Saturday, March 24, 2007
Sapa and the Hill Tribes
Note: I am on a roll in the Hanoi Metropole with the first access to internet for some days. What you see below was written in Sapa several days ago--I am trying to keep up with the blog even though I can't publish it right after writing it. Result: It's a little confusing for ME, and must be doubly so for you. I am going to post this without pictures because once again the clock is ticking and I'm out of time. Will try to post pictures without text later tonight.
Thurs., March 22:
Now I don’t want to hear any lip, even in your thoughts, from any of you about contradictions, inconsistencies or outright mistakes in these ramblings, because while I started out quite calm, determined and organized, I now barely know what day it is, let alone what we did two or three days ago when I last jotted down my thoughts. Also, for the nitpickers and historians among you, please remember I am not checking my facts, but just tellin’ it as I sees it. And hears it from the guides, which I have figured out is not always 100% accurate.
Yesterday and today we have been in and around Sa Pa (emphasis on the second syllable), so beautiful in the mist, bonding with the hill people (as long as we buy at least a little), and the children, ohmygod the children, they steal your heart in a moment, wretched little urchins that they are. Today we visited two hill tribe villages, which house the Dao Tien and Flower Hmong peoples, and the little waifs peek from behind trees and bushes as we walk in with our guide Thien, and when you smile and wave they emerge and giggle. I’ve been showing my camera and asking with my eyes if it’s okay to take their picture and for the under ten year olds there is never a problem but the older ones don’t like it. The little ones pose and smile tentatively and after I snap the picture I show it to them. Their little faces, snotty and dirty, light up when they see themselves and they giggle so adorably and they seem so happy with such a simple thing that you want to give them a hug but don’t dare.
Thien, a guide for seven years, seems a little dismayed that the pristine quality of the tribes has been somewhat ruined by the tourists. Ten years ago they farmed and did their handwork and tended their animals as they had for centuries but the last decade has brought the Western world en masse and now they realize they can make more in an afternoon than they can in a season of rice farming. In the more commercialized villages you are immediately surrounded by women asking your name, age, how many children you have, where you come from, etc. etc. Sounds like they speak English but in reality they have a set spiel and don’t much vary from that. You buy from ME, you buy from ME, over and over. Very cheap, very cheap.
But the two tribes today were relatively untouched and I felt like a reader of National Geographic as we walked up the dirt roads with sows and piglets, water buffalo and goats littering the paths, plus the children peeking out as described above. As we approached the settlement, we started to see adults milling about, women all in traditional clothing and men in--well actually you don’t see that many men, but the ones you do see are mostly dressed in pants and shirts western-style. We ask where are the men and Thien tells us that they drink into the wee hours and sleep most of the day. Or gamble at low tables with stacks of money which we saw in the town. Can it be true that the women do all the work?
I hope to post pictures of the houses which are so ramshackle they look like sets from Porgy and Bess but turn out to be fairly substantial because we approached one and after some sweet talkin’ by Thien to the old woman embroidering in the yard we were invited in. Dirt floor, side room with primitive beds and sacks of something like flour, low table and bench and big TV in the corner. The children promptly put in a CD of some Chinese dancers and we were gestured to sit on the bench and invited to watch the video while the old woman (she’s 56) and the two kids sat in rapt attention. Then she poured tea from a earthenware pot into dirty looking glasses and I swear I would have died of dysentery before refusing her hospitality, but Thien said some words and she didn’t seem insulted that we didn’t drink it.
After a while we took our leave and according to Thien’s guidance gave her a dollar (one per couple) which she graciously accepted and we bowed and smiled and thanked and honestly it chokes me up to write about it. All the while the children, who by now are our bestest friends, don’t want us to leave. This particular village is 18 families, 200 people. The young people don’t marry anyone within the village, but they can only marry within their tribe so you can only imagine how limiting that is. Our hostess had six children, all married, one of whom had joined the army and that’s how she was able to afford the fine house she lived in.
The second village we visited was even more isolated than the first. Very few people were around and about, all napping according to Thien, but the ever-present urchins and animals were everywhere. We finally found a couple of women in front of their house and I don’t think the one had ever seen a Westerner before. This family was Catholic of all things, and apparently the local priest comes once a week to minister to them as well as the other believers in the area. We weren’t invited in as before and the young woman looked very uncomfortable. When we offered a dollar it seemed that she had never seen one before. Thien gave her Vietnamese dong and took our dollars in exchange. Then she smiled nervously, but I did feel like an intruder on their privacy. Thien said not to worry, easiest couple of dollars they ever made.
Friday, March 23:
I was able to check email on the hotel computer, but my own will not work so thanks to all who wrote. This morning we had a trek planned to visit a Black Hmong village (there are ten separate tribes in the area), but it rained earlier so the roads were muddy and we opted to stay with the car. We went in the opposite direction from yesterday and the views back toward the town with the mist shrouding the mountains and the rice paddies below flooded with water and glistening in the morning light, it was a sight to behold. We drove as far as we could into the village and saw goats perched precariously on the hillsides and Black Hmongs going to work and school. They are called Black Hmongs because their headdresses are black and much of their native garb is black as well although punctuated with colorful sashes and neckpieces. Every other woman has a gold tooth or two and I suspect it is a mark of status although I don’t know. Must ask Thien. There are also Red Hmong (red headdresses), Flower Hmong (much more colorful overall), Red Dao (more red than the Red Hmong) and the others I haven’t figured out yet. We will see another raft of hill tribes when we get to Northern Thailand and it will be interesting to see if they are very similar or different. These tribes originated in China or Tibet and were driven into Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and Thailand where they settled but they don’t really have a country of their own. I can’t even imagine living like they do, and yet most (not all) seem pretty happy. They smile a lot and if you watch them interact with each other they are very loving and gentle.
Yesterday and today we have been in and around Sa Pa (emphasis on the second syllable), so beautiful in the mist, bonding with the hill people (as long as we buy at least a little), and the children, ohmygod the children, they steal your heart in a moment, wretched little urchins that they are. Today we visited two hill tribe villages, which house the Dao Tien and Flower Hmong peoples, and the little waifs peek from behind trees and bushes as we walk in with our guide Thien, and when you smile and wave they emerge and giggle. I’ve been showing my camera and asking with my eyes if it’s okay to take their picture and for the under ten year olds there is never a problem but the older ones don’t like it. The little ones pose and smile tentatively and after I snap the picture I show it to them. Their little faces, snotty and dirty, light up when they see themselves and they giggle so adorably and they seem so happy with such a simple thing that you want to give them a hug but don’t dare.
Thien, a guide for seven years, seems a little dismayed that the pristine quality of the tribes has been somewhat ruined by the tourists. Ten years ago they farmed and did their handwork and tended their animals as they had for centuries but the last decade has brought the Western world en masse and now they realize they can make more in an afternoon than they can in a season of rice farming. In the more commercialized villages you are immediately surrounded by women asking your name, age, how many children you have, where you come from, etc. etc. Sounds like they speak English but in reality they have a set spiel and don’t much vary from that. You buy from ME, you buy from ME, over and over. Very cheap, very cheap.
But the two tribes today were relatively untouched and I felt like a reader of National Geographic as we walked up the dirt roads with sows and piglets, water buffalo and goats littering the paths, plus the children peeking out as described above. As we approached the settlement, we started to see adults milling about, women all in traditional clothing and men in--well actually you don’t see that many men, but the ones you do see are mostly dressed in pants and shirts western-style. We ask where are the men and Thien tells us that they drink into the wee hours and sleep most of the day. Or gamble at low tables with stacks of money which we saw in the town. Can it be true that the women do all the work?
I hope to post pictures of the houses which are so ramshackle they look like sets from Porgy and Bess but turn out to be fairly substantial because we approached one and after some sweet talkin’ by Thien to the old woman embroidering in the yard we were invited in. Dirt floor, side room with primitive beds and sacks of something like flour, low table and bench and big TV in the corner. The children promptly put in a CD of some Chinese dancers and we were gestured to sit on the bench and invited to watch the video while the old woman (she’s 56) and the two kids sat in rapt attention. Then she poured tea from a earthenware pot into dirty looking glasses and I swear I would have died of dysentery before refusing her hospitality, but Thien said some words and she didn’t seem insulted that we didn’t drink it.
After a while we took our leave and according to Thien’s guidance gave her a dollar (one per couple) which she graciously accepted and we bowed and smiled and thanked and honestly it chokes me up to write about it. All the while the children, who by now are our bestest friends, don’t want us to leave. This particular village is 18 families, 200 people. The young people don’t marry anyone within the village, but they can only marry within their tribe so you can only imagine how limiting that is. Our hostess had six children, all married, one of whom had joined the army and that’s how she was able to afford the fine house she lived in.
The second village we visited was even more isolated than the first. Very few people were around and about, all napping according to Thien, but the ever-present urchins and animals were everywhere. We finally found a couple of women in front of their house and I don’t think the one had ever seen a Westerner before. This family was Catholic of all things, and apparently the local priest comes once a week to minister to them as well as the other believers in the area. We weren’t invited in as before and the young woman looked very uncomfortable. When we offered a dollar it seemed that she had never seen one before. Thien gave her Vietnamese dong and took our dollars in exchange. Then she smiled nervously, but I did feel like an intruder on their privacy. Thien said not to worry, easiest couple of dollars they ever made.
Friday, March 23:
I was able to check email on the hotel computer, but my own will not work so thanks to all who wrote. This morning we had a trek planned to visit a Black Hmong village (there are ten separate tribes in the area), but it rained earlier so the roads were muddy and we opted to stay with the car. We went in the opposite direction from yesterday and the views back toward the town with the mist shrouding the mountains and the rice paddies below flooded with water and glistening in the morning light, it was a sight to behold. We drove as far as we could into the village and saw goats perched precariously on the hillsides and Black Hmongs going to work and school. They are called Black Hmongs because their headdresses are black and much of their native garb is black as well although punctuated with colorful sashes and neckpieces. Every other woman has a gold tooth or two and I suspect it is a mark of status although I don’t know. Must ask Thien. There are also Red Hmong (red headdresses), Flower Hmong (much more colorful overall), Red Dao (more red than the Red Hmong) and the others I haven’t figured out yet. We will see another raft of hill tribes when we get to Northern Thailand and it will be interesting to see if they are very similar or different. These tribes originated in China or Tibet and were driven into Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and Thailand where they settled but they don’t really have a country of their own. I can’t even imagine living like they do, and yet most (not all) seem pretty happy. They smile a lot and if you watch them interact with each other they are very loving and gentle.
Oy Hanoi!
Note: I am having trouble uploading the rest of the pictures for this post and so I'm going to post it with only one. I'll try to add them later.
Our first full day in Hanoi. Because of scheduling problems, our days in Hanoi are split up. We had one day yesterday (Tuesday, Mar. 20) and then took the train to Sapa. But just a few words about that day. Our new guide, Thien, picked us up at the airport—this has gone perfectly in each case—and delivered us to the Metropole around 5:00 the other night. Uneventful evening, but yesterday was a really fun day. No guide was scheduled—Thien would pick us up at 9:00 that night to deliver us to the train to Sapa (more about that later.) So we had all day on our own. Considering ourselves experts on the city having spent a few days here before, Mary and I played tour guide to Tom and Neil and didn’t feel the need to avail ourselves of any further professional. First, we left the hotel and secured the services of four cyclos or pedi-cabs to cycle us about town. At $2 an hour per cyclo, this is the only way to travel in the city. Tom and Neil were a little apprehensive at first (what if we get separated, etc.) but soon got into the flow and we had the best time showing our personal drivers on the map where to take us, doing our sightseeing and then returning to retrieve our patiently waiting drivers to take us to the next stop. This is truly a case where the journey is more important than the destination, because a pedi-cab ride in Hanoi is a wild kaleidoscope of sounds, smells, sights and multiple stimulations that cannot be described. The guys called it sensory overload which is the best way to convey the feeling. First you get into your cab, a one-seater, with your driver behind you chatting in pigeon English and pointing out sights; then you move right into the most intense traffic you can imagine with motorbikes and cars and buses whizzing by in all directions. When you come to an intersection, you just keep going and by some miracle the one or more vehicles that you think are going to collide with you miraculously meld around you instead and its like Moses parting the Red Sea. Sometimes they are so close you can reach out and touch them, but it’s best not to, if you want to keep your upper extremities.
And of course pedestrians are crossing the street everywhere without looking or dodging traffic and somehow they avoid getting killed as well. And no one gets mad, or yells at another for cutting them off or displays road rage or any of the things we are used to when driving at home.
But it’s not just about avoiding collisions and witnessing the traffic up close and personal. The horns honking right in your ear, people talking, lights flashing, and all the visual stimulation of the street scene passing by with its smells of food mixed with other less savory odors is just more than one can take in. Shops of all kinds, women carrying their shoulder poles loaded with merchandise, motorcycles carrying pigs, mattresses or furniture not to mention whole families, people squatting on the curbs cooking and selling stuff, and about a million other sights means that you need eyes and ears on all sides of your head to even begin to absorb it all. Any apprehension quickly melts away and believe it or not you not only feel safe, you feel in control! Like king or queen of the road.
So in case you miss my point, the highlight of our day was simply riding the pedi-cabs for a few hours around town. We stopped at the Hanoi Hilton (site of the infamous prison during the war) but it was closed, then went to Ho Chi Minh’s Tomb, also closed, and saw again the various buildings where the beloved Uncle Ho lived and worked during the last years of his life. We rode down Embassy Row and our drivers pointed out the various embassies, saw uniformed police marching in formation, passed parks and monuments, some of the small streets of the old town, the Opera House and so much more. By the time we thought to stop for lunch all the restaurants were closed and we had to wait until five which was just as well since the next adventure was to start at nine. We killed the time by going to a market and quelled our growling stomachs by buying a kilo of peanuts for a dollar and walked through the market eating peanuts and taking pictures. Dinner was at a fabulous sea food restaurant where we had cockle salad, sweet snails (not the same as the previously described ones,), and the best fish rolled in rice paper we’ve ever had. We barely made it back to the hotel to collect our overnight bags, store our larger luggage there, and head for the train.
And of course pedestrians are crossing the street everywhere without looking or dodging traffic and somehow they avoid getting killed as well. And no one gets mad, or yells at another for cutting them off or displays road rage or any of the things we are used to when driving at home.
But it’s not just about avoiding collisions and witnessing the traffic up close and personal. The horns honking right in your ear, people talking, lights flashing, and all the visual stimulation of the street scene passing by with its smells of food mixed with other less savory odors is just more than one can take in. Shops of all kinds, women carrying their shoulder poles loaded with merchandise, motorcycles carrying pigs, mattresses or furniture not to mention whole families, people squatting on the curbs cooking and selling stuff, and about a million other sights means that you need eyes and ears on all sides of your head to even begin to absorb it all. Any apprehension quickly melts away and believe it or not you not only feel safe, you feel in control! Like king or queen of the road.
So in case you miss my point, the highlight of our day was simply riding the pedi-cabs for a few hours around town. We stopped at the Hanoi Hilton (site of the infamous prison during the war) but it was closed, then went to Ho Chi Minh’s Tomb, also closed, and saw again the various buildings where the beloved Uncle Ho lived and worked during the last years of his life. We rode down Embassy Row and our drivers pointed out the various embassies, saw uniformed police marching in formation, passed parks and monuments, some of the small streets of the old town, the Opera House and so much more. By the time we thought to stop for lunch all the restaurants were closed and we had to wait until five which was just as well since the next adventure was to start at nine. We killed the time by going to a market and quelled our growling stomachs by buying a kilo of peanuts for a dollar and walked through the market eating peanuts and taking pictures. Dinner was at a fabulous sea food restaurant where we had cockle salad, sweet snails (not the same as the previously described ones,), and the best fish rolled in rice paper we’ve ever had. We barely made it back to the hotel to collect our overnight bags, store our larger luggage there, and head for the train.
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