Sometimes you just want the familiar. You want a cheeseburger. Your own bed. To just go for a hike. But, the cheeseburgers are never like they are at home. A bed will never – ever – be your own bed. Not even close to as cozy. Or even anything that resembles a mattress. And the familiar feeling of hiking? Well, here, hiking has a whole different language.
We took our first sleeper bus from Hanoi to a little mountain town called Sapa. This bus has 2 levels of actual bed-like seats with blankets, pillows, and a nook to stretch your legs into. However, when it comes to sleeping, it’s not that easy. The drivers are smoking with the windows closed, and alternate between slamming on the breaks and bleeding the gas as the whip around sharp corners which give a new dimension the term “hairpin turns.”
Groggy and sleepless, we arrived in our little town unknowingly. The bus sat, parked, in the main street from about 3am – 5am before anyone told us we had, in fact, reached our destination. Exiting the bus, 2 beautifully dressed, sweet hill tribe women approached us and asked if we would like to walk with them to their homes. We negotiated a price, and set off for some breakfast with our new “Mamas” and their littlest newborns who quietly came along, snuggled into their mothers backs in layers of homemade blankets.
These beautiful tribe women have been coming to Sapa for the past year, trying to get visitors to come home with them to their villages and spend the night for a small fee. We trekked for about 6 hours, observing terraced rice fields, local schools, and learning the lay of the land. Mama San made us little horses and hearts from the wild greens, and we got to know each other as we strolled through the beautiful hill country of Vietnam.
The fog is heavy this time of year, although it’s always quite moist up north. We couldn’t see very far into the mountains on a trek in to the tribe town. But, when the clouds parted to reveal just glimpses, we realised that we were in the presence of some breathtaking nature. Huge mountains laid out before us, as they kept watch over the precious rice fields which are the life of the tribes here. When I asked Mama San what the mountain that framed her town was called, she informed me, “No name. Just mountain.”
At Mama San’s home, her 4 other children rushed out of their home to greet her. (She is 21 years old, mind you.) Family smiles and active snuggling ensued. They were all very bashful toward us, especially the little one who rubbed & averted his eyes when he glanced our way. When I told Mama that he looked tired she said “No, just shy of you.”
So I started playing with him in the mud and rocks that lay in his front yard. He slowly warmed up to me, and sat in my lap while we built mud sculptures with the earth. Meanwhile, Mama’s oldest daughter, Bam, was hiding from us behind a lovely beaded baby-wrap. But, she really wanted to play – she just didn’t want to show it at first.
Inside the house, Mama introduced us to her husband who was building their wood home by hand. He was sanding planks of wood and building up the walls. This home of theirs was a huge upgrade from the standard bamboo thatched huts that most families have. They were proud of their status upgrade and with good reason. We offered to help with the building, but the pride of building your home yourself was stronger than the will of help from strangers.
We took a walk around, exploring the village, and settled in at our 2nd Mama’s home for supper. The neighbour kids were playing in a huge pile of dirt next door. The dirt was intended to help build a garden as their father was labouring on it. But, they had built racetracks in its mounds, and were running plastic toy cars through their hand-made roads. We helped build bridges and raced cars until it was time to help with dinner.
Try as we might to help, these families wanted us to relax and enjoy our time here. The children wanted me to read a book they had in English. They gathered around and repeated words they didn’t know as I spoke them slowly and clearly. Pointing out big words on the page, they would look at me and I would say it slowly, try to explain what it was and they would repeat and talk to each other about what they were learning. The eagerness to learn was apparent and impressive.
But then! The camera was discovered.
Cackles, hilarity and competitions for my approval with a “beautiful picture! very good!” comment ensued…
Mama San and Bam joined us for dinner, and we sat around the hearth built into the mud floor inside the hut. Our family dinner of spring rolls, rice, and greens was authentically satisfying and cozy. Little Bam passed the time by tickling me and running away, then sneaking back up wanting me to make her squeal too. She climbed all over me and wailed when it was time to leave.
We had some homemade rice wine with the parents of 7 children, the rulers of the household. We pointed out our various body parts, and taught each other how to say them in English and Vietnamese just like the ridiculously exhausted people that we were. We slunk into bed and passed out. Hard.
Returning to Sapa was a true walk in the clouds. We walked along a high road which overlooked the famous rice fields, and occasionally the clouds would lift a bit and we could see the spectacle. The fields were due to be planted in 2 weeks.
Hours of trekking took us through little villages, and into air which at times was only a few meters of visibility. Eerie, and beautiful, it was a visual representation of the challenging discomfort of hiking into the foreign.
