To Market To Market to Buy a Pot Belly Pig, Bac Ha - Sunday 26th October

One of the few photos of Nick that she would approve of me putting on the blog!

There was a steady stream of people making their way past our hotel balcony to the market

The diverse, elaborate and colorful clothes of the women from the local ethnic minority groups were a delight to see.

Even amongst that busy market stalls many of the women were industriously working on their needlework

It took my awhile to realise that these women were not selling water. Their powerful rice wine was in hot demand

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This is one for my sister Jenny who made sure that I was aware of the dangers of rabies before I left. I don't know for sure what rabies looks like but this dog was literally frothing at the mouth - I stayed well away!

This is the biggest basket I have ever seen. It is being carried by an adult man not a small child.

Bac Ha Market – 26th October 2008

The political issues around travel, particularly when it involves visiting people of other cultures are complex. As we had walked around the Museum of Ethnology in Hanoi Nick and I had discussed how we felt about our upcoming visit to Bac Ha and Sapa.

Is tourism where one goes to see the lives of people from other cultures inherently wrong? Is it possible to visit and photograph what you see without denigrating their culture? Do we destroy what we purportedly value by making it the subject of curious western gaze? Is there validity in the view that the exchange of tourism dollars for cultural experience is mutually beneficial? With these questions unanswered, (and unanswered still), we went anyway.

I found our visit to this region incredibly interesting but at times challenging because of these dilemmas. Apparently a significant proportion of the money paid for handcrafts, and for visits to the villages, is appropriated by the government who also control which places/peoples are available for view. It appears that some people in the area are doing well financially, and perhaps profiting from the tourist trade, but many of the people we saw are still heartbreakingly poor. I remain uncertain whether or not our visit is morally defensible but, despite all of this angst, I feel privileged to have been there.

Sundays at Bac Ha are market day. The people of Bac Ha and the surrounding villages come to buy and sell food, rice wine, animals for food or farm, clothing, jewelry, farm implements and household items. They also come to gossip, admire babies, eat, drink, conduct business and meet people. The atmosphere was energetic, noisy and, particularly amongst the women, very convivial.

Nick and I stayed in Bac Ha from Friday until Monday morning. Not many other tourists stayed overnight but quite a few came for a several hours to see the market. Some of the locals seemed to enjoy interacting with us but many seemed to be just determinedly going about their business with us as strange observers on the periphery. This is not yet a place where people exhibit their culture in a commercial manner. It appeared that they conducted the business of their market despite the tourists rather than because of us. Few local people spoke English so it was not possible to discover how they feel about their village’s quite recent promotion as a tourist destination.

The majority of people living in the Bac Ha district are from one of the 17 hill tribes who live in the region. The people from these groups are known collectively in Viet Nam as “ethnic minorities” whereas the dominant group, the Kinh people are “Vietnamese”. The biggest ethnic minority group in this area is Flower H’mong. Some of the other groups are Phu La, Black Dao, Tay and Nung. Each group has their own traditions and clothing. We saw women wearing many different styles of clothes at the market and as they went about their daily business.

The Flower H’mong women wear many layers of clothing including a very full gathered skirt which often has commercial fabric around the hem, a brightly colored blouse with tapestry sleeves, an ornate shawl which usually was fringed with beads, and a decorative belt, apron, and leggings. This is topped off with a colorful tartan scarf, embroidered shoulder bags and heavy silver earrings, necklaces and bracelets. On their feet they almost all wore plastic shoes. Track pants could be seen under some of their skirts. Some of the little girls were dressed in almost identical costumes. Quite a few of the women had babies strapped on their backs and many others were carrying heavy woven cane backpacks in which the almost invariably carried an umbrella along with the goods they had bought or were selling.

The clothing of women from the other hill tribes was usually less ornate but equally interesting. For example some women who were dressed in black and red had multitudes of fine ribbons falling from their headdresses, while others wore plain black trousers, a bright teal shirt with tapestry bands on the front and sleeves and a shocking pink scarf. One group dressed primarily in black had day-glo bright beads sewn across their shirts.

I would like to know much more about the history and meaning of their clothing. It interests me that people who appear to own so little, and who are working so hard to live, find the time, resources and energy to devote to making these amazing clothes. It seems that they have incorporated modern dyes and textiles within the designs but that they have preserved their traditions strongly. It felt like a privilege to be amongst so many women who have powerfully retained their own customs in a world which has become increasingly uniform.

Most of the women, particularly the older ones, are very small. Little more than four feet tall, they carry heavy loads with apparent ease. Perhaps I am being overly romantic in my perception but even the old old women of the market have incredibly beautiful faces. The years of toil and harsh weather show on their faces, which are like scrunched up paper bags, but an inner contentment seems to emanate from them.

Some of the men were wearing baggy black trousers, shirts with toggle fastenings, green “army” helmets and were carrying embroidered bags but most wore westernized clothing in subdued colors. The contrast between the men and the women was very strong. Not only were the women much more brightly and ornately dressed than the men, they also seemed much more animated and sociable. Many of the men seemed quite morose in comparison.

On the top level of the market and surrounding streets there were hundreds of stalls selling a wide range of produce, rice wine, traditional clothing, jewelry, bags and blankets. Some of the items seemed to be directed at the tourist market but most were for local consumption. Everywhere there were lively women bargaining and socializing. Bordering a slope leading down the hill there were barbers doing a brisk trade in haircuts for men and boys.

In one section of the middle level dozens of stalls sold commercial clothing and household items while another specialized in cooked foods. From huge steaming black pots over open fires piles of food, most of which appeared to be various forms of offal and heads, were served to people sitting at long tables. When we wandered through this area I really felt like an interloper. I tried not to show it but the sight and smell of the food was grisly to say the least. Unfortunately I suspect that my distaste was easily apparent to the locals.

The animal market was on the lowest level. All morning people arrived leading buffalos, horses, dogs and potbelly pigs to sell. Initially I thought that the almost continuous frantic squealing of the pigs signaled that they were being slaughtered on the spot but when we got closer I was relieved to see that it was their form of protest as they were bundled into sacks and slung across the back of motorbikes. Large groups of mostly men and boys stood appraising the merits of the many buffalo including one which was an albino. There appeared to be some sort of an auction process taking place. The buffalo which are impressively huge and muscular were docile and quiet.

I realize that it is only a product of my socialization but I found it difficult to watch the cheerfully gamboling dogs and puppies knowing that they were soon for the pot. Unfortunately one of the sights we witnessed on our way up the hill to lunch in a sanitized restaurant was a dog being shaved and dismembered. For us this is horrible but for the people of this district they are a valued and useful food source. Apparently yellow ones taste the best. Dog eating (thit cho) occurs throughout many parts of Viet Nam but it was much more obvious here than elsewhere. Nick and I think that we managed to avoid a meal of fido but there was one lunch in Lao Cai that we are less than certain about!

Throughout the day we returned to the market several times. There were some tourist groups around in the afternoon but not the throngs that apparently arrive sometimes. I now regret that I bought very little - only two long pieces of batik. At the time I was focused on absorbing the experience and trying to capture some of the images as photographs.

In the late afternoon, after we had been for a walk to a neighboring village (which I will write about in a separate blog) we sat on our balcony and watched weary people returning home. Jovial old men who had clearly enjoyed a considerable amount of the rice wine sang as they walked arm-in-arm along the street, babies slept slumped in their backpacks, teenage girls and boys flirted chirpily and women who had hefted along loads of goods to sell in the morning carried home heavy piles of produce for their families. As the day came to an end huge butterflies hovered like hummingbirds around a tree growing beside us and some lively squirrels played in a cage suspended from the balcony. Although still uncertain about the ethical issues involved in travel I felt an enormous gratitude that I had had the opportunity to come to this unique and interesting place.