The Market

Flower H'mong flood the streets.

  

In Bac Ha, east of Sapa, is a weekly Sunday market that we had heard was an event not to miss. This was an understatement. 

We step off of the bus into a street filled with color. The Flower H'mong are in town and with them they have brought beauty in every direction.

Raw meats, waiting for buyers

We stroll through the bustling market, the town's major source of commerce. All around, people are socializing, negotiating prices, and eating varieties of fresh foods.

Deep fried rice snacks

The meat market catches my eye, fresh cuts of beef, pork, chicken , and other four-legged mammals, are spread over large wooden tables. The sight would be a nightmare for a health inspector in The States. There's a commotion as men crowd around a table, apparently bets are made on how many hacks it will take to cut through a piece of pork. 

Goods and money change from hand to hand and everywhere we look there are people enjoying the weekly occurrence.It's more of a social event, it seems, than anything.The local tribes have all concentrated here and the combination of the colorful market goods and the striking outfits makes the scene worthy of a masterpiece. I can't take enough pictures. 

On the hill above town.

 On the hill above the market is where animals, primarily water buffalo, are inspected by picky buyers. I feel a remorse for the large beasts of burden, as they wait to be purchased,

but they will spend their days working in the surrounding hills, and will subsequently be well fed.

 

Selling herbal medicines.

 

 

After browsing for three hours, and reveling at the variety of goods, I imagine that anything a person could need would be found here. From fruits and vegetables, to coffee and spices, herbal medicines, to handmade clothing and jewelry, meats and live fish, tools and contraptions, everything is in surplus.

 

 

 

 

Surplus of veggies

Baby sleeps while Mom eats Pho.

In the center of the excitement are 100 or so tables all owned by different families. Fresh noodle soup, the infamous Vietnamese Pho, is being served to the patrons sitting at the tables. Meat is cut
right from a fresh hog leg and put into the soup, ladled from a giant pot boiling over open flame. Small limes are squeezed over the soup and small hot peppers and pepper sauce is added for an extra zing. We sit and enjoy the food and the scene simultaneously.

 

As the afternoon turns to evening, the crowd disperses and people pack their goods to go home. By dark the streets have metamorphosed from a flooded, chaos of color, to a sparsely populated, average mountain town.It's hard to beleive that we are in the same town that was home to the most dazling local market Iv'e ever seen. The week will surely pass with uneventful daily routeins. It's quiet now, until next Sunday.

Among the H'mong

In the rice-terraced mountains surrounding Sapa live a number of indigenous tribal peoples. The H'mong, Red Dzao, and Zai tribes populate the area and can be seen in town selling their woven handicrafts.

The terraced hills near a H'mong village

A Flower H'mong Woman

Nyui works on a shirt she is making

All of the women are clad in brightly colored traditional clothing and are adorned with beautiful jewlery and wrapped    headdresses. History is preserved in their appearance and the contrast between the traditionally dressed women and the surrounding French architecture is a unique spectacle. We meet a H'mong woman named Nyui. After talking for a short time we negotiate a price for her to guide us through the hills to stay in her village.

 

A river crossing

 The next morning we follow our guide out of town and down the steep slopes to the river valley below Sapa.The rice has already been harvested but the terraced hills still provide breathtaking views. It's as if we've take a trip back in time. Water buffalo wade through the terraces munching away at grass and chickens, ducks, pigs, and barefoot children run around, freely, through the villages. It's slow, village life.

Nuyi's two daughters study Vietnamese.

We cross the river and follow Nyui, climbing and zig-zagging up the opposite side of the valley until we reach her house, nestled between the terraces, with streams running past on either side. We meet her husband and her children, two girls and a boy. Nyui works on a shirt she is making, the children spend the day and evening playing and doing schoolwork. We relax, Cozette and I enjoy the view and or surroundings.

Baby on board.

 For lunch and dinner we eat pan cooked pork, greens of some sort (Nyui didn't know the name) , and rice. The food is cooked entirely over a fire pit dug into the floor of the dimly lit home. It's delicious. After dinner we're offered rice wine, a strong, pure, alcohol, made from the grain. We go to sleep early.

The next morning after breakfast and after the children have gone to school, we set off to visit another village before walking the 10 kilometers back to Sapa. The experience has been truly priceless and Cozette and I are on a high as we say goodbye to Nyui. Our stay in the terraced H'mong village has been a humbling experience that neither Cozette or I will be able to forget. The people are living as traditionally as possible in this day and age, and to have the opportunity to experience a day in the life of a H'mong family, we both agree, has been extraordinary.

Flower H'mong