Old Hanoi is still segregated by the type of trade; one street may contain nothing but eyeglasses shops (where Brook picked up new lenses for $25) while the next street's shops sell nothing but adhesives. "It's so easy to shop in Hanoi," quipped our guide one afternoon, "you just need to go to the right street." Picture Home Depot spread over 10 square miles and you get the idea. But now, instead of quaint shophouses and bicycles, Hanoi is consumed by ugly Chinese-inspired concrete buildings and overrun by motorbikes. We spent a week there.
The first few days were hell: dodging traffic and street vendors and trash in 108 degree heat. And at night, what little is left of the sidewalks (after being used as moto parking lots) is turned into a string of food stands, usually manned by a nose-picking old lady who likes to reach in and sample the food, dishes washed in the gutter, grease everywhere. Then we got the hang of it. We learned to just launch into traffic and let the motos flow around us; learned to get up early to stroll around the lake at 6 and watch the old folks at their tai chi; learned where to find good espresso and decent food (although we each got sick at least once), and most importantly learned to find a little peace among the madness. Here's a link to the photos we took around town (they don't do a great job at capturing the grittiness since we didn't carry the camera at night or to crowded areas): https://plus.google.com/photos/103829313469224560701/albums/6048475767089707217
We also spent five days in Sapa, a tiny town at 5,000 feet hard by the Chinese border in the hills of north-central Vietnam. Mt. Fansipan looms over the town at 10,000 feet and the valleys are populated by minority groups that include the Black H'mong, Flower H'mong, and Red Dzao. These names relate to their manner of dress, which hasn't changed in centuries. Women still spin hemp and hand dye it; men still work rice paddies and corn fields with water buffalo; families still live in squalid portable wooden huts with dirt floors and livestock running about. No one is quite sure, but it's believed these groups were migrants from China and before that possibly Mongolia. Historically nomadic farmers, the French forced them to stay put. That has led to other problems, but also made the area a rich cultural center. Typical village houses:
Sapa itself has grown into a tourist town full of people looking for a good hike or "authentic experience." While there, we had both. We got in three good hikes, visited a few villages, and had lunch with the locals. Here we are after our second hike with our local guide:
On our third hike we hired a private guide, So, and had lunch in her house with her husband (who's an impressive cook) three kids, pigs, dogs (they only eat the "naughty" ones), and chickens. Lunch took a few hours and, while not exactly hygenic by our standards is was remarkably well and carefully prepared. And delicious. We had visited the market with So earlier in the day to buy ingredients, and it was interesting to watch as each one was cooked over an open fire pit in the hut. Tofu with tomatoes, morning glory (a green, not the flower), another green, bamboo, and of course rice. Finished off by a few rounds of "happy water" - homemade rice wine. She then led us back to town, where we re-entered civization.
A view from town:
It's a funny place, Sapa. Our hotel and the local resturaunts were all very nice, but the whole place depends on these poor (in a very literal way) locals for tourism. We used a guide company that pays fair wages (and we paid for
lunch for So's family) but other locals aren't as lucky. As a result, there are hordes of local women in Sapa who try to sell handicrafts to tourists. They are aggressive and at times annoying, but much depends on them: families literally starve at times and infant/child mortality is about 30% due to malnutrition and no medical care. Education is basic. These are poor people, and buying a bracelet or blanket can make a big difference. Here's a typical group of ladies about to ambush a busloads of unsuspecting tourists:
We learned from our guide how to spot genuine handicrafts from imported Chinese junk, and ended up picking up a few items made from their local textile: hemp fabric dyed naturally with indigo. Here are the vats they use:
To get a sense of how hard these women work to make a sale (to say nothing of the hours required to grow hemp, spin the hemp, make cloth by hand, dye it 40 times in indigo, sew it into a garment, then embroider it), consider this: one evening we mentioned to a local lady (who followed us to dinner, trying to sell us bracelets and skirts) that the baby carriers we'd seen were quite nice. The next morning, uninvited, she showed up at our hotel (keep in mind that these villages are a 2-3 hour walk from town) daughter in tow, waited outside while we ate our fancy breakfast, then proceeded to show us not one but several baby carriers. Here she is modeling one with her very bemused 7-year-old:
And here's another lady (we bought this blanket from her):
We grew to love these ladies, and Sapa, and left all too soon. After a bumpy (but pleasant) night train back to Hanoi we wondered at the contrast and wished we hadn't left. Here's our Sapa photo gallery: https://plus.google.com/photos/103829313469224560701/albums/6048483075624521905
While we enjoyed aspects of Vietnam, like Hoi An, Sapa, and a few friendly locals we met, we were largely discouraged by the state of things. To put it bluntly, the Vietnamese government is a bloody mess. It is a communist machine that exists soley for itself and does little
for its people. Even Cambodia seems better off, despite having fewer resources and a recent murderous history. And ironically, despite it's communist bent, Vietnamese culture seems much more concerned with "cheap-cheap" and a quick buck than with any forward-thinking or communal ideas/ideals. Apart from a few special places, it seemed a mean, selfish place, rife with cheating and corruption. Needless to say, it was not our favorite stop on this grand tour of ours.
But that's not to disparage some of the individuals we met along the way, like the folks in Hoi An and Sapa, the lovely lady we shared a train compartment with for 18 hours, the honest taxi driver who showed up at 4:30 AM yet charged us half the prior rate, or the university students in Hanoi who showed us around town all day - for free. As with any place, the collective is often worse than the individual (because at bottom we're all just individuals who want to thrive), creating a strange dichotomy and providing proof that you should not judge a people by their loudmouths or their government. We probably won't be back to Vietnam, but hope the people living there are able to overcome the odds and thrive. And maybe learn a little hygiene along the way...
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