Hanoi Day 7: The Kidnapping

Everyone slept well, despite the incredibly foreign environment. Good clean mattresses and thick futons make for a very cosy bed. Ten to twelve hours of sleep refreshed all of us. And despite my physical fitness regimen back home, I still woke up with some aching muscles. All the cycling I do pretty much neglected my calf muscles. And wearing pliable sandals, my soleus/gastrocnemius had to absorb a lot of the impact from the climb down the valley.

Breakfast was pancakes with chocolate syrup. A little disappointed with all these 'western' meals. Wished we could have more local foods. But did have some glutinous rice cakes that the hostess made the night before.

There also happened to be a festival at the village square today. Some new year, spring, pre-planting celebration. Pity it started only in the afternoon, so we weren't able to catch the event. Our trek today carried us ever onwards.

We took some final pictures with our host and guide, before we were kidnapped by a gaggle of Black Hmong women...

One lady grabbed my hand, and whisked me away from the rest of the group. We pounded onwards relentlessly, often half a kilometer ahead of the others. Almost everyone had a 'helping hand'. Dinh has an excellent rapport with the locals, and recruited the bunch of them to help us over the mud-slick trails. Wee Loong was alright on his own. Ravi needed two helping hands.

I was rescued a couple of times as I hopped recklessly along the treacherous trails. The Slatters were great, but not infallible. Then my lady swiped a bamboo walking stick for me from a farmhouse, and it was easy going the rest of the way. She knew only a few words of English. Her favourite words being, "Vely goooood!" in various contexts.

We were hopping from one paddy terrace to another most of the way. Also cut through a swath of bamboo forest, where the surest footings on the steep slope was to step on the stumps of felled bamboo. With the tactile feedback of sandals, it was no problem hopping up like a mountain goat. But sandals do have their failings.... like when I mistook a pile of buffalo dung for a dark coloured rock. "Not goooood."


We passed by my lady's casa, a typical Hmong dwelling: old dirty wooden walls, dirt floor, and livestock in and out of cages around the perimeter. She proudly suckled her youngest while we waited for the others to catch up. She's 35, but looked more like 55, and has five young children. The oldest child takes care of the others while mommy earns the bread. Daddy, the house-husband didn't seem to be around, although he didn't have much to do until planting season begins.


We finally stopped for a rest at a waterfall (N22 17.675 E103 54.016). That's when the Hmong women revealed their ulterior motives for helping us on our trek. It's an excellent sales technique... first soften up the targets with gratitude, then guilt them into making the sale.

This was where I was cleaned out. My last USD10 went into some pillowcases, a bag, a bracelet etc. All useless souvenier stuff. And now I'm penniless. If they could take Visa, I might have bought more. But being broke is liberating in its own way. I could now turn all the saleswomen away by showing them my empty wallet.

Unfortunately for Ravi, since he ended up taking up all the slack.


Just a little further ahead, we came to our final rest-stop. From here, we would make one last climb up to a Red Dzao village for a look see before coming back again for lunch.

Ravi got freaked out by the word 'climb', and chose to stay behind with all the Hmong women for company. The rest of us headed onwards.

The trail was wide and easy. Nothing much to see by way of scenery. The Dzao just like to live apart and isolated from the others. But we got clued in about some Dzao legends. It seems that once upon a time, a demon attacked a Dzao village and killed a lot of people. After some investigation, it was found that the demon had found its way to the village because a Dzao woman had dropped a strand of her hair in the demon's hunting grounds. Having thus established the blame, it was then decreed that all women had to cover their hair with a red turban, and shave their eyebrows from that day forth.

What a witch-hunt. Well, at least the women have a place to keep their wallet...


We poked our head into the house of a 'shaman', although he would be more accurately described as a master of ceremonies. The house had a different layout than the Hmong and Zay abodes we've seen thus far.

There's a huge wok in the kitchen for cooking up bathwaters. Bathwaters are cooked with a mix of herbs. Some of these herbs probably have disinfectant properties, since it's a communal bath. Family members take it in turns, in order of seniority. I'm guessing that the baby bathes in the murkiest muck, thus the coining of the idiom, "Don't throw out the baby with the bathwater."

The Dzao bathe daily, but change their clothes weekly. The Black Hmong bathe weekly, and change daily.


We made a short circuit of the tiny village, then came back to where we left Ravi. Had lunch, a bit of rest, then crossed the final bridge, and trekked up to Cau May (N22 18.021 E103 54.257), where a jeep took us back to the hotel.

Thus, concluding the most fantastic tour I've ever had! All for the low low price of US$18!!


The hotel was good to give us showering facilities, even when we've already checked out. Thus the advantage of booking your tour from your own hotel. It took us a considerable effort to become presentable again, but we had time before the last mini-van down the mountain at 6.30pm, and catch our train to Hanoi at 8.20pm.

WeeLoong had to use this time to make good his promises to buy some souveniers from the girl he had the Loser-fight with. I had a last walk around while dodging Hmong girls. They wouldn't let me leave until I've convinced them that I'm REALLY flat broke. And then, they couldn't wait to shove me aside and redirected their attentions to Ben and WeeLoong.


Dinner at a restaurant Dinh recommended before we parted ways. Excellent call. Can't remember the name of the restaurant, but I could show you where the next time I'm in that neighbourhood... Must try the duck.


On the journey down, I got a sight of the Sa Pa lake, from out of a moving van, and in between two buildings, a milisecond glimpse of a beautiful lake, an acquaintance that fate had denied us.


There was a bit of time to kill back at Lao Cai. We sat down for a drink. Some concoction of condensed milk with a few drops of coffee dripped on it. There was enough sugar to jazz up a fat blues singer. WeeLoong wasted not a single moment, hitting on the drinks vendors by pretending to be Vietnamese. Don't ask how he managed it... He does, what he does.


We got a slightly smaller berth this time. Different train than the one we came in on. Made no real difference. It was Bridge again for most of the ride.