Until you see the Flower H'mong tribe - fully attired in day-glo striped shawls, bartering over a piece of meat or leading buffalos through the streets, its difficult to believe they even exist. But there they were, in their traditional costumes, doing the weekly shop in the market at Bac Ha, a northern hill town near the Chinese border. Our journey there involved nearly four hours in a minibus, feeling every twist, turn and bump along the way and pausing for the occasional landslide.
Thankfully it was worth it, and once you wondered beyond the stalls clearly intended just for us tourists, you entered another world. In one corner of the muddy square, a jumble of handmade hemp aprons, skirts and belts being picked through by old ladies. In another, big slabs of raw, fatty meat lay out on tables, with buyer and seller locked in negotiation. A little further on, we found a field of water buffalo and horses all up for sale and a rather unhappy pig squealing. Seduced by all the noise and colour, we broke our own pledge not to buy unnecessary souvenirs, and started the haggling. We took a liking to the traditional blankets – but starting prices were high. First of all the seller writes down a number – many hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese dong - then you have to feign exasperation, and offer something much, much lower. Its then their turn to puff the cheeks, laugh a little, and shave nearly 1% off their original price – in a huge gesture of international friendship. This goes on for some time. In the end, we bought a colourful blanket for less than a third of the original price – the woman having followed us around, determined she wouldn't lose a sale.
Once the deal was done, I think we both felt a little guilty for having haggled quite so hard over something that only cost eight pounds in the end - but then you look around, see everyone else there bartering, and realise we still probably paid over the odds. To celebrate we went for lunch. By now we’ve become confident enough to use the little market stalls where the locals go for bowls of ‘pho’ soup noodles. Our arrival was met with a few bemused glances – the three men on our table insisting we shake their hands. Then they insisted we share a little glass of corn wine – a 60% spirit brewed at home and kept in old plastic bottles. Not wanting to offend, we both took a careful sip – only to be told that it should be downed in one. We obliged – only for our glasses to be refilled. To cheers of “can chen!” a second and even third were drunk – making the ride home from Bac Ha a little smoother. And that should have been the end of that little adventure, except...
While waiting for our night train south back to Hanoi, we found an internet cafe to waste some time. It was there that we read that in the four days we’d been away from the capital, it had suffered its worst flooding for over twenty years. Some streets were still under feet of water – sadly some people had been killed. There was no real choice but to get on our train and hope for the best. When we arrived at Hanoi this morning, things didn’t seem too bad – but we decided it was best to keep moving, and take another train further south. And that’s where the fun began. Having bought the train ticket, we were told we’d actually have to get on a bus – the tracks to our destination being flooded. Once the bus was fully laden (they don’t like to waste a square inch of space here in Vietnam), we started on an hour long journey across the city – and saw the real damage. Waves formed along the road as we inched our way through the traffic – outside the bus window, hundreds of motorbike and moped drivers tried to keep their balance while driving against the tide. Some gave up – putting their bikes on the back of horse drawn carts to force a way though. It was a disaster. We feared the worse for our rucksacks stowed below – and by the time the bus finally found the train carriages, we’d resigned ourselves to everything being soaked. Thankfully the dampness was minimal, and after a mere two hour delay, the train to Ninh Binh finally got going. That’s where we are now, safe, well, clean and dry. We have even come across our first Welsh fellow traveller, Matthew from Gwynedd. Tomorrow will hopefully be less adventurous – a gentle bike ride will be enough for us both.
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