Sapa was all and more than I expected. After a 12 hour painful bus ride I was
greeted at 6am by a Ping. She was a beautiful woman, mother of 4, who offered
to walk me to the hostel I was looking for. She had such a radiant smile and
she was wearing the colorful and elaborate typical clothes from her tribe, the
Black H’mongs. As we walked through town, even at that early hour, all the
other minority people were getting ready for the day, greeting us with their
friendly smiles that I quickly grew accustomed to. Ping and I had a really good
connection from the very beginning; she was just one of those people who from
the moment you meet make you feel at home, welcomed. She spoke almost perfect
English, with limited vocabulary of course, but very impressive nonetheless;
she later told me she had learned it from the many people she had met. As we
got to the hostel she told me that I was more than welcome to go stay over with
her family for a night, I immediately accepted. We agreed to meet the next
morning at 10am, as it takes a few hours to walk to her village.
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| View from the Pinocchio Hostel |
The dorms were on the top floor; I climbed 6 flights of
stairs with my backpack but was rewarded by an unbelievable view; surrounded by
green mountains with extensive rice terraces brushed by the clouds, breathtaking.
I went out to explore the town; narrow streets, unpaved roads, lots of
restaurants and guesthouses. I met a 14 year old girl (also from the black Hmong tribe), she was very curious and funny.
We walked to the market hand in hand and she showed me a great place to
eat; it was packed with tourists,
backpackers and locals alike. For a whole $1.50 I got a huge plate of pho with
chicken. Being Sunday, the town square was in full swing. I have never seen so
many colorful crafts, blankets, clothing, purses and decorations. There were so
many different minorities present, each with their own typical dress and
costumes. The one thing they had in common was how nice they were, always
smiling and laughing, chatting up with everyone they met along their path. By
the end of that day, I was friends with everyone I walked past. I was at the
square from over an hour, just people watching... I’m sure I could have stayed
there for the whole day.
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| On the right is my 14 year old Hmong friend |
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| One of the hundred beautiful pictures from the Sunday market |
By the time Ping came by the next morning, I found myself
surrounded by a group of locals. I don’t know why, but they all seemed to like
me and just wanted to chat. We started walking at around 11am, the view along
the path was gorgeous, more so than I had imagined it would be. Our snacks
consisted of fresh cucumber, just like an apple; Asian cucumbers taste a lot
better though, they are sweeter, fleshy and HUGHE, I’d say almost melon sized. We
got to her house at around 1pm, there were a few people over sitting outside on
tinny wooden stools. There is a big sense of community in her village, the kids
are always playing around and the adults are always chatting on the front “porches”
and along the streets, everyone just seems to be happy all the time.
Her house had wooden
walls, a leaf roof and a concrete floor. When you walked in, there was a main
room with a flat screen tv, a foldable plastic table and lots of pictures. To
the right was a semi room (no door) with a wooden bed and then a kitchen, which
consisted of a square in the ground where you could start a fire. To the left
of the entrance there was another semi-room with a bed and then a place where
water is always running (they get constant flow from the stream) used for every
day purposes. This space was shared with the house next door. Simple, yet the tv... so ironic. They had one
light bulb (in the main room) but other than that there were no signs of electricity.
We spent the afternoon sowing; she made me a purse for my
mom and a wristlet for my sister while I sewed flags onto my backpack. At night, the whole family came over for
dinner. They had a 1 yr old, a 3 year old, an 8 year old and a 12 year old.
After dinner, Ping brought out some rice wine, which she had made herself. She
poured me a shot of it and topped it with a purple fermented juice (also home-made)
to make the flavor smoother as the rice wine was very very strong. She kept pouring more and more shots of it,
telling me stories and showing me pictures. I think my favorite one was of how
she met her husband.
The next morning she was up at 5am, I could hear her making
breakfast and getting ready for the day, but I didn't get up till 6... the bed
was the hardest thing I have ever slept on (and im not exaggerating) it
was just a large wooden block with a thick blanket on top...but who am I
kidding? I slept just fine. After breakfast I was sitting around getting my
stuff ready when her little boy came by, sat on the floor beside me and pooped
himself. What a bonding experience hahahhaaha that’s when I finally understood why
little children all around Asia run around with shirts but no pants on....
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| Ping |
We left the house at around 10 am and walked to the main
viewpoint where the rice fields where even more impressive, the river funneled
between the mountains and the yellow schools looked like sparks in the
distance. A minibus of Chinese tourists arrived too, but the funniest part was
that they weren't there to see the landscape but rather to look at some
spiritual rock.... Ping knew which rock it was but had no idea of its
significance... odd. Ping’s husband came
to pick us up at noon and the three of us rode back to town on his motorcycle
with me sandwiched in between them, it was quite the sight.
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