Mountain Trails

The Hmong Part 1 

Our Guide, May

So Fansipan didn't happen, the price being as astronomical as the altitude. For a while there was no plans, if not to climb a mountain, then what? I was walking with a friend I had met through Sapa when we met May. May was one of the Hmong women, who in their out of this world clothing, can be seen walking up and down the main street, chatting happily to tourists. She was lovely, and together with her friend was to be our guide for the day.

Together we walked out of Sapa, the town giving way to rolling hills and rugged mountains. It was a warm and sunny day with a cool wind, perfect for trekking. We chatted to the two Hmong about their lives and their families, they had learned English at the markets, talking to tourists. Soon we were on a rocky path high above a valley, plunging steeply below us into a mosaic of terraced rice fields, reflecting silver, blue and green. On the opposite side the geometric contours rose to bring order to the foothills before the wilder forms of mountains broke loose and rose sharply into the sky. After a few hours the path, now traversed by pigs and the odd buffalo, descended into a village where May's house stood in a tranquil spot fringed by banana trees and overlooking flooded rice fields.

What we did not know was that today was the last day of Tet, and for that occasion a party was being held. So we were joined by about 20 of May's friends to a huge feast in her living room. It was a raucous affair lasting well into the afternoon.

Unfortunately we had to get back to Sapa before night fall, so we were taken by motorbike back up the valley. By this time the sun was dipping below the peaks casting rays of light across the valley that illuminated the mountains in that glorious evening light found only in the world's high country. Such a wonderful day, such an amazing experience.