Both have the same name, but are not at all similar; save for their remarkable wit, charm and intelligence. Su May one and Su May two are cousins; working as tour guides when the work is available, in their parent’s fields otherwise, or selling goods to punters should the need arise. Su May two is my guide for almost three days trekking to Cat Cat (south of Sa Pa), and then as my chef, translator, comedy and ambassador to her village Taphin; one of the seven tribes located in the region.
The first hike to Cat Cat is downhill and more of a stroll – only a brief three kilometre stint; so it’s easy work. The Black Hmong have scented us and moved in for the kill; we’ve been tagged for the first twenty minutes, but number two informs us to simply say no – anything else and they’ll return later. Make no mistake, these women are as sharp as a razor – they’ll remember your face and exactly what you said, so ensure you’re polite and it’ll be fine. Learn something like
Đi Đi and they’ll take an instant dislike to you; considering you rude and ugly as you shout
Go Away!
“You buy from me?”
“I’m not so sure I want anything”
“Very cheap, you buy”
“Well I think –“
“Where you from?”
“London”
“London. How old are you?”
“31”
“Same as my daughter. You have wife, girlfriend?”
“No, I’m single”
“Ah, maybe you marry my daughter and be my son in law! [laughs]”
Don’t feel threatened or overwhelmed; whilst some women will seem to push for a sale, they’re nothing like the Vietnamese. The local tribal women who come to sell their handicraft are equally happy to simply converse; and their banter is excellent – stand up comedians would be proud. Take the time and spend thirty minutes to talk to them; most learn English through tourists and yet have a command far better than the Vietnamese.
It’s a myriad of photo opportunities here; village women are dressed traditionally and whilst there is no religious connotation, it’s adorned in the villages also; making any cynicism fade away. There’s no affectation here, it’s not for the punters; simply part of their culture and worn proudly. Children and babies as cute, well behaved and happy as any you’ll find, seemingly reach adulthood in a matter of a decade; working from then and some even younger.
I’m grateful for good weather – Sa Pa is high enough to touch the first layer of clouds, causing weather changes in a matter of seconds. It’s not like anything I’ve seen before and even in heavy mist, the whole region fills me with excitement and adventure like nothing has since buckling up at Heathrow.
Along the 10K trek following trails, through rice fields and small villages, Su May and I discuss all manner of things as the hours pass. I’m enchanted by her and admit to having somewhat of a crush; she exudes femininity combined with a fierce intellect that has potential far beyond her station in life. Given the opportunity, the world would be her oyster. Walking by some local Vietnamese and hearing one of them speak to her, taking a dislike to his tone I ask her what he said; “Nothing, it’s OK”, she replies. Pressing the subject she finally admits that it was a racist remark and I turn to approach him, but she stops me; “It’s OK, that’s just how they are”, I’m told. Jealousy is no excuse for racism.
Her mother tongue is not Vietnamese, but she learns it at childhood as a second and also English as a third; whilst working in the fields, making handicraft, cooking, cleaning, carrying heavy weights and somehow finding time to sleep. It’s the kind of life you’d expect short life expectancies from, but the women (doing around 90% of all work in the communities), live till at least 80; one still living at the grand age of 107.
The handicrafts aren’t the kind you find in Thailand or the large cities of Vietnam; they’re made with care and attention to detail – some tapestries taking well over a year to sow by hand. Stopping for lunch, Su May’s mother happens by us and stops to talk to her – she’s en route to Sa Pa to sell goods and as they sit, Su May takes her tapestry and begins to work on it herself. This one has been eight months in the making.
Arriving at Taphin village, I’m taken to my room and choose a bed from the four available. I’m here alone so I’ve my pick of the bunch, but they’re identical and all constructed from solid wood – a comfortable Vi Spring they are most certainly not. Dropping my bag and taking a stroll around, it’s pretty good going when compared to their counterparts in north Laos. Electricity pylons were constructed seven years ago, laying the infrastructure for internet access in the future. There’s half a dozen Televisions here, one with a satellite dish, mobile phones for the majority of women and to my surprise – Amoxycyline for Su May’s Auntie, whose house it is.
After a few hours playing shuttlecock keepy-uppy, Su May’s husband arrives on his moped with a box of ingredients for dinner. As she begins to prepare, I ask to help and she refuses. Turning to her husband and asking for a colander, he returns with a dirty red one. It’s definitely true that the majority of communication is not in the words; shouting at him it’s clear she’s not impressed and he walks off to fetch another, tail planted firmly between legs. It’s funny and I say under my breath “He’s definitely under the thumb then”, but Su May doesn’t miss a thing and laughs; “What, you know the phrase?” I say, “Yes all men are under the thumb”, she says.
Her husband takes me pillion passenger through the village to a small tiled building at Su May’s suggestion. Having my blood pressure taken has always been something that I’m relatively comfortable with. The Red Dzao bathing barrels make for an interesting place for an electronic sphygmomanometer to be pulled out, but it’s all in the interest of science; the medical student strapping it to my arm is researching the effects of the mixture used here.
Colonel Sanders eat your heart out; this is made from 23 herbs and spices and stepping in, it’s red hot water with a distinctive medicinal odour, filling the room with steam as I immerse up to my neck. There’s a hollowed half-coconut shell to use for tipping over your head and a towel for drying off once you’re done. I’m not pitted against the clock, though twenty minutes is long enough and having cooled down for fifteen minutes, my pressure is taken again. Before: 139/80 79bpm. After: 141/63 80bpm. I can’t recommend this highly enough; in fact I want the recipe – I feel clean, renewed, calm and can feel the disinfecting qualities working as the wind dries me, driving back to the house.
She’s an excellent cook; quite the chef in fact. I’m given a bowl of chips and offer them to my hosts who mostly refuse, with the exception of Su Mays Aunt’s daughter, who has befriended me as I sneak her chips when her mother’s not looking. Joining us for dinner are five men, none of whom speak English – except the owner’s husband – and several children making a party of twelve. Sadly his vocabulary consists of one word – hello – which he uses for everything; from offering more food, to signifying the next round of Rice Wine. It’s interesting that having worked hard all day, the women will also cook and serve their men whatever they ask for at dinner – subservience and breadwinning are surely incompatible, I was always sure.
Taking leave, the women and children sit around the fire and enjoy some green tea whilst we drink our way through eight rounds. “Hello”, he says and looking up all five are holding their cups ready to say cheers and sip. It’s nice stuff; similar to Tequila and after several they all seem to be able to understand my English as if I was a native Red Dzao. “Hello”, I hear and this time I’m shown a chilli inbetween his chopsticks. I know this game, and I’m well practised from Thai food; let’s play.
The bed is indeed hard, though enough rice wine ensures I sleep sound until the Cockerel begins to crow at 2am. It’s a surprisingly good night’s sleep and waking, there’s only 20 metres of visibility and heavy moisture in the air. I’m prepared a bowl of Pho (soup), for breakfast and Su May is summoned by her Auntie on her Nokia. “There’s no answer, it keeps going to voicemail. Her phone must be off”, she says to her husband – a few weeks living here and I think I could start to pick this language up.
We motorbike back by road and stopping to purchase some fuel, Su May suggests a rain mack – effectively a shaped plastic bag. She pays and won’t let me refund her “It’s only 3000 Dong, it’s ok, don’t worry”, she says. On returning to the hotel, I offer a tip and she refuses no matter how persistent I am; she never fails to surprise me with her generosity and kindness. I’m truly humbled. This is stark contrast to the Vietnamese, who will take any and everything they can get.
In all of my planning and researching, this excursion was my driving factor for travelling; Sa Pa has been an amazing and enlightening experience and the highlight of my trip. I can perfectly understand why the hotel owner and organiser
Pete was captivated by this area and works so hard to improve the lives of the local people.
