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The road to "Phieu" house, a homestay without a sign.
Sapa, often described as the "town in the clouds," is a place where the mountains are enchanting and the pace of life is peaceful and unhurried. However, with the growing demand for relaxation and escapes, Sapa has become more bustling than ever. Exactly one year ago, on our way back from Hau Thao to the town, while admiring the Ta Van valley bathed in the crisp, dry sunlight of the year-end, we made a promise to each other that we would definitely return and stay overnight.
Ta Van, a late winter day in 2020.
"We've never seen this crowded before; where did all these people come from?" two taxi drivers were chatting as we arrived at the bus station early Saturday morning. Perhaps, after a long period of "work/study from home," everyone wanted to travel, especially during the months of December to January, when the weather in the northern mountainous region is perfect for cloud watching and relaxation.
Picking up the motorbike at 4:30 AM, we were even given a pair of padded leather gloves as a bonus by the driver: "Because it's very cold in Sapa right now, and there's been a lot of fog and rain this week." We drove around until 6 AM waiting to refuel, and also waiting for the fog to clear, before setting off for Ta Van.
From the town center to Pieu's house is about 10 km, a winding, hilly road, but not difficult to navigate. Some sections are under construction, making the road a bit bumpier. About 2-3 km from the town, besides the homestays nestled against the mountainside, mist or clouds lingered over the old pine trees or descended onto the road, forming a thin layer that filled us with both bewilderment and excitement. Even though we had traveled this road several times before, it still felt as mysterious and captivating that day as the first time.
The houses "slept peacefully" in the early morning.
Sapa in the early morning, clouds drift lazily over the winding road.
Restaurants and eateries had already lit up their lights to welcome customers since early morning.
After navigating countless winding turns and steep slopes to the foot of the Hoang Lien Son mountain range, we finally saw the red suspension bridge spanning the Muong Hoa stream. Crossing this bridge brought us very close to Pieu. Because it was late winter, we were unlucky enough not to see the vibrant purple rhododendron blossoms interspersed with the dull gray of the reeds, as the villagers had described. Following the shared GPS directions, our car stopped in front of a wooden house with a porch adorned with bright yellow chrysanthemums. The house had no sign, no indication that it was a homestay, and no other signs like a large wooden gate, a spacious courtyard with meticulously decorated tables and chairs… The house nestled at the foot of a vast bamboo forest, simple and quiet like many other Hmong houses in the village. As a result, we lingered in front of the door until the housekeeper in the kitchen switched on the lights, the glass window becoming the only signal that we were on the right path.
At 7 a.m. in Ta Van Giay, the sky was still overcast.
The slope in front of Pieu's house.
The house stood silently in the mist, without a sign or nameplate.
The path to the house was clear in the midday sun.
The only thing that makes the house stand out from the outside is the large glass window in the kitchen.
The small house in the mist - where time is indefinite.
At this time of year, Sapa is often shrouded in drizzle and fog. Lying on the attic overlooking the sky, it's always hazy and gray, impossible to see the sunrise, and we can't tell when the sun will set. Usually, we only venture out for a few hours between midday and early afternoon when the sun comes out. We listened to Sigur Rós's "Ekki múkk" countless times, and then decided not to check the clock, just go with the flow: cook when you're hungry, drink tea when you're thirsty, take a walk when you're bored, and spend the rest of the time snuggled under the blankets listening to music and chatting. I think this attic was designed for lazy people like us: a large glass door overlooks the slope in front of the house, and the tea table and heated mattress are right next to the bed. Occasionally, a few women carrying baskets of offerings pass by, and when the sky is still hazy with fog, we know that dawn is breaking. As dusk fell and they returned from the opposite direction, I could already tell that my stomach was rumbling and we should go make dinner.
The attic as seen from the outside.
A large glass window offers a view of the outside from the attic.
When the sun shines, the plants will be lush and green, and the room will feel fresh and vibrant.
Not only the attic, but every room in the house has a large glass door: the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, and even the bathroom, as if the homeowner wants to tell those inside to look outside and appreciate each passing moment slowly, using all their senses.
The sky was overcast in the late afternoon.
No matter where we are in the house, we can admire the view outside through the large windows.
A large window in the bedroom on the first floor.
Glass door in the bathroom.
The view outside Pieu House, during our afternoon stroll.
Cooking - Eating - Cleaning - Cooking
Every little detail in the house was arranged with a special intention. Not only were there large glass windows, but I also wondered why they designed such a large kitchen with two dining tables (not to mention two tea tables on the patio) in such a small space. I guess, perhaps for the Hmong people, the kitchen must always be in the center of the house, in the most prominent and cozy position. The kitchen lighting features three different types of bulbs, suitable for different times of day. Therefore, entering the kitchen always feels warm. The kitchen is visible from anywhere in the house, so even when one of us is cooking, we can still chat. What I liked best was when we were both busy in the kitchen, glancing around, and one moment it was morning, the next it was dark, the mist had already settled outside, while inside, the kettle was boiling, a light steam rising, and a cup of chrysanthemum tea was ready beside us. The daily routine repeats itself: cooking, eating, and then cleaning up. It turns out that a large kitchen, a place to affirm that many seemingly simple tasks can bring people together in such a peaceful way.
At Pieu, we always have two things readily available: fresh seasonal flowers and tea bags. We often make use of both, going to the garden to pick chrysanthemums to add to our tea.
One-third of the dishes in the house.
Every meal is a joy.
Pieu House isn't far from Hau Thao. We took advantage of a couple of hours each day to revisit our old home. At this point, the Muong Hoa stream is much gentler, with clear blue water and a slow flow. However, unless it's a sunny day, getting there is difficult, and camping by the stream isn't feasible.
The road to Hou Thao, 2 PM.
Plum and peach blossoms are beginning to bloom, heralding the arrival of spring.
We stayed at Pieu House until early the following afternoon, even though the owner allowed early check-in (from 7 am the day before) and late check-out (until around 7 pm the next day). During our stay, except for when the housekeeper handed over the room, checked in, and delivered breakfast, the space was all ours. On the way back to town from Ta Van, it rained quite heavily, and we couldn't see anything around us except the short stretch of road ahead. I thought to myself, "So, this year, we won't be able to take any photos on the way back. Luckily, we already know where we'll go next year."
Additional information
Piêu House room rates: from 450,000 to 1,300,000 VND per night
Contact phone number: 0778902934
