Here’s to the Ladies Who Trek: The Hill Tribes of Sapa
The next morning I roused myself bright and early for my trek. Something that really attracted me to Sapa was the fact that all the trekking guides are women from the minority tribes. It is really unusual to see such matriarchal societies in southeast Asia, and apart from just feeling safer with a woman in charge, I loved being able to support a female focused trade.
My guide was 20 years old, married, with her first child at home. As is typical for most of the women I meet in this part of the world, she asked my age and relationship status and was shocked to learn the answer. “I think you maybe 24,” she said, eyes bugging out. “No husband, no child?” When I confirmed this, she smiled. “Good. Freedom.”
It was not a reaction I had received before. Usually women here are horrified to learn that I am trucking through my thirties without having formed a family. But as we chatted while hiking through the verdant rice paddies and winding our way through fields of water buffalo, I learned that my guide was not only responsible for raising her family but also for helping out with farmwork, guiding trekkers, and making traditional Hmong clothes. At her age, I was enjoying a cushy college life financed by my parents, where my biggest concerns were finishing papers on time and picking out the best tank top for Saturday night parties. Our worlds could not be more different and her wistful acknowledgment of my freedom made me appreciate it all that much more.
It was a hot day for trekking and I furiously wiped the sweat from my brow every ten seconds, while my guide casually hopped along in plastic sandals and traditional Hmong velvet leg warmers and long sleeved jacket. I happily ran into the German girls from my train and we compared our homestay experiences. At the end of the day, I bid farewell to my sweet guide and headed to the river for a swim with the homestay folks and a new Australian couple who had just arrived that day. Although I had not packed a bathing suit, I did as the Vietnamese do and splashed around in shorts and a t shirt. One of the young women from the homestay brought her little daughter, who ran around naked, happily screeching in the sunlight. Her mom’s brilliant smile made me think of a different life I might have lived once, one of focus on family and finding joy in the everyday rather than traipsing halfway across the world in search of it.
Post swim, we all pitched in to make fresh spring rolls, more of that great tofu and morning glory, and boiled susu, or chayote. One of the homestay workers had a boyfriend who was an architect who worked in Hanoi. He could not speak much English but he very eagerly wanted to share all the treasures he had brought back from Hanoi, little candies and fruits that are hard to get in Sapa. He also put his drawing skills to use by sketching portraits of us, while we played Vietnamese word games and practiced Hmong embroidery. It was a perfect last night in this chilly mountain village with a warm heart.
Since I still had a day before my overnight train back to Hanoi, I decided to walk around Sapa town. It was what I imagine Kathmandu to be like, filled with trekking outfitter stores and expat cafes. I bought some delicious dried fruit from a market, tiny sweet and salty flavor bombs with no English translation.
For lunch, I splashed out on a nice upscale meal with Hmong style trout spring rolls, ash baked sweet potatoes, and pineapple and honey infused rice wines, enjoyed with a view of the misty mountains beyond. The electricity was out in the town, and a posh American couple next to me complained. “It is like I am in a third world country,” the man harumphed. Well…yeah, dude. Although this trip has taught me to appreciate America more, sometimes American travelers really fit their stereotype! Ugh.
Anyway, while back at the bus stop haggling for my ride back to Lao Cai, I met an older woman named Alex who was making the same trip back to Hanoi. She is from Britain, in her 60s, and backpacking Vietnam solo! Super cool lady and she became sort of my guardian angel as I had to pick up my train ticket at a random restaurant (because why would you get a train ticket at the train station. Oh, Vietnam…) and Lao Cai is a bit seedy at night. She walked me to the restaurant and kept me company in the station. We were on different cars, but made plans to meet up for coffee when we arrived in Hanoi in the morning. I lucked out again with my cabin, which had a young woman from the Netherlands, also traveling solo, and two American twentysomethings who were leading a group of teenagers through China and Vietnam. I fell asleep as the train rumbled back to Hanoi, where I would have a second shot at finding pleasure in the city.
