This September, Northern Vietnam experienced its most disastrous typhoon in 30 years. Super typhoon Yagi. It caused massive damage to vital infrastructure, and it’s estimated that around 19 million people are affected by the destruction.
Last summer I had the privilege of being hosted and taught by multiple craftspeople around northern Vietnam. People who I have much to write about, and even more to thank for. After contacting those we could, almost all are safe, however the community in and around Sa Pa have been hit hard. People have lost their homes, loved ones and access to even the bare essentials. Tamay and and the beautiful Mien community around her are some of the finest craftspeople I have had the pleasure to meet. But above that they were some of the kindest people I’ve met. They rallied around me when I was unwell, and made sure of my safety and wellbeing throughout. Alongside the gorgeous H’mong families who hosted and taught me all I could have wished to learn.
Many of you reading may have gone travelling throughout these regions and experienced this yourselves. My quarrels with western (and specifically youth) tourism is for another time. But for now, I urge those who have, to give back to the people who guided and shaped you in your travels, even if it’s just by spreading the word. As here we are reminded that the devastating affects of climate change too, have their prejudices. Prejudices we often turn a blind eye to, sit in denial of, or even accept as a ‘sad fact of life’.
If you wish to support Tamay and her incredible community, then you can donate to fund her mission in rebuilding their livelihoods and providing essentials to those who have lost everything in this disaster. Or if you want to go even further, you can head to Tamay & Me and check out their gorgeous crafts, hand made entirely by the Mien artisans living in, and around Sa Pa.
Towards the end of my time in Japan, I visited an old paper store in arashiyama. The elderly woman manning the counter noticed my eyes wondering to the spools of silk hidden in the corner, along with a ziplock pouch of fluffed up cocoons, and a drop spinner poking out of my bag. In an instant she jumped off her stool. And with the brightest beam on her face, she marched right over, poking around my bag and saying a million things that all about resulted into ‘what the hell is this girl doing with these?!?’ I answered as best I could in my broken Japanese and her smile got wider and wider. She grabbed my hands and swung me over to a tiny shelf in the corner. “Do you know what this is?”. It was shifu. Small, decoratively woven fabric with threads made entirely out of paper. Something id only ever heard of in the books back home. She could obviously see the excitement on my face and immediately beckoned me with “Dozo, dozo, dozo”. She walks straight past the growing line of customers, straight out the door, and straight into a huge storeroom full of rolls of paper, and fabrics, and paper fabrics bigger than me. Now starts the obligatory test. A curious point in any direction and a quizzing “kore wa…?”. I finish her sentences and she leads me to my reward. A sharp yank of a swift drawer reveals a treasure trove of fabrics. Mostly shifu, but dyed and decorated in all kinds of ways. The pristine weaves are gorgeous and experimental in some. I ask if it was her who made these, but she bashfully declines and explains how it was rather her son. While I stand there gawking, she rustles around the workshop and pulls out a large roll of washi paper. She hoists it up onto the table and starts to unroll It, and cut. I watch closely as she folds, slices, crushes and twists, all the while she’s rapidly describing her actions in Japanese. She knows I can’t understand at least half of what is being said but it doesn’t matter, the message isn’t one of words this time. At the end of her lesson, we return to the store-front. The line at the counter is going out the back, and my own visiting mum is right at the front of It. She grabs a thread spool, wraps it in a few sheets of washi and a bow. She shoves it into my bag and tells me to get to it. We depart with some kind words and bow our ways apart.
The sheer generosity of the people in this industry never ceases to amaze me, and is something I wish to reciprocate when I can. The store is called 紙と織 嵯峨野工房 (Paper and Weaving Sagano Workshop) and its in the north-western part of Kyoto. If you’re in the area, which i highly recommend, then check it out. They have an amazing selection of handmade papers and brushes. The quality has no faults and is comparatively cheap to anything you’ll find in the UK. And if you want to learn a thing or two, all you have to do is strike up a conversation with our favourite store manager. That, you can’t really put a price on.
Today was always the day. Today was stamped into my passport with a stern look. Today my visa ends. When I handed over my twenty pound visa fee to the unceremonious looking officer at the desk, I had an idea of what this trip would bring. I wasn’t even close. Three or more years in the making. Throughout a hard wave of depression, a pandemic, and a pretty traumatising schooling experience, it was about the only thing that kept me going. I had absolutely no idea that one email would change every single thing about my life. Not only the details of my life, but particularly how I live it. My time was made by people I met for only a moment, or a night, or a week. And for the few who spent the whole year with me, you have my heart. However none of this experience, or meeting these people would have been possible if it weren’t for one person in particular.
Tucked away in the mountains just east of Tokyo, lies a village that seems almost forgotten. Driving up the steep, winding roads you can read its history passing by. Each house shaped and placed meticulously to show you the role in which the occupier would have played those hundreds of years ago. The further up you go, the smaller the paths get and the wilder the mountain grows. Hidden amongst all this beauty is an old silk farming house nestled right up against the mountain. Here I spent every free moment of my time, and ended up being my home for most of my time in Japan. I emphasise home because aside from all the incredible things I learnt there and the crazy work we did, this was my family. A family without the usual complications of actual relation. A chosen family. Room was always made for me, a bath was always run, and most importantly a truly inspiring environment, where nothing was off the table, was provided. The abundance of resources made any project possible in mere hours. Each season also brought its gifts, with yuzu, bamboo and those chubby little silkworms. The seasonal changes of the mountain were also profound. From cherry blossoms, to valleys covered in snow, the beauty of the landscape was intense. But not today.
As I’m woken up and told that we both need to face the day, I look outside and see almost nothing. A heavy fog shrouds the mountain and an even heavier rain distorts the remaining view. At least the mountain gave me the dignity of not having to see its usually proud face on a day like this. As I pack and prepare for the road, I am grateful for the distractions separating Bryan and I. Would’ve have been too soppy otherwise. After we finally decide to get going, the goodbyes begin. When leaving the house, I notice how low the trees and bamboo have sunk, bowing their heads as traditionally done.
There was an elephant in the car, and the drive to the station was filled with our usual gossip. Bryan has never been one for goodbyes and why should we treat this as such anyway. I’ll be back, we both know that. But the uncertainty of it all brings sadness and nerves. Our goodbye was not filled with many words. Both of us could only muster a few, but there wasn’t much need. It was unspoken, everything had already been said, and in far more ways than words can accomplish.
The train was bound straight for Tokyo which made life easier. I got to take one final look at the town below before the endless tunnels of the Chuo line cut me off. But as I got closer and closer to the city, the fog and rain didn’t budge. I didn’t even realise we had pulled into Tokyo station until the driver told us as much. I have never seen such thick and persistent fog, and once again I was grateful. At least I wasn’t the only one trying to hide my tears. I head for the hostel I stayed my very first night at, and where I consistently returned to throughout. Everyone was there, and it was as warm and welcoming as ever. Julia leaves tomorrow. We got here only a couple days apart and have experienced all the same ridiculous shit that has happened throughout the year. Her incredible talent of drawing people together was in full swing, and everyone in the room was talking to one another. After only a minute, someone asks “So, what’s your story then?”. The question that has been asked countless times. A year ago I wouldn’t’ve been able to give an answer, because like most people, I had no idea what I was doing. Now it’s hard to give an answer because there’s so much to say. It is indeed a very long story and has gotten longer every time. Especially today. Nothing I can say will be able to express even a fraction of this day. Julia and I share a familiar look before I try my best to make an attempt at a reply. It was fitting to be asked one last time here. After a surprisingly long conversation, I was met with the usual stumped face and “That’s the weirdest, but coolest thing I’ve ever heard”. Ive been asked a million times that I should start a blog, or try more social medias to document all the peculiar things I do and that happen. So here it is. Maybe. Im not much of a writer and I’ve never been able to follow a schedule. My life is sporadic at best and pretty unpredictable, which doesn’t lend well to consistency, but we’ll see.
To everyone who has been in my life this past year, thank you. Like I said, my time was made by you.
To Bryan, Hiro, Julie and Boots, you are my home away from home and I miss you already.
Japan, I’ll be back, but for now this is my love letter.
RYVEE 