Halong Bay itself was spectacular, but unfortunately the tour itself was a bit of a joke. We had paid for a defined itinerary, which disappeared into thin air as fast as the mastercard transaction that had sponged the money out of our accounts to pay for it! So when we arrived back to the travel agency's office in Hanoi I posed as a pissed off travel writer demanding top speak personally with the highest level of authority in the place before our impending departure to Sapa.
I threatened from on high about Lonely Planet blacklistings and ruinous blogosphere rants (the place was called Sinh Cafe by the way). The unfortunate and much beleaguered little Vietnamese man who was summoned poste haste before us apologised profusely and offered the princely sum of $3 each in gracious rebate. To this I arose and reddened even further, whipping his business card out of his hand and jumping up and down on it wildly, pounding it into the tiled floor of the office in what I hoped would be a clearly understood universal gesture of disgust. After all this pompous posturing, my calculatedly infantile display of ire resulted in the poor fella crumpling -he gave us a whole $20. Even at this we were being gloriously ripped off. All part of the fun however, so we left the bags there for the hour or so we had to kill and had diner in a cafe that overlooks the cathedral square. We continued the childish theme of the evening by taking jars of crayons and drawing sunsets and smiley faces all over the table cloths.
We returned to the office and met an English couple who were to be our traveling companions on the overnight train to Lao Cai. The train was spotless, the four berth cabin lined with polished wood (more like the interior of a sauna than a cabin) and there was free bottled water and chocolate for all. A far cry from some of the latter legs of the trans Mongolian experience, and a welcome place to kip for the night. I love night trains, the giddiness of settling into your cozy berth, the prospect of heading into the corridor and gawping out the window with your fellow passengers at the whizzing landscape outside. Paul Theroux endorses trains over planes very well when he talks about the dismal "hurrying to the airport, to be interrogated and frisked..and searched for bombs". He reckons you are "better off on a national railway, probably the best way of getting a glimpse of how people actually live..the telling facts of village life, the misery that airplanes fly over. Yes, the train takes more time, and many trains are dirty, but so what? Delay and dirt are the realities of the most rewarding travel". Yes indeed.
So we pulled out of Hanoi and got to know Matt and Megan over chatter of previous train/plane and auto experiences in far flung corners (such as the Philippines, where they had just been to). It felt almost like a betrayal to Fitz and Dave to be giving these cabin impostors the time of day considering our mammoth railway experience together, but they proved to be very good company!
An early morning arrival in Lao Cai - 5am. The hawkers and stalls selling fruits and fresh baguettes (a staple feature of all market life in northern Vietnam - those Frenchies, you've got to love them) were just setting up in the darkness as we made our way to a waiting minivan. I slept for most of the two hour journey to the Summit Hotel in Sapa but was nevertheless somehow aware of the amount of corkscrewing the driver was engaging in to get us there. I missed some great scenery apparently, but God knows I need my beauty sleep.
I stumbled bleary eyed off the bus to be met by a gaggle of Lilliputian giggling girls dressed in darkly dyed indigo shawls. Their toothy grins shone out like lines of Mentos in a facial sea of Fisherman's Friends from their cracked and over-aged faces. They were instantly likable. We were ushered into the hotel itself, past this excitable welcoming committee and had breakfast and showers and wandered through the gardens at the back that looked out over the valley. We met Jane and Andy and Chris and Kim again there - our Australian friends who we had hung out with in Halong and Hoi An respectively.
It was about 9am by the time we finally set off,with Key our local guide, and a squadron of the shawled gigglers in tow. The itinerary for the day was to pass through 3 villages along a 10-12km track through the valley. We passed a huge cannabis plant along the roadside - they grow all over the place here, and I rethought those gaping grins. These ladies were Black Hmong women and were to keep us company on the couple of miles we were about to walk to their village. There was a catch of course, in that one was expected to buy something from them en route, or upon arrival.
In the course of the chatter with them one in particular, her face like a dried prune, took a particular fancy to me. When I told her my name was James the grin widened until I thought her little upturned face would explode - "thats my name tooo!!!". Well well, how silly of me of course it is. My we've lots in common, lots to talk about! She made me a horse out of reeds, Sarah was given ornate little flowers and ponies by her new 13 year old friend called Sarah, and we merrily made our way up along the valley's edge. We passed a farmer carrying an upturned wooden feeder box that must have weighed about 15 stone on his back. His calves bulged as he hassled a few cattle up the hill in front of him. The first village we came across was tiny - about 15 families. The men work solid during the harvest season for about three months, and then take it easy for the remainder. ''Now this is a serious system'' I though to myself as Sarah and the other girlies gawped incredulously. Sly winks to and from all the boys though haha. All this going on with James dutifully by my side working hemp through her poor ragged old hands to weave later when she got back home.
Wandering along those paths, peering into the misty valley, passing homesteads where the pigs and goats are treated like children I couldn't help but wonder at the simplicity of it all. Bloody hardship too though - it snows all winter. The Hmong's love their buffalo. To have many is a sign of great wealth - the more you gots the richer you is. They can fetch up to US$1,000 a pop, and live to be about 25 if looked after properly. These big lumps of muscle have their own luxury accommodation, never far from the family homestead, where they can chill out doing crosswords by the fire on those lonely winter nights.
My red t-shirt pleased Key no end. ''You are Tiger! HAhaa! You are Tiger! You strong man! Red very lucky colour Vietnam people!" He pointed disdainfully at a sullen Dutch trainee doctor beside me. "How many girlfriends have you had?!Hahaaa! You are not Tiger no...you are donkey!! hahahaaa!''.
More terraced paddy fields, muddy tracks and about 2 hours later saw us enter the village where our homestay was waiting for us. We settled in, showered and had a wander. I took some photos of young fellas running barefoot along the pathway playing with thin iron sticks and wheels. So much for fecking X-Box. They were delighted with themselves. I bought a few trinkets from James,and she threw in a hemp friendship bracelet to boot. We promised to Skype (we didn't really).
The homestay, in a village called Tay Van, was a large one roomed, two storey wooden roofed concrete barn. A staircase led directly to the upper floor where we were to sleep on mattresses under mosquito nets, and where a balcony looked out over the paddy fields and into the valley. It was harvest time, so the stumps of rice were being burned off after being thrashed. The air was thick with wafty smoke, and soon dusk descended. After a big spread thrown on by our host family, and a fair few shots of home brewed hooch I fell knackered into my leaba.
An early start the next morning after a feed of pancakes and out we fuddled up a hill towards our next destination. It was only a brief walk, about an hour or so, before a river emerged in front of us on the valley floor below. Passing another cluster of wooden huts, a 25 year old mother of two cute and scurrying little kids emerged offering hand made jewellery for sale. Sarah bought some from her, and I took a nice photo of the three of them with her.
We sat at the top of a waterfall for about half an hour before walking downhill and over a footbridge to a restaurant for lunch. The Hmong's were out again - this time of the red variety (they wear red fez like headscarves as opposed to the indigo ones) and selling tin jewellery, hemp bags and pillow cushions, and all manner of other trinkabelia.
The bus journey back to Sapa was uneventful apart from evidence of landslides by the road. The last heavy rains had resulted in a fair bit of damage to the region in September. We showered and wandered through Sapa before the (packed) bus back to the train station.
After another all too short sleep we arrived at Hanoi at 4am. Along the street that runs parallel to the train yard people huddled on their knees, stapling together the local morning papers in a huge human production line of antiquated publication. Not for the first time in South East Asia I felt extremely lucky to have the cash in my pocket to be able to go and find a bed for a few hours before the sun rose.
I threatened from on high about Lonely Planet blacklistings and ruinous blogosphere rants (the place was called Sinh Cafe by the way). The unfortunate and much beleaguered little Vietnamese man who was summoned poste haste before us apologised profusely and offered the princely sum of $3 each in gracious rebate. To this I arose and reddened even further, whipping his business card out of his hand and jumping up and down on it wildly, pounding it into the tiled floor of the office in what I hoped would be a clearly understood universal gesture of disgust. After all this pompous posturing, my calculatedly infantile display of ire resulted in the poor fella crumpling -he gave us a whole $20. Even at this we were being gloriously ripped off. All part of the fun however, so we left the bags there for the hour or so we had to kill and had diner in a cafe that overlooks the cathedral square. We continued the childish theme of the evening by taking jars of crayons and drawing sunsets and smiley faces all over the table cloths.
We returned to the office and met an English couple who were to be our traveling companions on the overnight train to Lao Cai. The train was spotless, the four berth cabin lined with polished wood (more like the interior of a sauna than a cabin) and there was free bottled water and chocolate for all. A far cry from some of the latter legs of the trans Mongolian experience, and a welcome place to kip for the night. I love night trains, the giddiness of settling into your cozy berth, the prospect of heading into the corridor and gawping out the window with your fellow passengers at the whizzing landscape outside. Paul Theroux endorses trains over planes very well when he talks about the dismal "hurrying to the airport, to be interrogated and frisked..and searched for bombs". He reckons you are "better off on a national railway, probably the best way of getting a glimpse of how people actually live..the telling facts of village life, the misery that airplanes fly over. Yes, the train takes more time, and many trains are dirty, but so what? Delay and dirt are the realities of the most rewarding travel". Yes indeed.
So we pulled out of Hanoi and got to know Matt and Megan over chatter of previous train/plane and auto experiences in far flung corners (such as the Philippines, where they had just been to). It felt almost like a betrayal to Fitz and Dave to be giving these cabin impostors the time of day considering our mammoth railway experience together, but they proved to be very good company!
An early morning arrival in Lao Cai - 5am. The hawkers and stalls selling fruits and fresh baguettes (a staple feature of all market life in northern Vietnam - those Frenchies, you've got to love them) were just setting up in the darkness as we made our way to a waiting minivan. I slept for most of the two hour journey to the Summit Hotel in Sapa but was nevertheless somehow aware of the amount of corkscrewing the driver was engaging in to get us there. I missed some great scenery apparently, but God knows I need my beauty sleep.
I stumbled bleary eyed off the bus to be met by a gaggle of Lilliputian giggling girls dressed in darkly dyed indigo shawls. Their toothy grins shone out like lines of Mentos in a facial sea of Fisherman's Friends from their cracked and over-aged faces. They were instantly likable. We were ushered into the hotel itself, past this excitable welcoming committee and had breakfast and showers and wandered through the gardens at the back that looked out over the valley. We met Jane and Andy and Chris and Kim again there - our Australian friends who we had hung out with in Halong and Hoi An respectively.
It was about 9am by the time we finally set off,with Key our local guide, and a squadron of the shawled gigglers in tow. The itinerary for the day was to pass through 3 villages along a 10-12km track through the valley. We passed a huge cannabis plant along the roadside - they grow all over the place here, and I rethought those gaping grins. These ladies were Black Hmong women and were to keep us company on the couple of miles we were about to walk to their village. There was a catch of course, in that one was expected to buy something from them en route, or upon arrival.
In the course of the chatter with them one in particular, her face like a dried prune, took a particular fancy to me. When I told her my name was James the grin widened until I thought her little upturned face would explode - "thats my name tooo!!!". Well well, how silly of me of course it is. My we've lots in common, lots to talk about! She made me a horse out of reeds, Sarah was given ornate little flowers and ponies by her new 13 year old friend called Sarah, and we merrily made our way up along the valley's edge. We passed a farmer carrying an upturned wooden feeder box that must have weighed about 15 stone on his back. His calves bulged as he hassled a few cattle up the hill in front of him. The first village we came across was tiny - about 15 families. The men work solid during the harvest season for about three months, and then take it easy for the remainder. ''Now this is a serious system'' I though to myself as Sarah and the other girlies gawped incredulously. Sly winks to and from all the boys though haha. All this going on with James dutifully by my side working hemp through her poor ragged old hands to weave later when she got back home.
Wandering along those paths, peering into the misty valley, passing homesteads where the pigs and goats are treated like children I couldn't help but wonder at the simplicity of it all. Bloody hardship too though - it snows all winter. The Hmong's love their buffalo. To have many is a sign of great wealth - the more you gots the richer you is. They can fetch up to US$1,000 a pop, and live to be about 25 if looked after properly. These big lumps of muscle have their own luxury accommodation, never far from the family homestead, where they can chill out doing crosswords by the fire on those lonely winter nights.
My red t-shirt pleased Key no end. ''You are Tiger! HAhaa! You are Tiger! You strong man! Red very lucky colour Vietnam people!" He pointed disdainfully at a sullen Dutch trainee doctor beside me. "How many girlfriends have you had?!Hahaaa! You are not Tiger no...you are donkey!! hahahaaa!''.
More terraced paddy fields, muddy tracks and about 2 hours later saw us enter the village where our homestay was waiting for us. We settled in, showered and had a wander. I took some photos of young fellas running barefoot along the pathway playing with thin iron sticks and wheels. So much for fecking X-Box. They were delighted with themselves. I bought a few trinkets from James,and she threw in a hemp friendship bracelet to boot. We promised to Skype (we didn't really).
The homestay, in a village called Tay Van, was a large one roomed, two storey wooden roofed concrete barn. A staircase led directly to the upper floor where we were to sleep on mattresses under mosquito nets, and where a balcony looked out over the paddy fields and into the valley. It was harvest time, so the stumps of rice were being burned off after being thrashed. The air was thick with wafty smoke, and soon dusk descended. After a big spread thrown on by our host family, and a fair few shots of home brewed hooch I fell knackered into my leaba.
An early start the next morning after a feed of pancakes and out we fuddled up a hill towards our next destination. It was only a brief walk, about an hour or so, before a river emerged in front of us on the valley floor below. Passing another cluster of wooden huts, a 25 year old mother of two cute and scurrying little kids emerged offering hand made jewellery for sale. Sarah bought some from her, and I took a nice photo of the three of them with her.
We sat at the top of a waterfall for about half an hour before walking downhill and over a footbridge to a restaurant for lunch. The Hmong's were out again - this time of the red variety (they wear red fez like headscarves as opposed to the indigo ones) and selling tin jewellery, hemp bags and pillow cushions, and all manner of other trinkabelia.
The bus journey back to Sapa was uneventful apart from evidence of landslides by the road. The last heavy rains had resulted in a fair bit of damage to the region in September. We showered and wandered through Sapa before the (packed) bus back to the train station.
After another all too short sleep we arrived at Hanoi at 4am. Along the street that runs parallel to the train yard people huddled on their knees, stapling together the local morning papers in a huge human production line of antiquated publication. Not for the first time in South East Asia I felt extremely lucky to have the cash in my pocket to be able to go and find a bed for a few hours before the sun rose.
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