North Vietnam: Sapa II

As well as being an astute business man, our hotel owner, Nam, expressed the type of energy creative types know well. The wheels of the mind are always turning with curiosity about the world while constantly being inspired, questioning everything, inventing, and creating. He built the Thai Binh Sapa Hotel entirely by himself on a piece of land his family received from the government. He also helps his parents manage a bed and breakfast, operated in the same space where they live.

The day after our trek, Nam scheduled a tour to go to the top of Mt. Fansipan, the highest mountain in Vietnam. It was cloudy in the morning, so we weren't sure whether or not we were going to go. The driver of our van had called someone at the top who said it was clear, and we took our chances. The weather was mixture of clouds and sun throughout the entire hike. We hiked on a trail through tropical mountain forest to the "Love Waterfall." There were stone staircases and walkways that led all the way through the river canyon. For a while I thought about the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu and the idea of hiking a similar trail for much longer.

After our hike, we went to Nam's other hotel, the Sapa Garden Bed and Breakfast, where his mother had prepared ingredients for a large hot pot. She had four different kinds of meat: beef, chicken, fish, and tofu, all of which got cooked sequentially. Eventually everything was in the pot at the same time. The presentation of the uncooked meat was beautiful: each sat on its own plate with what looked like either scallions or lemongrass tied in candy-shaped balls. Sliced pineapple and tomato lined the rim of each plate. Nam turned from inn keeper to waiter/sous chef as he added each dish to the hot pot and kept an eye on it while he continually served us more food, beer and water. After lunch we spent some time wandering around the property and the beautiful gardens he had created. There were fruit trees and various exotic flowering plants everywhere. Dozens of orchids hung from overhead canopy that looked like someone could get married in. None of the plants were blooming but I imagined what it would look like being engulfed in a sea of color. It was no doubt a very special afternoon. We found out later that he doesn't host hotel guests like that very often.

North Vietnam: Sapa I

"The French called the ethnic minorities Montagnards ('highlanders' or 'mountain people'). Ethnic Vietnamese referred to them as 'moi', a somewhat derogatory word meaning savages, which reflects the all too common attitudes among many lowland Vietnamese. The current government prefers the term 'national minorities', of which there are more than 15 different groups. The most colorful of these minorities live in the far north of Vietnam, carving an existence out of the lush mountain landscape along the Chinese and Lao borders... each hill tribe has its own language, customs, mode of dress and spiritual beliefs. Language and culture constitute the borders of their world."
- Lonely Planet

...

We left Hanoi on an overnight train headed to Lao Cai, the town from which we would then go on to Sapa. Our 6x6ft cabin had two bunk beds with mattresses no thicker than three inches. Not much different from camping, really, but "soft" ground is better than a piece of plywood. I finally drifted off into a half-sleep out of sheer necessity. The train swayed back and forth and creaked and groaned almost constantly, whining as though it was too old to be making such a journey. It stopped several times for brief periods of time and in my groggy state there were a few instances when I thought we had missed our stop. There was no announcement to confirm where we were going, how far we had gone, how much longer we had to go, or that we were even on the right train. Nor was there an announcement that we had reached our destination. It was by pure intuition that we didn't go all the way to China. The one I take to work seems like a luxury; and it's just a passenger train.

We arrived in Lao Cai at 4:45 in the morning. Once our friends arrived, we met our driver and headed for Sapa. It took us an hour on a windy, mountainous road. The surroundings were almost surreal because we were driving as the sun came up, but it was cloudy, misty and rainy. I couldn't see anything past the edge of the road. Sapa is only 4,500 ft above sea level, but we came from sea-level so it seemed much higher. The town lies in the northernmost part of Vietnam, almost to the Chinese border. It is known for being a huge tourist destination and it shows. The ethnic people in town know only a few phrases in English; the most common question seemed to be "Hello madam, where you from?" quickly followed by "Buy something?" If you pay attention at all you are immediately followed until you shoo them off or buy something for the simple sake of getting rid of them. But, as soon as you purchase something from one, a whole herd of others follow you insisting that you buy something from them too. The morality of the situation is difficult; as annoying as it is, selling their handicrafts to the tourists may be the only source of income for their family and just like everyone, they too need a way to sustain themselves and keep their culture and traditions alive.

The second day, we met our guide Ban (last one on the right) to take us trekking through some of the Black Hmong villages outside Sapa. As we began the hike, a few other village women joined our group and walked with us for at least half the way. They did not try to sell us anything until they were ready to go home. One of the women, who introduced herself as Ma (second from the left), helped me through some of the more difficult spots in the trail so I bought something from her. We walked through three villages over the course of nine miles. It was very interesting to see what their daily lives are like outside Sapa when they aren't shopping or trying to sell things. Their lives revolve around planting and harvesting the family's rice fields, tending animals, and making handicrafts and clothing to sell. One of the things I love about traveling is experiencing other people's way of life; these experiences no doubt put our own lives into perspective. Listening to Ban talk about herself was fascinating. She spoke incredibly good English, but she cannot read or write the language. She also knows very little Vietnamese, just enough to be able to speak to the necessary people. Throughout the trip she was speaking to the villagers in the native Hmong tongue. Ban had never been to school, but she was incredibly intelligent. She talked at great length about her peoples' customs and Vietnamese society. Being the oldest in her family, she was expected to stay in the village and take care of the family. She had an arranged marriage and eventually had her own children. At 27 she already has three, ranging in age from 2 to 10.

Most of the villagers were wearing their traditional dress for the Tet. They make new costumes every year that take weeks to finish. If we had gone at any other time we wouldn't have had the opportunity to see them this way. The road back to town was again filled with an incredible number of people walking, riding motorbikes, and driving cars, dodging one another and somehow navigating their way through the maze.

North Vietnam: Hanoi

We flew to Hanoi the morning of February 12th and after dropping our bags at the hotel (we rented a room for the sole purpose of storing because we were leaving again that evening), we went walking around the old quarter. Our self-guided walking tour took us through the surrounding streets and the lake that sits in the middle of the city. There is a lot of French colonial influence, especially in the architecture around this district. The presence of the Communist flag was almost overwhelming; they are displayed outside nearly every shop and restaurant like an overhanging sea of red littered with gold stars. Before leaving we happened upon a street food stand highly recommended on Trip Advisor (our second travel guide, next to my brother). The six of us were seated on PlaySkool-style chairs at a PlaySkool-style table in the middle of the sidewalk and served Pho Ba (beef stew) from the "kitchen" across the street. I can't remember eating in a more entertaining spot. Anywhere else it would have appeared as if we were in the way, sitting at a "restaurant" in the middle of the sidewalk, but in Asia this is normal and these types of eateries are all over the place.

We went through Hanoi twice. On a similar schedule the second time, we only had a few hours to sightsee. Since before leaving on the trip, I had been interested in seeing the Temple of Literature, also known as a temple dedicated to Confucius. The compound includes Vietnam's first national university, the Imperial Academy, which focused on educating writers, poets, and other artists. Unfortunately, during Tet, the temple turned into a huge tourist trap. Hundreds of people struggled to move around in a giant mob, all the while stopping to pose for endless photos. I did not have a chance to really absorb its meaning because I was too busy trying to navigate my way through the throngs of people.

Hanoi was the first real immersion into daily life in Vietnam. The traffic was fun to watch all across the country. I would guess it is a similar scene in other parts of Asia. There seem to be no rules when it comes to driving or parking. It's as if every intersection is a 4-way yield sign. Motorbikes seem to outnumber cars by the hundreds and there are anywhere from one to six people on them. In addition to the passengers, whether it be one or six, the bikes could be laden with goods from the markets, appliances, construction materials, furniture, or almost anything else that comes to mind. Yet somehow, everyone seems to merge together seamlessly.

Chúc Mừng Năm Mới: Happy New Year!

Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) is known for being a large, industrious, busy place humming with constant activity. Despite what my brother had said about things being toned down due to the upcoming holiday, there seemed to be plenty going on. We arrived there early in the morning on February 9th. The New Year's celebrations, known as Tết, started on the 10th and would be going on for the next couple days. Tết marks the arrival of spring based on the Chinese calendar and is the most important holiday/festival in Vietnam. Preparations for the festivities were visible everywhere, from sidewalk stands selling the traditional yellow flowering tree, markets full of people stocking up on ingredients to prepare customary dishes and decorations lining nearly every street. New Year's in Asia is like our Thanksgiving, Christmas, and birthday celebrations all rolled into one. Many customs are practiced during Tết, such as visiting a person's house on the first day of the new year, visiting temples, ancestral worshipping, wishing New Year's greetings, giving lucky money to children and elderly people, and opening a shop.

That afternoon, we walked to a street that was closed off for the Tết celebrations. In front of us, lining the middle of the street, was a gorgeous, massive display of flowers mimicking the shape and movement of a snake (the animal associated with 2013). As an important part of spring, flowers were another theme; every display had some type of floral element. Massive lotus flower sculptures marked the beginning and end of each group of decorations.

Even though we didn't stay in HCMC for very long, I grew stir crazy quickly. Some of the activities and the accommodations were a little too close to home. I was anxiously awaiting the next adventure.

Unaccustomed Earth: Southeast Asia

"In the United States, the word 'Vietnam' signifies a war, not a country. Fifteen years of jungle and napalm are how we define a centuries-old land....Vietnam--the word and the country--are inextricably bound to the years when America lost for the first time--lost a fight, lost its claim to moral righteousness, lost its innocence in a morass of lies, death, and disillusionment."
-Where the Pavement Ends: One Woman's Bicycle Trip Through Mongolia, China, and Vietnam

"From 1975 to 1979--through execution, starvation, disease, and forced labor--the Khmer Rouge systematically killed an estimated two million Cambodians, almost a fourth of the country's population...This is a story of survival: my own and my family's... If you had been living in Cambodia during this period, this would be your story too."
-First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers

....

I was thrilled about the idea of traveling to Asia. Going to this part of the world meant immersing myself in languages and cultures almost entirely unknown to me; the unfamiliarity was exhilarating. Like most Americans, my concept of Vietnam was based solely on my knowledge of the war. I knew nothing about Cambodia except for its rough geographical location on the map. In the months prior to setting out on the trip I visited the library several times in search of information on those two countries. I was looking for more than just the traditional guidebook; I wanted the people's stories. The majority of the literature I found on Vietnam was about the war. Military histories and personal accounts of death, destruction and post-war psychological trauma dominated the shelves. Cambodia wasn't much different; a limited selection of mostly political books analyzing the Khemer Rouge regime and the gruesome war/genocide that followed their takeover was what I had to choose from.

It took some digging, but eventually I came across something close to what I was looking for. I was immediately drawn to Where the Pavement Ends in part because of my zeal for unorthodox travel adventures but also the cultural immersion and intimate interactions that inevitably occur when one travels this way. The author recounts her story as she travels only by bike through Mongolia, China, and Vietnam. For the entire length of her journey she relies only on herself and chance encounters with others to guide her in the right direction. The most interesting part was how the cyclist's and native people's attitudes changed as she made her way through each country.

In the second, First They Killed My Father, a Cambodian refugee recounts her story from the confused, angry, lost point of view of a child (she was five years old when the war began) who does not fully understand what is happening or why. It was one of those that I had trouble putting down for very long. I ended up reading her other book, Lucky Child, where she continues the previous story with the details of immigrating to the United States with her brother and leaving the rest of her family behind. All the while she struggles to deal with the haunting memories of the war and fitting in with our "melting pot."

As I finished each of these books, nervous anticipation welled in me. I began to ruminate about how different my experience was going to be and how I would relate to it with the knowledge of these countries' convoluted histories looming in the back of my mind. Though immediately following those thoughts that incurable disease called travel infiltrated my body, along with my endless curiosity about people and places. Past experiences in going abroad reassured me that my cultural education was about to be expanded once again.

The Power of Joyful Movement

Let It Snow Holiday Cards

I made a series of holiday cards this year to send to friends and family. They are inspired by various cut-paper snowflake designs.