I have been to Sapa before, so I know that beyond the wall of fog on one
side of the roadway is a lush green terraced valley. On the other the
mountains thick with trees rise above us, invisible. It is still, and damp.
The only sound is our boots scrunching on the road. Ping, like many of the
Hmong girls wears socks with brown plastic sandals. I try to convince myself
that this might be a sensible option in a region that is wet with mud.
Easily washed. The footware is cheap and flimsy. Brought from China by the
truckload. A few of the girls are wearing Wellington boots, which seem more
appropriate. I am wearing my $350 hiking boots and specially designed hiking
socks. I regret not bringing my old leather hiking boots to give to someone in
the village instead of throwing them away. They had a small split in the sole,
but in Vietnam they would be easily repaired. Next time. I tell myself. Next time.
As we walk, strange shapes appear out of the mist. Water buffalo, pigs, a
family of Hmong making their arduous journey up to the town. After an hour
we start to slip out from underneath the mist. The shape of rice terraces
start to form and gradually we start to see the the other side of the
valley.
Ping tells me that since I saw her last she has moved from a house up in the
mountains, down to a better house in the village. She thinks hard and then
tells me she has a new basket now. She had the old one when I saw her 5
years ago. She refers to her basket, like I¹d refer to my car. (Yes I had a
different car 5 years ago and now I have a new one too.) Ping has very few
possessions, and it is a reflection on the value of what she owns that makes
the replacement of a basket noteworthy. I wonder how much a new basket cost
her. But I don¹t think to ask.
We walk slowly, accompanied by a couple of Ping's friends. It is warmer
closer to the village. Ping sheds the "Dolce and Gabbana" jacket she wears
over the top of her traditional dress. I ask her if she had just the one set
of traditional clothes or many. "Many." she says, and she laughs at me like
I am a fool.
Ping's world exists only between the village of Lao Chai and the township of
Sapa. I ask her if she has ever been to Lao Cai, a large town located only
34 km away. She laughs again. No, she tells me, it is too expensive to go
there. She tells me she has a brother who moved to Hanoi to work. "He didn¹t
come home for New Year's" she says wistfully. I look around at the village
and I don¹t have to wonder why.