"Pleeeeaase... let me go! Release meeeee! I beg yooouuuu!" I could almost hear that pleading in oink language; in what seemed to be the loudest and longest wail of a pig's agony I'd ever endured. My heart went for the pig.
Just down from the main road, the irregular-shaped mild slope landing about the size of a badminton court was the pig section. Puppies also shared the space. All over the red earth landing, owners stood and waited for prospects to come and buy their legged properties. Some leashed to the owners, some to wooden poles sticking out from the ground. At some spots, there was a filled clump of a gunny sack lying on the dusty red soil, with a hairy pig snout jutting out of a fist-size hole at the bottom of the sack.
This mother was taking a break with her child at the hillside Can Cau market. At the bottom of the slope, there was a disorderly crowd looking and examining the also disorderly herd of bulls and oxen. Sellers stood next to their four-legged 'products' to attend to their prospective buyers' enquiries.
The Can Cau market happens every Saturday morning at the slopes of a hillside 20km north of Bac Ha and 9km south of the Chinese border. Many of the eight ethnic groups come here after a gruelling week of farming to trade, chat with friends, relax, eat, drink and meet new people.
For some, it's shopping therapy. Others, movie therapy. Yet more, reading therapy. For me, it's writing therapy.
For some, it's shopping therapy. Others, movie therapy. Yet more, reading therapy. For me, it's writing therapy.