So, where to this time? Northern Vietnam is known for it's mountains, breathtaking landscapes, and indigenous people groups, many who have migrated across the Chinese border in the last two or three centuries.
I took an overnight train from Hanoi to Lao Cai, a border town (we're taking 1km from China) where I then caught a connecting bus to the town of Sapa. Sapa is located in the Hoang Lien Son mountain range, also referred to as the the Tonkinese Alps. Recently it has become a tourist hotspot and is quite a unique mix of local indigenous peoples selling their crafts on the side of the road while tourist stroll past fancy hotels lined along the edge of pituresque cliffs. Sapa is home to over 8 ethnic minorities, in particular, the Hmong people.
Within a few hours of arriving in Sapa and getting settled, it was time to take a bus up to the Tram Ton Pass where the two day trek up to Mt. Fansipan would begin.
We hired a local guide was familiar with the culture, traditions, and most of all, the way up the mountain. Our guide, "Zi" (how it is pronounced) was a 19 year old from the Black Hmong people group. I can honestly say he was one of the toughest, but sweetest young men I have ever met. He had such poise and dignity about him as he spoke about his people group and patiently answered my many questions about the history of ethnic minorities in the region and what life was like living in his village. Having Zi was an incredible asset to this adventure, not only in terms of his knowledge of the mountain and his guidance in helping us reach the summit, but also the sheer contentment and pride in his people and land that he so humbly exuded.
Ok, ok, at this point, you're probably saying, "Stop being so deep Michael, just tell me about the hike!".
So, the hike. Well, it was hard. Very hard. I would like to think that I am a somewhat seasoned hiker, having put some miles on trails back home in the southeast. I have done harder hikes than this one, indeed, but few.
I think the challenge of Mt. Fansipan was one that I couldn't fully put my finger on. First off, I think knowing that it was the "rooftop of Indochina" and that it stood higher than any other point in Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and Laos perhaps gave it an additional challenge in my mind. And a challenge she did deliver!
It was less hiking and more rock scrambling for 9 miles to the summit. The entire hike was hard, grueling, slippery, wet, muddy, and uncomfortable in many ways. But, honestly, that's why I loved it. We crossed streams, small waterfalls, slid down rocks, got muddy, sweaty, tired, cold, frustrated, and even at times, maybe somewhat annoyed. But it was worth it. For the view? Not really. There actually was no view to be had at the top, just thick clouds and a mess of empty champagne bottles from more prepared hikers than ourselves.
But for me, I would like to think it's less about the views or the rush of adrenaline that make experiences like this worth it. It's the shared memories, the lessons learned, the feeling of being uncomfortable, the uncertainties at every turn, the feeling of being so small and insignificant, the awe and wonder of being above the clouds and only seeing blue sky, the mystery of a cold night in the mountains, and the gratitude for the ability to have such an experience as this. That is what makes it all worth it.
After a not-so-good night's rest in a damp, rat-filled bamboo shack with about 20 other noisy hikers and their guides, we made it down the mountain, unscathed, and unbroken, but perhaps a little bit humbler and wiser than when we had begun.
"There's a hole in this mountain, it's dark and it's deep. And God only knows all the secrets it keeps"
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