Hilltribe Trekking

We spent the last week galavanting around Sapa, a mountainous town tucked away in Northern Vietnam.  Stumbling off our 12 hour overnight bus ride, we were immediately greeted by packs of Black Hmong women dressed in their elegantly handwoven outfits and carrying loads of clothing,blankets, and jewelry to sell.  "Hello.  Where you come from?  You buy from me," they repeatedly asked with charming smiles.  The Black Hmong are part of the hilltribes surrounding the town, all of whom still practice very indigenous lifestyles.  Mason and I decided to hike with 2 from the Hoa Tow village to their home one day in hopes of learning a bit more about their lifestyle.
We started the morning off with a trip to the market to buy lunch which we would prepare in their village.  A bag of 30 tomatoes, bamboo, tofu, pineapples, and spinach to feed a family of 15 costed us 4USD.  Csi, a 20 year old woman with fluent English, held her 3 month old baby on her back for the entire trek through muddy hills and misty waters.  She informed us that they all give birth in their homes and usually the Shaman of the village gives them some medicinal herbs to take for the pregnancy.  The women make their living through tourism and the men and children usually work in the rice fields.  The 3 hour hike was completely fogged over and added an eerie twist to the cliff drop off which would later be revealed as the most beautiful rolling hills of rice paddy fields.  We learned about marriage customs, traditions, and basic living skills from these people.  Everyday they wake at 4 am to make the trek to Sapa either by foot or moto.  
When arriving at their house (which was essentually 4 walls made from planks of wood and dirt floors with a kitchen area, living and praying area, and 4 bedrooms) grandma was smoking her pipe on a wooden stool by the fireplace.  Eventually the whole family emerged from the rice fields to gather around the fire and chat while cooking lunch.  2 hours later, we finished cooking the spinach, noodles, tofu, and boiling the rice.  Husbands, children, grandparents, cousins, everyone was there!  Grandpa stumbled out of his little room almost face planting in the fire from too much rice wine.  When it was time, women sat on one end of the table and men the other.  We all shared from the communal bowls of food and our rice wine glasses were never empty.  Whenever someone yelled out, "Hao!" it was a sign that everyone had to toast and drink their glass down only to be refilled.  They dressed me in some of their handwoven material and easily convinced me to purchase this beautiful artwork at the end of our stay.  The trek down was a bit easier at only 40 minutes on the muddy slopes and a 45 minute moto ride back into town.  Luckily the fog cleared up and allowed the rolling hills covered in rice fields to shine through.