Vietnam, again: Hue, Hanoi and Sa Pa

March 13 - April 13, 2009

Hue, our favourite city

We were beginning to feel the effects of the heat in Cambodia and southern Laos – droopy, wilted and decidedly lacklustre. So when we neared the Vietnamese border, up in the mountains that separate Vietnam from Laos, we welcomed the cool cloudy weather, and even the spitting rain. It was a relief.

We went directly to Hue, our favourite town in Vietnam, where we now have 'family' and friends. Our hotel welcomed us with open arms. When we went to our favourite restaurant, the Sai Gon Pho, for our first dinner, Hang, the owner was so happy to see us that she gave us our meals on the house. “You're family!” she exclaimed.

And the next day, when we went to the market to see our favourite vendor, Xinh, she plied us with all sorts of treats, from jellied shrimps and hot sauce to sweet yellow-bean-paste stuffed dough-balls in sweet coconut milk soup. She couldn't stop smiling. We felt like we'd come home.

Hanoi – visiting museums and getting our visas for China

We stayed in Hue for ten days, putting off leaving for Hanoi, which we knew was going to be hectic, and a lot less welcoming, than Hue. But we had to spend several days in Hanoi while we waited for our visas for China. In the end, that took eight days, and gave us our first taste of Chinese bureaucracy. Even when we finally got the visas they weren't what we'd asked for: we got 30 days instead of 60. 

When we asked the travel agent who had arranged the visa for us about it, his response was, “Well, you have a double-entry visa, and each entry is good for 30 days. So you just have to leave the country for 15 minutes, and then you can come back in for another 30 days!” We pointed out that we were going to be in the middle of the country, where 'just leaving' would entail an airfare of US$200-300 a piece. The agent called the Chinese embassy, but they stayed firm. We can apply for a visa extension once we get to China.... .

We spent our time in Hanoi traipsing about gawking at the various and sundry activities that happen right out in the streets – sheet metal work, shoe repair, motorcycle maintenance, dancersize by the lake, and of course the endless food preparation, pot and dish washing that's part of the ubiquitous street eateries throughout southeast Asia. 

We also went to a couple of museums that we hadn't gotten to first time around. The Vietnamese History museum, with exhibits covering prehistoric to modern day times, was perhaps the best museum we've ever been to. It's housed in the fabulously opulent old French embassy, with grand granite staircases, interior colonnaded balconies, and a soaring ceiling. And the exhibits were extremely well done. 

Sa Pa, and finding Son again

The day we got our Chinese visas we left Hanoi, taking the overnight train to Lao Cai, a small town right on the northern border with China. We'll be crossing into China at this border. But first we wanted to go back to Sa Pa, the mountain town where we met Son, a little Hmong market vendor about whom I wrote a story earlier in our trip. In addition to hopefully seeing Son again, we were hoping that the weather in Sa Pa might be a little warmer than it was in December, and that we might be able to take some walks in the mountains.

As it turned out, Sa Pa was only marginally warmer at the end of March than it had been in December. We both bought ski jackets and warm socks: we couldn't have survived without them! We got a wonderful hotel room with a balcony overlooking the valley below Sa Pa. On clear days, which are few, we can look down on the rice-paddy terraces, the river, and the little Hmong village below. But most days are foggy, and we've had a fair bit of rain, and some dandy lightening and thunder storms.

By great good fortune we did find Son again. We were having pho at the Hmong ladies' table in the market, when one of the younger gals said “I remember you, you were here before.” As it turned out, Son's her auntie, and the next day we met up with Zee and Son, who offered to take us to their village the next day.

Walking to Hau Thao with our Hmong friends

Our walk to Hau Thao with Zee and Son and two of their friends was spectacular. Although trekking to ethnic villages in the area is a very popular tourist activity, and we regularly see groups of tourists trotting after guides and surrounded by hopeful Hmong vendors, Hau Thao is not on the tourist circuit. So we didn't see any other tourists all day, and by the reactions of the locals we saw as we walked, it was pretty clear that they didn't see much of tourists either.

We walked three hours, climbing first up over the clouds, and then dropping down to valley to get to Hau Thao. We 'lunched' at Son's house, which was a wooden structure with a dirt floor just a step above cave-living. Incredibly dark, with no windows. No running water, no furniture, and just a small open fire in one room of the house for cooking. 

Our Hmong pals supplied rice, noodles and a bit of scrambled egg (this last likely a special treat for us). We brought along some beef, cucumbers and oranges. For such small people, our Hmong friends ate with great gusto. 

After lunch we walked down a muddy, slippery streambed to Zee's house. It was smaller than Son's, with split bamboo walls that let in the wind, and just a little bit of light. Zee's two kids, like Son's, were ragged, dirty and snot-nosed. All kids are barefooted; kids under three or so are usually bare-bummed as well. It's a cold harsh life, but those who make it through their early years are incredibly hardy and strong – much stronger than we are!

A walk in the fog – oh for an umbrella!

A few days later, waking to a rare sunny morning, we set off from the hotel down a trail into the valley. The trail quickly degenerated into a maze of paddy paths, and it wasn't at all clear which of them might take us where we wanted to go – down along the river. Fortunately a Hmong woman who was collecting grass for her buffalo saw our dilemma and beckoned us over. She then convinced us to follow her towards a cliff edge, from which we could see the entire valley. But there was no way down from there. 

What she wanted at that moment was not to take us down to the valley, but to get us to indicate, by pointing, where we wanted to go. Once we got that clear, she motioned to us to follow her, and headed down yet another slippery, muddy, treacherous track. She skipped lightly down, her plastic sandals no impediment at all, whereas we, in our shoes, proceeded much more slowly and carefully, still slipping and sliding and grabbing on to shrubbery whenever we could. 

She had to wait for us several times, but took the opportunity to remove her heavy back-basket and sit on a rock while we caught up. Once we got to the main trail along the valley she bid us adieu (well, 'bye-bye!'), and we carried on confidently and comfortably on the now level track. Within an hour or two the valley was enshrouded in mist, then heavy fog. As we began our ascent towards the road it started to spit, then rain, and then it poured. By the time we reached the road we were soaked.

Fortunately a tourist van came along, and stopped when we flagged it down (we weren't sure it would). The Vietnamese guide and his gaggle of western tourists were surprised that we'd been so adventurous – and perhaps so silly – as to go out walking on our own without rain gear. But hey, it's all part of the experience!

And now to China...

Now we're preparing to go to China. Our hotel manager, who is also a tour guide (they all are), has told us she can organize for us to be picked up here at the hotel, and taken to the border at Lao Cai. She'll also arrange for us to get tickets for a bus on the Chinese side of the border that will take us to Kunming, in Yunnan province. It sounds easy, but of course once we leave here we have no assurance at all that we'll get any further than Lao Cai – if there. Ya gotta have faith!