A glimpse into the colorful North

Mao our Hmong tour guide

I finally found an occasion to venture up to the Northern mountainous region of Vietnam. It's one of the areas I've most wanted to explore but somehow never managed to find the right time or occasion. The photos I had seen before embarking in the trip would certainly be enough to intrigue anybody: steep lush mountains with softly rounded tops, vertiginous rice terraces built at the highest altitudes and gentle streams of fresh water flowing down the valleys breathing life into other varieties of crops.

Given that two friends of mine came to Vietnam, it seemed like the perfect occasion to share new horizons. Six of us entered the night train departing from Hanoi to Lao Cai at 9:50 pm. Estimated time of travel: approximately 8 hours. We were all so excited about the obvious adventure ahead of us that we didn't seem to pay too much attention to the restricted size of the sleeping compartments and the less than desirable bedding.

The trip went well despite the obvious lack of sleep. It sometimes felt like we were traveling in a rudimentary human-sized jack-in-the-box, bouncing incessantly on an all too efficient hydraulics system topped off by abrupt breaking practices and pendulum movements that made me wonder if the old French colonial railways were finally succumbing to old age.

After an early arrival into Lai Cai station, we negotiated the price of the minibus for the six of us and proceeded up the steep curvy road for a 50 minute drive to the city of Sa Pa. The view that was unfolding before us was simply breathtaking. The silence that reigned in the minibus was undoubtedly partly due to the apparent lack of sleep of all its passengers, but I could also sense that everybody was trying to absorb the magnificent view as much as their sleepless eyes could handle. I started to imagine how the panorama must be like during the summer months at the height of the rice season, painting the soft curves of the mountains with bright shades of green only seen in Vietnam. Unfortunately, the harvesting season was long over and the once fertile fields were now only muddy leftovers of the chopped-off rice stems. But it didn't matter; we were all looking forward to exploring the area regardless of the season.

Hmong kids playing

After finding a quaint little hotel at the outskirts of town, we decided it was best to go for a trek that same day. We contacted a local tour guide that had been recommended to us and we agreed to meet an hour later at the bottom of the church steps hovering over the city's central plaza. It was the first time I saw so many of the well-known Vietnamese ethnic minorities all in one place. The variety of colors of their clothing and the spectacular hair attire gave life to the fairly grey surroundings of the Plaza.

Our tour guide found us first. She introduced herself as Mao from the Hmong ethnic minority. She had graceful facial traits and her entire constitution made her seem petite and frail under her traditional Hmong clothing. We would soon find out that her physical strength and agility would greatly surpass that of all of these giant-looking Western tourists.

Cat Cat Village

She took us through steep slippery clay hills and rice paddies. We walked past traditional wooden Hmong homes with children running around naked from the waist down and all sorts of farm animals making their way to the next best grazing area. Some of the paths were physically demanding causing a few of us to make their way down with their bottoms instead of their feet. It made me smile as I looked onto Mao. This little woman armed with miniature rubber boots and a North Face lookalike backpack in stark contrast to her colorful gown, bouncing like a cat from one spot to the next, unbothered by the slippery slopes and uneven stones. I wondered what she must think about these clumsy Westerners equipped with all the most expensive specialized gear but still unable to even cross a stream without asking for her to give them her miniature but sturdy helping hand.

What intrigued me the most about Mao is that she’s a 28 year-old mother of two children. She’s never been to school and she speaks perfect English, Vietnamese and Hmong. She can’t write but she is capable of making her way through any terrain with the elegance and agility of the most beautiful mountain cat. She plants rice, sweet potatoes and other crops while taking care of her children, weaving traditional clothes dyed with homemade indigo coloring and working as a tour guide. When I asked her if her husband helps her out, she turned around to me with genuine laugh, her nose slightly wrinkling as she smiled: “My husband? He decided to go back to school since they’ve opened one next to our home!” Her village still lacks electricity but she owns a motorbike and her children will have the advantage of learning to read and write when they reach school-age.



Beautiful young Hmong woman

Although the contact with the local minorities can be somewhat overwhelming, especially when you’re constantly haggled to purchase something, hearing their stories and the sacrifices they make to move ahead instantly put things back into perspective. Tourism is a major and increasingly important source of income and the locals have quickly learned that, by properly learning English, the financial advantages can be great. The amount of poverty is still apparent, but things seem to be changing at incredible speed. A new road is being built to connect the most remote villages and, in Mao’s opinion, it’s a great improvement because her people will have the opportunity to transport their goods quicker. Schools are popping up in every corner to provide the local children with more future opportunities and more and more people are radically changing their clothing habits. From our perspective, such mutations might be a source of nostalgia, a loss of the “authentic” and the “ethnic", but for them it means emancipation, progress and prosperity.

I’m sure that not long ago Mao wouldn’t have had the opportunity to mingle with foreigners. But now things are changing and the women are taking much of it into their own hands. When I asked Mao why she wasn’t wearing her tribe’s traditional hat, she looked at me straight in the eyes and solemnly said: “I left it at home. It’s too heavy for me so, if I have to walk all day, I leave it at home.”