Our driver, Zung knew a Lo Lo family and took us to visit them. The Lo Lo tribe is one of the smallest still in existence in the northern hill country, numbering just over three thousand. For our benefit, their teenage daughter spent half an hour putting on the tribe's traditional costume. Her father was one of the village elders.
As with other villagers, we found we could come unannounced and be welcomed into their home with tea and hospitality.
This is a photo of the meat counter at the Sin Cheng Market. Meat is butchered and laid out on a table in the open air. Click on the photo to enlarge it. There was one instance in which our guide sent back a meat dish she felt smelled bad, but we commonly ate pork, beef and chicken that must have been purchased at market stalls such as this one. Judy's infectious disease doctor was aghast, and it is true that both of us had to go on Cipro within the first week of our trip. No lasting impact however!
One of my favorites was the Black La Chi, who not only wear black, but dye their teeth black as a beauty treatment. They were, like many, initially shy but also curious about us and within minutes we were being followed by a dozen small children. One girl who was barely eleven years old, from this tribe, had in tow three smaller siblings. Her mother had gone off to Malaysia to earn money for the family -- for four years! It is common also to see the smallest toddlers and babies being carried by their sisters who were only a few years older than themselves. 
When you first approach the market (we visited three), it is up into the mountains on a winding road. On the shoulders of the road are families walking to or coming from the market, sometimes herding water buffalo or cows; often wearing large baskets full of produce with horse hair straps. The mountains loom up in the background, and everywhere there isn't sheer rock is planted with corn. Generations of tribal people have hauled soil up between the rocks. We turn the final corner to a parking lot of motor bikes, and just beyond it is a cacophony of colorful sights and sounds.
The Flower Hmong people are dressed in their finest clothes, embroidered with lots of red and orange; and beaded fringe. Even though it is hot and humid the women wear several layers of clothing, including leggings, a skirt, an apron, scarf and perhaps a hat and a baby sling. Most also carry an umbrella for use against the sun as much as the rain. They are the predominant tribe at the Pha Long Market, twenty miles south of the Chinese border. However, there are others as well; and on our travels we interacted with almost twenty different tribes. 
At the edge of the market is a barber, set up in the outdoors with a chair and large mirror, under which is positioned his motor bike. Walking further along the roadway there are sellers of chillies, melons, leche nuts, beans, hand forged farm implements, and clothes. Plastic also is popular: pans, sandals, stools, buckets. Off to one side is the piglet market area, many squealing, all tethered by twine leads. There is also a section for cows, and water buffalo. We were told that due to Global Warming, the Northern Hill Country has become more severe with colder winters and hotter summers. The cows have become more valuable that water buffalo, as they are better able to adapt to these changes. There is meat for sale, chopped up on tables with no refrigeration: mostly pork since cows are too valuable (equal to the price of a motor bike).
Its Saturday evening and we are about to catch the overnight train back to Hanoi. We weren't able to be in contact until now because the places we've stayed haven't had Internet connections, let alone electricity. We stayed three nights in a place where we took baths with a cup in a pan of hot water, that was brought to our room. We had electricity for a few hours every night with the use of a generator, and the hotel staff would use it for karaoke after we had gone to bed -- under our mosquito nets.
Today we visited with an old war veteran who lost his leg just below the hip. He was a spy, fighting the French and was captured and tortured twice. He was quite proud of the fact that he fed the French misinformation that they believed. His medals hung on the wall below an old photo of him in uniform. He is a master hat maker in a village where everyone makes the traditional conical hats seen all over the country. He is one of the only people who knows how to make a ceremonial version that is large, round and flat -- like his grandmother showed him how to make.
