Nine hours on an overnight train sounds pretty daunting, what with the in and out speed between townships and the rickety rockety swing of the bunk. Our previous night on Halong Bay had been a treat – the rumbling hum of the motor and steady pace made us feel not the least bit seaborn. Happily enough, though, after much nervous energy spent on “oh, we’re gonna be stuffed tomorrow,” it was 6 am and we were sitting in Lao Cai, North Vietnam, eating Pho and ready to embrace the day ahead.
That is, provided that the rain gave way. I think my laughing at those back home in Melbourne must have caught up with me – the heavens had opened and we certainly has ominous expectations. A lot can change in three and half hours, though, and that it did. Our thoughts turned from fear of the rain – which did eventually cease – to angst towards our “guide’s” tardiness. Apparently, they can’t drive in the rain here so they had to wait. Right.
With a bit of warmth back in the sky, it was off to Bac Ha markets to see how the tribe people do it (“it” being “stuff in general,” of course). First and most obvious things first – the Hmong tribe women do things bright – they wear traditional clothes so technicoloured that Joe himself would be jealous. They’re a social people, too; a pair of older women stood happily amongst the pushing throb of tourists chuckling away (probably at the red head watching them chuckling) and the eatery of the market was simply bursting with voices of those eating “stews” – floating pig knees, anyone?
The colours of Bac Ha
Trading incense
Lunch time
A little local
The men, whilst I think of it, are the lazy ones here, leaving all of the work to their better halves whilst they laugh away behind a spoon and, more importantly, a drink. We were told that Sunday is a day for the men to drink. We were later told that was a lie, and that every day is a day for the men to drink.
Drink some wine, play some cards, drink some more wine... The guy in the blue has actually passed out from drinking too much
The market is serious business. Whilst the shopping quarter might cater for the tourists and remain relatively docile, the locals’ quarters are anything but, with women swarming enmasse after the fresh produce and materials to make the items then found back in the shopping section. There’s all sorts of trade going on here, but none more confronting (for me) than in the top level of the market – the dog trade. Now, I completely see the point that: “If we bred dogs and cats for eating and had sheep as pets, we’d be mortified at the thought of lamb shanks” (mmm, shanks)... But the fact of the matter is simple, I don’t love sheep. I don’t love cows, pigs, snakes, iguana (yep, they eat em here). I do, on the other hand, feel very uneasy seeing pups traded up to be dinner in the months to come. This was the part of Bac Ha I just had to turn my back on.
[We did later learn this – the Vietnamese keep dogs as pets and they would never eat their own pet, just their neighbours! ...Their words, not mine.]
From the markets of Bac Ha, it was off to see how the Flower Hmong lived further out of the town. The lives of these tribe people is nothing short of impressive – the way they are so self contained on these mountains. These particular tribe people are well known in the north for one particular type of produce – corn wine! This is powerful stuff, seriously so. Say one wanted to prepare a chicken for dinner (get ready for this Christopher Walken); simply give it a sip of this stuff and it’ll pluck itself (or, in some cases, simply explode). Myth? Maybe. This stuff is sometimes used as lighter fuel and volunteering eagerly to try it before actually realising the fact was an interesting touch to the day. Chest = burning.
Brewing the corn wine
As startling as a gulp of corn wine might be, nothing quite compares to the thrill (“thrill”?) of a Vietnamese driver. Now, I thought the Europeans did bus driving up hills crazy... Well they have nothing on this. It’s not so much the speed, but moreso the desire to never be stuck behind any vehicle, even if the vehicle in front is keeping good speed. A honk means means “look out, I’m overtaking you.” A flash from an oncoming vehicle means “get back in your lane, I’d rather not faceplant your bus.” Sure, decent enough communication, but hardly useful when one bus overtakes another in a full 180 turn around a mountainside, with sheer cliff to the left and yet another bus oncoming around the bend. It happened. And again. And again. The drivers might just have a death wish, or they might be trying to scare the tourists. Hell, for lack of any amusement parks they might just be trying to boost tourism via makeshift thrill rides (“With unbeatable views to boot!”).
Oh, and only a Vietnamese driver could replace his review mirror with a DVD player, screening some Miss World bikini, followed by the finest (cough) in Vietnamese pop karaoke contest no less.
Who likes a sing along?
All of this for under $15... sounds good.
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