Sapa by Motor Bike
Adventure changed to trouble when I rounded the bend of a narrow road that had long ago turned to a sloppy single track of red mud.
Down in the valley below and barely visible through the mist was Sapa. I had taken my rented motorbike down a dirt road some 4 hours ago and was tired, hungry and thirsty. Having Sapa, in my sights was temptation with a capital ‘T’.
And as the song goes, that stands for trouble.
The town is in the most hilly/mountainous section of northern Viet Nam and the trail I took hugged the side of a steep valley of terraced rice paddies and vegetable gardens.
There is one paved road that runs through Sapa, and on my first day here, Dave, Jonna and I headed west towards Fansipan, a nearby 3143 meter mountain.
The very narrow road was twisty and turn-y with lots of ascents and descents – perfect fun for a motorcycle. Part of the experience was dodging potholes, goats, pigs, water buffalo, and on-coming trucks.
I had hoped to climb Fansipan; it’s non-technical and there’s a trail all of the way to the top. But there’s a guard at the trailhead and you can’t hike it without having a guide. Theoretically it’s a 3 day climb, although it has been done in one day. All I wanted to do was hike even 1/2 way up and then come down. No luck.
Tooling around on the bikes was solace enough. After a roadside lunch of BBQ pork and sticky rice, we headed east to find the Black Hmong village of Ta Phin.
This region is also home to the Montegards, Dzao, and several other hill tribes.
We headed down this trail only to come to a narrow bamboo bridge. Realizing we only had 2 hours of daylight left, we decided to try to find a less difficult road. I didn’t find the village until the next day when I was out and about by myself.
Ta Phin is a village where tourists can do home stays, so westerners are a common sight and the villagers invite you into their homes in hope that you’ll buy some handicraft. I gave a ride to a young man coming in from town and took him to his house. He brought out and introduced his entire family and they invited me inside. I didn’t have any small-currency dong (only 100,000 dong notes – about $6), and not really wanting to buy anything, I declined.
After leaving Ta Phin, I found a dirt trail that was obviously used by motos, and figured it needed to be explored.
After some 30 minutes of negotiating hair-pin turns that snaked around sheer drops, I was in a scene was out of a 1950s National Geographic magazine. I came across tiny villages in back valleys where people live a life without any noticeable modern influences (other than the occasional motorbike). Folks were plowing with water buffalo; kids only knew one word of English: hello; and all were dressed in traditional clothes. Ladies were busy dyeing cloth and embroidering fabric. The mountain sides were mostly terraced and there were rice paddies and vegetable gardens everywhere.
I came to a fork and took the high road (of course). Some 20 minutes later the trail became a footpath.
And after another half-hour of riding, slogging, and pushing my moto up some steep inclines and through creek beds, Sapa appeared through the mist.
The single track abruptly ended and became a foot path that was cut in the mountain side. When a little barrier made of stacked rocks blocked the path, I should have realized that it was not meant for motorbikes.
With the remaining common-sense that old-age has left me, I left the bike behind and walked about 50 meters past the rocks.
It was dicey, but it was do-able. I would have to push the motorbike and hope that I didn’t slip off the edge, but then the trail widened after a bit. With Sapa down below, I decided to go on.
It took some 20 minutes to get through that section as it was mostly downhill. I then left the bike and walked ahead another 50 meters and realized that I was in it and in it big.
The trail became a steep and rocky drop. A hiker would need to use hands to keep from falling. There was no way I was going to get the moto down.
A retreat was the only way out. But backwards was all uphill and through rocks and mud.
I’ve done a lot of walking in these last few months, but nothing too physical or aerobic. And nothing where I had to hope that my feet wouldn’t slip out from under me and send me and a bike tumbling off of a cliff.
It took an hour or so to muscle the bike back up to the trail. Lots of road engineering was needed to provide enough traction to the rear wheel as I pushed the bike while giving it some gas to help it along.
Mud was flying everywhere. More than several of my very best, very bad words were muttered.
But isn’t that the sort of trouble you want on a trip like this?
I jumped back on the moto and followed the low road – and in this case, the right road. Soon, I came across this man in traditional Black Hmong purple-dyed clothing taking a break and sitting on top of a rock. He had a meter long pipe cradled in his lap. With a dramatic mountain background, it was a perfect photo-op. I pulled out my camera and motioned if it would be OK to take his picture.
It wasn’t.
At the moment, I wished I had taken along some American cigarettes to give him and attempt to establish some rapport, but since I didn’t have any, I just shrugged my shoulders and continued on my way.
The remainder of the afternoon was an easy ride as there was just one section where road construction had just begun and where I had to walk the motorbike. A Hmong man and young son were pushing their bike up through the rocks as I was easing mine down. After I was safely down, I helped them get theirs to the top. Big smiles all around.
I got back to town as the mist was turning into rain and the roads turned to a slippery mess. I dropped my bike off at the designated corner, but the almost new Honda was covered in mud. The owner looked concerned and started to closely examine the bike. I did leave a few scratches on the plastic cowling.
A crowd gathered around and every little mark (new or not) was pointed out. The situation was getting a bit tense.
I had rented the motorbike for $4 for the day, but quickly offered to pay another dollar for the damage. He suggested I pay 2 more and that was A-OK by me.
I was out of there before the mob had any thoughts of a lynching.
What a great day!
Tags: hmong, motor bikes, motorbike, sapa, Travel, Viet Nam
jpb
December 10th, 2006 at 7:15 pm
Sounds like you didn’t read the rental agreement…it must have said something like ‘for use only where normal people would think to go….’ Did you find a drive-through moto wash?
Keep writing…only a month of adventures left! S