With steely grey skies, grubby buildings and milling people, on first viewing the north Vietnamese town of Sa Pa (or Sapa) had a slightly municipal feel to it. Which was odd because all the guidebooks rave about how beautiful it is.

As we got off our night bus we were surrounded by a mingling throng of motorcycle drivers, other bleary-eyed tourists trying to work out what was going on, and strange women who wore velvet indigo clothes and tied their hair in place with silver clips and a comb. These women were the tribeswomen of the H'mong - a tribe of people who live in the north of Vietnam and Laos. One of the myriad reasons to come to Sapa is to see these women, as well as their counterparts from the other tribal villages in the area. They are some of the few people left who still choose to wear traditional dress on a day to day basis.

As we were leaving the bus station, two of the H'mong girls started talking to us. I was impressed by their english and more than a little bit keen to find out more about them. So we got chatting and after following us for a while, they eventually asked us if we'd like to come and stay for a night at their home. We knew that this kind of thing was common and I was really keen to go, so we negotiated our price and arranged to meet them the next morning.

The rest of the day we spent in some touristy gardens on a hill behind the town. Our gentle walking was rewarded by some weird fibreglass statues of a dragon and Mickey Mouse as well as a lot of pagodas. The best thing about the gardens, however, was the view. Sapa's beauty is on the outside; it shares company with steep rice terraces, radiating in shades of emerald, on the slopes of a huge valley. Vietnam's highest mountains tower above you and way below you, the paddy fields which line the valley floor stretch off into the misty blue distance. The scale, as much as anything, just takes your breath away.

The next day was homestay day. We met our girl, who was called Mai, bought some lunch and then set off with her for the trek to her village. We were walking up along a muddy track for quite a way, asking Mai endless questions about her home and life on the way. For someone who was five months pregnant, she kept up a pretty good speed and managed to patiently answer our questions along the way. She told us about her family, her work, her animals and we bonded a little over the universally extortionate cost of weddings.

After a good four hours of walking up and along the valley sides and soaking up the incredible views on the way, we finally arrived at Mai's house. She introduced us to her husband and three children (8,7 & 4), none of whom could speak English, and then promptly vanished into the kitchen. We were both pretty tired from the walking and so this somewhat unceremonious abandonment was a bit uncomfortable. I tried to talk to Mai's husband and tell him that I was seriously impressed with the basket he was weaving, but to no avail. We also tried talking to the kids, but they were incredibly shy. Eventually we settled ourselves to just quietly watching the family's life.

Family life in this H'mong village is pretty different to what we're used to. After Dad finished the basket - which goes on your back like a rucksack - he went to the market on his motorbike. Mai still in the kitchen, the kids came out of the house with machetes and started expertly peeling corn-cane and eating the middle. I tried to peel one with a machete myself, the eldest girl saw my feeble attempts, gently took it out of my hands and passed a portion each to me and Simon - it was pretty good. Then the four year old boy started playfully attacking his older sister with his machete, waving it at her and cutting off some of her hair. She retaliated with her own machete and then everyone laughed as he proceeded to go a bit crazy and hit both the girls over the head with a brush. Given that they were both twice his size and didn't seem to mind, we were painfully aware that we had absolutely no training for this kind of situation. So we smiled along as hard as we could, to hide our wincing.

Eventually Mai came out of the kitchen with a delicious meal of rice, tofu, omlette and tasty veggies. This was the same meal that we had every time at their house. Everything is served at once and Mai's job was to make sure you ate as much rice as you possibly could by offering you more as soon as you got close to finishing what was in your bowl.

After digesting our lunch, Mai asked us if we would be happy to help her with her corn harvest. We said "yeah sure!", partly for the experience and partly to feel like we were pulling our weight and not just in the way at her home. We all trooped out, baskets strapped onto our backs, to Mai's little corn field just behind her house. She and the kids picked the corn from the canes and, once their baskets were full, they emptied the corn out into a pile at our feet. Our job was to peel the corn and chuck the cobs into another basket.

It was a gorgeous afternoon, the sun was lighting up the mountains above and valley below us in gorgeous orange tones. It was a good time to be outside. It was also a good time to realise just how easy we have it at home. After the fourth peeled corn I thought to myself "this is pretty demanding work, actually" and then it hit me that we were not indulging in some sanitised tourist "experience" but actually helping a family get food which they would need come the winter. Mai didn't have the option of being bored or caring about her raw fingers. It was tough work, but it felt amazing to eventually get through the pile and get those corn cobs into the loft for drying.

After an evening of playing, eating and more playing, we collapsed into the hard bed exhausted at around 9pm. And we slept really well.

After breakfast the next morning, we helped Mai feed her cute but fantastically greedy piglets. Then we donned baskets again and set off for yet more corn peeling in the far corn field. I found it best not to think about the fact that we were actually paying Mai to be able do this labour! It turned out that far field was much bigger than the close one and our pile for peeling just kept getting bigger and bigger. There was simply no way we could keep up as we filled first baskets and then sacks full of the yellow cobs.

To add a little excitement to the chore, this field was also full of water buffalo eating the leftover corn-canes. Generally each buffalo was well watched over by it's herder-boy, the only thing you had to watch out for was if two male buffalo started really fighting close by as they'd crush you without ever realising you were there. But we were lucky and the one fight we did see was more of a gentle pushing session than anything else.

After three and a half solid hours of peeling corn I was getting heatstroke and both our sets of hands were raw, but we didn't want to be soft and complain. Then to our relief, Mai declared that it was lunchtime. We left the two little girls defending the remaining pile of unpeeled corn from the Buffalo, donned baskets of yellow cobs and trooped back to the house. Now, I'm no weakling, but that basket was pretty heavy. By the time we got back I was shattered and if anyone had offered me a proper cup of tea, I'd probably have kissed them on the spot. As it was a sit down, a cooling fan and a drink of water was the best I got - but they were good enough for me.

Once she'd put down her basket, Mai didn't miss a beat as she bustled off into the kitchen and cracked straight on with lunch. She is amazing; toughened to steel by the incredibly hard life that they have out here. And she'd carried the big basket home, while Si and I took the half size ones. And did I mention she's five months pregnant?

After more socialising over lunch, trying on their traditional clothes and somebody accidentally buying armloads of beautiful handmade bracelets and baskets, it was time for us to leave. After saying our fond farewells, Si and I set off down towards the valley bottom while Mai went back to rescue her girls and continue the corn peeling. I think we were both glad to be heading back to Sapa and not that corn field!

The next day we had planned to hire bikes and see some more the beautiful valley, but it was raining heavily. And did so all day. So we drank some coffee and wandered over to the Sapa museum where we mostly learnt that H'mong marriage proposals are actually a form of kidnapping. The girl is stolen away by her suitor and then locked in a room with his unmarried female family members for three days. If his family can persuade the girl that marrying him is a good thing in that time, then they get married. Otherwise she goes home and presumably locks the door. (Incidentally, Mai told us that she'd been to her husbands place before they got married and then had come back and nervously told her family that she was engaged. She never mentioned any kidnapping..!)

Finally, despite a strange bug that I was developing, that evening heralded our time to catch another lovely night-bus back to Hanoi.