The “Love Market”
What is Sapa’s Love Market?
Echoes, shifts and realities - Origins and early memories
The Love Market was never truly a “market” in the commercial sense. For Hmong and Dao communities of northern Vietnam it was a social gathering, a seasonal meeting place where young men and women could encounter one another away from their villages. Music was central. Flutes, mouth harps and traditional singing carried through the night, often playful, sometimes shy. Most important was the Hmong bamboo pipe, ofetn called the Khen or Qeej in Hmong. These musical gatherings were occasions of possibility rather than transactions, with codes and rituals that only insiders fully understood.
If you imagine the 1920s or 1930s, Sapa was then a small colonial hill station. The French wrote curiously about these gatherings, sometimes exoticising them, sometimes misunderstanding them. But in practice they remained intimate, community-centred evenings. Teenage Hmong boys and girls , dressed in their best indigo dyed clothes, came together not for spectacle but for connection. Even in the 1940s, despite the turbulence of war and shifting administrations, the Love Market retained its sense of being a meeting ground, slightly secretive, largely unmediated by outsiders.
The turning point of the 1990’s and early 2000’s
The 1990s brought roads, schools, greater flows of goods and people. Sapa itself was changing quickly. Tourism was opening, often encouraged by local authorities. At that point the Love Market began to draw attention as a cultural curiosity. Some visitors came hoping to see an authentic “tribal courtship ritual”. Inevitably, this began to influence the gatherings themselves. Through fear of being watched, many of the young Hmong who visited the “Love Market” began to choose locations elsewhere or leave courship to the annual village New Year Fesivals instead,
By the early 2000s, what had once been a localised and seasonal custom was increasingly a scheduled performance, loosely modelled on fragments of tradition. Dances were rehearsed for visitors, costumes were donned more for effect than for function. There was still music and youthful energy, but it was being channelled through the expectations of tourism. Some people recall this period with mixed feelings: proud that their culture was being noticed, uneasy that its meaning was shifting.
The Love Market now
Today the Love Market, as presented in central Sapa, is largely a staged event. Performers, often paid, dance and sing in public squares or in designated areas, not as part of private courtship but as cultural showcase. Local children sometimes dance or play music more as a form of busking than as participation in an old ritual. The mood is lively, but the original purpose of creating discreet space for young people to meet potential partners has mostly faded.
For travellers it can still be colourful, but it is important to see it clearly: this is not a living tradition in its older sense. It is, rather, a re-imagined performance shaped by outside interest, by economics, and by the desire of younger generations to earn from music and dance. There is no harm in attending, so long as expectations are honest. The danger lies only in mistaking it for what it once was.
A few reflections
Cultural practices evolve. Some fade, others are revived, some are reinvented for new contexts. The Love Market holds all three threads. It remembers an older rhythm, it was reshaped by the rush of tourism in the 1990s, and it stands now as a performance more than a gathering. For us at ETHOS, the best way to honour it is by telling the story plainly and giving space to local voices who can say how they see its past and present.
Yet there is another layer. On weekend nights in Sapa Square you may see very young children, sometimes only four or five years old, dressed in factory made costumes designed to look like Hmong embroidery. Parents, aware of visitor expectations, play modern music on speakers while the girls dance with umbrellas for tips. It is not the Love Market, but it borrows its legacy to create a spectacle that can be profitable. A few nights of dancing may provide enough income to feed a family for a week.
This reality poses difficult questions. It highlights both the creativity and resilience of families facing poverty, and the uncomfortable truth of childhood labour. Crowds of tourists create demand; parents respond. The scene can appear colourful, yet it asks us to reflect on where we choose to spend our money, and whether such exchanges are really supporting communities in the long term.
Beyond the spectacle: Respecting tradition while protecting childhood
Many parents in Sapa face deep and long-standing obstacles that make it extremely difficult to earn a stable income. The mountain soils are poor in nutrients and the cool climate allows for only one rice harvest a year, which means many families cannot grow enough food to support themselves and must buy additional rice. However, paid employment in Sapa is largely limited to hotels, restaurants, retail, transport and tourism businesses, almost all of which are owned and staffed by well educated and wealthy lowland Vietnamese who migrated to the area. Literacy is essential for most formal work. Restaurant staff must read and write orders, hotel staff must complete written bookings and records, and guiding legally requires certification that involves written examinations.
Sapa had no schools until the mid-1990s, which means that many adults of parental age never attended formal education and remain unable to read or write. Even when schools opened, boys were the first to attend and many only stayed until Class Four or Five, resulting in very low levels of literacy and very limited options for employment today. As a result, many parents are effectively excluded from the local labour market. Selling handmade textiles once provided an informal source of income, but recent restrictions and enforcement in town have made this increasingly difficult, with women sometimes having goods confiscated or being asked to move on by security officers.
Children, who cannot legally have their items seized, have become the ones who sell in public spaces, contributing vital income that helps families buy food and survive. It is not a choice made lightly, nor a future that parents wish for, but rather one of the very few remaining ways in which some households can meet their basic needs.
Today, many travellers notice children in the streets during the evening. Some sell small handmade items, others pose for photographs or offer to guide short walks. These children are confident, multilingual and very capable. Their personalities reflect both the friendliness of their culture and the influence of daily conversations with tourists.
Behind each young seller is a story linked to limited economic opportunities. In many households, rice harvests do not last the whole year and warm clothing, school supplies or medical expenses are difficult to afford. Asking a child to help is often seen as part of shared family responsibility, rather than a lack of care. When a choice must be made between having enough food and sending a child to try to earn income, the decision is never simple.
School is available up to Grade 9, and many children are eager to learn. However, consistent attendance can be difficult if a child works late, feels tired, lacks suitable clothing or struggles with Vietnamese being taught as their second language. The promise of income in the present can sometimes outweigh the long term value of education, even though education holds the greatest chance for future independence and opportunity.
Tourism in Sapa has created both hope and challenges. It brings money, visitors, curiosity and new chances for cultural exchange, yet it can also influence identity, tradition and childhood. Families often feel caught between immediate financial need and the desire to protect the future of their children.
Within local communities there is strong aspiration for change. Many adults hope for reliable work that allows children to study, rest and simply enjoy being young. Msot joThere is a growing movement which supports small scale tourism that is run by ethnic minority adults, where visitors can learn directly from those who carry local knowledge, rather than from those too young to be safe or fully informed.
It can be tempting to stop for a photograph or buy something as a kind gesture. Many visitors do, often with the feeling they are helping. The reality is more complicated. When children spend their evenings on the streets they miss out on rest and, sometimes, on school. The money they earn may support their families in the short term, but it also keeps them locked in patterns of work that limit their future choices.
We kindly ask that you do not pay children for photos or souvenirs, and do not book treks with minors. Instead, seek out adult guides from the Hmong and Dao communities, people who balance farming, family and guiding. Buy textiles or crafts directly from those who made them, and do so out of genuine appreciation rather than out of pity.
Your presence in Sapa is welcome. Local families enjoy sharing their heritage, their stories and their skills. Ethical travel helps ensure that the benefits reach the right places: supporting parents to earn fairly, keeping children in school, and giving travellers a deeper and more rewarding experience.
Sapa is neither a tale of tragedy nor a postcard of purity. It is a living place, shaped by the meeting of traditional life and modern pressures. The story of its children is not a story of failure or irresponsibility. It is a story about history, inequality, limited choices and families who continue to try their best.
Video curtesy of Neng Thao who uploads videos to Facebook and YouTube on his Neng Now Travel Chanel.