Sapa: Singing 'You Buy Me' And Dodging The Local Noodle Soup

During a fairly low-key hostel dorm party I managed to coax a fun couple from San Francisco (Jordan - J-Dizzle and Amanda - Captain Smock) into joining me for the trip to Sapa that I had already booked earlier that day. We ambled onto the sleeper train the following evening and were joined by the remainder of our tour group, three pretty (they may read this) girls from Australia; Alex Toughenough, Ingrid and Eleni. Everyone seemed to have lucked out on their train carriages, whilst I had to endure the next eight hours in the company of a French-Canadian family. The father of which decided to eliminate any chances of me passing out by snoring violently throughout the journey and exhaling with the sound of wailing banshees. The next morning, deprived of any rest, I trudged my newly bought scarlet Converse trainers through the uneven path to the doorstep of our tour agent in Sapa Town.

The Black H'Mong tribe ladies waited patiently and eerily across the street from the office as soon as we arrived at six in the morning. They didn't appear to sell anything and simply followed us on our short walk to retrieve some water for the upcoming trek. As soon as we had changed into our hiking gear (H&M khaki shorts and Chang top...man I miss Chang) and were led to our starting point, the Black H'Mong ladies were in close pursuit, peppering us with broken English queries, the most popular of which was whether we had any brothers. I don't and they didn't take too kindly to this news.

Our tour guide, a young man named 'Tom' - though I'm fairly certain this was not his given name as he rarely responded to it - was entertaining in many ways. For one, we couldn't understand much of what he was saying, perhaps only the third word in a sentence as his English was so poor and his delivery was so fast paced that we couldn't successfully follow his commentary (only Alex Toughenough had the necessary skill set to understand and she revelled in the role of translator of the translator). He also didn't seem to care much for our welfare, as he regularly paced off in the distance, becoming a silhouette in the landscape as we tried to negotiate the slippery boulders and balanced like trapeze artists across the rice fields and sharp contours of the environment. We decided to take it in turns to fall gracefully into the thick earth and marshy waters. In one memorable occasion we even lost Tom for a short while, in his dismaying preoccupation with consulting his phone rather than engaging with the group.

Once in a while we'd feel comfortable enough with the uneven terrain to look out towards the valley and take in the contrast of the bleak cold mountain range embracing the soft green curves of the rice paddies as we avoided the vacant glare of the passing Buffalo. It was nice to breathe for a little while, especially so soon after the smog riddled metropolis of Hanoi.

It was the turn of the Black H'Mong gang to actually ensure that we arrived at our lunch stop in one piece. At one stage of our route, the clay mud was so slippery that an old tribe lady had to hold my hand so that I didn't fall into a passing stream. I am not ashamed of this. I think I loved that little old lady for delivering me safely to our destination, so much so that I bought an awful 'hand made' purse from her at the end of the day. The same cheaply embroidered black bag was on display at all the stalls in Sapa market and so wasn't genuine at all. It finally dawned on us that the ladies had followed us for the duration of the morning trek so that they could assist in our walk through the difficult surroundings and gain so much trust from us that we would eventually buy a garment from their faded wicker baskets.

Our itinerary stated that we should arrive at our home-stay with our 'host' family at four o'clock in the afternoon. So much was Tom's pace and urgency to finish his day's work, we arrived, caked in earth and exhausted nerves at the house at two thirty, allowing us a generous portion of time to rest our aching bones on a large wooden table by the porch. We eroded the clock that afternoon with games of Cheat, Ring of Fire / Circle of Death (or C.O.D. as one hip member of the party named it) and a Vietnamese card game that Tom introduced us to.

Our dinner was a banquet of traditional dishes which we greedily wolfed down. With every bite, our humble hosts and Tom decided to raise a toast with a warm shot of rice wine, poured with little care from a used Vodka bottle. Unfortunately for Tom, the generous amounts that he poured for himself resulted in a disarming admission to the table of his curiously promiscuous history. He unravelled scattered stories of his young baby that he rarely sees, his older lady in HCMC, his current secret affair in Sapa, as well as his penchant for a taste of what he described as Chicken Noodle Soup. Soon after, our drunken tour guide stumbled on to his motorbike and raced into the twilight of Sapa to remedy his growing appetite for a more filling supper that would be all the more dearer and illegal than the one that we had just enjoyed.

Well, seeing as it's a Tuesday I'll go for the 2-4-1 special

The following morning the horizon was enveloped with a smokey mist, which ensured that the visibility was limited as we were accompanied by a cool Autumnal breeze. After a short ramble we rested at a local Italian Restaurant to dine enthusiastically on pizzas and garlic bread in the warmth of a coal fire. We watched as a local cat quickly abandoned her quest to sleep inside the fireplace in favour of the more favourable surroundings of the tiled floor. The theme of consuming vast amounts of pizza between the six of us would not be reserved for this day only.

The sleeper train back to Hanoi should have been spent in the bliss of slumber, and I was intrigued to see whom I would be sharing a carriage with. To my utter dismay, on peering through my door I was greeted once again by the clumsy French-Canadian family. The melodic wheezing of the train could not drown out the unjust sound of this pot-bellied tyrant and to add to this calamitous situation, my headphones decided to fail me. I spent the rest of the night awake wishing that the elderly hill tribe lady would clasp my hand and sing me a repetitive lullaby of 'You Buy Me'.

We're only happy because we knew that once our eight pizza's arrived we'd be taking it out to our Hostel sitting room to watch The Hangover

Sapa Song of the Day: New Order - Regret
Well, I truthfully heard this tune at the hostel prior to departure to Sapa. The only music I can remember hearing for my time there was at the Italian Restaurant, and that was Abba's Super Trooper, which I refuse to list. However, I must concede that I did enjoy listening contently as the table sang along quietly to the chorus as we waited for our crusty garlic bread.

i-Pod Song of the Day: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Softshock

Highlight from the 'It's Blitz!' album and a close rival to Maps

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqyqHZEDbRI