A variety of banana blossom grown in Vietnam to create a refreshing light crunch in a salad.
I have only seen large deep red lady finger variety sold in Australian grocery stores.
Once again we woke up to a misty overcast morning in Ta Van, Sa Pa.
Moving out of our Jasmine room at
Lucky Daisy's
Maybe a good thing with the weather as is, because Peter and I are planning to take today at an easy slow pace. Knowing we had to relocate to another room(s), we organised our belongings and left them outside our current room.
Before we headed down the steep slope to breakfast at Bamboo Bar, we made sure we didn't forget anything that would make us hike back up. No kidding, the slope to and from our accommodation is steep and quite slippery on a damp day like today.
After breakfast, we hit the main road towards Ta Van centre about 1km away. On our path, the different architecture of house presented themselves within their own backdrop, making that moment of vision uniquely raw, silent, and sublime. The house on stilts is built on descending land towards the valley and river.
I gather the reason for the stilts is a probability of the river rising when the wet season arrives to this area, as well as elevating for a better view. I also notice the flimsiness of the walls on this structure (and all others) and have come to the conclusion that people build their shelter according to the environment they live in. In freezing weather or blazing hot, you'd want your home to be well insulated. Whereas, in Ta Van the weather hovers between 13 to 24 degrees Celsius year round, which is a lovely mild temperature that does not require insulation to one's home. The openness allows air flow to breath through and refresh one's living space. On the other side of the road, the houses are perked up by the natural elevation of the hill. I love the simplicity of this house with timber and corrugated iron. You could mistake this structure to be in countryside Japan, China or even bushland Australia.
The common theme of remote spaces and places is the universal simplicity of the bare necessities required for one's existence. I love the practical and simple placement of the sun-shirts and sunhat, umbrella and broom, hung up on the outside the timber wall.
Walking upstream, cages of chickens, roosters and ducks are placed above the water drain. Convenient for the owner of the livestock to keep their area clean of bird manure, and suppose, a source of nutrient for the soil that it decides to settle in downstream. The next neighbour had their ducks "free range" so to speak, as compared to their caged counterparts. During the day livestock is kept this way on display for locals looking for a good looking meal. They don't have a butcher were a mass amount of livestock is slaughtered. Here, you buy and kill only what you want to eat that day. No waste. The rest is kept alive, preserved for another day. And when the evening comes, the livestock is released in the owners shed or yard to free-roam until dawn.
As we entered the main strip of Ta Van village, vendors were sitting by their stands along the left side of the road. There were sellers of banana blossoms, bamboo shoots, yam and meat. Across the road was a small sheltered stand, selling small bags of milk. Unsure where the vendor was, I couldn't confirm what type of milk is was - cow, buffalo or goat? Once again, quantities are kept small as you only buy what you need for the day.
Here, not every household has a refrigerator to allow a longer shelf life. This is not a bad thing. Being forced to really think about what you only need to consume for the day, minimises mindless wastage; and you eat produce at its freshest and potent of nutrients (vegetables would have been harvested that day or two ago from the actual plant in the soil, not picked young and gassed in a cold storage warehouse for months - Just how old are the fresh fruit & vegetables we eat?), whereas preserving through refrigeration, produce are in the process of losing its value of goodness (and most likely had little goodness to start with).
We came upon a large shed (Tan Phat Joint Stock Company - FSA Stone) that housed stone, wood and marble carvings. The details of intricacy leave the beholder spellbound and in awe of the skilful artist's gift. Art is the appreciation and respect given to the medium. As an artist, one must observe and dance with the medium, to intimately understand and feel its strength and weakness, where it will give way and when it will not yield. Only when the artist and the medium are one, can a masterpiece emerge. Peter and I spent quite some time looking and marvelling at the carving pieces on display. Peter bought a small round jewellery box of fine carving details for his daughter Rachel. And I bought myself a small lotus box to house clove spices in.
The open terrace lounging area of La Dao Spa in Ta Van, Sa Pa.
Walking back towards our homestay, we decided to veer off the main road to see what else was beating in this village. I had my heart set on buying an authentic tribal skirt. However, most shops that were along the main road were selling cheap imitation of their traditional costumes or if it was authentic, it was at a tourist price. I was so lucky to have stumbled on a small shop off the main road. The young lady's shop had most things that would appeal to travellers passing through. On her tiny shop wall she had a small collection of authentic tribal skirts, that either she or a female family member had handmade. There was a distinction with these skirts, they held an aura of authentic beauty. The indigo dyed cotton is marked by imperfections of pigmentations. The screenprint of patterns showed variants of pressure and colour intake. And the bottom of the skirt was labouriously hand embroidered with linen yarn, which would have taken the maker hours and days. I purchased this skirt at a good price of VND450,000 which was equivalent to AUD25.00.
Peter got more than he bargained for with this
buffalo souvenir.
Heading back to base by going through the back streets, I got us lost. I assumed most roads would lead to the main road at various points, I was wrong. We hit a couple of dead ends. Peter wasn't impressed by my navigation skills. I had to concede and backtrack all the way. Finally, finding our way, Peter tells me he is keen on buying a stuffed animal as a souvenir. Looking from shop to shop I tried to look for the best looking stuffed toy. Peter, on the other hand, was happy to buy any stuffed animal. I found a shop elevated by the road. I stepped up onto the shop's concrete porch and asked the young fellow to let us inspect his stuffed animals from the display cabinet. He happily obliged, giving me the stuffed buffalo to review. Peter was happy with the chosen piece and handed over the money to the young man.
As the young businessman took the money, he froze. Literally. Like a slow-motion car crash, the young lad fell off the platform like a statue and hit the road at Peter's feet. I stood in shock! I watched his eyes roll back and he began to seizure. Peter was quick to support his head from hitting the ground. An English woman passing by advised to turn him on his side. Still, in shock, I lost my ability to speak and reiterate what the lady suggested to the local people in Vietnamese. His face was turning purple and froth was coming out of his mouth. It felt like forever. I was hopeless in this situation. His seizure eventually melted away from his body. He laid there unconscious. Three males (possibly his friends or relatives) carried his body into the house which was to the left side of the shop. An older lady came outside and explained that his seizures happen when he has gone drinking. It was his birthday yesterday and so he went drinking with his mates last night to celebrate. A strange relief to know that the young man's seizure was an occurrence, that this wasn't an out of the blue first time, and that there was a reasonable trigger for his medical condition. I say strange relief because who in their contemplative mind thinks having a regular episode of pain is acceptable, nothing to worry about. A quote by Stalin parallels my thoughts - a single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.
Looking down through the observation hole at La Dao Spa in Ta Van, SaPa.
Walking away from the traumatic experience, we parked ourselves on a swinging bench at La Dao Spa in their open terrace/garden. The view from here is meant to overlook the cascading rice terraces below and across the river. Unfortunately, the weather is thick of mist and fog, we could not see anything further than a couple of metres in front of us. We were hungry. Hoping to order food, we were sadly disappointed to find out this spa did not offer food, only drinks. Peter asked for a pineapple mango smoothie, and I got an egg coffee.
It was late in the afternoon, most restaurants were empty as lunch was over and it was preparations for evening dinner. We found a place where a man was kicking by the kitchen door talking to someone inside. I asked if the restaurant was still open and he nodded up like a true "old gen" gangster.
Waiting for our food to come out of the kitchen, I utilised my time snapping up close shots of banana blossoms and dried rice panicles hanging from the restaurant's structural pillar. Fascinated by the decorative beauty of the rice plant, I had never been up close
Caramelised eggplant dish served
at the Bamboo Bar dinner banquet.
to the rice harvesting process before this trip. I grew up on rice but had not contemplated the full-scale production of producing the white fluffy goodness I love eating so much. The man must have been observing me because he chimed in on my awe-inspiring moment to inform me of the technical names during the process of producing rice. I felt like a school kid listening and learning.
Dinner was organised through the Bamboo Bar as a banquet amongst travellers from various corners of the world. All were guests at Lucky Daisy's homestay accommodation. A couple from Sweden. A couple from Germany. And a family from England. The English mother happened to be the woman witnessing the seizure on the street earlier today. We were still raw from the experience and felt quite surreal that a moment could knock you off your pink-roses travels and grip you into a real-life drama.
Back at the communal lounge at our accommodation (Lucky Daisy's), I captured a photograph of a praying mantis conquering a stuffed horse. Talk about real-life drama, praying mantis eats her mating partner(s).
Artisan at work...hand-carved...slow and intimate journey...wabi-sabi.
Rubbing my eyes from slumber and sleep, I found Tom already awake. Guessing about the day ahead and wondering how Peter was coping, initiated Tom to make a move to the bathroom to freshen up for breakfast. By the time I got to myself ready and shook off any tiredness, Peter and Tom were sitting by the outside table assembling their breakfast.
Tom having breakfast before our hike.
Breakfast was crepes with fruit - conventional, simple and effective. This homestay accommodated to their western guests, understandable, because in Vietnamese culture (and other Asian countries), there is no difference between what they eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The only exception is congee, but even it can be eaten throughout the day. I express “conventional” lightly because it is assumed that breakfast has always been done.
However, breakfast was created as part of the 3-meals a day concept only in the 17th century by the Brits and the French.
Young boys contributing to the daily operations
of a household.
Looking over my shoulder was the youngest son of the homestay and his neighbour friend, both sitting under the verandah peeling baby bamboo shoots. Shoot ! I thought. This image is no longer seen back at home in suburban Australia or Western culture. These young boys understand their duties within the household, which in turn, show their respect for the family and appreciation that they are fed, sheltered and clothed. In the Vietnamese culture the women “generally” do most of the harvesting. On this early morning, the matriarch went up to the plot of land they owned on the hills behind us to harvest the bamboo shoots. This vision I see in front of me jolts me back to my Australian childhood memory when my sisters and I were woken up way past midnight to clean up the banquets that my parents held in our home for their friends, storytelling of a past life in their beloved Vietnam.
Cu joins us for breakfast and gives us the rundown for today. We will walk to the next village Su Pan and have lunch there. There’ll be a bus to pick us up and take us back to the resort base in Sa Pa town, where we grab all our belongings in the storage room, say goodbye and be on our way. Cu assures today’s walk is a walk, nothing like yesterday’s hike, this one is about 3 hours long and mainly on road. At this point, Peter intercepts and tell me that his back is in pain and he wants to catch a taxi back to Sa Pa town and stay at the resort base. As much conviction I could muster, I replied to Peter, “Can you please trust me and go with my plan for today?” I then turned to Cu and asked if he knew of this homestay within Ta Van village called, Lucky Daisy? Lucky for us, Cu says “it’s just up on the corner.” I then ask Cu, if he could take me there to see if I could book for two nights. Cu obliged.
Cu takes me to the front of the Bamboo Bar and tells me that this bar belongs to the same owner. I walked in and was greeted by Hien, one of the owners. I asked if the loft was available to book for two nights. Hien said all their private loft and villas were booked out. However, there is a private family room available for tonight, but tomorrow they would need to move us to a double room within the shared area. I said that would be great. I followed Hien up a steep hill to inspect the rooms. I was very delighted by the cleanliness and the soft beds. The view was breathtaking.
Sitting under the communal porch at Lucky Daisy accommodation,
enjoying the view below and beyond.
I told Hien that I'm travelling with my adopted father, Peter. And I was hoping she could organise a helper to escort Peter to our accommodation once he had finished his treatment at The Charm Destination Spa. Hien said she would try.
Once deposit was finalised, Cu and I went across to The Charm Destination Spa. I booked a one hour and a half treatment for Peter. I stressed to the owner nothing too strenuous due to Peter's back pain. And if no one from Lucky Daisy appears to have come to collect Peter, would he be so kind as to take him to the Bamboo Bar reception desk.
Coming back to our homestay, I told Peter the plan: I’m going to go with Cu and Tom on this hike and back to Sa Pa town to collect our belongings. While you (Peter) are going to have a 90-minute massage just up the hill. Once you're done, a girl from Lucky Daisy should come to the spa to escort you to our room. Be sure to please have your Messenger App up and running so we can be contactable. With apprehension, Peter said “okay”.
Crossing the river via a footbridge, leaving Ta Van village.
Cu, Tom and I started along the river bank in the main valley of Ta Van. It was the shortcut to get onto the opposite side of the river via a walk bridge and onto the main road towards Su Pan Village. Looking down the river back onto the homestay, it was such a pretty picture. A moment thought that I could enjoy living a quieter life like this.
Upon the main road, a new home or business is being constructed. In awe of the basic natural resources that the builder (most likely the owner too) had gathered locally to create the scaffolding for this multi-level structure. It costs them nothing but time and when they are finished with its use, they’ll return it to nature or transform it into something else.
Ingenious really, a declaration of how people can live within nature and are of it. And just around the bend were motorcyclist utilising the abundance of fresh pristine water mother nature has provided from the high mountains. In Western civilisation everything has a price, if it doesn’t, we tend to disregard its intrinsic worth. Vietnamese people deal with financial limitation, this makes them resourceful with their surroundings, which in turns, gives appreciation and respect to nature and its seasons.
It is the end of the rice harvest season. It is now time to cut back the stalks and gather in the straws to be food for livestock, the excess to be turned into tools such as brooms and baskets. Terraces are burnt back and the nutrients go back into the mud for the next new growth. There were a few local women outside their property forking away at the rice straws making mounds. Nothing is wasted, everything has its purpose, even being burnt it becomes food for itself.
Walking along, I could not help but be captivated by this beautiful stunning woman. Her jawline could slice glass, her face belonged on a cover of Vogue. I loved that she was showing her son her masculine attributes. Vietnamese women are known to be strong and resilient, quite business-minded as well. Though the men sit at the head of the table, enjoy the social/political and “wheeling and dealing” scene, most Vietnamese women are the brains and the machine behind the scene. Stereotype much?!
The stunning beauty was bossing at this very moment.
A few doors up, amongst the rubble of rocks a little boy is sifting through its content looking for something. Once again, a childhood memory pops into my mind: I used to follow my brothers down to a creek behind our backyard to catch yabbies. This one particle day, I stood by the rocks and watched my brothers catch yabbies instead. Because the previous time my tiny finger got caught by a yabby and it stung me. I remembered looking curiously at the rocks and stones around and beneath my feet and wondered why they were here, existing, and not somewhere else. I wonder if this little boy had thought the same thing I did? I’m certain this kid has a creative mind with nature being his playground.
This image may depict a lonely, poor child through Western culture lense, however, this is the most natural setting for a child to grow up together with nature, and to be nature. In current Western culture, we tend to over stimulate our senses to the point of being frazzled and anxious.
And another few doors up, boom, an unknown artist carving out their masterpieces out of derelict dead tree trunks. The craftsmanship is insanely mind-blowing. Inside the shed or home, is a work in progress of the Enlightened One, Buddha, sitting under the Banyan tree, which later becomes known as the Bodhi tree. The joy in Buddha’s face is radiant. I wonder if this Buddha carving is commissioned or whether the artist would sell it onto a retailer? Looking at the shed or home, I’m saddened by the thought that the artist is not making a comfortable living. Surely, these masterpieces are going to some opulent places with opulent prices. I hope someday the artist will be acknowledged for their skills and talent by being paid closer to their true worth.
Through the open door is happy Buddha sitting under a Banyan tree.
We arrived at our pitstop in Su Pan Village. Lunch was simple, Tom and I both had instant noodles with some greens, and Cu chose a bowl of rice with grilled pork belly. Tom was explaining his next journey to Ha Long Bay via catching a sleeper bus in Sa Pa town to Hanoi. Tom had good feedback on sleeper buses, that they were affordable, comfortable and fairly clean.
Getting back to the resort base in Sa Pa town, I bee-lined to the storage room to grab Peter’s and my belongings. By the time I got them all together, Cu had already disappeared. Tom graciously tipped Cu on behalf of Peter and me, which I thought was top-notch. Tom and I wished each other happy and safe travels. Tom walked towards the bus depot and I lugged the bags up to reception to book a taxi back to Ta Van village.
The cloud cracked open to reveal the stunning valley
and mountain slopes from Sa Pa towards Ta Van.
Driving towards Ta Van, the clouds broke away giving sunlight unto the undulating land. The view was just spectacular. Multitasking between soaking in the scenery and trying to take the perfect shot, I tried to contact Peter via Messenger App to no success. Unsure how Peter was, or where he has ended up, I closed my eyes to wish that everything had all worked out fine on his end. And it had, to my relief.
Peter was happy to have had a good massage and a nice soft bed to settle in for tonight. We were both stoked to be sitting in a lovely communal space, taking in the view of the village below. I’m so glad Ta Van had worked out for us in the end, with the next couple of days at a nice Zen pace.
Grains of rice laid out on the verandah to dry, this is known as paddy drying process.
The further north of Vietnam, the more seasons it has, compared to the southern part which only has a wet and dry season. Having four-seasons (spring, summer, autumn and winter) annually, the place usually gets one harvest of rice per year. Whereas, having the two-seasons the growers in the south can harvest up to three times per year.
The constant locomotion of the train soothed my mind and body to sleep, like a newborn in a car-seat. Unfortunately for Peter having insomnia, did not get any sleep on the train Trans-Sapa. Lucky for me, Peter nudged me awake at 4:54am so I didn’t miss the green landscape as the train was nearing Lao Cai. The young Vietnamese man was also wide awake, kicking back on the bunk bed below, listening to Vietnamese music next to his sleeping beauty.
Lao Cai is the main and last stop for Vietnam’s railway for northwest Vietnam. It made logical sense for Lao Cai to be the last train-stop as it is right by the border to China. The couple in our cabin were crossing the border to do adventurous hikes on Chinese mountains. They were young and fit and looked like seasonal hikers.
Outside Lao Cai Train Station.
It was early pulling up to Lao Cai station, the overcast grey clouds and mist did not thrill me. Walking into the station house, there were myriad of drivers and tour assistants standing-by with name boards of their customers’ names. I could not find ours, so we kept walking towards the front entrance. Just outside the front doors were even more driver’s and independent driver’s trying to pick-up stray travellers going somewhere at their own beat and pace. Eventually, I found our name board and followed the young assistant to the bus. To our surprise, 2 northern European couples we fleetingly met sitting and sipping egg coffee at Café Giang yesterday, are now doing the same tour as us. A sense of familiarity gave me assurance that we chose the right tour.
The bus journey was over an hour long. On this road, there were no mountainous rice terrace to be seen. Still wet and misty, I was disappointed with the weather, wasn’t confident the sun would shine today. Boom. Out of nowhere, the quintessential image of livestock in Vietnam, three water buffaloes casually without care crossing the road to the other side. The unison of order from big to small; old to young, is nature’s way of showing how beautiful life is in harmony.
Water Buffaloes - from old to young casually strolling in front of our bus to the other side.
Arriving into SaPa felt like I had entered an alpine resort. Streets had plenty of hotels, hiking gear shops, and restaurants that catered from local cuisine to popular European dishes. The minibus pulled up to the main town resort. We were welcomed by ethnic women in their custom wear. They were overly excited to see buses arrive. I wondered what the fuss was about, surely, Peter and the others weren’t the first white people they had seen.
The driver instructed us to enter the resort lobby and wait for further instructions. With our belongings by our feet in the lobby/reception area, with other tourists, a local Sapa guide announced for our attention. It was just past 6:30am. We had 2 hours to freshen ourselves up in the base changing room and have breakfast on this ground level in the buffet area behind the reception. At 8:30 sharp we had to be back in the base level changing room, allocated tour guides will then take us on our journey.
Once instructions were clear, a horde of eager tourists crammed ourselves into two small elevators to the base level where hot showers were awaiting us. Tour guides were already waiting to greet their groups. Cu introduced himself to me as our Sapa guide for the next 30 hours.
Cu giving Peter an education on the ethnic
minority groups around this region.
He advised me to leave our heavy baggage here in the baggage storeroom, only to take what is necessary for an overnight stay. Cu assured our belongings will be safe and secure.
The hot shower was a dream, I could have stayed under the soothing pressure of hot water, but there were other travellers waiting in line to freshen up. Dried myself up with the provided fresh towels and got dressed in my gym gear. There were gumboots for hire, I decided not to, instead I was looking at the small collection of hiking shoes they had for sale. I should have bought a pair in Hanoi, because here it was at least 3 times the price. I chose a purple hiking pair for VND460k. Peter made note that the weather was looking drizzly, wet and grey. We both agreed that a closed-up style shoe would be best over Peter’s newly loved hiking sandals. Lucky for Peter, his sneakers (not the best hiking shoes, though it was the only one that would fit him) was on sale for VND240k.
As we were fluffing about getting ready, I overheard a few guides making comments that Mr (Peter) is frail and may be struggling to do the hike. I proceeded to speak in Vietnamese for some clarity. I asked how long the hike will take, the response, ‘6-hours’. Six hours! I asked if the hike was an easy one, the response, ‘yes, it’s easy but the path is muddy today and could be slippery’. I thought to myself, keep claim so Peter will feel claim. I went to my bag and pulled out two rolls of sports tape and bandaged Peter’s ankles and feet for added support. With deep breaths, Peter and I looked at each other for courage.
Cu our tour guide, two H'Mong ladies helping Peter, and Tom.
Our day bags on our backs and camera in my hands, we took off following Cu’s lead. We were a small group of three tourists, the rest had already sojourned with their guides. We were the last to leave. Tom, our third trek companion is a Dutchman in his 20s travelling through Asia solo. I hope he didn’t feel like we were going to slow him down. Heading down the steps towards the open Sapa Town Square, three women from the H’Mong ethnic group started to follow us. Cu explains ethnic women from the countryside come to Sapa to find extra work during the low season. Rice fields have been harvested. And with tourist booming in Sapa, many women from nearby villages hike to Sapa in hopes to find extra money through selling souvenirs or assist tourist hiking through hard treks. I had read in one of Peter’s books (purchased in Hanoi) of this occurring. And according to “customs” or governance, it is highly recommended that travellers accept these women’s assistance through mountainous treks (because it can be rough and tough) as a karmic gift, therefore you should not tip or donate money. But travellers should show reciprocal gesture by buying a small momentum that each lady has made – this is to ensure ethnic minorities don’t rely on donations, they get paid to be productive instead.
Rain, hail or shine, work must go on. Slippery and dangerous.
Cutting through the streets of Sapa, there wasn’t much beauty to see. There are a lot of construction going on. Good or bad, tourism in Sapa has explored and many major resorts and hotels are coming in to be part of the action. Yes, monstrous slick structures are taking prime locations and impeding nature’s landscape, yet, they have boosted the local economy by providing work to many locals. I sincerely hope in the long-run it is a good thing to the locals – for them to prosper and live well for generations. However, too much of a good thing can turn bad i.e. when living well is not enough, it becomes greed; or integrating western values can make one leave behind their traditions and obligations to family and community, which many of these ethnic minorities hold dear and make them who they are.
In the first hour, Tom slipped in the mud. Lucky Tom is young and fit, he got up and dusted himself off, and got on with it. I was thinking about his white shoes in the mud [laugh]. Getting out of the town and off the beaten track, it is not easy, it felt like endless steep slippery hills. My new hiking shoes couldn’t find grip in slushy mud. I now understand why these women have come along to help. Inside I hoped Peter felt confident taking his steps. I look back at him and was relieved to see two of these women on either side propping Peter up and guiding his steps. With a smile on my face, I have a feeling we will get through this alive. Around the bend and by the pig shed, the slopey hills and mountains appeared. I quickly forgot I had schlepped in mud for the last hour or so.
Around the bend, Sapa's mountains and rice terrace open up their awesomeness.
About 3 hours in we were trekking somewhere in the mountains of Lao Chai towards our destination Ta Van village. We cross many little water streams that came running down from the mountaintops. The purest and freshest waters directly from heaven (sky), before coming together and descending down to the lowlands towards Hanoi and out to the east coast. Cu’s pumps us up by announcing a rest area is just up the hill. A lovely surprise happened just before our rest, a tiny little Black Dao woman sitting on a shabby timber braiding linen yarn under a temporary bamboo sukkah (shelter). You wouldn’t believe how old she is. 92 years young ! How she climbs these hills at her age and tiny frame is beyond me. She is so little, she makes me look like a giant [laugh], I’m only 5 foot. She reminds me of my late Grandmother who past away ten years ago at 103 years old. My Grandmother had lived a strong bold life. Living boldly is the elixir of life.
92 years old - Black Dao minority.
Arriving at a pit-stop for a breather, we converged with other hiking groups that went on different paths. Cu says their paths were harder treks, I don’t believe him as ours was rough. Tom slipped earlier on, and I had slipped off some rocks and fell into a stream. Peter, however, has done pretty well not to get hurt, well that’s because he has had four helping hands. The rest was well deserved. Tom got a few “likes” from a group of young ladies. Unsure if Tom was aware of the attention, but no reaction came from him.
Off our butts, we continued to hike up. 5 hours in, Peter and I had just about enough schlepping for a lifetime. Cu kept saying our homestay village was a couple kilometres more, that we were very close. After this hardest part, it will all be downhill to our homestay. We arrived at a big open shed where we are to have our afternoon tea/lunch. This place was also a changeover of “Sherpas” so to speak. For the last 5 hours we had trekked through Sapa and Lao Chai. We were now on the border of entering Ta Van where we would be staying overnight. These three H’Mong ladies helping us through the mountains are from Lao Chai, and this was the end of their journey with us. Before we parted, Peter and I agreed that we were happy to gift these ladies with donations for their huge help with Peter. Before Peter and I could use our money in our own terms, we had over a dozen ethnic women surrounding us at our table, looking and staring into our wallets. I was quickly reminded of the exchange “etiquettes”, don’t gift with donation but buy a “souvenir”. I felt overwhelmed by the crowd. A Red Dao lady grabbed my arm and tried to persuade me to allow her to Sherpa us to our homestay. I tried to politely decline. Her incessant plea made me snap, ‘No! Please leave me alone!’ I yelled. Finally, I felt the crowd give Peter and I some space. I tried to refocus on the three H’Mong ladies. They took out souvenirs that they had made themselves. Peter was very happy to buy a few pieces as a reminder of his experience. I, however, didn’t want any souvenir as I didn’t see the value in them. When the ladies gave me their prices for their pieces, I felt disgruntled inside – the prices were outrageously high. Why could I not just give them money donation that I felt happy to give?! Peter could see me in distress. However, Peter reminds me, ‘Thu, I really needed these ladies’ help. I’m happy to pay.’ The two main ladies helping Peter received just over AUD50.00 each and the third lady received about AUD30.00 with additional from Tom (as she was Tom’s Sherpa).
Endless beauty of Vietnam's North West Highland Sapa,
much cooler climate than its East Coast.
The crowd of Ethnic women soon dissolved to the background and we started eating our lunch. Looking up I saw the table in front of me were the same European couples we met yesterday and earlier today on the bus ride. They looked just as exhausted and jaded as Peter and I. They verbalised that the tour company they booked through gave them no impression as to how hard this hike would be. If they had known, they never would have booked. They were beyond exhaustion and plan to cancel the rest of the tour and return to Sapa town and be done with the ordeal. I put my 2 cents in, saying that these tour companies assume all travellers/tourists are fit and up for adventures, that they don’t consider the travellers’ individual requirements. This is an equivalent to dodgy business dealings - 'no problem, no worries,' just as long as they get your business, the rest is details for you to deal with.
When Cu came to us to continue on, I told him best he organise a taxi or motorbikes to take Peter and I straight to our homestay. Cu agreed. And Tom and Cu continued on hiking the rest of the way.
Arriving at our homestay, we were relieved to finally stop. Peter had held himself together so well to this point, he couldn’t hide his back pain any longer, he had to lay down. We were to sleep upstairs, but there was no way Peter could climb these narrow steep stairs, even I was having trouble. We waited for Tom and Cu to arrive. I mentioned to Cu that Peter cannot go up and down the stairs, hoping there was an alternative option the family could make accommodation for Peter on the ground floor. They happily obliged and gave Peter one of their bedrooms. Peter collapsed on the bed and missed dinner.
The daughter-in-law preparing pork nem for our dinner.
In Vietnam, it is customary for the bride to leave her family and go live with her husband’s parents until they make enough money to live out on their own. At this homestay, the daughter-in-law does most of the chores – the washing, cleaning and preparing dinner etc. Her husband does labour work to bring home the bacon. They have a baby son, who is almost always attached to his grandmother’s back. Here, grandparents (mainly grandmothers) take on the role of looking after their grandchildren whilst the young parents concern themselves with daily operations that keeps the whole family’s eco-system moving. This young couple is the next generation to work hard and pay their dues. The grandparents still work where they are strong and able, however, have more leisure time to spend with their grandchildren.
Generally, when travellers like us come to stay at a homestay, the family organises dinner for us in the main room of the house, whilst they eat in the kitchen/side room. There was only three of us this stay, so it was delightful to share dinner with the family. The spread was generous with seasonal vegetables like baby bamboo shoots and cabbage, chicken stir-fry, pork nem (spring rolls), and fish stew. All to be eaten with homegrown white fluffy rice. The special treat was homemade rice wine. Tom and Cu enjoyed their rice wine smoothly. I bowled out after the second round.
Dinner - Tom, Cu and our homestay family.
No sign of Peter joining us. Tom and I called it a night and went upstairs to our communal sleep area. Our small talk eventually gave way to snoring.
Making something out of nothing. Used plastic drink bottles
turned into a feature wall of planters. And leftover concrete
cubs used as pot-plants and shelving.
The church bells reverberating our sleepy skeletons once again, had us on anxiety alert that the bells may go on for a while. To our relief, Tuesday morning’s church bell ring was much more reserved than its Monday grand performance. We eventually got up on our own accord and made our way up to breakfast on the 6th floor. Sitting in the quaint little dining space as big as a bedroom, I could see outside the sliding window out onto their roof terrace where the hotel grows their own vegetables and herbs. I looked further onto neighbouring roofs and saw almost every roof had their own veggie patch and water tank. Post-Vietnam war, the country had gone from starvation to second world country. The people had built their livelihoods on sustainability. Making something out of nothing is quite wabi-sabi, a true artist. This was somewhat inspiring to me – I had never thought much of where my drinking water comes from, or how and where the food I buy on supermarket shelving are cultivated. It is humbling to see these people were directly connected to their source of energy. There is something about growing food yourself that makes it so much more nutrient and healthier for you. No surprise to me, that my grandmother lasted 103 years and still had her wits to the end.
Peter and his new walking
shoes (and best friend).
This was our last day at Church Legend Hotel. We packed all our belongings to leave down at the lobby/luggage holding area as we were checking out. We met Thanh at the reception desk to organise payments for our stay here, and for our Sa Pa journey ahead. Thanh reminded us once again to be back at the hotel no later than 8:30pm this evening. Peter told Thanh he would make sure of it, knowing that I can sometimes lose track of time.
This time, we decided to head south of the Turtle Lake (Hoan Kiem Lake). It felt cruisier than its north. And on the southwest sat an open-air café overlooking the pretty lake. It was the first café in Vietnam I noticed had an espresso machine, it drew in the travellers. We didn’t try their coffee as my egg coffee experience yesterday at Café Giang had left me craving for more.
We continued walking along noticing the different vibe at this end of town. There were more metropolitan locals, it must be a corporate precinct. Peter mentioned he was on the lookout for a bookstore that shelved Vietnamese books and literature, translated to English. I mentioned it would be a good idea for Peter to find a shoe shop to purchase more comfortable footwear for the long walks we do.
Walking past a corner shopping centre on Trang Tien Road, I was weighing up to, or not to take a look inside. I didn’t get the chance to make that decision, as the very next store with huge window display, were displaying books ! A lot of books. Peter disappeared into the aisles of Vietnamese/Hanoi history and culture. I went down the cookbook aisle, hoping to find a good Hanoian cookbook. And indeed I did. Not one for convention, I chose a Hanoi Street Food cookbook by Tom Vandenberghe, a Dutchman, not a local Vietnamese. His book presents very well with good details of recipes. A bonus, Tom talks about his travel experience with each dish, and furthermore, gives you details of where to eat, see, and do when you get the opportunity to visit Hanoi. As a reader, I feel a sense of sincerity, which is hard to find in most cookbooks these days.
Some books we purchased at a bookstore on Trang Tien road, Hanoi, Vietnam.
Peter emerged from the aisles very chuffed. Under his hands and arms were 6 books. A book called ‘Mountains and Ethnic Minorities: North West Viet Nam’, very handy in the coming days, as we travel to Sa Pa and Son La. A book about Hanoi city with a history of a thousand years ! Something I did not know. Going to Vietnamese school in my primary years, I did not pay any attention to my history and it’s richness. I had a young mindset that “West is best” and forget the rest...
My favourite book from Peter’s pick ‘Ha Noi, Mot Thoi’ is a black and white collection of photographs depicting Hanoi between 1980-1982. The title translate: A moment in time/history of Hanoi. I was born in 1981, on a fishing boat, fleeing Vietnam post-war. I look at these photos, seeing the people getting back to daily living. There is no sign of the decimation of war and/or from starvation that was happening under the newly unified government. I have yet to reconcile facts, information, and personal experience, as they seem to contradict each other.
I pulled out the local map and started planning our best route towards Café Giang. Ngo Quyen road was the obvious choice, linking us directly onto Ly Thai To road. The universe was smiling on Peter today, the next block north of the bookshop were rows of street traders selling shoes, wall high. It wasn’t easy finding shoes in size 42, as it is not common to find men of Peter’s statue in Vietnam, his shoe size is not the norm. You could see the traders’ eagerness to sell us men’s shoes were lacklustre. They would wave us off, as to convey they could not help. I had to change my Vietnamese buying tactics to a straight question, ‘do you have any men’s shoes in size 42?’ Thankfully, a corner shop had two styles in the size we were after. One of the two style fitted Peter’s practical needs (long walks, and potential hikes), the choice was made for him, at a satisfied price of VND180k (AUD10), thank you very much !
This would have to be my favourite Bun Cha eatery in Hanoi.
We had spent much time at the bookstore, and now at the great wall of shoe shopping strip, I was getting famished. No more gliding along, with Peter’s new kicks, we power-walked up Ly Thai To road, which then merged into Nguyen Huu Huan road, were egg coffee was waiting for us. Along Ly Thai To road, were plenty of Ca Phe (café/coffee shop) and food eateries, catered for the locals, many were busy. We halted at a corner restaurant on Hang Thung road. I chose this place for it brightness and cleanliness, and its reasonable price of VND30k (AUD1.80). Bun Cha (Bun = noodle, Cha = fried spring roll) seems to be the popular dish here in the North. Every eatery that we have ate at, have their specialty that makes them different to the other. Here their specialty is crab spring rolls (nem cua be).
The lady vendor showed us into the spacious dining area and asked me in Vietnamese if we were after the standard dish, I replied ‘yes, two portions please’. We’ve had delicious bun cha the days before, and this eatery did not disappoint, it had created a new benchmark. I hoovered down my plate in minutes and went onto Peter’s share. I am a hungry little person, with no awareness of food etiquette. My stomach rules my head. I do need to be fed well [laugh].
Bun Cha - before.
Bun Cha - after.
The young man grilling chicken sticks was self-conscious, knowing I was recording him. It is with awe that he is cooking from a grill that is put together with items that I wouldn’t see in a kitchen back home. Their improvisation is creative, resourceful, sustainable and on the cheap.
Back at Café Giang, assuming the elderly gentleman sitting at the cashier was the owner, Mr Giang. The café was busy, but I hope for a chance to have a chat with him. He told me to go have our coffee first, and later we could talk. Happy he agreed, we climbed up the stairs where the waiter found us a corner table right at the back. Today’s egg coffee was just as how I remembered it yesterday, my tiny receptors on my tongue all dancing away in an egg coffee Milkyway. This place is constantly busy. It was difficult to get a good chat in with the owner, whilst him still attending payments from his customers. When I finally did, the elderly gentleman corrected me, he was not Mr Giang, but Mr Giang’s son Mr Dao. Mr Dao has continued the family business that his father established in 1964, that’s 54 years! I wanted to know more about 1964, it was the peak of the Vietnam War, 10 years since the civil divide. I can only assume Café Giang was one of those places people could escape the daily horrors, and enjoy the simple things in life.
Banyan Tree aka Bodhi or Ficus Tree.
Leaving the café, we strolled over the north part of the Turtle Lake and ended up in Hang Gai road. I just love how nature and domestication can co-exist. Nature was here first, then humans build on top, only for nature to outgrow human endeavours. And the results are quite beautiful. This Banyan tree rises from the earth with twists and knobs that resemble monkeys climbing about. This tree is also known as Ficus, or well known as Bodhi tree. The name Bodhi came about when Siddhartha Gautama sat under a Banyan tree and found enlightenment. Bodhi closest English translation is “awakening”. It’s no surprise Buddhism is a prominent faith in Vietnam, with Bodhi trees everywhere throughout the country, and through Asia.
St. Joseph's Cathedral, Hanoi.
Talking about faith, Peter reminded me, we should go check out the big Church that is on our hotel’s doorstep before we leave tonight. The entrance to St Joseph's Cathedral (Nha Tho Lon) is to the left of the wrought fence. Up the steps and through the side door, not the main front door. Once you enter, you notice the silence and you quickly become aware of the slightest sound you make. Peter wandered off. And I found my quiet bench amongst other visitors. A moment of solitude within myself. St Joseph’s Church was built in 1886, a Neo-Gothic style resembling the Notre Dame de Paris, not as grand, yet still beautiful and charming. My Mum, a devout Catholic would be pleased to know I was sitting in a Church.
After resting back at Church Legend Hotel, and getting little bits and bobs ready for our journey ahead. We headed out to find dinner just past 6 o’clock. We went down Au Trieu road, the “back, back” streets away from the touristy area, an honest representation of how majority of the local people live. Around the bend, the road turned into Phu Doan was eatery after eatery for the local people at local price. We walked out onto Hang Bong road, a main road. There were one or two western travellers wandering through, but this area is not a tourist attraction.
Walking along peering through eateries, seeing what would tickle our fancy. And wow! A woman serving up Pho on the street pavement, with all her delicacies on full display, her food was down my stomach’s alley. Looking at how her customers were hoovering her Pho down, I knew it had to be good. Carried away with my excitement, I pulled out my camera and started to video record what I was seeing in front of me. This need to capture this moment, rather than be in the moment. When the lady looked up to see herself being recording, she bid me ‘no!’ I apologised. However, too embarrassed to now sit down to eat her food.
Tail between my legs, we walked on and found this eatery close by serving Bun Rieu and Pho. Looking around, almost every patron had a chicken rice dish, which looked to be Com Ga Hai Nam. There are many variations of this dish, many may know it as Hainan Chicken, or Steamed Lemongrass Chicken. This chicken rice dish was not printed on the price board, strange I thought, maybe it was “gotta be local to know” kinda thing at this place.
Bun Rieu with native lemons.
I chose Bun Rieu, one I was craving it and second I hadn’t had one in Vietnam yet and wanted to compare Mum’s version. I suggested to Peter to try the Chicken Rice, but he was stuck on Pho since seeing it on the street just moments ago. The Pho came out piping hot with it condiments. Peter took a lemon that looked more like lime, but a size of a kumquat and squeezed its juice directly into his Pho bowl. A gentleman sitting opposite us eating his chicken dish said to me in Vietnamese that Mr white man should squeeze the lemon into a spoon first to avoid the seeds. I asked ‘why?’, and he answered because the boiling water extracts the bitterness of the seeds making the Pho not nice to eat. Peter and I learnt something new tonight.
Arriving back at Church Legend Hotel just after 8pm, it didn’t take long for the hotel’s driver to pick us up. The driver knew exactly what to do with us and our baggage. We were driven to Ha Noi Railway Station on Le Duan road. There were a lot of people at the station catching the same train toward Sa Pa. Peter and I were just getting out of the car, our driver, speedy Gonzales had our two heavy backpacks in both hands rushing and dodging through the crowd. Our driver kept looking back to make sure we were in sight. We barely kept up with him. Power walking on the train tracks, I was nervous of the lack of safety provisions. I realised that the train carriages did not belong to one company, but multiple. Our carriage, the King Express was one of the last few. Our driver stepped into the carriage with our luggage and waved us to climb on board. He had dropped us right into out sleeper room. What a service! He waited for the train conductor to come through to show our documents. He left immediately after the conductor gave her approval.
Our sleeper bunker was quaint, it had a lovely old-fashion vibe. And pleased it was clean. Loved the photos of yesteryear on our cabin room wall. These photos continued out in the carriage’s corridor. I caught the happy and excited bug once again. Peter strolled up and down the corridor to find the essentials i.e. toilets. It was late. We started to wind down and unpacks toiletries, charge our devices, and take out extra clothing we may need during our transit. Peter thoughtfully handed over his newly acquired book about mountains and ethnic minorities, in case I was not familiar with their customs.
We were hopeful that we had the whole cabin to ourselves, so we could spread out and I could sleep on the lower bunk bed. It wasn’t to be, a couple entered our cabin just moments before departure. The couple were young, possibly in their late 20’s or early 30’s. I was embarrassed to ask for their age, as it is considered rude and mortifying to ask in Australia. Though it is actually very reasonable and expected in the Vietnamese culture because Vietnamese people have a lot of respect for their elders and/or people with importance. Hence asking for a person’s age allows people to know the appropriate title to address each other. For example, if a woman is older than you but younger than your parents you would address them as “Co”, which translates to Miss. A man in the same situation would be called “Chu”. If a woman or man is older than your parents, then you would address them both as “Bac”. Old as your grandparents, then with the utmost respect, the woman should be addressed as “Ba”, and the man “Ong”. Ba in English translation is woman, and Ong is man, however, the English language does not do these titles justice. Vietnamese sentiment for “Ong Ba”, is that they have fulfilled a lifetime and have become whole as a woman, or man. Almost like calling them a mensch.
King Express carriage corridor.
The locomotion of the train made me fall asleep in no time. I woke up busting to go to the toilet in the middle of the night. I tried to hold on as long as I could. Going to the toilet on a moving plane, or train is one of my cringes. Half asleep I zombie-walked to the end of the carriage to the toilet. I got inside and locked the door, and did my business. Flushed the toilet, wiped down my hands with wet-wipes. I went to unlock the door…it wouldn’t. I tried harder, still wouldn’t unlock. I shook myself out of my slumber to focus because it must be me who’s the problem. Observing the lock carefully to see how it should unlock seemed simple, you turn the lever over and it should drop allowing the sliding door to slide open. Five minutes way by. Ten minutes way by. I thought, ‘this is it, I’m trap in this moving toilet until the next person wakes up to go.’ This is my worst nightmare! I started to panic. I began banging on the toilet door and screaming out for help! Finally, the carriage conductor woke from her sleep to hear my distress. In seconds, she managed to unlock and slide the door open from the outside. Forgetting to say ‘thank you’, I bolted back to my cabin almost in tears yet so relieved. Peter was up when I got back. He asked what took me so long. Upset, I mumbled under my breath that I got locked in the toilet. Without further explanation, I climbed up to my bunk bed to sleep off my ordeal.
Can’t wait to arrive in Sa Pa. Please continue being part of the journey by clicking North Vietnam - SaPa Day 4
way on display for locals looking for a good looking meal. They don't have a butcher were a mass amount of livestock is slaughtered. Here, you buy and kill only what you want to eat that day. No waste. The rest is kept alive, preserved for another day. And when the evening comes, the livestock is released in the owners shed or yard to free-roam until dawn.
