the tribes of sapa.
The train bounced up and down as it chugged
through the countryside of northern Vietnam. In our sleeper compartment, our
bodies rose and fell to mirror the train’s movements. Eventually sleep washed
over us somewhere in between Hanoi and Lao Cai.
We arrived at a train station that rests just
one kilometer from the Chinese border. A van picked us up to bring us to a
hotel to wait for our guide; we were meant to trek through the rolling hills of
Sapa for the next two days.
After driving up the snaky and coiling roads,
above the morning fog and through the trees, the van surprisingly made it to
Sapa Village.
Immediately women wrapped in thick black
clothing with colorful embroidery swarmed the van. These women with rosy cheeks,
hooped earrings weighing down their lobes, and blue fingers were standing and pointing
at us – as if deciding which foreigner will be theirs. We were told about the
Black H’Mong women who will attach to your side, ask you questions about your
life, and then urge you to buy one of their crafts. Behind the glass, we smiled
and waved, prepared for the bombardment.
We soon set off for the hills behind our charismatic
guide, Tu, and seven Black H’mong women. They asked how many siblings we have,
where we are from, how old we are, and why we aren’t married – that question always seems to come up.
Standing on the edge of the mountainside, layers
of terraced hills carved into domineering mountains sprawled out before us.
This is the land of native tribes in Sapa Valley. Spread out among these toasted green hills are the villages of the Black H’Mong people, Red Dao People, and
a few other tribes. The native tribes
completely survive off of subsistence farming. Each family is allotted to grow
1.5 tons of rice each year. Of course there is a communal agreement that each
family with help out the other as planting and growing rice is an arduous
task.
We spent the majority of our time walking with
the Black H’Mong women and through their villages. I found particular interest
in one seventeen year old girl with a baby on her back. She was already married
and this ball of joy with sun-kissed cheeks was her first child. She could not understand
why I was not married at twenty-five nor had any children. I kindly explained
that I would love to be married one day but I am not on that path yet in my
life. She asked if I felt lonely and I did my best at explaining the difference
between being alone and lonely. These questions, which come quite often in my
life, only make me smile. We are all on such individual and unique paths. One
person’s story cannot and should not match another’s. There is no set timeline
for our lives where we must check a box off for accomplishing a milestone at a certain age. I hope to be married to a loving man one day; yet I am in no rush
to settle down with one person and grow roots in one place – it will happen
when it is meant to. That being said, I do not think those that have done so have made
a wrong choice. To each their own, and while others visit Lowe’s to remodel
their house, I visit random islands to remodel my soul.
I cannot help but feel the power of the human
spirit in situations like this. Thousands of miles away from home, in a remote
village in the hills of northern Vietnam, a young tribal girl and I can connect
and communicate over the one thing that unites humanity: love.
Sapa Valley is breathtaking. We trekked
seventeen kilometers through placid rice paddies, up steep mountains, and over
gurgling rivers. Water buffalo grazed, piglets foraged for food, and countless
baby chicks chased their mothers. Our guide, Tu, told us about the local way of
living, history of the tribes, and overall life in Vietnam. He has a gentle
heart but a mischievous sense of humor.
The terraced rice paddies were filled with
water, preparing the soil for planting the new season’s crops. The clear sky was reflected in the shallow
pools, giving the illusion of a cracked mirror. We stopped at one woman’s home
to see how they make their clothes. A middle-aged woman with a stupendous grin
is one of three women who know how to make their traditional cloth in their
village. Their robes are made from hemp and died in indigo with beeswax used to
make the designs. We passed by schools that are furnished by UNICEF and staffed
by volunteers. Their houses are simple wooden frames sitting atop massive
amounts of land and surrounded by farm animals and gardens. They live off their
land and make extra income by selling their crops in Sapa Village Market or their
crafts to the tourists. They live a traditional and humble life, although they
have accepted the modernity of electricity.
We carried on with our trek, letting the rush
from the inspiring views give strength to our tired bodies. On our way to
our homestay, we stopped to watch the sun set behind the geometrically designed
hills. We thanked Tu for giving us a glorious day. He took us on the path less
taken where no other tourists go. It was simply our group, tribeswomen, and the
spacious valley of rice paddies.
We walked the distance of what most groups do in
two days in one day. Exhausted, our bodies found their way to a local family of
the Black H’Mong Tribe where we would spend the night. Our kind hosts opened
their heart and home to seven strangers. After showers we toasted to our
gracious homestay family and to beautiful Sapa. They cooked a feast for us
and let us partake in some of the preparations. The food was delicious and the
atmosphere made it even better. Tu translated the tribe’s dialect into English
and told us about their family and daily life. Our host was a small and strong
man with an infectious grin. His children are all school scholars and shy. Three
of the young ones piled into one bed, using each other’s bodies as pillows, as
the adults stayed up to drink rice wine and share stories.
At one point I mentioned a headache I have been
battling with for the past few days. Once Tu translated this to our host, he
jumped up and ran into the kitchen only to return moments later. He held a small
black goat’s horn and piece of coal. Without another word, our host placed the
hot coal inside the horn and then put the horn on the middle of my
forehead. The hot coal burned the oxygen into the horn and suction cupped it to
my forehead – I became a unicorn. Similar to Chinese cupping, this traditional form
of medicine is commonly used by the tribes. I sat there for well over
thirty minutes while my company giggled at the sight of me. After some time our
host took of the horn and I was left with a red mark – but no headache.
We rose with the clatter of a house coming to
life and farm animals clucking from being fed. After a pancake breakfast we
commenced the heartfelt goodbyes to our gracious hosts. Their generosity and
hospitality will never be forgotten.
There are few places tourists can travel to in the world that are still
as honest and authentic as Tu and our hosts in Sapa Valley.
We trekked another seven kilometers that day,
crossing wooden bridges and stopping to play with the local children. Some
young ones are made, by their parents perhaps, to sell bracelets to the passing
foreigners; however, most children are free to be their innocent selves and
play with laughter and imagination in the hills of Sapa. Most children waved
from afar shouting out English words they know. Others folded into their
shyness, hesitant to give us a smile or high five. We stopped to chat with one
little girl whose job was to watch the water buffalo all day – a common chore.
My oldest sister was meant to go into labor
during my time in Sapa – where I would have no access to internet. As I trekked
through the mountains my mind kept wandering back to my family at home. I
prayed for a safe and healthy delivery, letting the wind carry my prayers to
San Francisco. I was of two minds, reveling in the beauty of Sapa yet anxious
to know of my nephew’s birth. When we returned to civilization in Sapa Village
I discovered that my nephew was not yet ready to leave his mother’s loving womb
– and unbeknownst at that time, would not be for two more days.
We boarded the bouncing sleeper train once again
to carry on our journey to Ha Long Bay. Sapa was by far the best part of my visit
to Vietnam, and one of my top three experiences on this trip. The simplicity of
the tribes was mesmerizing. Their work correlated with their need for survival,
there was no excess or greed. My heart was left behind with the children who
have not lost their innocence – they are free to make mud pies from the earth,
catch tadpoles in the water pools, and collect wildflowers for their mothers.
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