Hanoi hangover

As often happens in Sapa, the mist descended and the clouds shed their load. After two days of writing and correspondence on the Internet I was getting cabin fever, but a noon check out and night train meant I was forced out for some fresh air. The Black Hmong must have got used to me, I’ve not been subjected to their charming characters for days, in fact since my first day there. Despite virtually camping outside my hotel their attention was for the wealthier clientele further up the hill. I was always met with cheery welcomes and, I like to think, genuine regard for my health and happiness. I must say I like them, I’ve yet to meet any who have sold their souls for the tourist dollar. Happy and smiling after hours of walking they take the time to talk to you, it isn’t too hard a sell and they rarely seem fed up despite the fierce competition between them. (Photo: Black Hmong and police intervention – Sapa, North Vietnam)

With the rain easing off there was no excuse left, if I hadn’t got my arse in gear I’d have seen none of the surrounding villages. Heavy mist obscured my view across the conical shaped hills littering the landscape, but thinned out as I descended to the tribal village. Cat Cat, nestled on the slopes of a lovely hillside, surrounded by paddy with water buffalo grazing the remnants from harvesting. Terraces climb the steep slopes, many are no more than 0.5m wide, their curving earthworks shaped perfectly to fit the natural contours. Giant steps leading heavenward, before harvest strips of verdant green crown each and every step of the way, punctuated by rich brown abutments. It is still a local village, though lined with stalls selling whatever they deemed might appeal to tourists. The embroidered goods are locally made, you can see the women sewing as they walk along the road without once breaking pace. (Photo: Paddy platform and conical hills – Cat Cat, North Vietnam)

A very clever system of using water to pound grain is still in place, though had no signs of recent usage. Bamboo guttering feeds water into large hollowed out wooden scoops on the end of quite hefty wooden beams. The fulcrum is very close to the scooped end, at the other a pestle is fitted, which sits in a wood lined pit. Once the water fills the scoop it drops down disgorging its weighty load, lifting the pestle from its resting place. As the water empties the weight of the beam drops the pestle back into the pit and, if it were filled, would pound the grain into flour. It’s a brilliant labour saving device, one I’ve never come across before. Of course it depends on a steady flow of water. Not only that though, to make it efficient a whole series of them are necessary, so hilly terrain is also vital to get enough working at the same time. Unfortunately, though there are many still happily tipping and filling in a leisurely rhythm, they all show signs of neglect. Looking into the pits not a single one had any residue of grain or flour in it. (Photo: Water powered pestle – Cat Cat, North Vietnam)

Behind the commercial frontage the village life goes on pretty much how it has for eons, but the women spend an overwhelming amount of their time catering to the peripheries of the tourist trade. They aren’t involved in the more profitable end of the business, transport and accommodation, merely the provision of craftworks, of which some of the work is beautiful. For once I found myself feeling guilty for not buying from these women, but it isn’t what I do when travelling. I have neither the room nor the motivation to encumber myself with examples of local craftwork, there’s too many places, too many different examples. I question myself whether or not to buy something, but it’s only to assuage my guilt. Instead I put money into the local economy by eating locally as often as the café orientated towards the western visitors. (Photo: Pork scratchings – Cat Cat, North Vietnam)

Although I’ve only been in Hanoi for one day Sapa seems so far away. It’s always a bit strange catching nighttime transport, you drift off to sleep in one environment and awake to a totally different one. Coming from the tranquil setting of Sapa (don’t get me wrong here, it’s a bustling tourist venue) spilling onto the city streets of Hanoi at 5am is a whole new world. Though expecting throngs on crafty city dwellers hustling for my attention, I found my arrival easy to adapt to. One or two taxi drivers were very persistent, but giving a firm no soon got rid of them, once they realize you are not about to be swayed they’ll move on to an easier target. Once everything settled down, during which time I sat and had a coffee, I chose my own taxi and ensured he was using the meter correctly. By 6.30am I sat beside the Lake of the recovered Sword watching the local populace indulge in their morning limbering up and exercise routines. It was very reminiscent of China. (Photo: More paddy formations– Cat Cat, North Vietnam)

A busy day marked my initiation to Hanoi, a city I found quite likable. It is busy, the traffic is mayhem and people are constantly stopping you and using any pretext to sell their wares or services. I ask you, where else do shoe shine boys try and insist on polishing your canvas sandals? I covered all the Old quarter and Hoan Kiem areas searching hostel notice boards for adverts of bikes for sale. There wasn’t many, and it took up my whole day going to every single one I could find. Of the bike dealers, everything was overpriced and of dubious quality. They generally buy cheaply off tourists and sell to the next one who walks in, with a markup of a couple of hundred percent. The bikes are constantly driven 1,000 miles or more between Saigon and Hanoi, rarely receiving any attention other than to refuel. I guess the adverts of tourists selling their bikes as they depart from Vietnam reflect this too, they have the impression the price they paid the dealer is a realistic one. I was lucky to only pay $320 for a reasonable example of a 100cc Honda Win, which is actually a Taiwanese engine built under a Honda license. Only time will tell if it was a good buy. (Photo: Coolie, but maybe not cool – Hanoi, Vietnam)

After a day of settling in it was a great relief to go out on the town, 17 Cowboys was a worthwhile venue. A Wildwest bar with a difference, the live band played an eclectic mix of classic rock and the cute waitress' sported the shortest and tightest of mini skirts. Surely a bar with plenty of oriental promise.