July days in Sa Pa

Of course, I had never been to Sa Pa before, and this trip felt like exploring an uncharted territory. I didn't check the weather beforehand, think about which restaurants to visit, or create a detailed itinerary, even though I had the time to do all of that. The reason was probably because I relied on my travel companion to take care of everything. And also, I didn't want to thoroughly research a new place to stay that I was going to in a few days. Therefore, for me, my days in Sa Pa weren't really a vacation – I didn't get to rest on this trip.

It takes about 7 hours to travel from central Hanoi to Sa Pa town by bus. We set off on the weekend, leaving at 10:30 PM and arriving at the pick-up and drop-off point at 5:30 AM the next morning. The bus stopped right in front of a pho restaurant. We called a taxi to our homestay to unpack our belongings and then returned to the restaurant for breakfast.

I've never been to a pho restaurant that crowded before. The rows of tables were packed with people, groups of five or ten constantly streaming in. That morning it was so busy that customers had to queue to get tickets, wait for their pho to be prepared, and then carry it to their tables themselves.

Cốn sủi, originally a Chinese dish, gradually became popular and famous in Lao Cai due to the bustling trade there. A hearty bowl of cốn sủi, with its chewy rice noodles nestled among crunchy peanuts, thinly sliced ​​meat, and crispy fried potato strips, was a unique and delightful experience. Like cốn sủi, other dishes I tasted in Sa Pa – whether on the roadside or in restaurants – weren't particularly outstanding, but they were enough to bring me joy and enjoyment. During this time, I also tried the chestnut cakes, which were sold everywhere. Although I really liked them, I didn't buy any to take back to Hanoi, thinking I'd keep them as a reason to return to Sa Pa later.

The town center of Sa Pa, as I had imagined, was teeming with people. Tourists like us – the most common sight on the streets – all looked excited and cheerful. To be honest, I wasn't particularly excited or cheerful myself. Whenever I went out, I always had to keep a tissue handy, ready to absorb the sweat that was pouring down my face. But I enjoyed watching the ethnic minority women, their ankles wrapped in velvet cloth, walking in small groups and chatting in a language I didn't understand. I was also curious to see many little boys and girls, carrying tiny babies on their backs, holding jingling silver bracelets and stacks of colorful handcrafted fabric jewelry, trying to find a tourist to approach and hawk their wares.

We ourselves experienced that overly enthusiastic soliciting, a sales style that my friend strongly objected to and which my female companion found very annoying. It was the morning we went down to Ta Van village. The car parked at a bend in the road while we walked deeper into the village. Suddenly, three children ran out, naturally following the three adults, asking questions (presumably) taught to befriend tourists. The older child told me a few trivial stories about our journey down to the stream: about the hut people were building to live in while tending the rice fields, about our two neighbors, Tam and An, who lived at the very edge of the village (she immediately exclaimed that her name was similar to mine after I introduced myself). And to thank her for accompanying us, I bought her a decorative fabric item with a bell attached, for 20,000 dong. As a natural consequence, the two remaining children sadly followed the three adults on their way home, hoping that some other naive adult would take pity on them and buy more.

To be honest, I wasn't bothered by it. I just felt sorry for the children having to endure the sun for so long, and I also felt guilty for dragging my two friends into this situation. Of course, if you go to Sa Pa, you shouldn't agree to buy anything from the children, because those coins will motivate them to continue this work indefinitely. And also to avoid being "surrounded" by the children with their sad voices, or their incessant urging, to choose something from the stack of handmade bracelets.

Besides Ta Van village, we also climbed to the summit of Fansipan, checking in at the highest point in the three Indochinese countries amidst a sea of ​​crowds; and went to O Quy Ho pass to "hunt for clouds" (this time I didn't participate but rested in my room because I was completely exhausted).

As mentioned before, I didn't get any rest during my days in Sa Pa. The heat and inconveniences turned this trip into an experience, not an enjoyment. But I am satisfied and content with the experience. Because it keeps me thinking about it. Occasionally, when I feel down, I find myself reminiscing about the difficult slopes, the rosy cheeks of the ethnic children, the voices trying to sell their wares, or the steps on the Hoang Lien Son mountain range.

In a few months, or a few years, there will come a time when I long to return to Sa Pa. To return to Sa Pa to eat chestnut cakes. Or to climb to the summit of O Quy Ho Pass, alone, watching the clouds roll down the mountain like a waterfall. Or to see if the children still cling to tourists, persistently begging them to buy a brightly colored bracelet with such annoying persistence. But I certainly won't return to Sa Pa on a day in July. I want to experience something more, with a more relaxed and carefree mindset.

An - Photo: Thanh Nam Anh