Our group was an amazing collection of people. Most were Australians with some Anglo-Israelis, some Americans, and others. They were intelligent and fun-loving and they behaved like one big happy family. Traveling with them was delightful.

One day we went to a town in Peru called Pisac. It is located in the Sacred Valley and it has Incan ruins and a beautiful market. While there, one of the ladies saw a skirt that one of the local ladies was wearing and she really wanted to buy one like it. I assume that she looked for it in the market, but she obviously didn’t find it.

She finally asked our Peruvian guide to help her buy it from the woman who was wearing it. Peruvian women wear straight skirts under their brightly colored, embroidered outer dirndl skirts, so when they reached an agreeable price, the Peruvian woman removed her skirt and gave it to our traveler. When she got on the bus and told us that she had successfully purchased the skirt, everyone laughed and also applauded. Then someone said, “Well, that’s great, but what is she going to say when she gets home and her husband wants to know what happened to her skirt.” Our traveler said, “That’s not a problem; after I bought her skirt, he offered to sell me his pants!”

Women in market at Pisac

Note the beautiful skirt. Note also that one Peruvian woman was carrying her pet llama and the other has a child who is carrying one. The people posing with the Peruvian women were members of our group, but not the proud owners of a Peruvian skirt.

You see, Chinese (yes, I mean Chinese– bear with me) is a tonal language. People who try to learn it have difficulty with the fact that the same one-syllable word can have 4 completely different meanings depending on the tone used to say it. There is a flat tone, a rising tone, a falling tone, and one that goes up and down. Still with me?

OK, if you think Chinese is difficult, try Vietnamese. They have 6 tones. That same one syllable (the one they always use to illustrate it in both countries is “ma”) means six different things in Vietnamese, depending on the tone. So when we came to the village and I read the sign Pho (foe), our guide said “what?” and I said, “The name of the village.” And she said, “no, the name of THIS village (as if she had no idea of what I was talking about) is Pho (foe?)” And yes, the question mark is the best way to explain how the tone needed to say Pho is pronounced. So if you said, “Can we go to Pho?” she would understand. But if you said, “This is Pho” she would have no idea what you were talking about.

Anyway, this is Pho

Pho

This was my second time visiting Pho. The first time we were invited to visit the home of the mayor of the town. He was a wiry, happy old man who offered the men liquor and danced around his home with them. This time we went into the home of one of the villagers. To give you an idea of the cooking facilities in Pho, here is a picture from the kitchen.

kitchen in Pho

Outside we were able to see the laundry hanging, drying in the clear mountain air.

Drying laundry

More laundry

The scenery around Pho was very beautiful. We saw little black Vietnamese pigs and lots of chickens and ducks. However, most beautiful of all were the people.

Women returning from Market

Children in Pho

With agriculture being the primary source of income, children become very wise in the practical aspects of farming. This little boy, leading his water buffalo who was hauling a large log, gave new meaning to the phrase “…and a little child shall lead them…”

Leading the water buffalo

Pho was lovely. We enjoyed a wonderful day, returned to Lao Cai for dinner, after a short visit to the Chinese border, and the boarded the overnight train for Hanoi.

Next time we answer these questions: How long should one stay on Halong Bay? How does the cook on the boat respond when I answer his question as to where I am from? and What do Vietnamese think of the knives we use in the the west?

The market at Bac Ha is a place to buy all sorts of things. Local people come there to buy clothing, linens, sewing supplies, hardware, fruits, vegetables, fish (mostly dried), nuts, noodles, and meat– pretty much everything. They socialize and there is a festive atmosphere. They also buy that most famous household pet: the water buffalo.

Buying water buffalo in Bac Ha

Water buffalo are, of course, very valuable because they are the closest that most people get to mechanized farming equipment in most of Vietnam– actually in most of the far east. The water buffalo are domesticated and very gentle and friendly.

It was interesting to see lots of combinations of traditional and contemporary. We saw girls in native dress checking their mobile phones.

Looking for messages

We saw people walking around wearing their motorcycle helmets.

Pink helmet-- and Flower Hmong dress

We looked for interesting things to buy. We found silk sleeping bags– small pouches made of silk with a sheet inside that one could crawl into with an attached pillow cover. We found belts with zippers that when zipped up became small purses. We bought them from a little girl who was fascinated with my husband’s beard and with a big smile took out a comb and attempted to comb it!

Combing Aaron's beard

As we walked through the market, we saw our travelers walking too, smiling and enjoying the sights and sounds. There are more pictures of this market in this post. It was a feast for the eyes.

After our experience there, we got on the bus and went to a local village. More about that next time when we answer these questions: Why can’t we simply say the name of the village? What does a normal kitchen in the village look like? and most important… what is the special significance in this village of the phrase “and a little child shall lead them”?

Our travelers got their room keys and settled in while we checked out the kitchen and the room in which we would eat during the time we were there. We quickly unpacked the food that needed refrigeration and placed it in sealed bags in their fridge. I went with our local guide to the market to buy another big pot for cooking the cholent – a bean stew dish that is cooked on low heat for about 24 hours and is traditionally eaten on shabbat– (our other pot had a lid that was bent and loose) and a wok. Then I returned and washed the beans we had brought from Israel and started them soaking in the cholent pot. I went upstairs to the kitchen to retrieve our plata (hotplate) and the person in charge said to me, “No cook in room.” I thought she meant that the cook was not in the kitchen, but upon reflection, I realized she was saying that they would not allow us to cook in our room. On our two previous trips, the hotel had not allowed us to leave the hotplate plugged in continuously in the kitchen so the guides had taken the hotplate into their rooms and had the cholent cook there. She was saying that I would not be permitted to cook it in our room. Just as I was ready to object, she told me that they would plug it into the wall on their serving table in the dining room and leave it plugged in all night. And that is what they did. Later in the day, they diced all sorts of vegetables that we added to the beans and barley and then we added some soy protein in chunks that we had brought from Israel that were very reminiscent of meat. With everything added, the pot was full to the brim. We covered it with a towel and checked on it a few times both on Friday night and on Saturday and they were true to their word. No one touched anything and the cholent was excellent– but I am getting ahead of myself.

We had a decision to make. Since it was raining, I told the local guide that I would prefer to go to the village that was on level ground rather than the one that was down a long muddy hill. She said that she had checked and that the monsoon rains had washed out the bridge between SaPa and the village I wanted to visit. So, there wasn’t a decision to be made at all. To the mud!!

We boarded the two mini-vans and headed to the village of Ta Van. Ta Van is a beautiful and interesting place with lots to see. We drove in the rain, more than once crossing torrents of water that were flowing from the mountains on one side across the road and down to the valley on the other side. Often there were no shoulders or guardrails. But we made it safely.

Our vans parked and the village ladies were happy to greet us and accompany us on our walk down their road to the village.

Some of the ladies were wearing galoshes. Some were wearing sandals. Our people were mostly wearing sports shoes. I was wearing crocs. What all of us really needed were skis. The road was very very slippery. There was precious little to walk on that would give one traction or stop the forward motion of the feet. There was a little grass on the edges in some places and a few rocks, but basically it was walk and hope that the little ladies and older teens that were holding onto our elbows would be able to steady us. Fortunately, no one fell (my greatest fear.) Two years ago, only one person fell and my coat is none the better for it. Uh, yes, I must confess I am not graceful, but at least I didn’t hurt myself…

Walking down the muddy road

The village was very picturesque, although not beautiful in the purest sense of the word. It was exactly the way it needed to be for people to live in it and to earn enough to have food and clothing. They also made money selling their handicrafts to visitors, many of whom felt indebted to them for steadying them on the muddy roads and paths.

Villager walking on road with rice terraces in the background

Some of our travelers took magnificent photos of some of the people. I concentrated on the animal kingdom. Here are some other inhabitants.

Mr. Water Buffalo (aka John Deere)

Ducks!

We saw the regional school where children from other villages also study and where they dorm during the week. It was a lovely, pastoral walk. As we made our way back to the entrance to the village, that road that we had descended loomed in front of us. Our local guide had called the smaller van to come and pick up our people, but it became mired in the mud, even as one by one people got off the van. Even with only the driver aboard, the van was stuck. With no alternative, we started up the road. When we came to a small building with a 4-wheel-drive car parked outside, I asked the local guide if she would find the owner and ask him if he would take us up the hill for a fee. He agreed and in two trips, he took those of us who were at the back of the group. His vehicle was filled with mud from our shoes, but I suppose he was used to it.

Ww boarded the larger of the mini-vans and headed back to SaPa. When we got back to the hotel, we were pleased to find out that the hotel will clean shoes free of charge and my travelers tell me that they did a fantastic job!

It was time to relax and prepare for shabbat. And what a shabbat it was! In a word: Perfect!

All about it next time…

Once people were settled in and the train began to move, I am able to heave a huge sigh of relief, knowing that I am off duty until about 4:30 a.m. at which time I am to wake people in anticipation of our arrival in Lao Cai.

The train was clean and attractive and the train ride lulled me to sleep. Although I had set my alarm, one of the workers on the train came by to wake us before the alarm went off.

In a few minutes, everyone was up and moving.

The train stopped and I was the last off of our car with all of the suitcases etc. We walked along the length of the train, looking into the cars as we passed. Some had flower arrangements on the tables between the beds. One had lotus-shaped lamps. Some had six beds per cabin and not four. We finally emerged from the station to a dark parking lot in which were two mini-buses that had come for us and our luggage. My husband went with about half the travelers and our local guide who had come with us from Hanoi and held our train tickets in one of them and I got into the other with the rest of the travelers. As we began to pull out of the parking lot, one of the travelers said, “Where is my money belt?” In a second or two it became clear that it was not on the bus with us. I called to the bus driver to stop the bus, which he did. He and the others remained on the bus and I went with the traveler back to the station.

Lao Cai, 5 a.m.

The station was dark. I did not have the tickets, hence no proof we had been on the train nor proof as to which cars we had occupied. In addition, I do not speak Vietnamese. At all. Fortunately, Lao Cai is the last stop of the train, so it was still in the station.

We walked past an office where there were several uniformed men. In one of my winning charades gestures, I gestured that the man’s money (rub finger tips with thumb) belt (point around waist) was on the train (point to the train.)

Apparently they understood me and a couple of the men walked with us to the train. We started down the length of it. It must have had twenty cars or more. We started at car number twenty and walked looking into the now darkened train. Fortunately, I had a sense of the variations in the cars and when I saw the car with the lotus-shaped lamps, I knew we were not too far. We finally reached two cars that were identical just as ours were, cars 5 and 6. I hadn’t realized that one of the men had a cell phone with him. To make sure, I gave him the number of our local guide’s cell phone. He called her and I asked her what number cars we had been in. She told us and we were right. Only one problem— the train was locked.

I think that Vietnamese people are truly kind because they did not want to give up. Apparently the same person who built the mini-hotel with only one key per room and no pass key had designed the train system in such a way that when all of the cars are locked, no one at the station has a key. Our heroes did what was necessary.

No, they did not saw through the wall of the train. They stood at the side of the door and put all of their weight on it and pushed and pushed, each time getting the door wider and wider open. It must have opened by just a couple of degrees and then one of the men was able to slip in. He went to the cabin that had been occupied by my traveler and he brought the money belt to the door. Aha, but he couldn’t get out. He had squeezed into something that was angled in, but getting out, he was confronting the edge of the door. Another, slimmer man then squeezed himself in. He then pushed the first man out and then he himself came out. My traveler was thrilled to receive the money belt. The Vietnamese were very happy to point from one to the other as to who deserved the reward money. In all, I think around $60 were distributed and all of us left the train very happy.

Those waiting on the bus were also happy and we quickly proceeded onward to SaPa.

The weather in the north of Vietnam, just at the China border, is cold in the winter and although the heat was on in the bus, the driver’s open window was blowing an unpleasant breeze into the bus. After a while I asked him to roll up the window. Once again, my ignorance of Vietnamese was all too frustrating. He thought I asked him to stop the bus.

As I looked outside at the landscape just a short time after dawn, I saw about 5 little pigs by the side of the road. I asked “would anyone want to photograph piglets?” A few people got out of the bus, took some photos and then returned to the bus. He started the bus and off we went.

Piglets along the road

But it was still cold.

This time I put held my hands on the opposite upper arms and made a shivering motion. He closed his window. We were warming up and on our way to SaPa. The rain began to fall.

Uh Oh… Our itinerary called for us to walk through one of the local minority villages this morning. They get awfully muddy. But there was still check-in and breakfast and cholent to get started. My worries about that could wait for an hour or two.

At last we arrived at the hotel.

Chau Long Hotel, SaPa

Next time: What we did about the new hotel rules on using our plata (hotplate) and how “Slip sliding away” is a great song, but not the way one would want to describe a walk through a village.

As I walked through the gardens, relaxing became easy. It was beautiful, calm, tranquil — perfect. When I caught up with the group, they had just spied what was to be their first bride of the day.

Apparently, Vietnamese brides and grooms take full advantage of the period preceding the wedding and they go from place to place with a bevy of professional photographers being photographed in the outfits they have selected for that day. Like Chinese brides, Vietnamese brides often have more than one wedding gown– the traditional one (in China- red, in Vietnam, an Ao Dai in any color) and a white bridal gown such as those worn by brides in the West.

Here is the bride we saw at the Temple of Literature

Bride in Ao Dai

We enjoyed a brief concert of Vietnamese music on traditional Vietnamese instruments and then set off for the Museum of Ethnology. There, inside the museum we saw colorful exhibits of ethnic minority customs, traditions, and dress and outside we saw models of homes and buildings of many of the ethnic minorities.

As the day wore on, the sun came out and Hanoi became very beautiful. And what did we see but more brides! Everywhere! And some of them were pretty adventurous!

After a visit to Maison Centrale, known to most Americans as “The Hanoi Hilton,” the place where captured US pilots, among them John McCain, were held, we went to Hoan Kiem Lake, a lake in the center of the city and were treated to a cyclo ride through the old city. The old city has 36 streets that were named for the crafts and trades that were located there. Although some of the streets still have some of those specialties, one cannot easily discern which street was for which trade or craft. One can, however, get the feeling of what it is like to travel at motorcycle/motorbike level in this busy city. You can see it here.

With the day quickly waning, I was getting more and more nervous about the suitcases. Even if I had figured out the solutions to my immediate problem, I really hoped that our people would have their belongings so that they could change their clothes and feel comfortable over the weekend. Since we were leaving at nine p.m. for an eight hour trip on a night train where we would sleep, our deadline for luggage delivery was all too critical.

My husband went to the restaurant to prepare dinner for the group while I went with them to the mini-hotel.

It is apparently called a mini-hotel not just because there are a small number of rooms and only one elevator, but also, I am guessing, because people use it only for a short amount of time. In fact, there were some lovely and wholesome looking young women dressed alike (black shorts, white blouses) waiting at ground level who one might imagine were in some way connected with the hotel. But I digress…

The purpose of going to the mini-hotel was to give people a chance to shower, change, and redistribute their clothing and personal items and pack only their small carry-on for our trip up north for the weekend. Taking the large suitcases onto the train was not a good idea. However, until the suitcases finally arrived, people didn’t want to shower, fearful they’d only have to put on the same clothing they’d been wearing for two days.

Our train was leaving at nine. The suitcases were not delivered until shortly after seven. Of course between suitcase delivery and the train there was distributing them to each room with only one small elevator and five stories of building and then collecting them again and then driving to the restaurant and having dinner. We were rushed.

The good news: ALL of the suitcases made it. The bad news: They had fastened a heavy plastic strip that held our largest suitcase closed and I had no implement to open it. There was no time. I decided to take all three of the large suitcases and our two small ones with us onto the train.

Our people were wonderful. Everyone was ready on time for the bus. They had left their suitcases outside their doors to be collected by the porters. We were out of the woods.

Or so we thought.

One couple said they weren’t sure where to leave their suitcase and they left it inside the room. When the time came to turn in the keys, they realized that they had locked the room with the key inside. I thought that would not be a problem, I went to the desk and asked for a duplicate key. The clerk didn’t understand me. I showed her a key and asked for another one and wrote the room number. She nodded no. I said “when you clean the room…” Of course, it was only later that I realized that most people staying there, maybe all of them, don’t leave the room and then come back. I had her call Mrs. Mai. I explained to her what had happened. Now I had two Vietnamese women who didn’t understand what I was saying, I believe. However, after the conversation, the desk clerk called someone and said, “wait one moment.” I am certain that when Vietnamese people learn English they are told that “wait one moment” means “this could take hours.”

I decided that my people needed to go and eat. I sent them on the bus to the restaurant. I assured the couple that I would not leave the hotel until their suitcase was liberated.

Finally a young man showed up on a motorbike. I assumed he had the key. I said to him, “You have the key?” and shook my head hopefully. He said, “yes, yes.” I’m guessing that when Vietnamese people learn the phrase “yes, yes” they are told it means, “I think you are a nice person and I would like you to be happy.”

The room was at the end of the corridor on the fifth floor. It was on the left. He walked down the corridor and opened the last door on the right. I said, “No, it’s this one.” He said, “yes, yes.” He went into the room and closed the door behind him. I thought, “Great! there’s an adjoining bath between them!”

He walked out of the room and said, “wait one moment.” He returned a few minutes later with an assistant and a tool box. They went into the room on the right. Then I heard loud banging– as if they were trying to break down the wall. It continued for a very long time. I waited. I sweated. I looked at my watch. I knew I had missed dinner, but how long could I stay without missing the train?

The banging continued. I sweated some more. It was 8:30. The train was at 9. I had no idea how far it was to the train station nor did I have any idea how much traffic there would be. I was cutting it very close. I called Mrs. Mai. I told her that the men were trying to break down a wall to get the suitcase, but so far, no luck. She told me that when the suitcase was finally liberated, she would have it picked up and brought to our other suitcases and that the couple would have it on Monday morning when everyone else got theirs. She called me a taxi and told him to take me to the train station.

I got into the taxi and I wanted him to know that I was in a hurry and so I wrote 9:00 on a piece of paper and apparently that was all it took to get him into Hollywood-car-chase mode. Ohmigosh! He flashed his lights, honked his horn, and drove on the wrong side of the street. As we reached the train station, I began to fear that maybe there was more than one station in Hanoi and I hoped we were at the right one. At that very moment, our big red bus pulled up and beside it I found my husband and all of our travelers.

Stay tuned to find out what happened to the suitcase, why I once again had to break down a Vietnamese door, and other exciting slip and slide adventures next time..

And after about two hours, we landed in Hanoi. We walked to the waiting area where we were met by our local guide. I gave the guide all of our passports, the visa application forms with photos attached, and the visa approval form we had received from the government of Vietnam. And then we waited. And waited. And waited. We could see the office where the visas were being given, see passports opened and visas affixed, but our guide was elusive. So we waited. Did I mention we waited?

After about an hour, she finally came back and we distributed the passports into which had been pasted the visas. Then everyone went through passport control and we met on the other side.

Our guide said we had to go to the lost luggage desk. Reminding her that our luggage was not lost, but tardy, she explained that unless we filed a claim for lost luggage, the luggage would not be transferred to Hanoi. I was to gather up all of the baggage claim checks which they then pasted onto a sheet of paper. Some of my people were hesitant to give up their only proof of every having had a bag, but were reassured when they were told that I would get a copy of the baggage tag page. We were missing 14 pieces of luggage. We had found only 11 baggage claim checks. No one would own up as to having additional ones. They filled out the paperwork only identifying 11 pieces of luggage. As they handed me the paperwork, I opened my ticket holder and found that I was the hold-out. There were the three baggage claim tags. I gave them to the people behind the counter and they copied the sheet for me.

Now about two hours later than we had anticipated, it was time for dinner and everyone was hungry and tired and so we decided to go directly to the restaurant where we would eat rather than to the hotel. We called and made sure that the four Swiss travelers and the one British traveler were brought to the restaurant to meet us.

Finally on the bus, we made our acquaintance with the Hanoi traffic jam– the type that puts everything at a standstill. The major bridge across the Red River was being repaired and construction materials and dug up road surface narrowed it to one lane. But we told people about Vietnam and about Hanoi and most of them were just happy to be finally out of the airport and on our way.

We arrived at the restaurant. It is the “forest” restaurant and it is beautifully decorated with objects that represent the history and folklore of Vietnam. Set in a garden, the wooden building was adorned with cloth and metal and wood wall hangings. The wait staff was dressed in native garb of one of Vietnam’s 54 ethnic minorities. It was beautiful.

Rung Restaurant, Hanoi

What was not beautiful was the fact that our knives, cutting boards, and cooking utensils were in our baggage which was currently homeless in Hong Kong. So there we were with our Hanoi equipment (dishes, silverware, one large pot, and a wooden spatula) unable to prepare dinner.

We sent the local guide out to buy a knife. She had to take a motorcycle ride to get it and meanwhile, the chef was bristling as he wanted to kill the fish already so that he could cook them. Yes, you see when we cook in Vietnam, we need to see the fish whole and intact. So, often the fish are still alive when we meet them. These fish had something of a reprieve as we waited for the knife to appear.

In the end, we ate dinner, enjoyed getting to know each other, and although our luggage was still not with us, we all settled into our hotel that night for some much needed sleep.

Tomorrow: Hanoi as most people never imagined it and what ever happened to the luggage…

However, everyone agrees that the western part of China, Yunnan Province, has beautiful crystal clear skies and is a most magnificent place to visit.

One exquisite city in Yunnan is Dali, home to two of China’s ethnic minorities, the Yi and the Bai. Bai means white and their native dress is beautifully embroidered white clothing which both the men and women wear. Dali is surrounded by mountains and is the recipient of the vast water flow that comes from the mountains. Freshly flowing water streams through conduits in the streets and between the water, the mountains, the blue sky and the meticulous cleanliness of the city, one can’t help thinking that this is one of the most idyllic places on earth.

A street in the walking area of downtown Dali

Everywhere one looks there is something beautiful to see– or at least something interesting.

A town square, Dali

One of the things one notices when in the far east is how hard the women work. While women in the US were asking for the right to go out and work, women in the far east were doing more than their share in planting, harvesting, and even carrying heavy loads. With small families, older people work to support themselves as long as they can.

Street scene, Dali

Remember that expression “for all the tea in China?” Well, that is not a small quantity. All over China tea is sold– in tins and packed into different shapes. It’s quite a culture there. No tea bags. And the teas all have special healing qualities. It’s not unusual to see a tea store such as this.

Teas in China

One of the very special treats of a trip to China is seeing the children. I don’t know if it is objectively true, but I think that every one of them is beautiful. Most of them are from single child families and are doted upon and it shows. The seem self confident and mature This day I caught some children returning from school. They were walking through the market, laughing and joking good naturedly. Notice how lovely they look in their school uniforms.

The boys

and the girls

Kunming is called the “Spring City” or the “City of Eternal Spring” because of its wonderful mild weather. Foreign students flock here to study Chinese language and tradition Chinese medicine.

Here is a view of part of the city center.

Gate, City Center, Kunming, China

Although most Chinese people are not devoutly religious, they do have beliefs in higher powers and many think of themselves as Buddhist or Taoist. Many also have adopted the Confucian philosophy. Many Chinese see no contradiction among these three and are adherents to all three. Here is a very beautiful Buddhist Temple. It differs from most because one actually enters and then descends toward the main complex. The picture was taken looking back toward the entrance gate.

Gate, Yuantong Temple, Kunming, China

The temple was built late in the 8th century, but, of course, preserved through the years. Here is some detail of one of the buildings as it was being refurbished recently. It is made of wood with lacquered paint to decorate it. All of the painting is hand done.

Detail of building in Yuantong Temple, Kunming, China

What could be more relaxing after a day of looking at all of this beauty than sitting with a cup of tea. We were treated to both the tea and an explanation of the significance of this particular type, Puer tea, which is formed into large wheels of tea (about the size of a frisbee) and sold to parents when their daughter is a baby and preserved until she is betrothed as a gift for her husband. Puer tea can heal just about everything and we were told that if we were to have a steady diet of it, our skin would look as young as that of this lovely lady who served us tea in her ethnic dress.

Tea tasting, Kunming, China

The market at Bac Ha

The market is not just an opportunity to sell and trade handicrafts, but it is the major event of the week. At the market people from villages all around meet. They trade/sell/buy their fruits and vegetables, their meat and their fish. The also buy the exquisitely embroidered clothing they wear.

Buying clothing in Bac Ha

They also buy fabrics to make their own clothing and handicraft items. The women are in their traditional dress– not to impress tourists, but because that is what they wear. Notice that since the helmet law (enacted in December 2007) for motorcycles and motorbikes, the traditional dress has begun to include an additional element.

Shopping in Bac Ha

On Sundays, in Bac Ha, even live animals are sold at the market. Because Vietnam is only beginning to mechanize farming, the water buffaloes are very important to a family’s economic well-being.

Buying water buffaloes at the market in Bac Ha

Of course, one of the most important things that happens at the Sunday market is that “shidduchim”– marriage matches– are made!

And now, just a few images of the Bac Ha Sunday market, a truly amazing experience!