Days 8 and 9 – Sapa

December 5th – 2:15pm local time – Nhat Linh Hotel rooftop, Sapa

A briskly early wake-up in yet another windowless city hotel room could not be a more distant setting from where we are now. We’ve arrived in by far one of the most scenic of places we’ve ever seen. 

Yesterday morning, we gathered our things and awaited our bus pickup to the mountain town of Sapa from our hotel lobby. With a few minutes to spare we make a quick run to a corner store for a pair of tweezers to (hopefully) help fix our broken camera gear situation, large bottles of water and emergency chocolate bars for the half-day bus ride ahead. Our pickup shuttle is right on time for 6:45am. 

We pile in with a bunch of other tourists – a rather unfamiliar sight at this point in our self-directed trip – and make our way to the bus depot, which is nothing more than a dirt lot a few blocks away with a bunch of other stationed tour busses. The bus layout is welcome yet strange. Three rows of bunks, all of which host a laid back seat padded and primed for sleeping. Each seat has its own window, curtains, and front table. Space is tight, so everyone lays their bags in the rows to avoid spooning or straddling them the entire journey. There are no screens, but they do have painstakingly slow Wi-Fi. Nonetheless, we’re happy to have found a comfortable means of travel for the long voyage ahead.

After a couple hours of sleeping and attempting to snap some photos from our mobile motel (which only cost us $15 USD per ticket) the bus makes a stop in what appears to be the middle of nowhere at an extravagantly large yet lightly occupied dining hall. The food appears questionable, so we pick out the meat just to be sure. Better to play it safe considering we’ve got another 5 hours of bus ride ahead. We clamber back into our sleeping berths and pass the time catching up on some sleep. That is, until we start the climb into the mountains, which only a fool could have slept through.

Hardly any combination of words can do justice to the countryside’s beauty. Over the edge of the mountainous road we see a river splitting the terrain of steep looming rice fields and lush hillsides, cascading down to the valley bottom. Boulders and waterfalls divide the course of the stream as the sun breaks through the clouds and beats down upon the mountainside. We are truly speechless as the terrain before us presents itself in the most dominant fashion. Truly humbling this view is. Our awe extends for a 36km uphill ride of sheer bliss, absorbing the tenacious glory of the countryside. Vietnam has once again surprised us beyond description.

Finally arrived in Sapa at the top of the road, we’re immediately swarmed by tribes-folk from the hills whom the region is famous for as we step off the bus. They vigorously offer to take us on an escapade through the mountains to stay in their village for indulgence in ‘happy leaves and happy water’. Politely and patiently turning them away, we saunter briefly up the street to find ourselves a place of accommodation. Fate smiles upon us as we come across a $20 USD per night room, the largest, cleanest, and most modern we have yet to see in Vietnam, with a delightful view of the opposing mountains and citadels lining the man-made lake at the center of town.

Wasting no time, we take to the streets to document this colourful and European-looking area. It feels as though we’re in the Swiss alps, or, for a closer and more familiar comparison, Canada’s Banff village. The architecture around us is predominantly French, as they developed the area for tourism in the early 1900's, along with other European influences. The flow of Sapa’s design is interrupted by the trademark communist citadels we’ve begun to notice in every area we visit. They are seemingly unoccupied and instead serve the purpose of keeping ideology top of mind. 

The people here are full of life, both local and indigenous alike. Though this is not surprising given the majesty of our surroundings. Every step we take brings new delights as we attempt to fathom our foreground. In no realm of possibility could we have ever imaged a place such as this existing on this Earth, let alone in this country.

We make our way through town to the tourist strip for some dinner and take a seat on a delightful little patio where we meet three Israeli women – Karen, Mila and Lana – and a peculiar Australian named Will. The night passes by quickly in a furor of storytelling, drinking and laughing. While being accosted by the tribeswomen from the surrounding mountains to purchase their hand-crafted goods, we ponder their current state of affairs.

Presumably, these indigenous peoples must have at some point been self-sustaining tribes, relying on trade for goods that were outside their means of production. Now, they make their way into town to sell their wares in exchange for currency, which seems rather odd. Why would a tribe who makes their homes in the mountainous distance require such economic means? We can only theorize that this is derived from the outside influences which have severed their previous way of life, forcing them to now engage in the currency-driven economy fueled by tourism. Once again we speculate and analyze the impact of our visitation to this country and that of those before us. 

As much as we gain perspective on these matters through our exploration of the unknown, it’s evident that our doing so is what contributes to the perpetuation of this cyclical issue. But now, if tourism were to withdraw from Vietnam in its entirety it would likely flat-line their economy. Would such a withdrawal allow for the people of Vietnam to redefine themselves and rebuild their means of sustenance? Questions such as these flurry about and remain largely unanswered. We can only hope that asking such questions helps shape the approach to our travels and our views of the world in which we live. Perhaps a visit to the local museum will shed some light on these unknown peoples and the coming about of their way of life.

Down the street from our hotel at the Spider Bar we wrap things up with some shisha and beers, accompanied by our newfound friend and eccentric artist, Will. Utopian possibilities, innermost fears and dreams, and much more are laid out on the table like playing cards as our verbal exchange becomes the soundtrack to our evening.

December 6th – 11:52am local time – Nhat Linh Hotel rooftop, Sapa

The next day we woke to the most golden of sunrises draping the surrounding mountains. Wasting no time to take advantage of this amazing weather we meet up with Will, grab some scooters, and plan to hike the Cat Cat village trail before riding up to the Fansipan cable car to get a glimpse of the town from the highest point in all of Vietnam. Unfortunately, moments after rented our scooters were rented we got separated from Will. Our attempts to find him fell short as we made our way up and down the tourist strip a few times. Unable to get in contact with him, we decide to push on into the day and hope that he manages to occupy his rental time well.

A breathtaking café shows itself as we make our way towards the Cat Cat trail, so we stop for lunch to appreciate the view before pressing onward; an adequate appetizer for what lies ahead. Arrived at the entrance to the short trek, we park our scooters and make our way down the cobblestone steps into the village. The path is lined with tribe members selling wares varying from scarves to swords. “Buy something please” is a commonly heard phrase throughout our descent. Pigs, chicken, ducks, and dogs pay us no notice as they feed and saunter about along the path’s edges.

The steps steepen as the landscape opens up revealing a small river accented by boulders and water-wheels before dropping under a footbridge and widening to a beautiful waterfall carving its way into the hillside. The mist on our faces is a welcomed feeling in the battering sunlight. As we venture further, the path narrows and starts ascending the mountainside with no guard rails or safety measures in place whatsoever. We take advantage of this to break away and explore the riverbed below before making the final ascent on the opposite side of the valley, providing astounding views of the rice fields below. We’re in awe of Sapa’s beauty once again.

Back at our bikes, we make quick work of finding a restaurant for lunch on the tiny tourist strip before proceeding with our plan to visit the Fansipan peak via the more than 6km long Guinness world record-holding gondola. The ride up the hillside is unsurprisingly beautiful, winding along the edge of the mountain until spitting us out at an overwhelmingly large and relatively new tourism centre. Anticipation builds as we set foot into an empty gondola for a practically private ride across the valley to the opposing peak. The traverse is daunting as we remain suspended hundreds of feet above the ground inching our way closer to the peak to watch the sun set. Once again, we’re graced with incredible views of the valley and surrounding mountains.

Arrived on the other side, we’re met by a looming and large set of stairs leading to the peak; something we didn’t quite expect. The altitude takes its toll almost immediately as we begin the climb, shortening our breath with every step. Hundreds of stairs lead the way while we take short breaks to absorb the scenery from this new perspective. The backside of the mountain, unbeknownst to us until now, is dramatically steep and hosts lovely little wisps of clouds dancing around the edges of the cliffs. Finally, at the top of Fansipan over 3100 metres above sea level, the view takes away what’s left of our already feeble breaths. It’s at this point that words can do no justice to the scene laid before us. 

Never in our lives have we seen something so majestic and humbling. The peaks stretch as far as the eye can see in every direction, boasting their beauty subtly and sincerely. The sun begins to dip below the haze in the distance as the air around us turns gold and pink, tinging the clouds and vividly staining our memories like glass in the most pristine of chapels. We stand in amazement for as long as we can before the sun takes its leave and the winds of the peak grip us firmly with their sharp cold. The workers are kind enough to offer us some of their tea to help keep us warm until we decide to finally begin the ascent down the beautiful staircases toward the cable car.

No force of nature could possibly wash away the euphoria that consumes us at this moment. Sapa has taken a permanent place in our minds and hearts.

Words by Baylan McGraw

Days 6 and 7 - Hoi An to Hanoi

December 3rd – 11:37pm Hanoi time – Hotel du Centre Ville, Hanoi

An adventurous and eventful couple of days have passed.

Yesterday morning in the midst of what can only be described as a wet monsoon, we decided to stick to our plan of visiting the My Son ruins – a UNESCO world heritage site – by renting scooters and making our way there without a guide or tour. Needless to say, it was a quest for the books.

After acquiring some much needed ponchos, we familiarized ourselves with our rental scooters, linked up with our German friend Tobias and started our journey. It took us less than one minute to get lost; just three tourists looking for gas. After stopping to ask for directions well over three times, we found the gas station. Loading up our tanks took a whole of 65,000 Dong (just under $4 CAD) and that’s when the real fun began – we joined the swarm that is Vietnam traffic. We were told to follow the same road as the gas station to make our way to My Son, which would later have signs on the side of the road telling us where to go. Easy enough.

Taking our time riding the shoulder, we exited Hoi An. Unbeknownst to us, the entire town is bordered by rice fields. It took us no time at all to witness a majestic herd of water buffalo roaming the fields, and even a scuffle between two of the males. The herd was surrounded by white herons.

The rice fields are broken up by trodden dirt paths and shanty’s crafted out of tarps and wagons, with boards and blankets serving as both flooring and bedding. The most drastic poverty line we could have imagined is drawn between our small town refuge and its surroundings. Further down the road, the shacks grow walls and rooves, but only just. There are men fishing in the creek on the side of the road, which seems to consist more of potholes than concrete.

Traffic behaves as fiercely as we expected, but it is no match for the battering rain smashing into our faces; the blinding drops forcing a squint for the entirety of the ride. Once past the slum-like surrounding area (of course, after stopping once more for some quick affirmation of our directions and some bottled water) our quest places us at the foot of the most beautiful citadels donning communist flags and symbols, spiking the poverty line once more. We stop a third time for directions.

We were either unintentionally misinformed or blatantly lied to about reliable road signage that could lead the way. Out here, we’re on our own. Yet, thankfully, the locals stay true to their proven character and friendlily point us the right way. We merge onto a main road and stop again for directions at the next largest junction (if you couldn’t tell, there’s a bit of a theme going on here). Not a road-sign in sight to point us towards what would presumably be the most significant landmark in the area.

Finally, we blast onto a strip of highway into maddening traffic. The rain is yet to let up and, if anything, keeps getting stronger. We fire past the first road sign we’ve yet to see and are forced to flip a u-turn on the highway which was thankfully uneventful. We’re now on the road to the ruins, gunning it as fast as we can through the maelstrom of water droplets pelting against our sodden cheeks and seeping through our ponchos at every opportunity. We take a quick break for some soup to warm up before making our way onto the last leg of the drive, but not before stopping to engage with the eeriest of sightings: a seemingly abandoned merry-go-round on the corner of a junction across from what appears to be a mill or processing grounds of sorts, in the midst of a beaten looking suburb. We have our fun, then mount up to push through the hills and up to the ruins. After parking our scooters and paying the entry fee, we board a stretch golf-cart shuttle which takes us up to the access path. The area is lush with vegetation. We draw pop-culture parallels to Jurassic Park as we soaked tourists anticipate our arrival at the top.

The ruins are spread out along a flooding looping trail which we start on from the drop-off point. Our eyes laid on the first grouping of brick, we are fascinated. Having been built as early as the 8th century and mostly completely destroyed by war, it’s an overwhelming sensation to stand amongst these structures. As we make our way through the various sites it’s difficult to encapsulate with words how awe-striking some of these creations are, not to mention their resilience given the arduous conditions they befell or how heart-wrenching it is to see them in such a state, knowing they became this way through acts of ignorance, greed and hatred.

Nearly every statue – even those laid into the walls – have been beheaded, raided by thieves to sell the fragments off to the highest bidders. It’s truly difficult to envision our surroundings as once having been bustling with life and society far up in the mountains that cradle these ancient arrangements. We soak in as much as we can (though not as much as our shoes – yes, it’s still unrelentingly rainy) and head back to our scooters.

Minutes into the ride back we manage to get split up, and stay that way the entire way home. Tobias and myself are under the impression that we’re behind Teaghan who we last saw up ahead. Little did we know that he turned around to check up on us and somehow we crossed paths without even knowing it. Tobias and I race back as quick as we can manage without bashing our eyes out with water droplets in hopes of catching up with Teaghan, who we ended up beating back to Hoi An. Thankfully, he arrived only minutes behind us.

With the storm still raging at full capacity, we link up with our UK friends for the final suit fitting before one last evening of food and beers to bid eachother farewell. The following day we’ll all take our leave from Hoi An in opposite directions.

We wake the next day, plot our course for our next destination, the northern mountain town of Sa Pa, and enjoy the last few hours in Hoi An with a final lunch at our favourite cafeteria before wandering the town's sunny yet flooded-to-the-knee streets after yesterday’s downpour. The river and the road became one as the pushboats may their way into the street to transport tourists across this newly minted moat.

To get to Sa Pa, we hire a car to take us back to the Da Nang airport (somehow this is half the cost of a taxi) take an $18 USD flight from Da Nang to Hanoi, stay the night in Hanoi, and catch a 6:45am bus ride for 7+ hours up to Sa Pa.

Our story takes a tragic turn when, at the Da Nang airport, Teaghan notices a crucial piece of camera hardware has gone awry, largely incapacitating the ability to capture quality images. Since the flight to Hanoi lands so late, there’s no chance for us to get to a camera store before our crack of dawn bus Northward tomorrow morning. To makes things more difficult, we only have one bar of battery left on the 2nd camera/GoPro, and no charger or cables with us to juice it back up. Thankfully it looks like, although limited, there’s still hope for some crafty measures to be taken in order to produce some worthwhile results with the main camera despite the hardware complications.

We’re now near the end of our latest trajectory, resting in our hotel in Hanoi awaiting the bus ride North tomorrow morning. Hanoi is bustling this Saturday evening. I take to the streets to explore the surrounding Old Quarter neighbourhood, grab some supplies, sample the street meat, and wander the night market while Teaghan stays in for some much needed rest.

Our journey continues as we push further North into what is reputedly one of the most scenic regions in beautiful Vietnam. We await this next chapter with eager anticipation.

Words by Baylan McGraw

Days 4 and 5 – Hanging out in Hoi An

December 1st, 2016 – 7:09am Hoi An time – Cozy House Homestay Guest House, Hoi An

Waking to the sound of rain sputtering outside our window set the tone for our 4th day quite accurately.

As the tropical storm continues to flutter over Hoi An, we take our time getting out of bed before enjoying some delicious Vietnamese coffees on the balcony of our guest house. We’ve bumped into an older lady from Lake Country - a stone’s throw away from our home town of Kelowna. The more we venture, the smaller the world feels. It’s fascinating that in exchange for time and money we’re able to project ourselves unto the far reaches of the globe. What a privilege.

Wanting to get ourselves some of Hoi An’s famed tailored suits, we’ve asked Li for some local insight. He accompanies us to meet with our UK compadres and fills us in on the best approach to obtaining a suit in Hoi An. It turns out that the storefronts here are not where you get the best quality or prices, since most of these are tailors from Hanoi or Saigon who set up shop in Hoi An to benefit from the city’s custom clothing reputation. They pay high rent for these prime locations and have tricks to speed up their process either by taping seams, single stitching and even outsourcing to the tailors we’re about to visit.

The traditional tailors in Hoi An set up in the government building. Their storefronts appear to be of those selling fabric instead of clothing. They’re the fabric source for the rest of the tailors in the city. However, they’re also the true artisans when it comes to custom suits.

The process sounds more simple than it is. First, you pick a style from the multitude of catalogues they have on hand. From there, you select your fabrics from a daunting wall hosting any colour and pattern you can imagine. Without coming into this with a clear idea, it’s quite overwhelming to make a decision. Once the fabric selection is made it’s on to price negotiation; and this is where it gets tricky.

Li let us know to expect anywhere between $60 and $140 USD per suit. Amongst the four of us, we’re looking to order 7 suits (4 of which will be cut from the same literal cloth – we’re all big fans of the light blue cashmere), 4 waistcoats, and 4 dress shirts. Considering the size of the order and the fabric selection, we’re confident a low price can be negotiated, as is Li. We huddle and agree on a budget, then dive headfirst into some very tough negotiations. After a solid attempt and quite some time, we freeze our offer at $700 USD for the lot and decide to take a walk for some lunch and a beer; they’re not budging on their request for $750 USD, dropped hastily from their original $950 request once we showed signs of leaving.

Li takes us to the local dining hall across the street far from the waterfront restaurants we would have ended up at on our own volition. Cao lầu, a traditional Hoi An dish that can only be made with noodles using the local well water is the meal of choice. The noodles are thick, similar to udon, served with fresh greens and pork topped with fried pork rinds and scallions. It’s outrageously delicious and priced at 20,000 Dong per dish (just over $1 CAD). Li encourages us to also try the fried rice pancakes which are equally tasty. We finish our beers and head back to finalize the suit negotiations.

Their last price of $750 USD is within reach, so we negotiate another two shirts into that price and come to an agreement. All things considered, we’ve done extremely well, but a dose of traveler’s guilt is kept close to the heart nonetheless; and it doesn’t have to do with negotiating our way into a better price. These tailors receive a constant influx of business, which some pay the immediate face value, and others haggle the prices down. The real difficulty lies in the paradigms of this entire system, which points directly to a larger issue.

‘Developing nation’ – the ultimate paradox. Development implies a path of progression towards improvement and sustainability. But this is clearly not the case; Westerners don’t want this or any other ‘developing’ country to in fact develop. Where else would we retreat for such inexpensive and bodacious vacations, tailored suits, custom clothing, jewelry, food and drink, all for a fraction of the price? If we wanted these nations to become self-sustaining, we’d forfeit our expectations of affordability.

This trip so far has provided an extreme shift in perspective, both good and bad. And although it’s difficult to come to these realizations and wrestle with them in the depths of our consciousness, the path ahead is welcomed with open arms. This is why we travel.

We make the best of the rain by taking a literal tropical shower, soaping up in the street drawing gazes and laughs from the locals. After a couple more hours of relaxation, we take to the streets again to try the local beer, brewed daily and advertised as ‘fresh beer’. Although very inexpensive (5,000 Dong per glass) it tastes like a malty hangover. We quickly switch back to the preferred Tigers and enjoy our meal and company, once again with Mark and George. The locals who made our dinner let us know of their cooking class starting at 10am the following day which we eagerly sign up for.

We finish up yet another delicious and affordable dinner then retreat to The Dive, a local bar with an interesting inside balcony with knee-height tables and cushions for chairs. Mark teaches us some card games as we dip into some Larue beers, a local brew, and some shisha to pass the time. Another relaxing evening filled with smiles and laughter is in the bag.

December 2nd, 2016 – 7:28am Hoi An time – Cozy House Homestay Guest House, Hoi An

Waking up feeling slightly sickened by the street showers from the night before, we slowly get up and make our way to the 10am cooking class we’ve signed up for. On average, classes in Hoi An run from $35-$50 USD; however we’ve had the good fortune of finding a $15 USD class taught by some true locals who’s storefront consists of a couple burners and some picnic tables at the beginning of a long row of these in a covered food court area.

Upon our arrival, the travelers dining at the table behind us in this same food court from the night before show up for the same class. We re-introduce ourselves to Tobias from Germany, Alex from Switzerland and Janneke from Holland. We tell our instructor the types of dishes we’d all like to learn to make: papaya salad, spring rolls, rice pancakes, chicken curry, and (of course) pho.

To our surprise, the class starts with a push-boat trip to the town’s only market. There is no supermarket or grocery store in Hoi An, so everyone gets their food from this same market. We’re exposed to both familiar very unfamiliar sights, like butchers smoking cigarettes, fresh tuna, foreign-looking vegetables like cucumbers covered in lumps, plucked chickens in the fetal position, and so much more.

Once all of our ingredients are in hand (thankfully none of us had to barter with the merchants or we probably would have been there all day) we head back across the river on the push-boat and head to our cooking station. We spend the next few hours sharing stories and knowledge about our cultures with eachother, mixed in with lots of laughter, and walking away with three new friends.

The dishes are all amazing and our teacher couldn’t be more friendly or knowledgeable. She even hands us special papaya peeling tools (a food prep multi-tool of sorts) and a surprise banana pancake for dessert (a local staple) despite us being so full we can hardly eat another bite…but we do anyways. We take some photos and exchange contact information with our new friends before parting ways and linking up again in an hour to introduce them to Mark and George before heading to our much anticipated suit fittings.

The suits are no less than impressive, though not quite perfect just yet. We provide feedback to the friendly tailors explaining the alterations and improvements we’d like made for our final fitting the following afternoon.

We head back to our room to rest up and fight off the on-setting cold caught the night before. After a rock solid nap, we lounge about and watch some terrible action movies before heading out for dinner. Teaghan heads out to meet back up with our friends while I stay behind to get an early night’s sleep to combat my illness.

It’s now the morning of day 6 and although feeling much better, the rain outside is still unrelenting. We’re planning on renting scooters with our friends and heading out with Li to show us around the My Son ruins soon. Let’s hope the skies are forgiving enough for us to enjoy the view from atop the mountains, which is said to span for miles on all sides. Time for Vietnamese green tea and banana pancakes before seeing what this day has in store for us.

Words by Baylan McGraw