Our trip to Sapa, a small mountain town in North Vietnam, began with an overnight train. Before our group of mothers and daughters clamored onto the train, we stocked up on nightcaps of Tiger beer in the station. Compared to Emma and my many experiences with overnight travel in India, this was luxury. Clean, ready made beds awaited us in a room panelled with dark wood and elegant bedside lamps. Emma, Mamma, and I packed into one room accompanied by a French-Canadian man, who was involuntarily subjected to female topics of conversation (including breast sizes), and other such inappropriate themes. Ilsa marveled over the novelties of sleeping in the same room as a stranger and was particularly concerned about breathing in other people's germs in such close confines. Nevertheless, she overcame her hesitations and headed back to her over-airconditioned cabin, which she and Izzy shared with a South American couple who were decidedly discontent with the room temperature and caused a row with the conductor until it was definitely bedtime.
We arrived early morning, having had little sleep due to the constant squeaks and jolts of the train. Thankfully greeted by our hotel pick-up, we headed to Sapa through lush, terraced mountainsides. Once we arrived, we dropped our bags and headed to Baguette & Chocolate, a local "training" restaurant where street children are taught culinary and hospitality management skills. We munched on pastries and tea followed by a slow game of scrabble due to our tired minds. Promptly at check-in time, we scrambled back to our hotel and to the prospect of a nap before heading out to see the town. Mamma, who cannot take naps in the morning, wandered through the local market, and came back reporting on the dried (and live) scorpions she had seen among other local oddities. We would later be first-hand witnesses to the meaty horrors found in the local market, including dog, grubs, and severed legs with hooves dangling off a table, most likely a once-prancing horse.
We woke from our nap and relished the mountain-top view from our hotel window. Taking advantage of the sunny weather, we motored down the mountain to embark on a small trek to a local village. The scenery that greeted us was gorgoeous. Rice paddies lay in neat terraces along the mountainside, each layer mirroring the sun's rays. On occassion we spotted fathers and sons knee deep in irrigated mud guiding the water buffalos that tilled the land for the new planting season. The local indigenous tribes are mainly composed of the Hmong and Dao people, who wear brightly patterened clothing made from hemp. Their tribal identities are indicated by the type of head dress worn. Throughout our trek, we were greeted by various ladies whose English was surprisingly advanced due to increased contact with tourists. As our new local friends sensed that we were nearing the end of our trek, our pleasant conversations turned to aggressive hassling to buy their hand-made products. Though beautiful, Lonely Planet and our trusty guide warned that the dye used for the majority of their products runs in the rain, wash, and if worn on a sweaty body! Apart from this important consideration, we weren't enticed by the various trinkets and purses shoved into our face quite untactfully. Our small entourage soon became a swarming mass of local women, and my clever Mamma was forced to hold the Dao Raffle (an appropriate name for this Dao-dominated group).
With sufficient translation from our guide, Mamma explained that she would give every women a number. The number would then be placed, conveniently, in one of the baby hats that the women were begging my mother to buy, despite that fact that it wouldn't fit on any of her grown babies. One number would then be picked from the hat, and we would buy something from that women alone. Mamma explained that this was the only fair way to appease everyone, and that after the raffle had been held there would be no more imploring from the ladies! So in went numbers 1-15, and out came 7! Number 7 was quite pleased with her predicament and Mamma bought a very useless baby hat. The group seemed calm and uneasy for several minutes until an eruption of "its unfair" rose from the depths of the crowd. Our car promptly arrived and we hussled away from the Dao Raffle to our mountain abode.
