Sapa

Sapa is located in the northern highlands of Vietnam, near the border of China. It is a beautiful mountainous region, surrounded by carefully maintained rice terraces and little villages. The climate is much colder than that in Hanoi and when the sun goes down and the temperatures drop, it almost feels like Canada on a chilly autumn day.

To arrive in Sapa, you must take an overnight train to Lao Cai Station and then take an 80 minute bus ride on winding roads. Sapa is primarily inhabited by tourists during the high season, and the Black and Red Hmong people the rest of the year. Though other tribes also exist, the Black and Red Hmong dominate.

The overnight train was comfortable enough, equipped with six bunk beds and air conditioning. From time to time a train employee would roll a cart down the narrow corridor, selling cold soft drinks, beer and sweets. The common bathroom was simple but functional. There was also a "no frills, no thrills" section on the train where you could sit on hard wooden benches for the duration of the trip (not recommended), and a luxury cabin for those more inclined. With nothing to do and hours to kill, I ended up chatting with a Roger Federer look-alike from Switzerland, who was on an 8 month treck around Asia before settling in for the night.

At dawn, we arrived at Lao Cai station and were wearily herded into a waiting bus to take us to Sapa. Daylight began to break as we weaved our way closer to the city and the sun appeared in all its glory as a red firery ball in the sky. It was gorgeous. The entire bus gasped.

Oddly enough, being on that bus ride reminded me of Rwanda. While everyone was snapping pictures and pointing at the terraced mountains, I just sat looking outside of the window, thinking about how familiar everything looked on the 3 hour drive from Kigali to Kibuye. The only things missing were banana trees and stray goats (which I would later stumble upon during a trek and smile to myself).

We checked into a very nice hotel, where a warm breakfast was awaiting, and then we were introduced to our guide, a lovely gal from the Black Hmong tribe. In fact, as I looked around, I realized that all of the guides were young girls from the Black Hmong tribe. I appreciated this very much and thought that their jobs as guides would help them develop great leadership skills as well as an opportunity to earn a very good living. I was not disappointed. These girls are very friendly, their english was close to perfect, their sense of loyalty to the group absolutely endearing, along with a great sense of leadership.

Many weeks earlier in Canada, I was told by my friend Celine that the guides were instructed never to hug the male participants on the expeditions. This made me have faith that these darling girls, so full of life and boundless energy, would not fall pray to the sex tourism that is so often associated with southeast asia. I will admit that this was a terrible thought that crossed my mind, but it does happen. Tourists can be good, and they can also be awful. And any man who could ever conceive to plot for this disgusts me beyond words. I felt like their big sister.

Our guide led our team, composed of 1 Canuck, 3 Kiwis, 2 Germans and 2 Danes, to a nearby village. The German's husband wimped out after our first descent and returned back to the hotel, huffing and puffing all the way home, making our group an "all ladies" expedition, which suited us just fine. It was an interesting trek, which was for the most part down a paved road, but also included some puddle jumping, cutting through rice fields and slidding down makeshift mud roads. The lone German lady was yelping all the way, which made for fun entertainment. I kept thinking to myself, "How can you sign up for a trekking expedition and not know that you'll be uh...'trekking'???"

The Kiwis (one of which was a teacher on leave) brought school supplies for the elementary school, so we spent an hour playing with the kids and meeting the teachers. Those kids were pint sized little balls of energy and soooo cute. Absolutely adorable!!

Then, our guide led us through the village, where we tromped through indigo plant gardens (the stuff that colours your jeans) and hemp pastures (not for smoking, but for making string and clothes). Before heading back to the hotel, we stopped at a refreshing water fall, where the Hmong women peddled their handicrafts: earings, necklaces, friendship bracelets, purses, tapestries.

On the way back, we had the option of taking a $1 motorcycle taxi back up to the top of the mountain, or walking back. Myself, two Kiwis and the guide decided to trek it back. The sun was shining and it was a lovely day. Halfway back up the steep hill though, I was close to reconsidering my choice, but the guide was very encouraging. The Kiwis tredged on, but we took a rest at a view point, and witnessed two drunk guys yelling at each other and chasing each other around on someone's farmland. Because the village is located in a valley, you could hear everything they were saying. Three Red Hmong joined us as we watched the soap opera unfold below.

Near the top of the mountain, completely exhausted now, an American tourist stepped in front of me and arrongantly said, "You know, you can take a motorbike back up for $1." I rolled my eyes and replied, "I prefer to walk. That's what I signed up for". Plus, I kept thinking - if I had taken the motorbike, I never would have had that special moment of overlooking the village with the Black and Red Hmong.