Rainbow in Lao Cai

I

It is no exaggeration to say that the Kermis in the highlands is something unique.

A massive feast of diversity inherited from the past and magically preserved by today’s generation. Where the Red River flows around the backs of still-green hills. A place where small villages stand far apart from one another. Wrapped in the cool air of northern Vietnam’s highlands that slowly pierces the skin; stirring the heart.

Anyone who has ever stopped by the traditional markets of Bac Ha, the Can Cau Buffalo Market, Muong Hum, Cao Son, or Pha Long might agree that Kermis is a spiritual and intellectual experience—one that opens the door to a deeper understanding of the tribal communities of Lao Cai.

This is a kind of life far more complex than the tourism brochures about Vietnam you find in airline magazines. Experiencing Kermis is far more colourful. Certainly, far better than merely reading the casual blog notes of white visitors. There, you will only find total expenses or suggested routes. Seeing Kermis firsthand is far more spiritual than looking at dozens of photographs that capture only banality — fragments that will never be whole.

II

When the Kermis celebration arrives, since dawn, the road to the market is already crowded with people and livestock — adults and children alike. Various tribal groups descend from the mountains carrying processed goods strapped to the backs of horses. Each brings nature’s blessings: tubers or hunted meat. Others carry tokens of gratitude to the earth that has sustained them for generations — woven crafts, handwoven fabrics, and colourful jewellery.

Beyond the tribal groups who mostly live along the hills surrounding Lao Cai, the Kermis celebration also brings together curious foreign faces with sparkling eyes. Perhaps it is their first visit. They are easy to distinguish. Besides their paler skin, their clothing tends to be dull or dark. Half of them carry cameras, busily taking photographs. Most guests at Kermis are tourists from Europe, Japan, or Korea who enter Vietnam through the international airport in Hanoi. From there, they travel by train or bus to Lao Cai. Since the opening of the toll road from the capital to Lao Cai, travel time has shortened considerably. No longer does the journey require an entire day. Four hours along asphalt in a tourist bus is enough.

The Kermis in Lao Cai is a meeting of colours. It is an opportunity for minority tribal groups — whose communities stretch across hills that extend beyond the border into Yunnan Province, China — to gather. Kermis is usually held for one day within two weeks, on either Saturday or Sunday. But the mid-year Kermis lasts several days — usually at the beginning and end of the summer planting season. It is the liveliest celebration of the year.

If you wish to witness how Kermis unfolds, come when the sun is still lukewarm and the mist floats low above the ground. As the sun climbs, you will see from afar women walking in groups toward the site — usually three to six of them. Their backs carry goods to be sold or exchanged. They are the earliest to arrive.

Soon after, groups with horses appear. Some carry livestock or shoulder heavy loads. Most are men, many bare-chested. Others wrap a cloth around their bodies. The aging chill of dawn does not make them shiver. Their bones have been hardened by life in the mountains.

Upon arrival, everyone moves to select and mark their space, arrange their goods, greet acquaintances, or wander about.

Their clothing is vibrant — a marker of cultural identity. To trained eyes capable of distinguishing motifs and colour choices, it is easy to identify which group someone belongs to. Most Kermis participants come from the Hmong, Dao, Giay, Nung, or Tu Di communities — minority tribal groups whose villages are scattered across hills not far from Lao Cai.

As the sun rises higher, they begin arranging their selling spaces. Agricultural produce — various vegetables — occupies one area, usually adjacent to the section for meat and livestock at the far end. Staples such as rice, flour, soap, or shampoo are sold at the same stalls. Clothing and cosmetics are encountered first when entering the Kermis grounds.

Naturally, Kermis begins once all stalls are ready. People move about, searching for goods, asking prices, or simply stopping to greet one another — exchanging smiles and bursts of laughter. Small children run around randomly. Teenagers gather in groups according to gender and age, stealing glances at one another. Some young women shyly avert their gaze when meeting the eyes of young men, hiding flushed faces behind naturally dyed umbrellas. Adult women move back and forth carrying children on their backs, often still drowsy.

There is no permanent gate serving as a main entrance like in a modern market. Kermis takes place on open ground where visitors may arrive from any direction. Yet people agree that it begins with the choosing of clothing. The sign is the first transaction after cosmetic and clothing sellers arrange their goods. The final area usually visited is the row of raw meat vendors. So do not be surprised if slaughtering begins only toward midday.

III

Bordering China directly, Lao Cai is an entry and exit point for import-export goods via land routes. Located in northwestern Vietnam, the province has two main cities: Lao Cai and Sa Pa.

The latter is more popular for its mountain resorts and the trade in women. Male tourists arriving without female companions are approached by pimps offering prostitution services. Sa Pa is also famous for its terraced rice fields, often featured in tourism booklets. The city becomes crowded during the early summer harvest. In a 2010 report by Vietnam’s Ministry, Sa Pa was listed among the country’s top twenty rice-producing regions of the highest quality. Another visual attraction is its well-preserved 15th-century buildings. The city’s name follows the pronunciation used by the Hmong, the majority indigenous group in the area.

In the past, Sa Pa served as a trading post between French colonial authorities and China. World War II damaged much of the small town. More than 250 historic buildings were destroyed by bombing. Restoration efforts after Vietnam’s reunification are widely regarded as having failed to restore Sa Pa’s architectural wealth. On the national political stage, the city once made headlines in 2006 when the Chairman of the Sa Pa People’s Council was elected to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Vietnam at the age of 33.

Meanwhile, Lao Cai is better known as a trading hub because it borders Hekou in Yunnan Province, China. The border was closed during the 1979 war between Vietnam and China, reopening to trade in 1993.

Since ancient times, Lao Cai has been both a trade centre and a site of conflict. China, Vietnam, and minority tribal ethnic groups have all contested claims here.

The name Lao Cai derives from the Vietnamese pronunciation of French administrative records that referred to the area as Lao Kay. According to a booklet prepared by the Lao Cai Tourism Office, the name was officially adopted by the Vietnamese government in 1950. It was here that the biologist Jean Théodore Delacour conducted research in 1929.

In 1463, Lao Cai served as the northern capital of the Viet Kingdom and as a trading partner with Chinese kingdoms to the north. Under French colonisation, its status remained unchanged as an administrative centre. The French also built their military base here, covering several northern provinces.

The city suffered deep wounds in 1979. The war between Vietnam and China destroyed almost the entire face of Lao Cai. Local accounts say remnants of war are still found in mining areas. Others recount that people must remain cautious near the border lines because landmines are still discovered.

IV

In the 2008 census, Lao Cai’s population was recorded at 602,300 people, comprising around 26 ethnic groups. Besides Vietnamese, the most commonly spoken languages are Hmong and Tai, reflecting the two largest minority groups. These tribal communities inhabit the mountainous areas around Lao Cai and Sa Pa. In 2000, they still made up 75% of the population. A decade later, their proportion had shrunk to 50%.

Several ethnic groups accuse the Vietnamese government policies indirectly contributing to this decline. Two main policies are considered degrading to minority influence. The first is the designation of Hoang Lien National Park in 2006. Covering 29,845 hectares, it is seen as encroaching upon customary lands owned by minority groups. Ginger farms managed under customary land tenure within the park were handed over to the government, forcing indigenous communities to relocate.

The second is the government’s integration policy. It consists of two main strategies. First, the Communist Party sends cadres into indigenous communities to “integrate” them into Vietnamese society. This integration occurs through national schools where tribal children are educated to “become Vietnamese.” Second, the government implements transmigration, relocating ethnic Vietnamese from Hanoi or other densely populated areas to Lao Cai. These transmigrants now dominate the informal sector in Lao Cai, and most government officials come from this group.

Over the past five years, several horizontal conflicts have occurred. In March 2012, Giay youth were arrested after assaulting a shop owner in Lao Cai, allegedly over being cheated in handicraft transactions. In 2013, members of the Phula ethnic group clashed with police after one of them was arrested for allegedly damaging a protected forest. News of such incidents quickly fades.

Yet at every Kermis celebration, these stories circulate in whispers — from mouth to ear — spreading among tribal groups. From dawn until dusk, such news is exchanged and updates shared.

That is why Kermis is not merely a marketplace. It is an open forum in nature. A space where minority ethnic groups share solidarity and strengthen one another. They meet, speak in their own languages, laugh, and rejoice surrounded by kin. Kermis in Lao Cai is a celebration of diversity now under threat—a colourful festival that may soon disappear under modernisation and mono-identity politics.

V

On Saturday, 18 October 2014, I had the chance to witness Kermis in Lao Cai firsthand. I came with Vinh, a young sociologist from Hanoi. We met at a conference at Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi in early 2012. Vinh later introduced me to Toi, a teenager born and raised in Lao Cai who had just graduated from high school and was working part-time as a tour guide.

We departed one day before the celebration. After breakfast, we headed toward Lao Cai — our first destination before continuing to Sa Pa and the Vietnam–China border.

From Hanoi, we chose to ride motorcycles despite the longer travel time. Motorcycles were more practical. We could stop anytime to take photos or relieve ourselves by the roadside. Toi acted as a guide and porter. Two backpacks were tied to his rear saddle, containing clothes and supplies for our stay in Lao Cai and Sa Pa. Vinh and I followed behind, occasionally overtaking him to signal a stop or rest.

It took more than six hours before we arrived in Lao Cai in the late afternoon. We paused briefly at the city boundary. The rain had just stopped. There was no rainbow in the sky. We headed to a guesthouse recommended by Toi in the city centre. The room was clean and spacious with two separate beds. They provided an extra mattress so Toi would not need to rent another room. The price was affordable. The bathroom was good and had hot water.

After showering and changing, we had dinner: a jumbo bowl of noodles with pork bones at a small eatery known to Toi. Delicious and cheap. Just a five-minute walk from the guesthouse. A small stall with low plastic tables and chairs.

When we arrived, tissues and empty beer cans littered the floor — a typical Vietnamese scene.

After dinner, we drank Hanoi Vodka to warm ourselves while listening to Toi’s stories. He was a good storyteller — calm and confident. His stories were about events which went unnoticed by the media or deliberately buried — especially state conflicts with minority groups.

Vinh confirmed some of the accounts, though he rejected the view that the state intentionally committed violence. I understood his position, though I disagreed. Vinh was a government employee, a university lecturer, and a loyalist of the Communist Party of Vietnam. His family was relatively well-off. His father was an arts union official. Yet Vinh was unique. He was sane enough to admit to me that the Party had made many mistakes. For him, they were not organisational faults but individual misdeeds — “bad apples.” It sounded very Indonesian to my ears.

Four small bottles of vodka were finished. Cigarette butts and tissues were scattered beneath the table. We decided to return and rest so as not to miss Kermis from the beginning.

The next morning, while dawn was still crawling, Toi woke us. Outside, the sky was still dark. We moved quickly — washing our faces with cold water, embracing the chill, then riding toward the festival. Lao Cai’s streets were quiet; house doors still closed. Toi led us north. He was skilful and agile. Vinh struggled to keep up. It took about fifteen minutes to reach the site, followed by a five-minute walk.

No one was there yet. We had arrived too early. But the sky was beginning to brighten.

I lit a clove cigarette and offered one to Toi. He smiled, took one, lit it, and shifted position. Vinh and I followed without protest.

The sun began to rise, though mist still hovered low over damp ground. Brighter, warmer, softer. Toi pointed east. Vinh moved quickly — setting up his tripod, taking photos, shifting angles, shooting again.

I did nothing. I simply watched the sunrise and inhaled deeply from my dwindling cigarette supply, my mind twisting over how to ration them for the coming week. Toi moved to my left, still smiling, offering water. I declined. Vinh remained absorbed with his camera.

From afar, human silhouettes slowly approached. Small groups of walkers slipping between the morning sun’s glow and the shadows of Lao Cai’s increasingly eroded hills. Closer and closer. Separate groups. It felt as if they were advancing, surrounding the three of us. Faintly, I heard women singing — long, high, melodic notes.

I put on my glasses, sharpened my gaze, and looked toward the approaching group of Hmong women walking toward us. Slowly, I smiled like Toi.

Now, I understand how to find a rainbow in Lao Cai.