Black or Flowers, It's All Hmong to Me

Arriving in Sapa was a bit like being slapped in the face.  I awoke just as the train was pulling into the station and was hustled out into the bright morning sun, only to be mobbed by hundreds of drivers asking "Sapa? Sapa??"  This has become a familiar scene after overnight transportation, particularly in Vietnam, but it never ceases to amaze me how many people gather and bid for the chance to transport people and large quantities of luggage.  One of the perks of being on a tour was having per-arranged transportation, so I was able to push through the crowd to a man wielding my typed-out name like a beacon.

Sadly, I was in that parking lot for over an hour more.  The not-so-peachy part of joining a tour group is that you have to wait for all the group members - even the ones on the next train.  But at last we were on our way and the hour drive to Sapa flew by as we chatted and anticipated the adventures of the next few days.  I used the time to read up on Sapa and the Hmong tribes and other minorities that live there.  It turns out that the name Sapa is from the Chinese name for the place, Xa Pa, meaning "sandy place".  I didn't see any sand; Sapa is a mountainous region, but perhaps the soil was sandy to those in the know.  Sapa has become a popular tourist destination because of the breathtaking views and the opportunity to visit with the local ethnic minorities, the largest of which is the Hmong.  These minorities each have a distinctive dress and often have very different languages (they communicate amongst themselves in Vietnamese).

We arrived in Sapa, marveling at the brilliantly terraced mountainside, tamed into rice paddies.  Equally shocking was the transition back to the town, which was bustling and well-developed.  Storefronts advertised free wifi, massage services, and Western or Indian or authentic Vietnamese cuisine.  The place was a regular hive of backpackers, outfitted in their trekking gear, perhaps from one of the many trekking gear shops.  I don't know if I mentioned it before, but knock-off backpacking gear stores are quite common in Vietnam.

You can get a new North Face backpack for about 10 USD with a little bit of haggling. Hmong women lined the sides of the street - denser now than on the side of the highway but offering the same goods - selling corn and rice wrapped in banana leaves, fresh loaves of bread, a variety of fruit, sugared donuts appeared like kebabs.  And then there were the roving merchants, the ones with dozens of shoulder bags in different colors and with different embroidery, all slung across their bodies.  Pockets were filled with neatly knotted friendship bracelets, safety-pinned together and fanned out for display.  These women would become a fixture of our trip.

But, as is usually the case, I'm getting ahead of myself.  We disembarked outside of the Auberge Hotel, the home base for our tours, and treated ourselves to a shower and breakfast.  Then it was back out the door, suited up, hiking Sapa! Or so we thought.  The general disorder and confusion resulted in three of us following the wrong guide, twice.  We were shepherded along each time, only to be rescued at the border of the village and carefully led back to the herd.  

At last, we set out with our proper group and our guide, Mon.  The group was cheery as we wound our way down the mountainside, carefully avoided the slippery patches resulting from the light drizzle.  Tiny women with wizened faces followed alongside, catching tourists as they lost their footing and supporting people down big steps.  Most of us tried to be independent, as the women were about 3/4 our height and three times our age, making it a bit embarrassing to receive assistance.

As you'll notice above, the Hmong outfit is mostly black.  Or rather, this Hmong outfit is.  We were being guided by members of the Black Hmong tribe, so-called because their basic dress involved a lot of black or indigo-dyed cloth.  This was in contrast with the Flower Hmong, who dressed in vibrant colors and flowers.  These two Hmong groups speak the same language and make up the majority of the (nearby) Sapa population.

A Black Hmong traditional outfit involves several layers and is worn year-round despite the fluctuations in temperature.  

The base appear to be a bright green shirt with embroidered sleeve edges, often decorated with red thread.  This is covered, especially in adults, by a large dark tunic with heavily embroidered wide bands on the sleeves.  The tunic falls down onto the legs, where another flap lies on top of it.  The middle is wrapped with another wide, embroidered band in a similar pattern to that on the sleeves.  On the legs are worn long black shorts that reach to the knee and appear to be in a velvet-like fabric.  Where these end, the calves are wrapped in a black fabric and then tied in place with a thin embroidered band in contrasting colors around the top of the calf.  This creates the Hmong equivalent of leg warmers.  On their feet, the Hmong seem to wear what they please.  White plastic sandals are common, but so are rain bot in jewel tones.  Some girls were sporting ballet flats and one or two sneakers, but these were a distinct footwear minority.  But lest you think the outfit is complete, there is more to discuss,  the hair is worn long and wrapped in a thick rope once around the circumference of the head.  At the forehead, it is secured with a comb and parallel bands of silver barrettes.  Earrings are worn, usually large hoops with flattened, worked metal at the bottom of the circle.  These large earrings pull on the ears and someone gauge the holes, though the effect is not large since the huge hoops soon hit the shoulders.  One last mark, seen on several women? A dark red circle on the forehead, looking like some sort of bruise or stain.  It turns out that the Hmong do a version of fire cupping (a Chinese technique often accompanying acupuncture), but they use the hollow inside of a buffalo horn.  They apply the pressure directly to the forehead for about 15 minutes in order to reduce headache.

In short, the Black Hmong stand out, but they are also a very cohesively-dressed group.  They wear their outfits with ease and carry whatever belongings they need in large woven basket backpacks as they trek up and down the mountainside. As we were attended by women, we did not see what Hmong men wear but hear that it is similar.

We spent the morning hiking through the gorgeous scenery, snapping pictures and learning from our companions about the life and language of the Hmong.  

For example, primary education (which we were told may last until children are 17) is in the village and is free.  

Secondary education is conducted in Sapa village and is expensive, about 1 million dong per month (the equivalent of 50 USD, which is a lot for the people here).  English is taught only in secondary school, so all of our very-proficient guides had learned just from talking to tourists.  We were very impressed.  Youth marry early (18-20) but not as early as before (15-16) and produce large families, since farming is the major industry and many children die in infancy.  If they survive childhood, most people live to about 50-60, according to Mon.

It was a beautiful place, but also a difficult one in which to live.  These women has done our hike in reverse to come and pick us up in the morning.  While that would be manageable for a fit person, it was certainly not convenient.  But these women were quite tough, and greeted everything with a smile.

Admittedly, mealtime were a bit of a pain.  As soon as we would grab seats, the women who had accompanied us down the mountain and their village companions would swarm the table hawking the ubiquitous bags and bracelets.  Every hand held down a step, word exchanged, or smile bestowed was rehashed with desperation and aggression, each woman trying to guilt the travelers into making a purchase.  It was horribly uncomfortable, knowing that the friendship had been a mean to an end, and it cast a pall on the easy conviviality of the morning hike, at least for me.  I had enjoyed the company of our companions but it wasn't worth the harassment I received in return.

We were all a bit relieved when we started hiking agin, though it ended up being a short walk up to our home stay.  At 2:30 pm, immediately following a long lunch break, we were done for the day.  There was also little to do but look at the scenery, read a book, or socialize.  We employed a mixture of the three to pass the many hours until nightfall, though sadly we didn't get to interact with our hostess.  She didn't speak English (a rarity, it seemed, and therefore an odd choice for hostess) and avoide dour company in favor of her family space.  It was less of a home stay and more of a middle-of-nowhere hostel.  Still, the food was delicious, the company was good, and the "happy water" (rice wine) began to flow at about 5 pm.  Mon was secretly an expert at drinking peer pressure and had all of my companions on their fifteenth half-filled shot before they knew what hit them.  The clear liquor apparently went down easy, but after several aquafina bottles of "happy water" has been consumed, we thought that was it for the night.  How silly of us.  The bottles were refilled from a large container, resembling the office building Poland Spring jugs.  We were escorted next door to join two other tour groups and the drinking games and toasts began in earnest.  It wasn't the highlight of my sober evening to watch people sit around and take shots, but the conversation was pretty hilarious.  And people seemed to really enjoy themselves.

Spotted: Smoking.  It is one of the things I always forget about when planning trips, and is the bane of my existence until I return home.  It is so unpleasant to take a seat next to someone and have them light up.  But everyone seems to smoke here, as if all backpackers have secret nicotine habits.  Every time I think someone might be the exception, a cigarette is bummed or a pack is dragged out.  I think my anti-smoking sentiment are the closest thing I will ever feel to homesickness.