Gooooood Morning, Vietnam!!

Here's a fun little story for you. It's called: How I nearly died on a mountain in Vietnam... Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but I was most definitely in WAY over my head on this one... and here's how I got there...

I spent my first few days in country in the capital city of Hanoi which, while it does have some fascinating architecture and a very unique sort of vibe to it, is mostly a noisy, chaotic mess of a city.  This is particularly true in the Old Quarter, which is where basically all of the city's tourists wind up locating themselves, for one reason or another.   The streets are far narrower here than they ought to be to accommodate the insane amount of motorbike and car traffic that overloads them throughout the day, and with the sidewalks being used as either motorbike parking or dining areas with patrons sat in plastic chairs sized appropriately for a one-year-old child, this leaves pedestrians no choice but to fend for themselves in the street with the automotive riff-raff.  The result is it's nearly impossible to look around at any of the various shops or cafés that line the streets as you're often too busy making sure you're not about to be mowed down. (NOTE: I have no photos of the Old Quarter, because I was too busy trying not to die.) Nonetheless, I followed the herd and wound up at a decent low budget hotel with an admittedly VERY friendly and hospitable host who spoke very good English and remembered all the guests by name.  Unfortunately, the building was plagued with strange, unidentifiable mechanical-sounding noise issues (which only seemed to show up in the ungodly hours of the night) that kept me up all night long on my first night there.  A request to change rooms was accommodated first thing the following morning, where the mechanical noises were reduced to a dull hum beneath the cacophony of sound coming from the busy street below. Not perfect, but the random street noise was much easier for me to sleep through than the maddeningly repetitive mystery buzz/hum/whir that literally shook the walls of my former room.  So already not off to the best start in Hanoi.

I took it in stride, though, and eventually managed to become a little more adept at making my way through the mess that is the Old Quarter, though it was such an exhausting effort I found myself venturing out pretty quickly to other neighborhoods with larger streets, crosswalks, and proper sidewalks designed for pedestrians.  The French Quarter was kind of enchanting with its colonial style buildings and wide avenues reminiscent of Paris.  I found a lovely park with a giant lake that provided a relatively quiet safe haven for a couple of hours, after a full day of walking aimlessly around from neighborhood to neighborhood. I was particularly impressed with the Temple of Literature, which also felt like a welcome bit of calm sanctuary.

A Rare Quiet Street in Hanoi

Motorbikes!

A Bit of Peace and Quiet

Inside the Temple of Literature

Also in the Temple

I also met a German transplant who has been living in Hanoi for the past five years, who was quick to give me all sorts of handy tips not only about the city, but about the surrounding areas, and this is how I decided to book a two-day trekking excursion in Sapa.

I had heard of Sapa before, but had written off the idea of going there as I didn't think I really had enough time to explore it properly.  My new German friend assured me that two days was plenty, and that the scenery was well worth the trip.  Having had just about enough of the chaos in Hanoi, I was ready for a little peace and quiet again.  The package offered by my hotel, which included transfer from the hotel to an overnight sleeper train up to Loi Cao, a bus transfer from there to Sapa, a guide, two full days worth of trekking, a homestay in a local village, two breakfasts, two lunches, two dinners, and the same bus/sleeper train transport back to Hanoi for a mere $80 sealed the deal.  What my new German friend did not tell me, and what I failed to properly research myself, is that when the Vietnamese say "trekking", what they mean is something akin to the Norwegian definition of "hiking".  Our first day was to take us 10km from Sapa to the village of Loi Chai, where we were to have lunch. Okay, sure. 10km. Not a big deal... right?

Wrong! The very first kilometer consisted of making our way down a nearly sheer mountainside.  Sure there was a bit of a "trail" we were following, but mostly it was just loose dirt peppered with the occasional puddle of extremely slippery mud.  Suddenly, we understood why the massive group of local women who had joined in with us seemingly out of nowhere (with huge baskets strapped to their backs and wearing flip flops, like they were out for a Sunday stroll in the park) were there. They were our sherpas, and boy did we need them. They held our hands through the particularly dodgy parts, trying to keep us as safe as possible, but regardless we foreigners toppled like dominoes all the way down that mountain.  I landed on my ass five times, and once nearly took the woman who was trying to keep me upright off the mountain with me. By the time I made it safely to the bottom I knew I was in trouble.  My dodgy knees were already screaming at me, threatening to give way if I put them through any more abuse like that. On top of that, the new sneakers I had purchased the day before in Hanoi (after my own well-traveled and well-loved sneakers finally gave way in Laos) were turning out to be just a TINY bit too small in the toe area, resulting in what I was sure were about to become nasty blisters. Well, too bad, knees.  Too bad, toes.  We've got another 9km to go before lunch!

The scenery WAS beautiful, and we took a great many rest breaks during which I actually had a chance to appreciate some of it, and even snap a few photos, but for the most part, it was two days of torture peppered with moments of sheer panic when faced with particularly steep descents.  By the time we got to the little village cafe that was our end point on the second day (which came at the end of a 1km long steep ascent up a mountain) I was moments away from breaking down into tears.  Tears of frustration with the limitations of my terrible, terrible joints?  Tears of relief?  Tears of mental and physical exhaustion? I don't know, but a welcome sit-down, a wet-wipe "shower", and a Pepsi turned out to be enough to keep them at bay.

Mountains

Mountains

And More Mountains

I hate to make it sound like it was all terrible.  I do feel pretty damned accomplished, in hindsight, for having made it through what everyone in our group unanimously deemed to be an "exceptionally hard trek" with joints as bad as mine without incurring serious injury.  I didn't even have my knee brace! Besides that, I DID also legitimately enjoy all of the non-trekking moments: the quality company of the other tourists, the homestay with an ample supply of homemade "rice wine" that helped to dull some of the pain, the delicious food (which, to my delight is much easier on my system than the local fare in Laos and Thailand was).  I even bought a couple of very lovely hand-made purses from the woman who had helped me through the second day of hiking. I'm sure I paid entirely too much for them, but considering this woman had basically saved my life in the mountains, I thought it was more than fair.  She also threw in a bracelet for free. 

So the lesson here, coupled with what I learned this summer in Norway, seems to be that I do not mix well with hiking in mountains.  Got it. No bikes, no mountains, and most DEFINITELY no mountain bikes! This does put a bit of a damper on my dream to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro... though by all accounts the various paths up that mountain are much more straightforward and level than the ones I encountered here.  I left the ill-fitting shoes in Sapa, where they will hopefully find themselves a good home, and I made a new trip rule: if it can't be done in flip flops, it won't be done!

After a restless night aboard the train, followed by another three hour train ride from Hanoi early this morning, I find myself now in the little paradise of Ninh Binh, at what is easily the best "hotel" I've ever stayed at in my life. It's not a hotel so much as a series of bamboo huts situated along a quiet river tucked inside a semi-circle of rocky mountains.  My hut has four separate hammocks, two inside, and two outside, where I have sat my broken body for the better part of the afternoon, listening to the ducks, the fish, the birds, and maybe even some monkeys singing in the nearby jungle. It's so beautiful and peaceful here that part of me is wondering if I didn't actually die on that mountain in Sapa and somehow managed to blag my way into Heaven.  The searing pain in my quads and my calves every time I move, on the other hand, assures me that I'm still very much alive. Anyway, I couldn't have picked a better spot to recover both physically and mentally from the weekend.  Winning!

Paradise!

It only has three walls!

Best. Bungalow. Ever.