk of the work. One of the women has a baby secured to her back with a wrapped blanket harness as she leans down to transplant a seedling in the paddy’s soft mud bottom. A young girl nearby uses the same technique to carry her baby sibling as she carefully walks along a muddy trail that runs between the terraced paddies; I later take a photo of her as she watches her mother from behind barbed wire fencing. Other children play nearby amid grazing water buffalo while their family members work in the paddies; their young voices and laughter mix with the sounds of water gurgling down the rungs of the terraces, the sloshing of ankles treading through brown water and the murmur of conversations from the paddies, the calls of birds and croaking frogs, and the dull hollow clanking of buffalo bells.

Continuing our descent into the valley, we occasionally pass Black H'mong homes, sometimes a single isolated structure of wooden walls and a weathered corrugated tin roof, other times in pairs or small clusters of three or four homes, located on the slopes just a short distance off of the compacted rock and gravel trail, with stepped walkways cut into the compacted earth leading from the trail to the doorways and covered verandas of the homes. Even when the villagers are not visible, the domestic sounds of daily life announce their presence from within the homes in the form of conversations in the H'mong language, the laughter of unseen playing children, the tinny sounds of Vietnamese music from a radio speaker, the rhythmic tapping of a hammer from somewhere behind the home, the barking of the family dog and the clucking of their chickens.  

The Interior of a Black H'mong House in Ma Tra Village

After cresting a small hill the trail takes us into the Black H’mong village of Ma Tra, where my guide says we will spend some time touring a tradition village home; he adds that he has brought some small cakes to offer to the children of the family, and that I am welcome to also offer something to the family. We stop amid a small group of wood and corrugated tin roof houses, and enter one of them located adjacent to and perhaps a few feet below the right-hand side of the trail after my guide announces our presence. The rustic interior is illuminated by the natural light coming through two open doorways, a small window, and the open spaces that provide for ventilation between the walls and framing of the house and the corrugated roof; the gaps between the wall’s vertical wood planks also cast some addition light into the home and contribute on a micro scale to ventilating the lingering scent of wood and tobacco smoke. The rough concrete floor of the house features a fire pit encircled by flat rocks, with a section of steel re-bar bent into an elongated ‘U’ supporting a soot-blackened kettle; an old treadle-operated sewing machine and a manual weaving loom sit in the corner of the main room of the house near one of the doors to take advantage of the natural light. 

The 92-Year Old Matriarch

The Household Meat Storage Area

Two elderly Black H’mong women are present in the home, the eldest being the 92-year old matriarch of the family; the somewhat younger of the two is sitting by the fire pit and smoking locally-grown tobacco from an old black bamboo pipe. My guide takes a seat on a small wooden stool by her and introduces me to the women and the children of the extended family. The ten young children that are currently in the home, ranging in age from toddler to perhaps seven years, at first congregate atop or in front of an old wooden pedestal bed, beneath which lay an assortment of rubber boot in various sizes, colors and amounts of residual mud; after some initial apprehension, their curiosity sets in and they start mingling with me. My guide next offers me a sample of the local tobacco from the younger auntie’s pipe. Sitting across the fire pit from auntie, I hold the pipe’s opening to my lips and inhale; the harshness of the smoke causes me to cough vigorously, which of course causes everyone else to laugh hardily. My guide distributes the sweets to the village kids, and then walks me around to point out the various features of the house. Perhaps the most interesting feature is the family meat storage area, where portions of an animal carcass are hung from the ceiling.

After the brief tour of the home, I thank the aunties for their hospitality and give them each some Vietnamese Dong as a gift to the family before we take our leave. Some of the kids follow us outside, and given that the interior of the rustic home was a bit too dim to allow me to shoot any video, I decide to take a video clip of the village kids that have now assembled on the trail in front of the home to see us off. As I begin shooting, the youngest kid (a toddler of maybe two years of age?) joins the group, and in panning up to the others kids, a couple seem a bit shy about being videoed as they assume mock defensive postures before comically mimicking my glasses by forming circles with their thumbs and index fingers and holding them to their eyes. My guide begins speaking to them in their native H'mong language (a H'mong girl working one of the fruit and vegetable stalls with her mother and brother at one of the local farmers' market back in the States would later tell me that all H'mong tribes - Black, Green, Flower, etc. - generally all speak the same dialect, and that it is only their particular style and colors of dress that divides them into sub-groups); though the eldest kid at first indicates by his tone of voice, expression and body language that he's having no part of being videoed or photographed, a bit of conversation with my guide soon lightens his mood. Photos and video footage of the village kids now 'in the bag', we continue on our way. The trail gradual works its way uphill and veers to the right, giving us an overview of the village we've just visited and the cascading terraces below it, other small groups of rustic houses flanked by bamboo fencing, grazing water buffalo and myriad rice terraces flanked by wooded hills veiled in fog as we journey on to the Red D'zao hill-tribe village of Ta Phin.

We approach a terrace of transplanted seedling that’s being worked just off the trail. The nursery paddy at the top of the terrace is occupied by at least a dozen Black H'mong villagers in the process of uprooting seedlings and bundling them for transplantation, and at a distance we can hear the murmur of their conversations punctuated by an occasional feminine laughter and giggling. Below it are several flooded paddies with bundles of seedlings laid out for planting. My guide calls out to the villagers to get their attention, then tells me that we will go down to the terrace for a closure look, and that I can even try my hand at working in the paddy if I want to. I step down onto the second rung of the terrace and take some video of the scenery and the activity in the paddies. I confirm with my guide that I can briefly try my hand at working a rice paddy; he tells me that I can either try uprooting the rice seedlings for transplantation from the nursery paddy, or try re-planting the seedling into a flooded paddy, and that I don’t have to worry about leeches in this part of Vietnam. As the nursery paddy has more villagers working in it, and it appears to be quite lively given the fair amount of chatter and laughter going on between the younger Black H’mongs, I opt for uprooting seedlings; my guide holds my cameras while I’m in the paddy, and tells me that he will also take some photos and videos to document the experience for me. 

After removing my shoes, socks and zipper-attached removable long pant legs, I carefully step into the ankle-deep, cappuccino-brown water and feel the warm, slimy mud slowly extrude up between my toes as my bare feet settle to the soft bottom of the paddy. Even though there is no benefit in doing so, I look down at the surface of the opaque water as I take my first tentative steps, which causes the large black water striders around my ankles to quickly dart away. At the sound of laughter, and at least one feminine squeal of delight, I glance up to see the smiling and bemused faces of the villagers who have been pulling up seedling stalks at the far end of the paddy; I manage to make it across to them without doing a face-plant into the muddy water. My mentor, a smiling and patient Black H’mong woman, shows me the proper uprooting technique (right hand palm-up, thumb and index finger at the base of the stalk pressed slightly into the mud, light squeeze, s-l-o-w-l-y pull up), then bundles my seedlings and ties them together with a long grass-like rice leaf.

As I uproot my first seedlings, a bit of paddy field horse play breaks out between a Black H’mong girl and two boys that seem to be in their late teens or early twenties in the form of a friendly flicking of mud and water at each other while holding onto bundles of harvested rice seedlings in their left hands. At one point, the girl gets between me and my mentor after reaching down into the brown water and extracting a sticky handful of mud, and when she throws it towards her assailant as he retreats behind me, I feel cool, gritty droplets land on my exposed arm and upon glancing down to see newly-acquired specks of muddy water on my shirt. I’m hoping that my guide captures some of the fray on video. As the paddy fray escalates (and the level of laughter among those working the terrace increases), the rice seedling stalks themselves become ammunition as the muddied H'mong maiden advances on her equally-soiled foe, forcing him to retreat towards the end of the paddy until his counter-mudslinging sends her back squealing in my direction, evoking from him a hardy laugh. I'm hoping that my guide is capturing the action on camera, and as I glance back to the upper terrace I am thankful to see him with my video-dedicated Casio in hand and executing a slow pan. The fight then quickly deescalates to some friendly hand-to-hand mud grappling as the villagers get back to business, and my mentor appears to be pleased with my newly-acquired rice seedling uprooting skills.

The Mud-Splattered H'mong Maiden

After my brief stint in the paddy, I follow the lead of a Black H’mong girl and head over to wash my feet and legs in a small brown water brook that sources some terraces below. "You wash?", my guide asks with the recording Casio still in hand. "Oh, yeah...", I respond, which causes the bathing girl to look up in surprise and then smile sweetly as she vacates the small flat spot in the brook's bed where she's been standing for me to use. In later reviewing the photos and video clips that my guide took, I see that he has done an excellent job of documenting my hands-on rice terrace experience, capturing not only the friendly mud and water fight in the paddy and the mud-splattered H'mong maiden, but also an attractive village girl that captured his fancy.

Hemp for Fabric Weaving, and Nothing Else...

After putting back on my pant legs, socks and shoes, and shooting some photos and video clips of the Black H'mong hill-tribe villagers that I've just shared a rice paddy with, we are again on our way up the trail to the Red D’zao hill tribe village of Ta Phin. As we continue to gain altitude, we are treated to farther reaching views of the colorful rice terraces when the weather cooperates. The colors of the paddies seen on the slopes below the trail and those in the distance that line the valley's near and far slopes vary with stages of the rice cultivation cycle; those with well-established maturing stalks or seedlings that are grown for transplantation appear as lush curving bands of forest or yellow green; the fallow or bare earth paddies convey the hillside contours in stripes of dull brown and reddish earth tones; paddies that have been flooded and are awaiting transplantation of seedlings present like stacked curved ribbons of dull white fringed in brown as the overcast skies above are reflected between the tops of the earthen levees; those that have been planted with the evenly-spaced seedlings appear light green or pastel gray-green in color. In addition to being visually stunning, the hillsides of rice terraces are all the more amazing given that they had been built by hand with the help of plows pulled by water buffalo. We again encounter more villagers along trail, and and my guide stops and chats with them I head off to frame more photos and slow-panning additional video clips. I notice that the battery life on my small digital camera that is dedicated to shooting video (the still photo capability having earlier ‘gone south’ back in Singapore) is a bit less than half, so I decide to save the power for my planned self-guided trek to the nearby Black H’mong village of Cat Cat after we have lunch and return to Sapa. Along the crests of the hills, the slopes just above the tops of the terraces are cultivated with rows of corn and indigo and dotted with hemp plants; these crops can thrive solely on the precipitation and thus don’t require terracing and irrigation. We begin seeing pine trees along our path, which is something that most do not normally associate with Vietnam or Southeast Asia in general for that matter.

At this point in the trek, we leave the dirt road and occasional passing motorcycles behind and divert onto a narrow dirt trail that meanders up a hillside; the land is lush with crop fields, ferns and scattered pine trees, and the prominent rocky outcroppings backed by mist-veiled mountain ridge lines adds to the picturesque quality of the surroundings. We hike along a stretch of grassy clearing that’s flanked by pine trees and striped with a narrow red dirt track down the center that was likely a road during the French occupation. Passing an old dilapidated house, we stop at the atmospheric ruins of an old French monastery just outside of the village of Ta Phin. We are running behind schedule, and by the time we enter the village it is quite, with the resident Red D’zao villagers resting after their morning’s work out in the field. My guide suggests that we head back to Sapa rather than intrude upon the villagers. We locate our driver and get on the road. Video clips of the trek appear below.

My guide and I are dropped off in front of a restaurant at the corner of P Cau May and D Dong Loi, just up the street from my hotel. We step inside and take a booth, after which my guide produces a plastic grocery bag from his knap sack and places it on the table. As he removes the contents of the bag (a fresh baguette of French bread, a pull-top can of tuna, some sliced tomatoes and cucumbers), he tells me that we were supposed to have a picnic lunch out on the trail, but because of weather and timing the plan had changed, and that the restaurant would allow me to eat my outside lunch seated in the booth. He adds that this is the end of the day’s scheduled activities until 5 PM, when I would be picked up at the hotel and driven back to Lao Cai to board the night train back to Hanoi. I shake his hand and thank him for the morning’s guided trek; as he takes his leave, I order a Lao Cai Beer and make my tuna sandwich.

As I eat, I consider my available time before leaving Sapa and devise a viable schedule; I figure that if I can limit a roundtrip trek to Cat Cat to about two and a half hours, I will have some time to relax and see a bit more of the town before meeting up with my guide and driver. I finish my meal and turn to leave, only to see a lot of people crowded along the sidewalk and curb out front and hear the sound of beating drums and crashing cymbals coming from up the street. It is apparently the funeral procession associated with the gathering that was being held last night next to the Sapa Church.

The procession is lead by men and women carrying large flags and colorful banners with the image of the Buddha on long staffs; they are followed by a van from which someone is tossing out some type of small packets from the window to the crowd at periodic intervals. Next are women in black pants and long black gowns wearing peaked non la conical hats (some are also wearing loops of Buddhist prayer beads around their necks) carrying multicolor banners on staffs, with many of them forming a line and holding a long bolt of yellow cloth with black borders at shoulder level like a dragon in a Chinese New Year parade; the far end of the cloth is attached to a wheeled shrine cart, and some of the women holding the cloth also toss out flyers with big concentric red and yellow rectangles printed on them. Two men carry a large red drum suspended from a yoke carried across their shoulders as another man strikes a gong that he carries; men in naval-looking uniforms and caps play a small drum and traditional ken bau wind instruments that can’t be heard over the din of the large drum and cymbal strikes. Finally, the ornately-decorated funeral cart bearing the deceased passes, pushed by uniformed pall bearers and those close to the deceased, followed by the somber family members in white hooded robes, with others in the crowd of followers wearing white headbands. The procession pauses briefly near the end of P Cau May before continuing on, and as activity along Sapa's main drag begins to transition back to normality I make my way up the street to the starting point of the self-guided trek to Cat Cat village.

Ha, the Black H'mong Wandering Vendor Girl

About halfway there, I catch a glimpse of Ha, the quirky yet endearing Black H'mong wandering vendor girl that I had the memorable street encounter with last night, wearing the same Chinese-styled embroidered pastel plum blouse, white pleated skirt and belted sash, and the same ornate sling bag of hill-tribe fabrics and garments for sale slung over her shoulder, heading down the sidewalk in my direction. As the distance between us closes, she briefly stops to talk with some visiting tourist, presumably to give them a quick sales pitch, and then moves on in search of the next prospective customer. As our paths meet, we pause and greet each other, and as I'm pleased to have run into her again before leaving Sapa, I try to engage her in a bit more friendly chit-chat, but she seems to be decidedly more impatient that she was last night when I had been considered a potential sale, and as such could not afford the time for any of my "Blah-blah-blah..." (as she had previously described it). She cuts me off with a, "Uh, I can't talk now. I have to go to school soon..." I'm wondering if she attends some informal schooling or training, or if this is just a ruse akin to her 'not having had any dinner last night' to send me on my way and get back to business; as we stand there together ever so briefly, her eyes scan the passing tourists to assess potential sales opportunities, so I figure her statement likely falls into the 'ruse' category. Playing along, I ask her what kind of schooling or training she is doing, and I no sooner finish my question when she suddenly directs her attention across and slightly up the street and points to what looks to be two middle-aged Western tourists walking together. "Oh, there's my friends over there. I've got to go talk to them." I again wish her farewell and good luck, and as she turns to catch up with her 'friends' I get back on my way.

I take the steps that lead down from P Cau May through the Sapa market and onto D Tue Tinh Street, and then continue downhill onto D Phan Si Street, which quickly takes on the feeling of a country road. As I walk, the breaks in the trees along the left side of the road reveal views of rice terraces and crop field in the fog-shrouded valley below. I shortly come to the ‘Cat Cat Tourism Area’ ticket station, where a 30,000 Dong village admission fee is paid, and a ticket is given that must be later presented at the ticket checking station at the entrance to the village. I continue on the often-steep and winding 1.3km decent into the valley along well-worn tarmac towards the village, passing rural homes, a couple of roadside vendor stalls, and Black H’mong villagers both on foot and on motorcycles along the way. 

Given the 2-1/2 hours of trekking this morning and the fatigue that I’m already beginning to feel even on the early downhill portion of this hike, I figure that I’ll be pretty tired by the time I make it back up to the hotel. As I’m thinking this, I hear the sputtering purr and rattle of an approaching motorcycle slowing to a stop next to me. It is one of the ‘xe om’ motorcycle taxis that cruises the route to Cat Cat village in hopes that tourists may suddenly find themselves too tired to walk any further and wish to make use of their services. His says that his name is Star, and proudly points to his namesake painted on his helmet. He asks if I’m heading to Cat Cat, then offers to drive me there and then take me back to Sapa, quoting “...whatever you think it's worth” as the going rate. I pass on the offer, figuring that trekking was one of the reasons I decided to make the trip from Hanoi, and continue on.

I stop at the ticket checking station on the left side of the road to verify payment of the admission fee, then proceeds downhill to the village along the flagstone-paved stairs and walkways that affords good views of rice terraces and chance encounters with the resident Black H'mongs.

The Official Entrance to the Black H'mong Village of Cat Cat

Tien Sa Waterfall, Below Cat Cat Village

The village is quite scenic, with picturesque rice terrace flanked by steep wooded slopes, but it feels too touristy when compared to the morning’s visit to the village of Ma Tra. The village may have started out as traditional, but it had since been developed with the tourist in mind, with a museum house, souvenir stalls and a cultural performance venue. I follow the stairway down to the photogenic Tien Sa waterfall to the sounds of traditional Vietnamese music playing on overhead loud speakers, which is pleasant enough but adds to the subtle ‘theme park’ vibe of the village. A visit to Cat Cat village would definitely be a viable option for the visitor who has only limited time in Sapa, but still wants to do some trekking and sample a bit of the Black H’mong culture. I glance at my watch and decide that I will have to pass on Cat Cat’s other attractions further down the trail, and high-tail it back to the hotel; given the altitude and all though steps leading back up to the village from the waterfall, I’m soon out of breath and realizing that high-tailing it is easier said than done. A passing cool breeze and a light sprinkle of rain helps to reinvigorate me for the trek back into town.

Sore and exhausted, I’m back on P Cau May Street with time to spare; I had already checked out of the hotel before the trek to Cat Cat and just need to retrieve my pack from the front desk when my guide and driver show up. I stop at a nearby convenience store and pick up some small packs of Oreo cookies for the train ride back to Hanoi and stash them in my small day pack, then walk back up near the Sapa Church and town square to kill some time. There's a small ethnic minorities hill-tribes museum located across the street from the uphill side of the town square, though it is going through a change of exhibits and there is not much there beyond some photos of the different hill-tribes, some maps and charts showing the regional distributions and some thumbnail demographics on them, and some of their traditional household and farming implements. My visit to the museum is thus brief and a bit of a disappointment, so I decide to stroll back to the hotel.

Along the way, I see one of the familiar faces among the traditionally-attired Black H'mong wandering vendor girls along P Cau May Street. I don't know her name, but she had approached my before to sell me some tribal handicrafts and had been friendly and pleasant to speak with, and I had also seen her briefly hang out and chat with Ha. As I walk over to say a quick 'hi and bye' on the way back to the hotel, the girl is speaking with a Western female tourist. In the bit of their conversation that I overhear as I walk up, the woman is asking her if she doesn't want to do more with her life than just sell hill-tribe handcrafts to visiting tourists. They stop their conversation and turned to look at me as I walk up, with the H'mong vendor girl giving a smile of recognition. I apologize for interrupting them, and told the girl that I would soon be leaving Sapa, and that because we had become somewhat familiar with one another during my brief stay in town, I thought I'd stop by and say good bye and good luck. I inquire if she had seen Ha around, mentioning that I had run into her earlier prior to my visit to Cat Cat village and she had mentioned that she was heading off to school, and I was wondering if she was now through with class and back selling her handicrafts among the visiting tourists. The girl gave me a quizzical look and commented that Ha doesn't have school to attend, thereby confirming my initial suspicion. She then extends her hand and says, "Nice to meet you." As I respond in kind, I add, "Oh, just a second..." as I reach into my day pack to extract one of the Oreo packets and open it, then extend the packet in her direction. "Would you like some cookies to snack on?" She pauses for an instant to consider my offer. "No," she responds, "...but if you offer me the whole pack, I'll say thank you..." I pass her the package and she honors her end of the deal with a smile.

It’s nearly 5 PM so I return to the hotel. Just about the time that I'm ready to turn right onto the narrow side street at the bottom of the hill where P Cau May Street hooks to the left for the last time, I smile when I see Ha’s familiar Chinese-styled embroidered ensemble up ahead. I walk over to her and with a knowing grin ask her how 'school' was. With a similar grin, she says that she didn't end up going, and then for a final time brings up that issue about me paying too little for the H’mong mouth harp (the 60,000 Dong asking price verses the 30,000 that I paid), and that the way she sees it, I still owe her something. I reach in my nap sack to extract one of the packs of cookies that I’ve bought for the return trip to Hanoi and hand it to her. "Just a little token for you before I leave Sapa...", I say to her. She takes it, and with a little smile reaches into her ethnic sling bag and produces two cloth tie-on bracelets embroidered with traditional H’mong design elements; she hands them to me, saying that they are a gift. I advise her to stick with her schooling ('wink-wink, nudge-nudge'), and then wish her good luck and good bye before walking over to the hotel, where my guide and driver are now waiting out front. Video clips of Sapa, including the funeral procession and Cat Cat village appear below.

Non-Terraced Rice Paddies on the Outskirts of Lao Cai

Street Vendor Stalls in Lao Cai

The sky is hazy beneath the late afternoon overcast as we drive back to Lao Cai. As the road winds up the mountain slopes, we can see some terraces across the valley that have been harvested and appear to be having the remains of their dry rice stalks burned off; in the waning light of day the distant flaming paddies look like sinuous stripes of yellow-orange neon lighting. We pull into Lao Cai with time to spare before the night train departs for Hanoi. My guide is thirsty, so we stop at a city park that features a few sidewalk vendors and grab some freshly-wrung sugar cane juice. From there, we walk a few blocks over and stroll among the street produce and food vendors; due to the city’s location on the border, much of the signage is in Chinese characters. 

As we walk, my guide tells me that before going to the train station, we will first spend some time at a ‘bia hoi’ (a type of beer pub/restaurant) located nearby called Bia Hoi Lao Cai; he mentions that he likes to bring all of his tourist clients to that particular place to let them authentically experience Lao Cai the way the locals do before they leave northwestern Vietnam. ‘Bia hoi’ ('drop beer' in the local slang) is basically a no-preservatives draft microbrew beer that is meant to be consumed immediately after it completes the brewing process; the term bia hoi is also used to refer to any establishment that sells the microbrew together with snacks that pair especially well with it. He tells me that Vietnamese men generally get off work at 5 PM and head directly to a bia hoi and stay until about 7 PM, at which time the go home to their wives and families. There is seating both inside and outside, though most people seem to prefer sitting outside on cheap blue plastic chairs placed around folding tables, which is what we opt for. 

A Light Snack and 'Drop Beer' at a 'Bia Hoi' in Lao Cai

We order a plate of nem, one of the popular bia hoi snacks. Nem is a salt-cured fermented pork charcuterie made with garlic, chili and white pepper. In the case of our order, it was partially overlaid with an aromatic spice leaf then wrapped in palm leaf and steamed; afterwards, it’s taken out of the palm leaf and, with the overlaid spice leaf still attached, dipped in either fermented shrimp paste or a vinegar-chili dip sauce and eaten. We also order cubes of fried tofu, which are wrapped in a small basil-like leaf and dipped in a red chili paste and eaten. Both snacks are quite spicy and well-complimented by the bia hoi, which also helps to suppress the chili after-burning. Unfortunately, two days later back in Singapore I would have three days of ‘tummy trouble’, which could have been due to the bia hoi snacks or the fresh sugar cane juice. 

As we sit relaxing in our cheap plastic chairs and watch the evening approach while enjoying our spicy snacks and local brew, similarly-seated Vietnamese business men and laborers alike enjoy their brief respite from the demands of daily life; busy waitresses make their rounds of the tables, taking orders and carrying away empty pitchers; countless motorcycle whine past our bia hoi leaving the scent of exhaust in their wake; women sit behind card tables on the sidewalk sell lotto tickets to hopeful passers-by and cars that briefly pull to the curb, only to quickly fold-up shop because the activities of these transitory vendors is said to be officially frowned upon. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that I’m having the desired ‘Lao Cai local’ experience. 

I settle into my four-person sleeper and prepare for the ride back to Hanoi. One of my cabin mates is actually a retired attorney from a city fairly close to where I live, who had closed his practiced and moved to Bangkok; he said that he was sightseeing in southern Laos but decided to head to Sapa to escape the high heat that much of South and Southeast Asia was presently experiencing. With the quick jolt of the slack being taken out of the coupling, the train slowly begins its eastward journey, and I’m thinking that I’m just tired enough to maybe get some decent sleep, and that I’m also glad that I decided on adding the two-day Sapa/Bac Ha Sunday Market excursion to my far too brief Vietnam itinerary.


Related Post - Photo Essay: Vietnam's Bac Ha Sunday Market

Northwestern Vietnam: Rice Terraces and Hill-tribe Encounters in Sapa - Part 1: The Streets of Sapa, and a Black H'mong Girl Named Ha

Local Black H'mong Hill-tribe Villagers Working the Rice Terraces Near Sapa

After completing my tour of the Bac Ha Sunday market and a traditional Flower H’mong house at the nearby Ban Pho village (covered in my earlier blog post), we begin the 110km drive to the town of Sapa. We retrace our earlier route back to Lao Cai, save for a stop outside of Bac Ha at a roadside fruit stand where my guide buys some papayas to take home to his family. Once back in Lao Cai, we cross the Red River and continue southwest along (national road) QL 4D towards Sapa, enjoying the scenic views that unfold during our winding ascent. Situated on a steep scenic slope above terraced rice paddies and scattered hill tribe villages, the former French hill station of Sapa (elev. 1650m) is a popular tourist destination for those who enjoy trekking and are interested in experiences ethnic hill culture.

The Sloping Streets of Sapa

Chau Long Sapa Hotel, Near the South End of P Cau May Street

We arrive in Sapa about 2 PM, passing by the town’s picturesque lake and the public square in front of Sapa Church en route to my hotel. We turn left onto P Cau May Street, which is the primary destination for arriving tourists given its concentration of restaurants, cafes, tour agencies, and western-geared hotels and guest houses. It becomes readily apparent that P Cau May is also the primary destination for the town’s numerous wandering Black H’mong and Red D’zao hill tribe vendor girls and women eager to sell traditional tribal handicrafts and trinkets to the arriving tourists. P Cau May Street, given its sloped grade, surrounding mountainous natural beauty and the assortments of establishments that line it, has a vibe reminiscent of Ubud's Monkey Forest Road, though the number of Black H'mong and Red Dzao hill tribe vendor girls that work the tourists on the street or seated at curb-side restaurant tables to make a sale is somewhat reminiscent of the transplanted Ahka vendor girls encountered on Bangkok's Khaosan Road. The driver stops to let my guide and me out in front of the Chau Long Sapa Hotel, which is located near the south end of P Cau May Street. I’m a bit surprised to learn after checking into the hotel that I have to surrender my passport to the hotel for a period of about 6-8 hours. My guide explains that my passport would be reviewed by the provincial party officials, who need to know the particulars of any foreigner entering the region. My guide establishes what time he will meet me in the lobby tomorrow morning to begin our trek on the outskirts of Sapa and takes his leave. As the hotel is built on a mountainside, its split-level design puts my fourth floor room one floor below the street level entrance. The room affords a good view of the valley and the surrounding mountain peaks when the weather permits; given its ridge-line location and 1650m elevation, Sapa sees a lot of fog and rain, and visibility can change quickly with the shifting winds.

Sapa's P Cau May Street

A Black H'mong Hill-tribe Woman and Child

A Red D'zao Vendor Woman Intent on a Sale From Me

A Flower H'mong  Hill-tribe Woman in the Sapa Market

I leave my small pack in the room and walked back up to P Cau May Street to begin exploring the town on foot, and soon have my first of many encounters with the wandering hill tribe vendor girls. The local Black H’mong and Red D’zao girls, wearing traditional costumes and toting their tribal handicrafts and garments in embroidered sling bags or draped over their arms, are an ever-present sight in town; their persistence in trying to make a sale can eventually try one’s patience, if not become down-right annoying. A visitor browsing at the offerings of one vendor girl may soon attract several more, and one seated at a sidewalk cafe or restaurant may be seen as a captive potential customer. The Black H’mong vendor women, who are in the majority of those encountered, wear indigo-dyed and multi-color embroidered hemp or cotton cloth jackets, aprons, skirts, leggings and pillbox hats. The vendor women of the Red D’zao hill tribe wear indigo-dyed and white embroidered jacket and pants, and large red turbans which make them easy to distinguish; per their tradition, the women shave their eyebrows and their hairlines back to high on the forehead to denote wisdom. The Black H’mong vendors, which tend to be younger than the Red D’zao, are perhaps the most friendly and business-savvy of the ethnic minorities encountered on the streets of Sapa. They also tend to exhibit the best command of the English language among the local hill tribes, and can be quite open with regards to what they reveal about themselves and in the personal nature of the questions that they may ask in conversation.

A Stepped Walkway Leading Down to P Cau May Street

I continue my uphill stroll in the direction of the public square and familiarize myself with the nearby restaurants, cafes and businesses. Given Sapa’s mountainside layout, some of the fairly steep streets that intersect with or run parallel to the inclined P Cau May are accessed via quaint stair-stepped cobblestone walkways. As I walk, a Red D’zao vendor woman toting an umbrella (pictured above) approaches me and offers to sell me something from her stock of handicrafts contained in a plastic shopping bag. Smiling, I politely refuse her offer and walk on. Undaunted by my lack of interest, she begins following me, staying about a half-step behind and periodically looking up at me with imploring eyes as she hold out another handicraft for my examination.

The Steps Leading From P Cau May Steet Down to the Sapa Market 

The Sapa Market

Cobra, Scorpion and Herb-Infused Rice Whiskey

The Hill-Tribe Handicrafts Section of the Sapa Market

A Red D'zao Vendor Woman

The Market's Fresh Fish Section

I take the steps leading down to the Sapa Market, which is located at the intersection of P Cau May and D Tue Tinh streets. The market’s open store fronts and tarpaulin-covered stalls sell the normal assortment of dry goods, produce, meats and fish, and household items. Most intriguing are the bottles of medicinal rice whiskey that contain ginseng roots and a coiled cobra with a scorpion held in its mouth by the tail. The market’s hill tribe handicraft vendors are mainly concentrated upstairs inside a building fronting P Cau May. I work my way through the market taking photos, with my new-found Red D’zao friend and her bag of handicrafts close by, matching me step for step so as to stay just off my left shoulder as I explore the meandering streets in the vicinity of the market. She gives me quizzical looks as I contort and position myself to frame different compositions, and at one point asks why I would even bother taking pictures of a parked motor scooter. I circle around with the Red D'zao woman still in tow and again arrive back up on P Cau May. As she holds up a small decorative wall hanging of red and black cloth embellished with embroidery and silver jewelry, my will is finally broken; I purchase the piece and, after taking a photo of her, we at last part company.

Red D'zao Vendors at the Sapa Town Square

I walk to the nearby public square adjacent to the Sap Church where a number of hill tribe vendors sell their traditional handicrafts laid out in the open atop blankets on the pavement. Much of the black and dark blue hill tribe fabric and clothing offered for sale is dyed with local indigo that is not well-set into the fabric, with the blue-green stains seen on the hands of the fabric and clothing vendors in the market being ample evidence of the fact. There are also a number of Vietnamese vendors in the square with their goods for sale displayed beneath tarpaulin canopies that line the periphery of the square. Lacking my copy of the Lonely Planet Vietnam guide, I then spend some time exploring the more quiet streets on the downhill side of P Cau May to see what my options are in the way of cafes, restaurants and such, which after a while gives my legs quite a workout.

After an early-evening plate of beef fried rice and a large Lao Cai Beer (67,000 Vietnamese Dong; USD $3.22) for dinner at a restaurant on P Cau May Street call Buffalo Bell, I decide to swing by the hotel to retrieve my passport before continuing to explore the town on foot. As I head out the door and make my way past the restaurant’s outside seating with my daughter’s borrowed point-and-shoot Cannon digital camera in hand (my compact Casio Exilim having lost the ability to take clear still shots about a week earlier in Singapore), a hauntingly familiar female voice with a British accent calls out to me, “Hey, I thought that was you! Hi!” I turn to see my two night train 4-bunk sleeping compartment companions on the trip from Hanoi to Lao Cai. The two girls (one from England, the other from Canada) were friends traveling together around Southeast Asia, and had also visited the Bac Ha Sunday market earlier that day but were planning on spending two nights in the Sapa area (as opposed to my one night) so that they could do an overnight home-stay in one of the local hill-tribe villages. Her face brightened when she looked down to see the Cannon camera in my hand, and she excitedly told me that she had what appeared to be a similar model of camera, but had unfortunately forgotten to bring her battery charger with her, and that she would be very appreciative if I could put an hours’ worth of charge on her battery as they had dinner at the same restaurant. I agreed, and she extracted the battery from her camera and handed it to me.

I continue on my way down to the bottom of P Cau May Street, following the short street to the right where P Cau May hooks to the left before leading out of town. As luck would have it, my passport had just recently been returned (indicating that I had passed official scrutiny, and would not be having to meet with a local party official to answer questions about true intent for my visit) and was waiting for me at the front counter. Back in my room, I attempt to insert my traveling companion’s camera battery into the charger, but find that the battery is just about an eighth of an inch too long to fit into the charger. I secured my passport and headed back up to the Buffalo Bell to let the girl know that unfortunately her battery was just a bit too big to fit into the charger. As I walk up P Cau May, I noticed that the hill-tribe wandering vendor girls, exclusively Black H’mong based on their attire, were already making the rounds of the captive curbside diners in an attempt to sell their handicrafts. She is decidedly disappointed as I give her the bad news and point out the offending dimensions, but she thanks me for the effort.

Ha, a Unique Black H'mong Vendor Girl in Sapa

As I wish the two girls a pleasant stay in Sapa and happy travels beyond, and turn to head back towards the public square, I’m stopped by a Black H’mong vendor girl wearing her traditional indigo jacket over a printed T-shirt whose intent on selling me something from one of the tribal sling bags hanging from her shoulder. I patiently express my lack of interest in buying anything to the vendor girl (I tend to only buy a T-shirt for myself to commemorate a visit to a new destination, especially given that I travel with a small pack usually already stuffed to the gills) and turn to continue on my way, but a simple three-word entreaty conveyed in a particularly lilting feminine voice causes me to pause and look back. “Buy from me…?” Her attire is the first thing that sets her apart from the other myriad vendor girls encountered since arriving in town, and to me the styling looks distinctly Chinese. Her pastel plum blouse, white pleated skirt and belted sash are all ornately embellished with embroidery, sequins, imitation gemstones, lace and beaded fringe tipped with small dangling silver charms.

Ha and Her More Traditionally-Dressed Black H'mong Friend

With a playful grin and a mischievous gleam in her laughing eyes she continues her no doubt well-honed and practiced routine calculated to charm a prospective customer. “You buy from me? Buy-from-me-buy-from-me-buy-from-me…?” She gazes up hopefully into my eyes while maintaining her playful grin. When I smile and say that I’m really not looking to buy anything, she over-dramatically conveys feigned disappointment by letting her grin slip into a somber frown as she tilts and lowers her head while pursing her lips into an exaggerated pout beneath her now downcast eyes. “If you don’t buy from me, I’m gonna…DIE!” The last word is said in a deep voice and drawn out long enough to comically emphasize the mock gravity of the situation. When my laughter subsides, I ask her name and inquirer about her ethnic minority heritage. I learn that her name is Ha, and that she is a 17-year old Black H’mong from a nearby village called Cat Cat. She says that she wear a costume in the style of the Chinese H’mongs because it makes her stand out, which is very good for business. She then quickly gets back down to business, holding up a folded Black H'mong garmet made of embroidered indigo-dyed cloth and what looks to be a rainbow-banded Flower H'mong shawl. "So, you buy from me? Buy-from-me-buy-from-me-buy-from-me…?” I tell her that I don't have room in my small pack for any souvenir H'mong textiles or garments. I then attempt to throw her off of her sales pitch by asking her questions about Black H'mong culture, telling her that I had visited a H'mong village when I was in northern Thailand and described the type of costume that the women of that village wore. “Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah; all you do is talk! Are you going to buy from me?!” My will was yet again broken, in part by her quirky yet endearing personality, I heaved a little sigh of resignation and asked what small handicraft she might have for sale in one of her colorful ethnic sling bags, thinking that she might have some piece of inexpensive tribal jewelry that I could buy to give as a gift (as I had done with some persistent Akha hill-tribe vendor girls that had corraled me on Bangkok's Khaosan Road).

The Black H'mong 'Jew' Mouth Harp to Bought from Ha on P Cau May Street

Ha reached into one and extracted small Black H’mong mouth harp called a ‘jew’; it is made from a pen quill-shaped brass leaf and cased in a bamboo tube that is covered in embroidered fabric, to which the brass leaf instrument is attached via a length of black string, and apparent used in H’mong courtship. Ha takes the instrument from its decorative case and demonstrates it by holding it to her mouth and varying the shape of her mouth cavity as she tweaks the brass leaf, which modulates the tone of the twangy hum of the instrument in a subtle Cry Baby wah-wah pedal fashion. She quotes the price of the mouth harp at 60,000 Vietnamese Dong, and then drops it to 50,000 Dong when I say that the price is more than I am willing to pay. The haggling continues for a bit I until at last Ha reluctantly agrees to my final offer of 30,000 Dong. I thank Ha in her native H'mong language ('O-chan' was the only word I had learned from my morning spent among the H'mongs at the Bac Ha Sunday market) and take a few pictures of Ha and her friend, who had first approached me and stayed close by to observe our transaction (and questions as to why I had only bought something from Ha but not from her), before going on my way. Sometime after returning back to the States, I would be browsing through videos posted of Sapa on YouTube and actually come across a few videos of Ha, and in one case of Ha with her friend shown in the photo above, that had been taken some years earlier when she was quite young. I couldn't help but smile when I saw that even back then, she was using her signature "Buy-from-me-buy-from-me-buy-from-me…?” sales pitch.

I ascend the stair-stepped walkway to a quite street that runs parallel to P Cau May and leads up to the Sapa Church. I hear the faint sound of what seems to be live traditional Vietnamese music being played up ahead and go to check it out. Following a bend in the narrow road, I end up at the side entrance of a small hall adjacent to the Sapa Church with a number of people standing around and conversing out front. Walking into the hall, I see what appears to be seated members of an extended family dressed in white robes surrounded other in respectful attire; surmising that the live traditional orchestra is performing as part of a funeral service, I leave as inconspicuously as I can manage.

I walk along D Ham Rong Street, which flanks the church and the town’s lakeside park. Along the side of the road are a number of grilled food vendor stalls housed in a long continuous row of adjoining tarpaulin canopies; a line of bare hanging light bulbs illuminates the haze of rising smoke as fat and marinade droplets sizzling on hot wood coals. As I stroll among the barbecue grills being fanned with woven cane mats, the enticing savory-sweet aroma make my mouth water even though I’ve already had dinner. I’m beckoned to take a seat by a litany of hellos from hostesses and waitresses standing behind platters of enticing grilled meats, whole fish, large prawns and assorted vegetables. I accept an extended invitation at one of the stalls and order a Tiger Beer. Though a couple of other foreign tourists are seen milling about, the assembled diners seated at the low tables in petite blue and red plastic chairs are all locals. Little English is spoken and my Vietnamese is limited to some basic words and phrases, but I still manage to communicate with those around me, with the sharing of my photos and video clips of the Bac Ha market helping to break the ice and bridge the cultural divide.

I take the stair steps back down to P Cau May and head back to my hotel. Sapa’s ‘tourist zone’ is pretty sedate on a Sunday night, with only a modest number of people out strolling the street and few vehicles going by. Somewhere nearby, perhaps just beyond the open accordion-style doors of one of the souvenir shops, a person is improvising somber-sounding melodies on a type of flute or reed wind instrument; the instrument’s melancholy wail merges with the sputtering growls of passing motor scooters, providing a soundtrack befitting of the laid back mood of the street. A bit further down the street, I notice four Black H’mong vendor girls sitting in a line on the right-hand curb in the distance, and can immediately pick out the one seated at the far end of the group as Ha given her colorful ‘Chinese H’mong’ attire. As I come closer, I can see that Ha’s hair, which was tied up when I had my encounter with her earlier, was now untied and extended down in loose waves to just below waist level, with one of the Black H’mong girl in traditional indigo-dyed attire gingerly brushing her exceedingly long hair as her vendor girl friend whose sales pitch I had turned down earlier sat closely to Ha’s left. Having had endured Ha’s somewhat sarcastic bantering that ultimately ended to her benefit earlier, and now feeling a sense of familiarity with Ha and her friend, I decide to stop and chat with them for a while before continuing on my solo stroll back to the hotel. Ha and her friend immediately recognized me, with the friend again inquiring as to why I purchased something from Ha but not from her.

In the street, roughly in front of where the four seated Black H'mong girls were seated, was four Vietnamese (or perhaps H’mong?) guys of about twenty-something years of age playing a hacky-sack type game using a badminton shuttlecock in lieu of a small beanbag (or a woven cane ball, as the Burmese game of ‘chin-lone’) that the girls were engrossed in watching. The guys were batting the shuttlecock back and forth with their feet at heights and distances that was a testament to their skill, which made it quite interesting to watch and likely a far more appropriate form of evening entertainment than crashing a funeral party to take in some traditional music. I take the opportunity to give my feet a now much needed rest and had a seat on the downhill side of the inclined curb to Ha's right; as I did Ha glanced my way and flashed me a slight, somewhat devilish grin tinged with what seemed to be a dash of mock smugness, then leaned her head back as the Black H'mong girl behind her, perhaps a few years her junior, continued to to alternately brush her long hair and smooth it out with her free hand. The deference shown to Ha by the other girls suggested that she was the alpha female of the group, and seemed to be both quite aware of her status among the others and really take pride in it. When I commented that I was surprised how long her hair was when it wasn't tied up, she replied with an air of presumed mock smugness, "Oh, this is nothing! You should have seen it before I cut it; it was down past my butt!" "Ha is the most popular girl in the village!", one of the girls in the group added emphatically to confirm her status as the alpha female. "Yup, I've already had five boyfriends!", Ha proclaims proudly. "And I haven't even had one boyfriend yet...!", one of the younger girls in the group adds with an embarrassed giggle.

I turn my attention back to the shuttlecock being passed back and forth from foot to foot, and the mixture of groans and giggles when someone fails to connect and it skitters across the tarmac, as the girl behind Ha make a final pass along the length of her hair with the brush and her open hand. Two additional Black H'mong girls walk towards the group, prompting the seated girls get up and walk over to meet them, with only Ha and I remaining seated on the curb as she gathers her hair into a single ponytail and secures with a small multi color cloth band. "I don't know why I let you buy that mouth harp for only 30,000 Dong. It should have been the full price, or closer to it...", Ha says as her friends move just beyond earshot. I reminded her that she had made the initial offer, and that we had gone through iterations of counter-offers until she finally accepted my 30,000 Dong offer. "I lowered the price from 60,000 Dong to 50,000 Dong; that was a real good deal. You made me drop the price so low that I think you still owe me something, and should give me more...", she replies. I'm a bit surprised by her wanting me to fork out additional cash after we had already sealed the deal, and wonder if she seriously expects more Dong from me after we had sealed the deal, or if this more of her drama queen shtick.

I told her that I hadn't intended to buy anything from her in the first place, but after talking with her for a while decided that I could see if there was some small trinket that I could buy from her to compensate her for her time. I again reminded her that she always had the option to refuse to go lower that 50,000 Dong, or offer to split the difference and perhaps settle on 40,000 Dong. She responded that she knew that but wanted the sale and accepted my 30,000 Dong offer, and is now regretting having done so given that she hasn't made much money at all today, which is why she thinks that I still owe her something to make amends. After telling me this, she breaks eye contact and leans back slightly as she folds her arms and appears to shift her gaze as if looking at something on the second-floor balcony of the older French-style building across the street, with her upturned nose, closed eyes and the hint of what might be the beginning of a smirk conveying a bratty defiance and the confidence that she believes she has the upper hand. She pauses for effect, then returns her gaze to me with that mischievous gleam again in her eyes. "So, what's it going to be...?" In drama queen fashion, with her elbows still at her side she rotates her forearms outward to expose her upturned palms as if she is holding something in them, and as she enumerates the two options as she sees them (both of which involving my Dong) she nods first down into her right palm, and then down into her left palm, respectively. "Are you going to give me 20,000 Dong, or are you going to give me 30,000 Dong?" I give a little exhaling chuckle and roll my eyes. "C'mon, Ha. A deal is a deal..."

But she is not detoured by my response. She next plays the sympathy/guilt card to coax the Dong out of my cargo pants pocket. She tells me that she has extra expenses to cover, as she shares a rented room in Sapa with some other Black H'mong girls so that she does not have to walk or take a 'xe om' motorcycle (or motor scooter) taxi back to her home Black H'mong village of Cat-Cat, which lies in a valley among the rice terraces and a rather picturesque waterfall northwest of Sapa, a roughly 90-minute trek from the Sapa market along a marginally-paved and decaying road, with the final segment of the journey being along a meandering path of cobblestone steps. Her tactic began to have the desired effect as the thought came to mind that I shouldn't have talked her down that low in price. Perhaps I was standing firm on principles regarding the perception of having been overcharged or down right ripped off as a tourist before (being overcharged for a woven shoulder bag at a Skor Karen hill-tribe village that I had spent the night in while trekking in northern Thailand, and being down right ripped off when forced to rent at a premium price a sarong and a waist sash from some overly-aggressive local vendor girls, despite having my own in-hand at the time, in order to advance to the ticket booth and pay my admission fee to enter the Batur Temple in Bali), and resolved to not let that become a recurring experience. She then played the next sympathy card, with the Queen of the Black H'mong vendor girls drawing an Ace and giving me the guilt trip in Spades. "I haven't made any other sales today, and I haven't even been able to eat dinner tonight!"

Yet again, my will is about to be broken, mainly because of a congenital soft spot in the heart that I seemed to have inherited which on occasion has gotten me into some interesting, if not edgy, situations (the one in Siem Reap, Cambodia being a case in point) ending in unanticipated charity. Ha seems to noticed the subtle change in my expression and my pause for consideration, and takes it as encouragement. "So what's it gonna be...?" Again, with the nodding down into the upturned palms for effect. "20,000 Dong, or 30,000 Dong...?" A slight pause as her upturned palms hang in the air like the pans of the old-school balance scales that you see being used in the rural markets. "20,000...or 30,000...?" I'm about to give in, but still hesitant to do so because I know she's just playing on my sympathy. "You really haven't eaten tonight, huh?" I ask. "No, I haven't", she responds, though her gaze is slightly averted as she answers. As the moment of (hopefully) truth arrives, I give her a final opportunity to be straight with me, figuring that I would be getting off cheaper that I did with the impoverished woman and child, and those three disfigured landmine victims in that Cambodian shanty town on the banks of the Stung Siem Reap River. "Look, Ha. I don't want you to have to go hungry if, in fact, you had not had anything to eat for dinner tonight. But, I need you to be honest with me, and not just take advantage of my generosity..." Now it's her turn to pauses for a second of consideration as she lowers her head slight, and then her expression softens and a slight smirk starts tugging at the corners of her mouth until it coaxes her lips into a little embarrassed grin. "Well...," she says  as her eyes take on a bit of a devilish gleam, "I could have always had a little more to eat!", as she punctuates the end of the sentence with the hints of a chuckle. I find myself chuckling too, despite having been on the receiving end of an attempted con job, and have to admit that her quirky personality is becoming more endearing as the evening wears on.

I glance at my watch and decide that it's time to be on my way back to the hotel to get some rest ahead of tomorrow's guided trek to view the rice terraces on the outskirts of Sapa and visit a couple of hill tribe villages, and then after lunch do a self-guided trek down to Cat-Cat village. I said goodnight and goodbye to Ha, wishing her the best and telling her that perhaps I would see her around town before departing Sapa for the return trip to Lao Cai, and thereafter the night train back to Hanoi. At the bottom of the hill where P Cau May Street takes a 90 degree hook to the left, I hung a right to follow the street that leads to my hotel.

Not far from the corner, I saw a placard next to a short stairwell that lead down from the declining sidewalk to a basement or sub-level doorway advertising some type bar downstairs. I decided to step in to have a look despite not hearing the sounds of music coming up from the open door, which would not be a big surprise given that it was a Sunday night. Looking to the right as I step through the doorway, I wondered if the bar was still under construction and slated to open in a few weeks or more, or if they were going for 'behind the Iron Curtain' command bunker minimalism. In the gloom of the dim indirect interior lighting, I could make out what looked to be bare concrete or dully-painted walls flanking what could have been thin solid color carpeting befitting of one of the greens of a miniature golf course. There was a very bland looking bar against the back wall with a couple of empty shelves behind it, with no bottles, glasses or even any wall decorations visible, nor bar stools or any other furniture in evidence. The place seems to be deserted, with no music, voices or any other sound to indicate any sort of activity, yet a rotating light ball located somewhere out of sight silently bathed the bare walls with a slowly sweeping star field of cool blue dots of light. I just kind of shrugged my shoulders and climbed back up to street level, and I was shortly back in the hotel lobby and up in my room to get a decent night's sleep before tomorrow's trekking.


Coming Next - Part 2: Three Villages and a Funeral