Market Day in Sapa

Saturday's the big festival day here in Sapa: parade, sacrificial foods, kids dressed in traditional costumes, dragons, and a theater group to boot. It's a perfect time for me to get out of town! I high tail it down to Cat Cat village. It's not named for cats. I don't know the Vietnamese word for cats. Although I guess I should so I won't be eating it. I'm the only Westerner and practically the only person which suits me fine. It's scenic and that's all I care about: rice paddies and locals carrying loads of wood in baskets on their backs, swing bridges and waterfalls. A few hours later as I'm drudging up the hill back to Sapa I see a mini bus full of tourists getting out. Their tour leader is handing them water bottles and he gives me one as I pass: "Cam on!" Thank you, just what I needed!
 
I'm wearing jeans. Yes jeans. Do as I say and not as I do. Since I'm the inveterate traveler people assume I'm an expert and I should be. Do not, do not bring jeans I have said. Heavy, hot, can't be wash by hand, and take forever to dry. But I was packing for two trips: one that was much cooler, and I had a washer/dryer at my disposal. I wasn't that attached to these and I kept thinking I would dump them somewhere. But they've come in handy here in Sapa at 1500 meters. One thing you can say about jeans is that it takes a long time before they look dirty. My legs start itching before then and that's what they've been doing. In the old days (dumber days) I would wash everything by hand, usually with all the other local women down by the river or whatever other water source. Yes, I did my share of mucking up the environment.
 
 Now I hand it over to someone else to do, which reminds me of Spain. I wanted this man at the laundry mat to wash all my stuff except my underwear. I ask him as I hold open my bag of panties, "Es posible tener un poco sopa?  I thought I was asking for soap so I could wash my underwear myself. But I was asking him for soup. Could you put some soup in my bag of panties? It came to me pretty quickly when I saw the look on his face. I should have said jabon not sopa.
 
The next day is Sunday and it seems like all the tourists are loading up in the mini buses to go to the fabulous Bac Ha market. Guess where I'm going? Ta Phin. Again beautiful countryside: green jutting mountains, terraced land, lots of water buffalo with children riding them. The first person I meet is Ma Mai a pretty Red Dzao hill tribe woman. She speaks decent English and becomes my free guide taking me to places I really don't care about and to show my appreciation I buy something from her I really don't want.
 
 My thrill for the day is the motor scooter ride back. I had planned on walking there and catching a scooter back. The scooter guys here remind me of the kids on Haight Street selling buds. Motor bike, motor bike, motor bike like they're selling drugs and of all the scooters I could've have taken I pick one that's already loaded down with a three foot wooden rack and a five gallon plastic container of gasoline. What was I thinking? I was thinking he was going to drop those off quickly and we'd be on our way to Sapa 17kms away. But no he's taking those to Sapa. He puts the gasoline container between his legs and holds the rack with his one hand. He doesn't trust me to hold it. The other hand he steers around the mountain curves, the bumps, the people, dogs and other scooters. I just scream "Hati Hati!" over and over again, which is Indonesian for "be careful". Of course, he doesn't know Indonesian but he didn't know English either. He pulled over three times to discuss nothing - just both of us talking excitedly. I thought it was about money but when we finally arrived back in Sapa he seemed happy about the $1.25 I gave him and I gather through his motions of patting his seat behind him and pointing to his mouth he opened and closed that he wanted to buy me lunch. I'm sure I passed up another golden opportunity of eating a cat.