Trekking in the clouds

Tucked up against the North Vietnamese sky, barely able to break free of the clouds lies the hilltop town of Sapa. It's often cold, wet and caked in mud. It's also one of the most popular tourist sites in Vietnam.

Vietnam is changing. For many, the association is of a war rather than a country. But as perception shifts from battleground to tourist destination, so too does physical Vietnam adjust to accommodate visitors. Year on year figures are rising at a considerable rate, with latest stats indicating more than 2.8 million foreign visitors in 2004.

The country's backpacker trail is one well trodden, with budget hotels and internet cafes littering sections of congested cities and picturesque towns. But if you fancy a break from the choking motorbike traffic and incessant cacophony of horns, the sleeper train from Hanoi can transport you to another world.

It's easy to spend hours shopping around Hanoi's back streets to find the most 'unique' hill tribe trek. However, on arriving in the mountains, it becomes clear that whether you find the minibus expecting you, or any other from the waiting line, you're in for a similar experience.

Our train eased into the old French outpost of Lao Chai just after dawn. Having got used to the clammy lowland heat, waking up cold was a strange sensation. Our minibus snaked further into the clouds, cutting above the neat contours of stepped paddy fields to give ever more stunning views of the vibrant green patchwork draped across the mountains.

I'd initially been concerned by the numbers of tourists gearing up to trek into the hills, but as we followed our eager guide and left the small town of Sapa behind, each group was swallowed up by the area's size. As is typical of these highland areas, the rain was frequent and incessant, our ponchos quickly proving a good investment. Every step got heavier and heavier as mud formed a new foot shaped layer over our shoes. As we trudged upward, enterprising youngsters tagged along with our group hawking their wares and cleverly waiting at steep, mud streaked inclines with bamboo walking sticks.

The sound of water was everywhere, falling from the sky and gushing through the valley, sustaining the lush growth and carving out the mountains' features. But Sapa is so much more than its scenery.

Native to the area are the H'mong people. Originally making their livelihoods from mountainside farming, tourism has become a major source of income. If it were possible to tire of Vietnam's ubiquitous conical hats, the H'mong attire is a refreshing change. Their dark, hand-woven garb made from locally grown hemp is coloured by natural dyes, which also stain the women's hands and arms. Bands of colour break up the uniform blue, making each outfit similar, yet unique. Though it was never explained why, men were conspicuous by their absence. We saw only H'mong women and girls, either working in the fields or trying to sell their clothes and jewellery to captivated tourists. It's a combination of these hill tribe people, and the hills themselves that hold so much appeal to foreign tourists.

Despite a tour schedule that appeared set in stone, the weather didn't always keep with the programme, and no amount of planning could have prevented the landslide that blocked the road back to town. Whilst the trek made worries of the city feel far away, beyond the mountains real life was waiting, and with it our plane to Bangkok.

To the rescue chugged three motorbike taxis, old Russian Minsks that looked ill equipped to deal with the boulder-strewn road. The first two quickly disappeared, leaving just one bike and two of us needing a ride. This being Vietnam though, the driver seemed keen for my girlfriend and I to both hop onboard.

The next 30 minutes were the most perilous of my life! Minsks are not designed for three, and each rock we hit bounced me further off the seat I was barely sat on. The exhaust fizzed as we raced through knee-deep channels, seconds later teeter-ing dangerously close to sheer drops of several hundred feet. Countless times the bike began to slide from under us, and we would jump off to let the driver regain control. On reaching the landslide, a digger was working furiously to move the obstru-ction, until our bike could pass, and we careered off toward Sapa. Though still shaken, it made for a great story on the minibus back to the train.

Sapa, however, is not for everyone. I spent two days in awe of the scenery and amazed by the H'mong way of life. But there was also an uncomfortable feeling that surpassed my soggy clothes. Eco-tourism is yet to gain popularity in Vietnam, and our chance to see ethnic groups occasionally felt voyeuristic, at times even exploitative.

Our guide's role was more to point out scenery than to provide an education into the area's ethnic people. In the evening she prepared a delicious meal over an open fire, but it was cuisine for tourists, and we saw nothing of what the host family ate. I'd like to think they got a reasonable cut of what I paid, but the likelihood is, most of the money stayed in Hanoi.

I chose an overnight homestay to gain insight into this remote culture, but we were kept separate from its residents, not even learning their names. Instead of being an opportunity to show pride in their amazing way of life, our hosts were used as a novel bed and breakfast service. When our host greeted us in the morning with a red circular welt on her forehead, (the result of a home remedy for headaches), I couldn't help but worry that our stay had something to do with its cause. In hindsight, I would have chosen a night in a hotel over our intrusive homestay.

As the area receives more and more visitors, hopefully Eco-tourism will soon challenge the copycat tours from Hanoi, truly benefiting the H'mong people in their breathtaking hilltop world.

Text & Photos: Jonathan Lister