Monday 4 September – Hanoi – Ta Van
Awake. Time check – 3.30am.
Back to sleep.
Awake, again. It’s now 5.00am.
It feels like I’m clock watching in my sleep….
Still have an hour before the dreaded, and awful sounding, alarm is due to do its thing.
Fortunately, sort of, it never gets the opportunity, as I wake without assistance at 5.50am.
The process of getting sorted begins, and once again everything I own is either packed away in the bag that it came to Vietnam in, or placed in my newly acquired, and significantly smaller, bag.
The whole sorting and packing complete, I bid Room 602 farewell, and head downstairs just after 6.30am.
Cà phê sữa đá promptly ordered, and a small plate of my usual fruit is enjoyed.
My coffee arrives, and as it does, Anh calls out saying the van to pick me up has arrived.
Cà phê sữa đá is stirred a little quicker, but it just ain’t going to happen.
A slurp through the straw, and it’s all coffee. A second slurp, from further down, and it’s all condensed milk. The two components are then mixed in my mouth, which while not ideal, does actually somewhat work.
Cà phê sữa đá devoured in the quickest time ever, and I’m on my way.
Small backpack dropped off at the desk, and I’m outside and being directed to the van that will take us to the bus.
On board, and there’s already five or six others who have been collected before me.
Off through the streets of the Old Quarter, and judging by how wet it is, that rain that I occasionally heard during the night, appears to have been rather steady and consistent.
It’s also persistent, and while it’s not overly heavy at the moment, it’s certainly heavy enough to get you pretty wet.
Another couple of stops to pick up a few more, and a few minutes later we pull up outside the Sapa Express office.
Quickly out of the van, and we’re directed onto the bus we’ve parked in front of.
I’m given my seat number; three; which not ideally, as I’ll be given a close up look of the driving, is right up the front.
A woman behind me asks the seat allocating girl if she can quickly grab a drink from a nearby café before we move off, and without missing a beat, the answer is a flat ‘no’.
It wasn’t delivered nastily, but it was delivered in a way that left the thirsty lady in absolutely no doubt about her chances.
It was rather funny, and even the woman who received the answer she didn’t want to hear, chuckled.
We’re on the move by 7.00am, and first impressions of our driver is that he is pretty good, which is rather comforting.
While the driver does his thing, our organiser guy stands up at the front of the bus and introduces himself.
His name is ‘Max’, and he proceeds to tell us all that as he was born in the year of the horse, we are welcome to call him Mr Horse, if we so desire.
I don’t desire, so at any point should I require something of him, I will stick with ‘Max’.
His spiel continues about stuff that is both relevant and irrelevant, when it comes to our journey, and he is, at times, rather amusing.
It seems he is also of the same opinion, and I think he sees himself as a bit of a stand-up comic. So much so, that his routine continues on for a good 30 minutes.
It is, however, interrupted briefly, when our driver brings the bus to a stop.
An electric cable, protected by conduit, has fallen from the underside of a bridge we are going under, and is now hanging down in front of the bus.
‘Max’ doesn’t want to touch it, even though it’s in a plastic tube, so manages to use a broom to push it up over the roof of the bus, as our driver inches slowly forward, hoping it doesn’t get caught on the bus.
Out from under the bridge, our journey continues, as ‘Max’ returns to his routine.
He eventually quietens down, and the bus becomes far more peaceful.
With not too much to keep me occupied outside, I use the opportunity to catch up on all things Trip Advisor and Face Book.
A few minutes later I hear ‘Max’ again, but this time he is talking to someone on his phone.
He mentions the word ‘airport’, which surprises me, and when I turn to look out the window, I can see the tails of several planes.
Not having taken too much notice of where we were going, I’m stunned, as I just wasn’t expecting to be out this way.
Yep, once again, with the last time being just four days ago, a lack of concentration and awareness of where I am while sitting on a bus, and we end up at an airport terminal!
This time it’s the International terminal, and when we pull up, a young couple gets on.
No idea where they’ve come from, but a ~6 hour road trip following an international flight, wouldn’t be my preference.
Back on our way by 7.45am, and it’s not long before we’re on the Express way, and now making good time.
The bus, along with the seats, is really comfortable, and the gentle swaying, along with a late-ish night, and very early start, soon conspires to impact my ability to keep my eyes open.
I’m not sure how much sleep was achieved, but I think there was at least a little accomplished.
At 9.00am, we pull over for our first stop of the day. It’s your typical bus stop / food place, and being typical, the food isn’t overly inspiring.
Stop number one.
You can get a sit down meal, but it’s still morning, and as such, a large meal isn’t really ever my preference.
A snack would be nice, and I could go another cà phê sữa đá, but a drink, when you’re ‘trapped’ on a bus, isn’t perhaps the greatest of ideas, so that is scrapped.
The snack, though, is presenting a problem, as there’s just nothing really appealing.
I begrudgingly decide on a bánh mì ốp la, but it’s only begrudgingly because the actual bánh mì ốp la looks the saddest and most ordinary looking bánh mì ốp la I think I’ve ever seen.
It’s taken from the display, and immediately put into a sandwich press thing.
All nice and toasty, it’s handed over in return for 20 000 Dong, and one bite in, it tastes as ordinary as it looked while sitting in its display state.
A little chilli, along with some soy sauce, is added, but it makes very little difference to the overall enjoyment of it.
Ordinary bánh mì finished, eventually, and I hand over 3000 Dong for the privilege of using the supplied toilets.
Back outside to sit near my bus, and I try and strike up a conversation with one of the four English women who are travelling together.
It’s pleasant enough, but getting very little in return, I quickly give up.
Back on the bus, and we’re on our way by 9.30am.
‘Max’, once again, has things to say, and as he does, it finally dawns on me who he reminds me of.
It’s ‘Wild Bill’ Wharton, from the movie The Green Mile, and it’s a combination of his distinctive voice and accent, as well as his tone and enthusiasm, and also his laugh.
I now can’t not picture ‘Wild Bill’, as I hear Max go about his thing.
Attempt the sleep thing again, with varying degrees of success, waking occasionally to take in the now very different scenery.
Very much rural, with the ubiquitous local dwellings you see up North, and so very, very green and lush.
At 11.30am, we pull over for our second stop. Once again off the bus, and the discovery is made that this particular bus / food stop is even less appealing, from a food perspective, than the first one.
Escaping it, and getting no love from the other passengers, I head outside for fresh air and a free toilet stop with a view.
Checking Google maps, Hanoi is now a long way behind us, and Lao Cai is not too far up ahead in front of us.
Getting close now, with a box I’ve spent nine years trying not to tick, now not far off being ticked.
Not that I’m expecting to see much of it….
Back on the bus at 12.00pm, and once again we’re back on the move.
Fifteen minutes later we reach a turn off; Lao Cai to the right, Sapa to the left.
We go left, which disappoints me somewhat, as I have this desire to see Lao Cai for some reason, and a roadside sign tells us that we have 32 kms to go.
A quick message to my homestay host, via Face Back, to let her know where we are, as the plan is that she will pick me up from wherever the bus drops us off, and I then return to the view through the window, as the bus begins its climb.
Rice terraces become the norm, along with steep ravines, and the usual local sights of an area such as this.
It’s beautiful, and it reminds me of last year’s trip, as well as 2017.
But that then makes me begin comparing the trips, and while the scenery is similar, as in stunning, it’s just not the same from a bus window.
You’re locked away from it, and not out and about and in amongst it, like you are when on the back of a bike.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s still good, but I feel like I’m missing something, and there’s a huge part of me that wishes I was on the back of a bike right now.
On we go, up the winding mountain road, and while we’re making good time, it’s nothing, obviously, like what we were doing on the highway.
The driving is still good, but there are times, as there always is on Vietnam’s roads, that you feel the need to shut your eyes and pray to whichever higher being you prescribe to.
More winding road, the occasional overtaking on a blind corner, and more, and continual, amazing scenery.
It gets me thinking back to a week ago, and it’s actually a week ago to the minute.
This time last week I was also on a bus, but it was a bus traversing the streets of Melbourne; and many streets at that; to take me to the airport.
The rice terraces of nearby Sapa, versus the suburbs of Melbourne. It’s amazing the difference a week can make, and while I’m extremely grateful for the scenery I’m now experiencing, I’m also just a little bit concerned that I’m already, kind of, a week into the trip.
10 kms to go, another Face Book message to update my host, and we continue on.
The ominous looking clouds that have accompanied us the whole way, then start to do their thing.
Being a fair way up a mountain, I probably shouldn’t be surprised, but I hadn’t really stopped to consider the possibility of getting wet.
Nor the likelihood of losing any worthwhile view in a cloud of, well, cloud.
The drive continues, as does the rain, and just before 1.00pm, we reach the town I’ve tried to avoid for nine years.
It’s….. a town. And I am neither impressed, nor unimpressed.
But to be fair, as I have zero intention of ever staying in this town, I actually have very little in the way of an opinion.
Yeah, I know, it probably sounds silly, seeing as I’ve been trying to avoid it.
We reach the Sapa Express office, and I remove myself from the bus. The rain is now quite steady, so while I’m not completely sure where my homestay host is going to meet me, I know that standing here in the rain really isn’t my preferred option.
I make a dash to the office, and stand at the doorway, out of the rain, to contemplate my next move.
My plan, which simply revolves around being found, and therefore ‘saved’, isn’t going that well, as pretty much all my fellow bus passengers disappear off either on their own, or with local ethnic minority guides.
‘Wild Bill’, sorry, ‘Max’, whose job is essentially done for now, walks over to check up on me. I begin to explain that someone is picking me up, to which he says that they should be here by now.
Yes, probably, but maybe they’re running late, is my first thought.
The conversation comes to a halt as the bus pulls away, as standing on the other side of the bus, completely obscured to me while the bus was parked, is a small statured ethnic minority woman.
Having seen a photo of my host, and with me being the last one, and she being the last guide / host, we both immediately believe we have found what we have been looking for.
“Cho Cho?”, I ask enquiringly, as I move towards her.
The answer is yes, and it’s nice to not only have the plan come together, but also to finally meet her after a number of Face Book messages over the previous few weeks.
We head off down the hill under the cover of her umbrella, which we quickly discover works far better if I hold it, rather than Cho Cho, due to the ‘slight’ height difference.
She asks if I would prefer to take a taxi to her house, or perhaps trek there?
“How long would it take to walk?”, I ask.
The rest of the day is the answer.
“How much for a taxi?”, is my second question.
250 000 Dong, apparently.
The time involved, coupled with the fact that it’s raining, makes the decision an easy one, and Cho Cho makes a call to a driver.
A few minutes later, which because of the rain felt more than just a few, and a taxi pulls up in front of us.
We jump in to escape the rain, and we’re on our way to wherever it is that we’re going.
I did briefly look at a map several weeks ago as to where the house exactly was, but because it was just a dot on a map, and because I like to be surprised – it’s why I rarely watch You Tube videos on any place that I may consider visiting in Vietnam – I made no mental note on anything even remotely directional.
Through the streets of Sapa, and it quickly becomes apparent that our driver is of the variety that has a complete and total love for his horn.
And yes, it appears that patience is not an attribute that he possesses.
Oh well, it’s not the first time, and it most definitely won’t be the last time.
With the amount of traffic around, I surmise that he’s unlikely to get himself, or us, in trouble, so I switch off and take in the ‘sights’ of Sapa, as we make our way through its streets.
It’s built up, as I expected, and it has clearly been built for tourists. The streets, well, the ones that we’re on, are mostly quite narrow; again, making the use of the horn rather pointless; and probably look even narrower than they are, due to how ‘built up’ it has clearly become.
The other noticeable thing is how ‘lit up’ it is, as in like a Christmas tree, with those, some might say tacky, fairy lights, adorning various establishments.
I guess it is a little dark, but it is only 1.30pm in the afternoon.
On we go, past the traditional and authentic Bollywood Indian restaurant, and then a bit further up, we come to a stop.
One of the many tourist vans on the road prevents me from seeing what the hold up is, but as the minutes tick by, it seems it’s a rather significant event.
And significant enough to not even be solved by a car horn…..
We inch along, trying any manoeuvre possible, even though it’s clear it will make no difference, to try and get ahead of the pack.
Reaching the ‘significant event’, without actually gaining from any of those manoeuvres made, it becomes apparent that it involves two cars. Not a lot of damage, due to it no doubt being a slow speed incident, but one car is now ‘parked’ in a position that is less than ideal, with just three of its wheels making contact with the ground.
I’m sure they’ll work it out.
Past the traffic jam, and once again free, we soon leave the built up, and in the process of being built up even more, town of Sapa proper.
It’s actually a bit of a relief.
Out into the surrounds, green replaces concrete and glitzy lights, and the road ranges from alright, to absolutely atrocious.
We eventually reach Ta Van, a small village of narrow streets, and lots of signs advertising the homestays that they are attached to.
There seems to be no shortage.
The taxi pulls up at 2.00pm, the fare is paid, Cho Cho and I hop out, and the taxi driver calls out and hands me my phone, which I had left on the seat.
It’s funny, but not really, as I specifically remember putting the phone there, and as I did, I remember thinking that it would be a far better idea if I put it straight back in my pocket.
You know, just in case I forget it?
And yep, just like my kids, I didn’t listen to me, with the end result being confirmation that my horn loving taxi driver is very honest, and I’m an idiot.
Fortunately, the earlier rain has stopped, and Cho Cho leads the way up a narrow-ish path. As I follow, with the assumption in my mind that my home for the next couple of days is merely metres away, we are joined by an ethnic minority woman, who seems rather keen to talk to me.
But I know it has nothing to do with my self perceived, but never believed, friendly and outgoing nature, and I know exactly what the motive is.
Sure enough, the trinkets come out of the bag, and I’m offered various bits and pieces.
I politely decline.
Up the narrow path, our newly acquired friend now spending more time talking to Cho Cho, and that narrow path soon becomes a narrower muddy track.
Ok, my assumption, and not for the first time, that we were close to ‘home’, was incorrect.
Waiting to make a sale.
The muddy track winds it’s way through traditional houses, and then disappears.
We are now walking the banks of rice terraces.
Rice to my right, and rice to my left, but that rice on my left is a none too insignificant distance down in the next terrace.
I was not expecting this!
But I absolutely love it!
And the views, well they just keep getting better.
The camera kind of gets it.
A water buffalo cleaning up after the harvest.
But that’s a bit of a problem, as the narrowness of the terraces demand that that I spending more time looking at my feet, as opposed to that view.
The walk continues, interrupted occasionally due to just having to take some photos, and less than 30 minutes after setting out on our little trek, we arrive at Cho Cho’s home.
We’re here!
Remote, it certainly is, as well as rustic, which I fully expected and hoped for, and I really don’t expect to see too many, if any, other people that look like me during my stay.
Our acquired guest then starts up where she left off earlier, with various things from her bag, once again being offered.
I really don’t want, nor need, anything, with Lisa already having a small selection at home. And my other issue is that that I really don’t want to be carrying around anymore extra stuff.
But I feel bad, and out of guilt, I offer to buy a couple of bracelets at 10 000 Dong each. Not because they’re cheap, but because they take up no room.
She tries to upsell, offering a purse and a free bracelet for 100 000 Dong, but I disappoint her by again politely declining.
The bracelet transaction, however, does happen, and she heads off, no doubt a little annoyed with me.
Cho Cho shows me inside, and it’s as rustic as it looks outside, which is exactly as I expected it would be.
A fairly open communal area, with two bedrooms off to the right, of which, one of them will be mine.
The bedroom is dark-ish, but there is a light, and you also get a small amount of light coming through the gaps in the timber lining the walls.
She asks, maybe slightly apprehensively, if I’m okay with what I’m seeing, to which I respond, without hesitating, that yes, I am absolutely okay with what I am being shown!
The thought then crosses my mind, following her question, that perhaps she’s had people turn around and leave, once they discover it’s a little more authentic than they thought it might be.
I’m not sure, but even a modicum of prior research would give you at least a bit of an idea of what to expect.
Bag dropped, we head back outside to take in a bit more of that view, now that I no longer have to worry about looking at my feet.
Cho Cho makes some tea, and we sit and chat for a while, with that view in front of us.
With Cho Cho!
The view from my ‘home’, for the next couple of days.
She’s really lovely, and she tells me she has five children, as well as fifteen grandchildren.
A couple of those grandchildren are running around playing, and it’s great to just watch boys being boys, and doing so without any of the latest whiz bang techno devices in sight.
They’re really great kids, and they’re fascinated by my tattoos.
We talk about what I might like to do tomorrow, which I hadn’t really thought about up until now.
The option of a walk, or here it’s probably more known as a trek, or maybe something about a motorbike?
I’m not really sure, so we decide to wait and see what the weather gods have in store for us.
More chatting, more tea, some playing with Honey the dog, and more just taking it all in; it really is stunning.
But as we sit there doing ‘nothing’, the view in front of me becomes a little hazy, and it’s not long before the rain, which is more drizzle like, returns.
I meet the son and daughter in law, who live in the house which is attached, but not really, to the house that I’m staying in.
Again, and not surprisingly, they too are lovely, and they invite me in to their house to sit by the fire, which is not just a fire, but also the source of heat for cooking.
The daughter in law cooks up, what I believe to be a mashed up sticky rice thing, in a banana leaf, and offers me one.
It’s a simple, but nice little pre-dinner snack.
It’s nice, and as I sit there eating it, in this traditional Hmong house, with the fire going, while watching some locals do their thing, I’m really struggling to believe I’m actually here.
My mind drifts back to the 2017 trip, when I was with Toan, and we were travelling between Yen Minh and Meo Vac.
We had the opportunity, purely because of Toan, to see inside a local’s traditional house, and I now can’t help but think about how all of this has evolved.
Cho Cho returns, and she and the daughter in law start preparing dinner. Not required to help, and no chance of being any real help anyway, I decide it’s probably time for a beer, while taking in all before me, including that view in the rapidly diminishing daylight.
Beer done, shower had, and then back to the son and daughter in law’s house to watch the cooking process.
Again, I just find it incredible. Dinner being prepared over an open fire, in what is, essentially, the living room.
More traditional, I doubt you will find, and I spend a fair amount of time shaking my head at what I am getting the opportunity to experience.
A world away from my world, and one I consider an absolute privilege to be, albeit for just a short period, a part of.
The kids, who are 6 and 9, are running amok, and without a television to keep them occupied, they’re just making their own fun. It’s nice to see.
Dinner cooked, it’s all moved to the communal area in the house I’m staying in, where a table has now been set up.
Chicken stir fry with carrot, capsicum, onion, some rice, fried egg with spring onion, sliced potato, some beans that a local dropped off earlier, and a pumpkin dish, which is, and I’m not really a huge pumpkin lover, quite possibly the nicest pumpkin I’ve ever tasted.
It’s all beautiful, but again, it’s not really about the food, with it all being more about where I am, and who I’m with.
Dinner done, and it’s the kids, and quite happily I might add, who clear the table and start taking it all back to their own house.
I’m impressed with their skill and eagerness to help, and I think about how enthusiastic my kids would be if they were going about the same chore.
I admonish myself at the thought, knowing full well that you can’t enthusiastically do something, when you’re not actually doing that something.
I can but only blame my, and Lisa’s, parenting skills….
The table all cleared, and everything packed away, the kids then play for a bit, before they head off to bed.
I sit and chat with Cho Cho, who is threading together, well…., threads. Being related to clothes making, means I don’t know or understand anything about it.
With that all said, I do greatly admire the skill in which she brought it all together.
It gets to 9.00pm, and while I’ve only had a couple of beers, and it’s still early, I’ve hit a wall.
That’s probably not a bad thing, as I suspect, but probably more know, that the community I have found myself in, will likely wake up pretty early tomorrow.
I head off to my room, a few notes on my net covered bed, along with some Trip Advisor and a message to Lisa to tell her I’m still alive.
9.30pm arrives, and I’m done.
A travel day that involved some six hours of that travel, as well as a short walk, and as usual, it takes far more out you than you think it will.
Well, it does me, anyway.
But I’m here. In a traditional Hmong house, surrounded by a traditional Hmong family.
And I am very pleased about that.
Cheers,
Scott
seriouslynot 