Christmas Markets of a Rather Different Sort...

I'm always sceptical when guidebooks recommend that you should visit a market when in non-First World countries. The implication, in today's age of supermarkets and online shopping, is that markets are an oddity only seen in the less-developed world, a place to go and take pictures of piles of fruit while the locals buy goods with cash rather than plastic. Having seen the souqs of North Africa and the Middle East, I was somehow doubtful as to whether I'd find the markets around Bac Ha that interesting from one point of view, though the colour described by Lonely Planet was an appealing guilty pleasure.

The ride to Bac Ha from Sapa was an uneventful one; the weather improved on the way into Lao Cai and then worsened (i.e. became colder) as I gained altitude. The only real events were becoming mildly lost in Lao Cai (the Vietnamese have a strange habit of giving non-specific directions ["Go down there and take a right," they gesture. Which right?]) and being pursued for three miles or so by three giggling teenage girls on a moped who, when I stopped, insisted that I pose for a number of photographs and take one of them. All this while a group of primary school children looked on, bemused by the spectacle.

For about five minutes, I knew how the Beatles felt.

Bac Ha itself is not the most picturesque village, with a temple in the main square and the Tay king's palace the main architectural focal points. The market place is very open and bordered by a number of stalls (empty when I arrived) and was populated by a number of local women selling vegetables of various descriptions. It wasn't difficult to imagine the area thronged by local shoppers and the busloads of camera-toting tourists from Hanoi every Sunday; I had missed out and would have to make do with the Tuesday morning market at Coc Ly, around twenty-eight miles south-west of Bac Ha. Having sought out Mr Nghe, Bac Ha's tourism guru, that evening, he told me that the road was fine for the motorbike.

The market place, Bac Ha.

 Christmas morning was cold and bereft of presents or any other symbols of a Western Christmas. Mr Nghe turned out to have added to the lack of Christmas spirit by failing to mention that the road to Coc Ly wasn't actually a road: it can only be described as a track, which becomes progressively worse as one approaches Coc Ly. The bike groaned as it hopped over boulders, repeatedly stalled and I was reminded of my experience on the way to Lai Chau, cursing Dr Pangloss Mr Nghe and wincing as my suspension took a battering.

I just about reached Coc Ly in one piece and proceedings were already in full flow. There was a conspicuous absence of tourists, with perhaps one party present, and there certainly was a lot of colour. I felt intensely voyeuristic as I photographed people going about their business, though they didn't appear to either notice or mind too much (I was discreet, unlike one tourist, who blatantly aimed his lens at people trying to eat their lunch, probably for an "Asians eating" album!). The market sold all manner of things, ranging from the ornate dresses worn by the local Tay ladies to pots and pans, from pigs' heads to handbags, reminding me of Sunday markets at home when I was a child, though Tay dresses and pigs' heads weren't on sale in Morecambe, strangely enough.

While a few were present, men were definitely in the minority, with nearly every stall manned by a woman and the vast majority of shoppers being female too. I have noticed this more and more on my journey through Northern Vietnam: women are very visible and engage in the most surprising tasks, lugging large loads on their backs, doing lots of farm work and selling goods. The men are largely absent or to be found doing other things (every mechanic has been a man, for example, as well as every policeman). A large group of men was grouped around livestock, so that was presumably their role in proceedings (the buying and selling of cattle/water buffalo) or they were simply catching up while their wives/relatives did the shopping...

The only negative point was definitely understandable. The market traders became animated if I lingered in front of their stalls for too long and people implored me to buy things, becoming frustrated when I said no (one lady asked, "Why do you come here and buy nothing?"). What became clear, understandably, is that tourists' presence there is exasperating, for they turn up, take pictures and leave. For the people working in the market, this is a livelihood, part of their way of life, yet for tourists it is an oddity, an attraction, a view fuelled by guidebooks.

I had met an Anglo-Kiwi couple at the market who had ridden down from Bac Ha on a scooter. We agreed to ride back together and I decided to film the way back, for going uphill on such terrain is easier and I knew the "road" a little better. All was going well until they fell into a large pile of mud, soiling themselves and the bike (footage available later). This didn't bode well for the rest of the ride, for my bike then broke down around six miles from Bac Ha, refusing to start and emitting large quantities of smoke when ignition was attempted. After the standard but futile posturing and fiddling by some passers-by, I was ignominiously towed back to Bac Ha by a xe om driver. Was the journey over?  Had my "re-built" bike died? Was I going to (justifiably, as it happens) send hate mail to Vietnam Motorbikes? No, for a mechanic quickly established that my bike was (a) Chinese rubbish and (b) wasn't starting due to a blown gasket and installed a new one for VND100,000.

The offending article.

Christmas Day was rounded off in a way which is no longer surprising me. Spending the evening in a restaurant over coffee, I was the only customer present. The owner spoke a little English and, disturbing me from my reading, very kindly invited me to eat with the family. I don't think that this was a Christmas gesture (though it might have been) but rather another extension of traditional, rural hospitality. Smiling faces greeted me at the table and smiling faces waved goodbye an hour later. After the difficulties of earlier in the day, Christmas had turned out quite well.