Day 4 - Sapa - 10th September 2014.

Sapa Day 4 - 10th September 2014.

I awake, term I use loosely, as have been awake most of the night. It is 6 am and we are lying in opposite narrow bunks in a charming old train from the 1920's. There are two bunks above us, the cabin is about six feet square with a tiny drop down table and a scalloped lamp, French inspired. The toilet, the only toilet, is in the next carriage, of which there are fourteen, and largely filled with backpackers, sitting in hard seats, we are in the luxury section. There is a man who sells beer and tea, but whilst eager to please, he does not understand us at all, and sold out of beer and we get the last beer, tea and a coveted paper cup.

The train has, according to our guide, Tea, square wheels, and he is not wrong. Gerald ponders how much track work is done here, and in the interests of peace, dismisses the thought instantly. What a feat this must have been to build in the twenties, we are headed to the north west of Vietnam, four kms from the Chinese border, and surrounded by hills, lush green forests, valleys, dotted with ramshackle towns, and it is very wet. The rail follows a very long and wide river, Red River, which is actually brown, and runs I believe the length of Vietnam and into China.

Gerald says the men were discussing the Vietnam war, when young Aussies were called up in a lottery which called every other male, Jeff was called up but was deferred for five years. Tea's father died from what he called a 'chemical bomb' - agent orange we assume - and here he is entertaining people of the age who could have been out there in this tropical jungle, intent on killing each other.

These sleeper trains to Lao Cai, (which is the gateway to Sapa and it's indigenous mountain villages), have several carriages, each one functioning as an independent company, with differing levels,of quality and service.

We had a jolly hour in our cabin last night where the men gathered to drink beer, Gerald is laughing with Geoff, a typical Aussie bloke - my unkind heart suggests they wish to get away from their wives, who in 24 hours have already distorted my ear drums with complaints, judgements and intolerance, and with whom I want no time at all.

We checked into our hotel which is perched on the side of a cliff, The Sapa Bamboo Hotel, and have an enormous Vietnamese breakfast, with Pho Bo, a delicious beef and noodle soup, another dish of rice and pork, and a third of veggies. No sireee, we are not going hungry here. I hear a crunch and find something large and hard in my mouth. It is a large piece of tooth, the buck tooth, top jaw, right hand side, which Brett our dentist told me 'was going'. Well, it's gone. It's the size of half my pinky finger nail and the hole feels like The Big Hole in Kimberley. I could not be in a more remote spot here, a few kms from China in the mountains of north west Vietnam, but I am 'holding the space' that all is well.

Our room is large with a bed, I swear, that is ten feet wide, and firm, and has windows on two sides overlooking a the Sapa Valley, a constant changing beautiful scene, as fog drifts by, Vietnamese music in the distance, children's voices, and the barking of a dogs who sounds mysteriously like Cino. The is a constant smell of smoke, and occasional heavy rumbling of thunder which sounds ominously close given we are so high here, I think 1700 metres. My heart squeezes as memories of Nepal flood my senses.

We spend couple of hours showering and resting, and went for a long walk around this peaceful little town, finding a simple Catholic Church which was spared being destroyed in the Indo China war, somehow. Hardly any tourists as the peak season begins next month, we are fortunate.

We meet at three in the foyer, this time we do not leave Kay behind, and head off to a mountain village of the Red Dau people. The Dau women cut their hair for the last time when they are sixteen years old and for the rest of their lives, nobody bar their husband and children see their hair, which they coil on top of their heads and cover with a red scarf, their trade mark. Tea says you must be careful not to remove their scarf and see their hair, if you do, you have to remain with them for three years. Gerald says he will only remove the scarf of a really pretty one, and Tea is unsure if he is joking or not. They do not have a religion, they worship their ancestors, I quite like this idea until I remember how how nasty my maternal grandmother could be.

The bus rolls to a halt, and Tea warns us, 'they are waiting for us, we do not have to buy, but I cannot stop them following us and asking you to buy' and tells us, they will 'choose you as their target before you get off the bus' - and as the bus pulls up, they rush at us, a full on ambush of about twenty women, dressed in black with the trade mark Dau Women scarves. They are persistent but not aggressive, as I no doubt would be in their position, and their English is excellent, learned from tourists according to Tea. Dau women marry and have children and then can have several children by several different fathers, who have no responsibility for their upkeep. The women do this as they believe in the afterlife they will be cared for by these men, and having many men is a good insurance policy, rather than just one. Now that is an idea which could be explored. The men search the forests for cardamom and the women grow the crops with the aid of the children. They ask the questions Tea said they would 'Where are you from?' and 'How many children you have?' and 'How old you are?' And then, 'You buy from me.' A statement, not a question. I told them I would not be buying anything, but they doggedly persisted, the rest of the group already committed to purchasing. We have a house full of artwork and precious things from 45 years of travel, and I do it want or need any more. Tomorrow we shall. Is it a school and we shall take bags of good food for the kids instead.

We see many wonderful things. Geese being herded, small children gathering vegetables and stacking rice ready to be 'bashed', pigs foraging, workers in coolie hats in rice paddies, small children playing, and grandmothers with their grand babies on their backs, decked in colourful beaded hats, and only willing to have photos taken if you pay them. Gerald mastered the art of taking photos surreptitiously in Africa last year, and we proceed up,the hill, a colourful and noisy band of people. We visit a Dau house, a large, dark wooden building, with lofts above where corn hangs in racks to dry bags of rice are stored pigs snort at the back door, and a cauldron of bubbling brew over a fire sends off a pong - it is medicines made from herbs gathered in the forest, says Tea.

I always used to tell the participants in my programs, 'There are no stupid questions, so ask away', but today I heard a Doozey. We are in one of the poorest regions of Vietnam, no sanitation, no water bar what the sky provides, no electricity and not a shop for miles and poverty wherever one looks, Carol asks 'Do they have washing machines?' Tea, to his credit, replies with grace. She is aghast, 'They wash by HAND?' I feel my irritation rise, and practise some deep breathing sending love and understanding.

Kay and Ashley, the older couple, in ill health and overweight, have stayed close to the bus, we find them on our return, he with a beer, and she with a large variety of purchase, and many smiling and happy Dau women. I feel sorry for the ones who chose us, as the others all buy stuff, bar Steve and Carol, who give 'their' ladies $5.

Back in Sapa, we shop for the school children tomorrow, a selection of biscuits, long life yogurt, and long life protein milk, the others are buying lollies, and I do not wish to add to future dental decay. Geoff and Betty meet us in the Mountain Bar which sells $1 beers, and two for one cocktails, which turns out to be a bit of a scam, but I land up,with two strong rum, coconut and lime drinks, so am very merry when we meet Peter and an unpronounceable Dutch name young woman, she a travel agent and he a lawyer, dashing with a Cohe Guevara beard and long hair, and I find their stories far more interesting than those of the people I am having drinks with.

I change into my only dress, a long simple black silk dress with a silk orange scarf, and we join the herd for dinner at a local restaurant. At dinner, Geoff and Betty comment on my large appetite, she saying she would be the size of a house if she ate what I ate. But I have watched her hoe into the garlic bread, chips, club sandwiches, chocolate pudding, bacon, eggs, sausages, cakes and toast, and I have doubts. I tell her yes, I eat a lot and exercise a lot. Oh, she says, it's metabolism. Yes, I say, something you can alter if you exercise. We find it hard to lose wight she counters, and I now drawn into the fray, and respond that it's easy, less in, more energy out. I am becoming tetchy, and need some time away from the herd. Perhaps sensing my feelings, we end the conversation with a curt 'I guess it does depend on WHAT you eat.' I leave it at that.

The food is mediocre, although they try hard, and the company is bearable after my two cocktails, and we head back to,our hotel and am in bed after a hot shower by 9.30 pm. The bed is glorious, about ten feet, or three metres wide. I want to take it home.