With Bac Ha currently a work in progress, the most beautiful traditional market in the north of Vietnam is found in Can Cau.

I leave Bac Ha town at six in the morning planning to visit the border town of Simacai. The magnificent valleys on either side of the road are misty wet with rain. But nothing could hide the fact that this is a breathtaking part of the world. By the time I arrive I can barely see the “Welcome to Simacai” sign. But through the thick grey fog I spot a colourful market on the roadside – the Can Cau market. I decide to check it out.

Operated mainly by the people belonging to the Mong ethnic minority, the market opens every Saturday and on holidays. Nobody seems to know where the name Can Cau came from or what it means in Mong, Giay or Dao language. Ignoring the heavy rain and chilly wind, droves of traders in colourful outfits are arriving at the market carrying embroidered clothes, vegetables, poultry, utensils under their arms, on their shoulders, or on a horse. The market is certainly picturesque.

Lying in a terraced valley off a meandering road that connects Bac Ha with Simacai, Can Cau market is filled with Mong, Dao and Nung. There are stacks of sugar-cane, bunches of banana, heads of lettuce, and heaps of dried chili all around. The market is crowded but rather quiet. There are no raised voices or hollering traders, in fact nobody seems to be trying to coax over customers at all. Potential buyers browse quietly and when they spot something they like a quiet bit of haggling begins. It’s all very civil.

The locals respectfully leave all their motorbikes at a roadside park. The atmosphere is so calm and tranquil that I can hear the song of nightingale in full voice. A group of Mong men are standing around several bird cages with nightingales inside. Later on the nightingales will compete in a contest known as Choi Chim (playing birds) in Vietnamese. The bird that chirps the more beautiful melody wins.

The main market is located in a scenic valley with five terraces surrounded by pine trees. Seen from the road the market looks like a colourful butterfly over the misty mountain fields. Products are much more diversified than at other markets. On the first terrace I find embroidered clothes and other accessories hanging on bamboo rods or laid out over tables or stones. The locals are easy going despite the presence of a tourist. In fact no one urges me to buy anything. As far as I can tell I buy a few animal toys and dresses for the same price as the locals do. A Mong dress that would cost VND1 million in Sapa is only VND300,000.

Along the second terrace I find cooking and farming utensils, household goods, such as mirrors, combs and so on. Much of this is made in China so I don’t linger for long. On the third terrace Mong women are selling their five-coloured steamed glutinous rice. The smell is enticing but the garish colours turn me off. “Don’t be afraid, the dish is dyed yellow, violet, red with natural herbal and roots only. Mong people never use chemicals,” says one of the women selling the glutinous rice. Alcohol is also sold here.

I can smell its heady bouquet. Several men are sipping with a tiny cap from a plastic can. Mong people are famous for making alcohol from maize and herbal yeast. But this liquor is strong and unless you can hold your drink a shot or two will leave your head spinning. Further down there seems to be something of a food quarter. Amongst the crowds I find Mong, Giay, Dao and Nung specialties.

Under the cement tiled roofs, I find a steaming pot of Thang Co, a stew made with horsemeat. It is still early in the morning, but the tables at the Thang Co stall are filled with men drinking and eating in silence. Soon they will be drunk and boisterous. Not far from the hot pot, a row of the noodle stores is where young women eat and chat. Bizarrely the most popular food on display is not a traditional one but ice-cream.

I make my way to the fourth terrace where a lot of small dogs, cats and black pigs are sold. The small wild black pigs are called Lon cap nach, which means a pig you can carry under your arm. The yellow soil at the bottom of the beautiful valley is where I find the buffalo market. From each buffalo hangs a small tinkling bronze bell. In the distance I can see some lorries from other provinces waiting to load their cargo.

Dung, a lorry driver and dealer, says that Can Cau market in the past was located nearby Bac Ha town. But when the authority built a new market for them, the ethnic minorities moved. “They prefer the open market in the forest and mountain than to be constrained by four brick walls,” says Dung. Nature-loving, mild mannered locals running a market in a stunning part of Vietnam surrounded by gray mountains, green forest and white mist – now this is what I call a super market. (Timeout)