Goodbye Vietnam

After leaving Hanoi, we were excited to reach the long awaited Sapa, a town in the highlands of Northwestern Vietnam. In true Seattleite fashion, we were relieved that the temperature was tolerable and even a bit drizzly. Women clad in traditional dress from both Hmoung and Zao surrounding villages roamed the streets smiling, yet desperately trying to sell us their array of handmade crafts. At times the ratios were 5:1, with a group of women following us cheerfully for blocks. We were instantly intrigued to learn more about the lives of the hill tribe people.

We heard it was both cheaper and more of a cultural experience to do a home stay with a local family than to book one through a guesthouse. With this we headed straight to the bustling market in attempts to meet a lucky lady selling handmade textiles in order to convince her to invite us into her home for a night. Smiling partially toothless women, teeth burgundy from chewing on beetlenuts, greeted us warmly eager to sell their goods unaware of our intentions to impose upon their families. One woman began explaining that she had married an American and after noticing her Obama t-shirt poking out from her Hmoung dress and showing us photos of her wedding in New Mexico, we knew we had found a winner. Her husband, Martin, arrived just in time. Just over five feet tall, with a long gray ponytail, sporting mixed Hmoung and American attire, the 53 year old greeted us warmly, maybe a little too warmly. He took us to a Zao friend, also selling crafts in the market, who had married a Frenchmen and Martin offered us her home for the following night. We were set.

Later that night, we found ourselves at Martin's modest hotel for a homemade feast, made on their bathroom floor, with his wife and the Frenchmen. We learned that there are nearly 30 tribes surrounding Sapa, two of the largest being the Black Hmoung and Zao. Each tribe is distinct in dress, agriculture, customs and education but they hold full respect for one another. Both wear beautiful handmade clothing that is equivalent to a winter parka.

The next day we set off on our trek with the Zao wife and mother-in-law of the Frenchmen. Together we trekked 14 km high into the mountains, passing rice paddies and cornfields. We were impressed to learn they do this four hour commute between Sapa twice daily carrying goods on their back in a giant basket.

At the peak of the mountain, one boy and two girls, ages five, seven and nine, greeted us with shy smiles in front of their two-room wooden home. The inside was lined with woven mats and a dirt floor on which were two beds, two fire pits and a slippery kitchen. The backyard held a chicken coup and four pigpens with pigs, chickens, roosters playing chaotically among the giggling children. We gave the kids gifts of coconut bread, fresh peanuts, and no battery flashlights. All were put to immediate use.

Our hosts impressed us as we watched them cook over a fire a simple yet delicious feast of tofu, many vegetables and rice, all of which they had grown. Each family in this region cultivates acres of rice, all of which is solely for personal consumption, feeding each family member three times daily. The rice was delightfully unlike any other we'd had before. Our tired bodies were gratefully rewarded with an herbal bath set in a handmade wooden tub. The herbs were freshly collected from their garden upon our arrival.

After watching shooting stars and the Milky Way in pure darkness, we slept on a bamboo mat under a mosquito net. We awoke to roosters and yet another delicious homegrown breakfast and tea. We were sad to leave such generous and humbling people but Laos was calling our names.

Exhausted and dirty we returned to our bags and hanging laundry held by a hostel. Realizing she was missing a white t-shirt, Gabi asked the clerk if they had seen it. Blushing, she pointed to the white t-shirt she was wearing asking "You mean this one?" Incredulously, Gabi confirmed it was hers as other traveling onlookers laughed in disbelief. The worn shirt was returned just hours after Gabi had paid to have it washed.

The next morning, in pouring rain, we ran around town trying to recover Gabi's forgotten passport which was being delivered from Hanoi on the night bus. Only as it was received did we realize the hotel from that same morning still had Lisa's passport. Meanwhile our bus to the Lao border was waiting. We recovered both and embarrassed we border the packed minivan soaking wet. The apologies flowed.

After 45min in the minivan the eight foreigners in the back seats gathered from the 12 Vietnamese in the front that this was not a ride to the bus station for our sleeper bus... We were in for a ten hour ride in this uncomfortable vehicle with multiple stops due to flooding and mud. While one boy puked loudly and continuously in the front seat, a local man insisted on leaning on Gabi's cramped legs. We were relived to reach Dien Bien Phu after dark in preparation for our border crossing the following morning. Little did we know what we had in store...