The short trip to Vietnam's mountainous northwestern corner wasn't long enough, but with my visa running out, errands to run in Hanoi and a booked non-refundable train ticket, there wasn't much to be done.
Sapa is home to most of Vietnam's minority people. They lead a rather simple existance of growing rice, "silver" smithing and making intricately embroidered hemp clothing and blankets. With the introduction of tourism they also have added pillow shams, baby dolls and decorative wall hangings to their textile repitoire. A trip to Sapa consists mainly of treking (aka hiking) around the hillsides visiting their villages with your very own personal entourage of H'mong women hoping to get a sale at the end of the day (without being overly pushy, of course).
Most conversations consist of "What is your name?" "Where are you from?" "How old are you?" When asked reciprocally, one is bound to get answers such as "Sang" "My village" and a number that looks 2/3 of what you would guess (eg. the woman who was 54 looked 84 and the 28 year-old looked 42). Conversation rarely goes beyond this simple level of linguistic knowledge (although I quickly picked up how to say "No thank you" or "Guchi Yo" to ward of some of the more aggressive sellers).
One notable exception to the language rule was a woman of 30 with a magical demenor who accompanied our group of 6 trekers. She could answer basic questions, held my hand over slippery rocks, clug to me in fear as we crossed suspension bridges and had the most memorable and enchanting smile. Of course, by the end of the two days I couldn't help but buy a blanket as well as a "silver" bracelet that was made by her father. After the sale I asked more about her family and her father to which she told me that he was "very tired."
"Old?" I asked.
"No, tired," she replied cupping her hands together as a pillow and then widely opening her eyes as she motioned like she was slitting her throat.
"Oh...dead 'tired'"...charades saved the day once again.
No comments:
Post a Comment