The Vietnam Diaries: Pt. I

July 21, 2010

Day one of the Vietnam Diaries.

“This lady’s serious, eh? She’s still playing that thing?” I laughed a little inside. After napping this afternoon in our hotel room, I awoke to this faint Oriental melody – someone was playing the flute outside. It was soothing and seemed appropriate, though perhaps in a stereotypical way. I began to giggle a bit though at the flute player’s insistence, and now it’s become a source of amusement after I misunderstood Yalnee, thinking she really wanted to buy one (turns out she wanted to buy a transformer, not a flute) but my mild horror at the picture of Yalnee practicing the flute by herself at dawn still has me laughing.

July 22, 2010

Day two of the Vietnam Diaries. I feel the wound that Daniel Putnam gave me when he dropped a rolling pin on my foot back in Toronto. My feet are wet–everything is wet. Silver Waterfall was beautiful, though not in a breathtaking way. If anything, it was a powerful reminder of just how wet Vietnam is. The leaves, flowers and dirt roads are all slick with rain. My bones feel wet. But there’s a graceful, moody elegance to it all–the scenery seems to revel in its darkness. Tired, thin bodies pass outside the car window. Some wear straw hats, some wear military helmets. Some smile. Some carry heavy loads, but the thing that strikes me most about their presence is that it seems so permanent.

July 23, 2010

Day three. Last day in Sapa. The internet lounge is surrounded by bay windows. Sunlight is warming my skin. Butterflies and moths flutter around inside. Are they free to roam in and out? Or are they trapped once inside?

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Yalnee trekking through three villages with her fly open. Cannot stop laughing.

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Visited local villages by foot: Y Linh Ho, Lao Chai, and Ta Van. Saw the Black H’Mong and the Giay minorities. Later visited Cat Cat village without a guide. People thought we were crazy for hiking back uphill from the village instead of hiring a motorbike. Maybe a little insane–but the relief of the occasional breeze and stopping to just sit and stare at the rice terraces leaves me with a wonderful, exhausted feeling of accomplishment.

Seeing the children was warming, moving and heartbreaking all at the same time. So precious, and yet they’re fully aware of just how precious they look. They use it to their advantage and you struggle as they make quiet mewling noises while “DO NOT GIVE MONEY TO THE CHILDREN” reads on signs behind them. What can I do? What can I do but think, and perhaps try one day…

Train back to Hanoi tonight.