I’m up at 6:30, kept awake by the famously loud kids, flushing of toilets and nearby construction. Vietnam is not the place to catch up on those Zs if you’re a sensitive sleeper like myself. At 8:30 we have a quick breakfast with more pancakes and “pearls”. At 9:30 we join the same two guides from yesterday and three other couples (four Belgians and two Brits).
It starts raining just as we leave. Katka has a green poncho to protect herself from rain, I have nothing. Our hotel sells cheap disposable raincoats, but I stubbornly decide that I’ll be fine without one. Raincoats are for sissies (and, you know, reasonable people who don’t want to get soaking wet). As we walk further from the hotel the rain intensifies. I am getting drenched and am also the only idiot not wearing some sort of rain-gear. On our way out of Sapa we pass by a market, where the same cheap raincoats can again be purchased. However, I still don’t buy one, because why change a dumb decision after you have recognised it as such?
We nickname Katka’s poncho “The Batman Poncho”, because it sort of looks like Katka has bat-wings when she wears it. So there’s certainly some resemblance to Batman (if Batman were a short blonde woman and wore green oversized ponchos). Thanks to my trusty Osprey backpack all of our stuff remains dry. The same cannot be said about me.
Rain also makes the narrow paths we have to navigate extremely muddy and slippery. This isn’t helped by the fact that the area is quite hilly and at any given time we’re either climbing a peak or trying to avoid helplessly sliding down from one. Every few moments the journey is interrupted by one of us foreigners slipping and either falling on his/her ass or grabbing frantically at the nearby people.
Thankfully, we are again accompanied by a large group of Black Hmong women. They are extremely good at negotiating the slippery slopes, despite wearing simple home-made plastic sandals. They help everyone through especially tricky parts of the journey and prevent us from tumbling down on numerous occasions.
In between our falling down and swearing in frustration we try to admire the beautiful scenery. Mountains stretch as far into the horizon as we can see. Every time we climb a hill we get treated to a new breathtaking sight of green valleys and a multitude of rice fields. We keep bumping into colourful locals and various animals. It’s like being in the middle of a painting, but, like, in 3D. Poetic, eh?
Soon we reach a small village of the Black Hmong, where we feel obliged to buy something from them for all of their help. What can I say, their strategy clearly works! Katka buys some bracelets and a bag to bring home as gifts. We have drinks and snacks at a local restaurant, where I befriend a cat. Or, more accurately, the cat claims me as hers and doesn’t leave my lap until we’re done with the meal. In the restaurant with us is a large group of Danes, seemingly a handball team. There are only like one hundred Danes in the world and it appears they’re all in Vietnam.
Our final destination is the Red Dzao village of Ta Va, where we’ll be sleeping over with a host family. Shortly before our arrival Katka and I both realise that our necks are completely burned. Katka gets a scarf from one of the Belgian girls to protect her neck. I get a towel and some toilet paper wrapped around mine – a creative solution courtesy of Katka. I stay in this partially mummified state until we reach Ta Va.
The Dzao live in notably better conditions than the Black Hmong. We are surprised to find electricity, proper showers, a TV and other luxuries that we haven’t seen in the spartan houses of the Black Hmong. The visiting tourists have proper sleeping mattresses with mosquito nets up on the second floor. There’s even a crooked pool table. I attempt to play a game with one of our guides, but quickly realise that it’s hopeless trying to be accurate when the table is sloped and the balls are so dented they’re shaped like crushed soda cans.
Katka and I take a walk around the village to see what’s there and to meet some locals. We discover a small stall that sells bracelets, bags and different handicraft for one-fifth the price we’ve ended up paying to the Black Hmong. Ouch! Were convinced that the woman is forgetting a zero somewhere, up until Katka buys a few more gifts for the family back home and we actually pay the low price.
Later on we bump into a girl of 12, who tags along with us on her way home. Her English is quite good and she tells us her name is “True” (presumably because she tells it how it is, for real yo!). Before she turns to her house she attempts to sell us some handicraft, but we’ve had our share of purchases for the day. When she keeps insisting I turn the tables and attempt to sell her one of the bracelets we bought from the Black Hmong. She finds this amusing and names a ridiculously low price. Surprisingly, I don’t manage to sell the bracelet at a mad profit (or at all).
On the way back we see a very drunk local who is singing incoherent songs. At least I assume they’re incoherent, since I haven’t learned enough Vietnamese to know for sure. He’s followed by a few people who make futile attempts at bringing him home. At some stage the man falls down and continues to sing while on the ground, refusing to get up. It’s comforting to know that thousands of miles away from Denmark drunk nights out end so similarly. (CONTINUE TO PAGE 2)