The Parsimonious Son Returns – Sapa (2019)

This story begins with two fully grown men hauling enormous bags down six flights of narrow stairs in Hanoi. Through the simple act of vowing never to use a lift again in Taiwan these two brothers, hailing from the hard streets of Salisbury, set out on a journey of rediscovery. With this pilgrimage, to both to a physical destination (the hostel lobby) and a philosophically hazy location (the inner sanctum of their souls), they rejuvenated their very lifeblood, but also the legends of their self-propelled endeavours. From the hostel lobby, these previously dormant oaken limbs soon strode out across the land, undeterred by terrain or expectations. The furious majesty of their pins propelled them to salvation.

“Use your pins, walk away your sins” – The Pope? 

We were heading to Sapa (my home for two weeks in 2013) and I was excited to return. The bus, with its weird reclined seats in bunks, was comfy enough despite the fact I had to manspread to the max (due to the foot well not allowing for the passage of my knees). We arrived in the mountain town of Sapa under the cover of darkness and despite being greeted by the refreshing mountain air, we were both knackered and desperately in need of a shower. The hostel was only a few hundred metres away as the crow flies, however, on maps.me there was no path to get there other than some long hilly detours, so we decided to try and find an alternative route. In hindsight, this was a pretty terrible plan.

We dropped off the main road and onto a narrow concrete path that quickly took us into a labyrinthine network of alleyways, lit only by the soft glow radiating from houses on each side. Turning up an especially dark alleyway, we were only 100 metres from the hostel but cruelly it was a dead end. Breathing a sigh of disappointment, I began to turn to tell Brendan the bad news and as I did I saw the murky darkness ripple and divide. Suddenly, the formless shadows began to growl and around five dogs burst from gloom. Before I knew it, I was waddling down that alleyway at speeds not usually associated with the word “waddle”. Brendan (known for his turn of pace) was managing to stay ahead of me, arms pumping wildly at his side. Suddenly, more dogs appeared in front of us barking and snarling, we were trapped between two waves of muscle and teeth. Trying not to betray our fear, we carefully shimmied past the second wave with hurried words of pacification and walked quickly to the main road. Hearts thumping loudly, we found our way to the path for the hostel. It was steep, dark and we resorted to just begging any other dogs we saw not to kill us. We made it to the hostel with all our limbs intact and as the adrenaline drained from our bodies we seized the opportunity to slump into extreme relaxation.

After spending the next full day wandering the town, organising homestays and a guide for three days hiking, we got up early the next day prepared to for the hills to come. 

Day 1 

Climbing out of Sapa we worked our way up the mountain with our guide. The path was narrow but well-worn and bounded by beautiful purple flowers on both sides. Eventually we reached the top, where there was a view of the town and the valley we were walking into. Unfortunately, we were sharing the viewpoint with lots of other groups, so we scuttled off and managed to get to another viewpoint with no people. Our guide instructed us to take photos, but covered in mosquitos and wanting to stay ahead of the tourist hordes we moved on quickly.

As we descended from this point, more of the main valley revealed itself. The wide green expanse was dotted with villages which were woven together by a couple of roads and the meandering river. Moving up from the river, rice terraces wound around the hills and clouds nestled gently on the forest canopy in the off-shooting valleys. The path became more saturated with hikers as we came down and at some points queues were forming to take photos. We reached the lunch stop which provided a choice of two restaurants, both of which were spilling tourists out onto the street. Having had a quick tasteless meal, we got going and ended up walking with a French couple for the rest of the day. The sun, by this point in the early afternoon, was unrelenting and as we came down the steepest part of the trail towards the river, we felt the full force of its heat. Brendan on this afternoon pushed the limits of how much sweat one person could produce and put my usually unbeatable sweaty appearance to shame. His discomfort was clear and so he was glad to see the homestay not much later, which we were both shocked to see was a fully-fledged house with Wi-Fi, a TV and flushing toilets.

We shared our new abode with the French couple and a whole host of Italians and Spanish people. It was a good atmosphere and I was pleased that the food situation hadn’t changed in 6 years. Bottomless bowls of rice and piled plates of homemade dishes provided enough for everyone to have their fill, even I was stuffed to bursting by the end. 

This whole first day in Sapa, while still beautiful, was definitely a period of acclimatisation for me. The Sapa of old had disappeared or retreated to more remote areas, with the new bypass making the town and the surrounding hills more accessible to tourists. Here, more than anywhere, I experienced the eternal conflict of a traveller. We want to experience cultural authenticity but often “cultural authenticity” can go hand in hand with poverty. Everyone has the right to try and improve their lives, the gradual movement away from tradition and the evolution of society is inevitable. However, often the more you travel the more you seek the places less touched by the seductive glow of LEDs or the trappings of modern life. The world is changing and that’s fine, places will always present new and exciting opportunities for travel, but seeking those unique or genuine representations of culture that are being slowly altered for tourists or lost to the allures of an easier life is important. Even as a memory it can enter our collective history as something not to be forgotten.  

Day 2 

After a lightning storm at 2am provided a spectacular show from our balcony and caused the roof to leak on my face, we got a bit more sleep and woke up for pancakes and more walking. After a brief flat walk, gazing upon the sinuous forms of the rice paddies, we spent the first half of the day on an uphill slog. On this day, Brendan unearthed an item I thought would never see the light of day. His hat. Brendan is not a hat person. In our years of friendship, I had never seen him wear a hat. However, since the sun was once again sending us heaps of that sweet sweet radiation, he thought reaching down to the bottom of his bag to retrieve it might save him from being burnt to a crisp. A couple of months beforehand, Brendan had rubbed handfuls of after-sun into Jeroen’s back as a result of the Dutchman’s ill preparation for the sun in Issyk Kul. So, in donning his hat and lathering himself in suncream, Brendan was sure he wouldn’t face the same fate. Now, totally prepared for the elements, we charged up the hills (not wanting to deprive our calves of chaos a little run out) and waited for our guide at the summits. We reached the lunch spot which was a lot more remote, less developed and much more like where I had lived for a week, six years before. 

Brendan and I were quickly put to work picking sweet potato leaves from the garden. With very limited employee training, no benefits and not even a mention of a pension scheme, we toiled away in the garden for a while. We didn’t get the biggest haul, but it was strangely therapeutic and we felt good contributing to the lunch that we shared with a few other hikers. For lunch we had “happy water” forced down our throats alongside the limitless portions of food and then set off for more hiking not long after. My body was deeply unhappy with the time I had allocated it for digestion but all complaints were swiftly filed away for later. Our second day ended with trail running down the mountain until we reached a rice paddy that we walked along the edge of. With no path, the edges of the rice paddies were about as wide as a human foot and had a vertical drop on one side and deep pool of plant filled water on the other side. To make things worse the tiny edge we were walking on was overgrown and it was impossible to make out a safe place to put your feet. Not enjoying the threat of a broken ankle or an angry Vietnamese rice farmer chasing me for ruining his crop, I continued my slow balancing act to the ridicule of our guide. However, once we reached the other side we caught a beautiful view at golden hour which made up for it.

Day 3

It was our final day in Sapa and we were glad to hear it was going to be an easier walk followed by one final lunch. My lazy expectations were met as a short and fairly easy walk was had throughout the morning. First, we went through a bamboo forest and then stopped by at a waterfall for a dip. However, while the patch of enormous natural drinking straws may have been a majestic sight to behold for others, for me it was a nightmare. Being the tallest, I was clearing the path of all spider’s webs (often with my face).

This day was by far the busiest in terms of the presence of other tourists but we were happy. We had had enough of Sapa and were ready to continue with our journey, first back to Hanoi for a few days and then southwards to Tam Coc.

Final thoughts 

Sapa wasn’t what I remembered. It was of course to be expected that tourism would grow here, but nostalgia is a powerful sentiment and I couldn’t help but miss the Sapa I had experienced before. The culture, while obviously moulded to suit the needs of tourists, still remains a unique and fascinating piece to the complex puzzle of Vietnam’s heritage. We learnt a lot about different tribes’ individual histories and culture spending time with our guide, which gave us an insight into the remaining practices such as dying clothes using the leaves of the indigo plant. This part of the country is without a doubt a beautiful place to visit and an area brimming with tradition and culture however, as you walk behind waves of tourists and are hounded by people trying to sell you their wares, you do end up wondering what impact tourism has had on the people of Sapa, both for the positive and the negative.