The Ladies of the Red Dao

Some of my most meaningful travel memories have nothing to do with famous landmarks.

They begin with people.

In 2018, our International Travel Lovers group traveled through Vietnam, from the misty mountains of Sapa in the north to the vibrant cities of central and southern Vietnam. We stayed at the breathtaking Topas Ecolodge in Lao Cai, where our room overlooked endless green valleys, rice terraces, and mountains disappearing into the morning mist. It felt like waking up inside a painting.

The night before our village trek, it rained heavily. By morning, the trails were muddy and slippery, with a light drizzle still falling. A few members of our group decided to stay behind, but several of us chose to head out anyway.

As we approached the resort gate, a group of Red Dao women stood quietly waiting.

Each carried an umbrella and a few handmade crafts.

Our guide immediately waved them away, asking them not to follow us. They stepped back, but as we continued down the trail, several gently caught up to us. Without asking for anything, they opened their umbrellas and held them over our heads while walking beside us.

Because I speak Vietnamese, two of the women chose to walk with me.

Their accents blended northern Vietnamese with their local dialect, so sometimes I had to listen carefully. As we walked through the rice terraces, our conversation slowly shifted from polite introductions to something much deeper.

Both women were widows.

One had lost her husband after he fell from the rice terraces.

The other had lost hers to illness.

They quietly shared the domestic abuse they had endured during their marriages, the struggles of raising families with very little support, and how difficult life was as members of an ethnic minority. Farming provided only enough to survive. Selling their handmade embroidery to visitors helped supplement their income, but many resorts discouraged them from approaching guests, making it even harder to earn a living.

One woman’s greatest joy was her son.

He had earned a place at a university in Saigon—a remarkable achievement for someone from such a remote village. She smiled with pride as she spoke about him, yet admitted she only saw him once a year. Traveling to the city was simply too expensive.

What stayed with me most was their smiles. There was a quiet resilience about them that needed no words.

Before leaving for Vietnam, my dear sister Claudia gave me $200 to share with local people who truly needed it. I exchanged it into Vietnamese đồng and tucked the bills into several special red envelopes, along with a number of my regular red envelopes. The special red envelopes contained a little more money for those whose stories especially touched my heart, while the others were gifts I could share throughout the journey.

That rainy morning in Sapa was that moment.

When I handed each of them a special red envelope, their faces lit up, and they thanked me with warm smiles.

As we walked back toward the resort, the other Red Dao women noticed the red envelopes and quickly approached me, hoping I might buy one of their handmade pouches.

Instead, I handed each of them one of my regular red envelopes.

Without hesitation, every one of them insisted on placing something in my hands—an embroidered pouch, a small handcrafted keepsake, whatever they had to offer.

I gently told them to keep their work so they could sell it to another traveler.

Instead, I asked if I could simply give them a hug.

One hug quickly became many.

Soon every woman wanted to embrace me.

By the time we reached the resort gate, the hotel guards hurried them back outside. The gates closed between us.

I stood inside.

They stood outside.

We smiled, waved to one another, and exchanged one last heartfelt “thank you.”

As I slowly walked up the hill toward my room, I carried more than the embroidered pouch in my hand. I carried the warmth of their embraces. Until that morning, I had always found it easier to give than to receive. Yet these women had given me something far greater than I had offered them.

It wasn’t the pouch I remembered most. It was the hugs.

❤️ To the beautiful Ladies of the Red Dao—thank you for your kindness, your hugs, and for reminding me that receiving can be every bit as beautiful as giving.

The beautiful Ladies of the Red Dao. Despite the rain, muddy trails, and the challenges of daily life, they greeted each day with warmth, resilience, and smiles that I'll never forget.

The two remarkable women who walked beside me through the rice terraces that rainy morning, sharing their stories, their strength, and, in the end, the warmest hugs.