Finally we found a road that had heaps of motorbike hire and buy/sell shops. Negotiating is the norm here, but not for us. We were both relieved when a deal was made, but also sad to have finished this chapter of our journey. We've had the BEST time on the bikes. Definitely it was the most ideal way to get around this country, and I'd highly recommend it to both riders and non-riders alike.
So without our beautiful bikes we explored Hanoi by foot. As we're popping in and out of Hanoi a few times, we'll make a Hanoi post another day.
The sleeping bus from Hanoi to Sapa town was a curious affair. Climbing aboard around 9pm, the driver grunted while opening a plastic bag, and looked intently at our shoes. With shoes tucked safely in the bag, we discovered 30 super reclined seats which tucked your toes under your front neighbours back. The dark-haired 2m Aussie bloke struggled to tuck himself, and after a few minutes was glad to distract himself with the wifi on board and quite promptly posted a selfie on Facebook!
Pulling to a halt about 4am, the driver waited till 6am before he hollered 'Sapa town, now we get down.' Reopening our eyes, a rub or two, and a glance out one window revealed a pretty lake with fog obscuring the view past a row of lakefront hotels. Looking out the other window revealed a bustling mass of eager eyes peering up at the bus windows. Lots of pint-sized hopefuls clothed in dark costumes with very colourful sleeves energetically anticipated our arrival into town. Oh no. We made a plan to get off the bus and walk left, and just keep walking. Neither of us really like buying stuff, and it's hard to say 'no thank you' to folk when they offer you their handiwork. Being rejected is not a pleasant thing, and especially after working long hours to represent one's cultural heritage through handcrafts.
Sure enough, we steeled ourselves, turned left and were immediately followed by an older lady with a ready-toothless grin and a few others who endeavoured to keep up with our brisk pace. We managed to say no thanks to her offer to stay at her house, and wished her a happy day. Relieved we finally looked around, spotting a cafe (which meant a bathroom for one of us and a coffee for the other). About to cross the road, another lady approached us. Coal-black hair, cheerfully darting light brown eyes, an incredibly beautiful smile. Gian (pronounced Jee-arn) had a kind heart, which was obvious from the outset. Her rounded face was the colour of a lady who has laboured under the warm sun on many a day in the rice paddies. Gian wore very dark indigo clothing handmade from hemp, and hand embroidered with colourful symmetrical patterns. Gumboots looked out of place, but actually were ideal. Gian said she had a husband and two small children, and lived in a village four hours trek through the rice fields from Sapa town. She belonged to the Hmong people, and she was wearing their tradional clothes. Her silver earrings were handcrafted by her father-in-law as was her solid necklace, with the chain-like section on the front. Her silver bracelets made a soft jangly sound as she spoke animatedly about her family. Immediately Gian was loveable! Not wanting to commit, and being a bit nervous about being able to eat vegetarian in someone else's home, without making them feel uncomfortable, we said we'd get a coffee and plan our day. Pulling a 1990's cellphone out of a non-existent looking pocket, 27 year old Gian exchanged numbers with us. Gently fastening a cloth bracelet of each of us, Gian held up her pinky, and said 'I'd really like to show you my village, we'll talk later ... pinky promise?' That was the clincher for me!
In the cafe we met the hilarious Argentinian newly-weds Federico and Ornela, who were on their honeymoon. We also met our new Aussie friend Paris, who is tripping around Asia on a massive adventure. We spent the next two days with these fine folk, and really loved their company. Hiring motorbikes, the sadness of giving up our old bikes was quickly gone. We rode through the super dense fog, looking at the markets.
Munching some super soft doughnuts, and looking around at the many possible items to buy at the market, we chose to not purchase each of you the following medicinal kit. There wasn't enough common language to communicate what exact remedy this is, but in any case, we're fairly certain none of you have whichever particular ailment it might be for!
Yes that is a skewered dried gecko next to that starfish, and various kinds of tree bark. The people at the market were fascinating. Being a bit mesmerised by their weathered faces, I found it hard to keep our cameras from shooting everyone in sight. This is the stuff of National Geographic. Most of our photos are on our Canon, as the quality is superior, so you might need to wait till we get back to enjoy the splendour of the Hmong people's faces.
Riding up to a waterfall afforded us our first views above the fog.
Steep hills and lots of rain means that the Sapa area is great for produce and rice. Looking nothing at all like the postcards, we hoped we could get a glimpse of those famous terraced rice paddies.
Phoning Gian, we arranged to ride motorbikes and meet her near their village. The whole time we spent together, she never referred to her house as a sole entity, but constantly spoke of her village and her people. And what a communal life they live.
Maybe now's a good time to make a cup of tea and come back to read about the most beautiful highlight of this entire trip so far!
Leaving Sapa town, we got lost a few times, but riding through the thick fog, we caught a peek at a mini view.
Rice paddies at last! Gian met us on the main road and we rode up a short way before leaving our motorbikes at her extended family's home. We made the rest of the 20 minute uphill trek by foot, Gian calling out to vilagers along the way. Children meandering happily, with little sweets in their mouths, and lots of skanky dogs minding their own business. Black bristly pigs were as common as dogs.
Very casually, Gian passed around a marijuana stem, asking if we knew what it was. A couple of knowing smiles later and a crazed photo for Federico, and Gian showed us her dark indigo coloured jacket. Seemingly unrelated at first, she explained that they make the fabric by hand using the plant. Hemp is the fabric of choice in Hmong tribespeople, but it seems like they have figured out how to smoke it too!
Arriving at the home below, we felt really welcomed. Surrounded by mystical fog and the songs of exotic birds outside, we perched on low benches around a cozy fire with our new friends.
An eight year old boy shyly yet politely said hello, before tucking behind Gian to study the five tall foreigners who had just entered his house. Khoa is a clever kid, and Gian's eldest. A vibrant two year old bounced around, and as soon as she spotted her Mum, pulled up Gian's top for a quick welcome home drink with Mum. Peng is a cheeky cherub, with an eye for sweets and is rather fantastic at communicating what she wants. We met Gian's mother-in-law, a bright-eyed mother of seven whose constant smile revealed a few golden teeth. Gian's sister in law, Gia (pronounced Shee-a) was strikingly beautiful wearing her brightly coloured head scarf, and appeared younger than her 26 years. The wise old man in the corner was Gian's father-in-law, silversmith, basket maker, musician and gentle granddad.
Later in the evening we met Seo, Gian's husband. A man of few words, but wanting to share the sparkle in his eye, he lovingly cuddled his children after returning home from his expedition high into the mountains. The family are completing their house, and Seo and his brothers spend days in the mountains searching for hardwood timber to replace the temporary tarpaulin walls.
A feast was prepared by Gian and her family, in the dim-lit house. The house consists of a large open area, with a small corner partitioned with a blanket, the family live a beautifully communal life. It was striking that everything revolved around the single bare-bulb that lit the room, along with a fire on the hard-packed mudfloor.
We watched dishes being prepared on the fire around us, and asked six million questions. Their life seems from a different era. Electricity came to their village two years ago, and water is piped down to their village from the mountains above. All their cooking happens on the fire, and they set a high standard for a home-cooked meal.
Over the course of the evening, a steady stream of people filed in, each nodding their head in greeting, and joining us around the fire. When it was time to eat, it was like a Christmas banquet with a table of happy faces, and delicious aroma filling the air. We filled our hungry tummies with rice which Gian's family had grown and harvested. We also tucked into the most delicious spring rolls and tofu curry. One of the father's friends jovially poured a clear liquid out of a plastic water bottle into mini porcelain bowls for each person. When we asked what the liquid was, Gian replied with 'it's happy water!' and after a pause said 'that's what we call rice wine!'
The jovial gentlemen said cheers in their language, and became even more jovial as he knocked a few back. Lots of banter in three languages made for a happy night, and we felt entirely at home with our new friends. The fog turned to rain, and as some of us silently hoped this simple roof would keep us dry, others nodded and headed into the dark night to their own homes.
Around 8:30pm, with everyone tucked into bamboo slat beds in different corners of the room, the communal light went out, and we all heard the symphony of raindrops on the roof, with the occasional scrapping of the puppies, and a few more sucking sounds from Peng.
(Read on in 'Sapa #2' post)
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