Only OK

Getting to the highest point in Vietnam is not a simple thing.

In my former life, B.V. (Before Vietnam), I used to edit Washington Trails magazine. I was also an avid hiker. Since moving to Hanoi, I haven’t done a whole lot of hiking–not because I haven’t wanted to, but because I’ve had few opportunities. Hanoi is very urban, and though hiking getaways are quite possible, it requires some advance planning (we do not own a car, for instance). Still, I’ve had a few good experiences: an overnight trek near Mai Chau, taking a walk up to a hilltop temple outside Hanoi, and a brief jaunt up Monkey Island in Ha Long Bay.

But I had been missing some serious, leg-burning, get-out-in-the-wilderness-style hiking.

So, when my friend Andrew Jay (Joanie’s cousin’s boyfriend) who was visiting from Seattle, had several free days remaining in his trip, I suggested we put together a spur-of-the-moment trek to the top of Fansipan, Vietnam’s highest mountain (3,143 meters, or 10,312 feet). We were somehow able to buy two overnight train tickets to Sapa that night, and called to book a guide for a 3-day trek with Handspan Travel. That afternoon, we packed our gear and in the evening headed for the Hanoi train station.

I was off to Vietnam’s best and most famous hike!

(Click here or on any of the photos in this post for a Flickr slideshow of pictures from the trip.)

Andrew and I navigated the chaos at the train station, only learning about ten minutes before the train departed that we needed to exchange the vouchers we bought from the travel agent for real tickets! Disaster averted, we found our berths–two bunks in a four-bunk compartment. Our traveling companions were a couple from Paris on a trip to the highlands of Sapa.

Women in traditional tribal dress, Sapa.

To make the overnight train ride a sleepful one, we drank a little Johnie Walker, popped a benadryl each, and put our earplugs in. It worked like a charm. I slept soundly, and soon it was 4:30 am and the train had arrived in Lao Cai. From there, we bought seats on a crammed minibus for the winding, one-hour ride in darkness to the town of Sapa.

We arrived at dawn, and grabbed breakfast and coffee at a tourist restaurant. With a couple hours to kill before our trek, we wandered Sapa, which is a big tourist hub for discovering the surrounding hill tribe culture. On the steep streets, women in traditional garb from the Dao and Hmong Tribes prepared for their “assault” on the wandering tourists. The streets were lined with pizza restaurants, souvenir shops, and hotels. Still, it felt more authentic than I’d expected. At a real covered market, women sold produce, meats, and other goods. By mid-morning the tribal ladies began peddling their crafts and constantly nagging the tourists. It wasn’t too hard to smile and say “no thanks,” although they certainly are persistent.

In the late morning, we met our guide, Tuan, and hopped in the minivan that would take us to Tram Ton Pass (elevation 1,900 m) and the start of our trek. Our guide purchased our permits, and then we started hiking. A couple young Hmong porters would carry our food and a little gear, but I was carrying most everything I needed in my pack. We left the tent in Sapa, since we were going to be staying in some sort of shelter.

It felt great to be on trail. The route wound through forests and over creeks. One tree was labeled with a sign that said cinnamon–I tried breaking off some bark and sniffing it, but it just smelled like a tree. During a break alongside a stream, Tuan told us that some of the low bushes we could see were cardamom plants. The Hmong stake out shady places in the forest to grow the spice and harvest it in autumn. Tuan said the crop can fetch 8 dollars a kilo–a substantial income for these cash-poor tribes.

On the trail to the summit of Fansipan.

Tuan turned out to be a very knowledgeable and low-key guide. He was packed with all sort of trivia–he told us that Fansipan was first climbed by an American in 1960, and that a French expedition around 1913 ended in failure. As we broke out of the forest we could see our destination–the summit! The weather was clear and gorgeous–even a bit warm. Tuan told us “we are very very lucky” with the weather. Just a few days prior it had been cold and rainy.

Fansipan is a prosaic mountain–a great green pyramid. A lower peak to its right actually appears craggier and more imposing. At 10,312 feet Fansipan is the highest point in Vietnam, and also the highest in Indochina, which includes Laos and Cambodia. There are higher peaks in Southeast Asia (including Kinabalu in Malaysia and Hkakbo Razi in Burma) but I was more than content to be attempting Vietnam’s highest peak.

The plan for our conquest of Fansipan called for a night at a low basecamp, hiking to the summit on day two, spending a night at a high base camp, and then a return to Tram Ton Pass on day three. By early afternoon we reached the first basecamp.

It was a strange sight. A work crew of about two dozen men was camped here, building campground facilities. It was kind of like a modern-day Vietnamese CCC work crew. They were paving paths, and had plans to eventually build campsites, a shelter, and toilets. A big water tank had already been installed. The camp was muddy and dusty, and a ramshackle bamboo shelter where the workers slept was also our home for the night. An enterprising Hmong family had set up a cookhouse and trekker shop (beers and bottled water for something like $2 a piece). Two groups were already in camp: about 15 young trekkers from Singapore and a group of another 15 from Vietnam.

Roasting goat over the campfire.

It was a bustling, muddy, chaotic place. Not exactly like hiking in the Cascades. Andrew and I left our packs and went up the trail for a little solitude and reading. We could see the summit of Fansipan above, still completely clear. We were lucky with the weather.

The leader of the Singapore group was a funny guy–a young Vietnamese man who’d apparently learned his English watching the entire cinematic oeuvre of Keanu Reeves. We called him “The Dude.” At one point, I heard him exclaim, “Oh my Buddha! That is awesome!”

That evening, over an open fire in the cookhouse, Tuan cooked a huge feast of fish, chicken, tofu, fried spring rolls, and veggies. Then out came the the ruou–that sweet, strong Vietnamese rice liquor–in our never-empty cups. Uh-oh. Many toasts later, we were happily stuffed and buzzed. I pulled out the flask of the remaining Johnnie Walker and we toasted some more (one of the Hmong porters, a young guy of maybe 19, tasted the whiskey and said “WOW!” with eyes wide and a big grin on his face).

The festivities continued outside around a big campfire. One of the Hmong men returned from the hills with a young goat and it was soon sliced, diced, and skewered. Alongside the Singapore and Vietnamese trekkers, we roasted our goat kebabs over the fire (I guess the Hmong don’t have easy access to marshmallows). It was tasty. We were not offered the cups of goat’s blood some of the trekkers were passing around–and were quite happy to miss out on that, thank you very much.

Sleep came fitfully. It was a tight squeeze in the shelter with the construction workers. In the morning, I felt like hell. But Andrew was worse. He’d been sick in the night, and looked pretty pale. After coffee and a little breakfast I revived. I looked forward to some fresh air on trail to clear my head, and soon we were trekking the route. Fansipan’s summit loomed high above, green and completely clear. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. We were indeed very lucky with the weather.

Our guide, Tuan.

Andrew’s health was another matter. I felt better quickly, but my hiking companion was looking worse. He was having trouble keeping pace and he said he felt awful. It was more than a hangover, some sort of food poisoning or traveler’s bug. After about an hour of hiking, Andrew said he didn’t think he could make the summit. Tuan and I talked it over, and agreed he should turn back–Tuan said the trail got much steeper further on, and we didn’t want to put Andrew at risk.

The porters would help guide him down and carry his backpack to the first basecamp. Tuan and I would lighten our packs to the essentials, go for the summit, and then return to the lower basecamp rather than staying the night at high camp. It would be a longer day, but with the light packs, it seemed like a sound plan.

It was a huge bummer that Andrew would not be heading to the summit, but in his nauseous condition, he was pleased at the prospect of being horizontal for the remainder of the day.

Tuan and I returned to the ascent. We climbed the “Great Wall,” which did look something like China’s wall–a narrow ridge with a very steep grade. It was lined with concrete railings painted to look like huge pieces of bamboo. We then dropped down a steep path with occasional metal ladders, and then up again to a saddle, and then down once again.

The switchback is unheard of in Vietnam, apparently. The trail generally went straight up and down the mountainside, winding through boulders and tree roots. If you’ve ever done Mailbox Peak in the Cascade foothills near Seattle, you’ll know what the trail up Fanispan is like. Except with more ups and downs–probably at least double the total elevation gain.

After descending from a saddle, we saw an imposing face of granite, like a small version of Yosemite’s Half Dome. Then it was up further to a viewpoint about 500 feet short of the summit. From here, we could see down to Sapa and the mountains beyond. Tuan’s legs were sore, so he said he’d prefer to rest at the viewpoint and let me go up to the summit on my own.

At 3143 meters, the highest point in Vietnam!

The way led up through low bamboo, which shimmered in the sun and wind. Wisps of clouds soared over the nearing summit. Hiking alone, the mountain felt more mystical, like the Cold Mountain of Chinese poetry–serene and aloof. The final bit of trail was mucky and threaded through thickets of bamboo. Then the trail hit the summit, a crown of rock with a commanding view.

The Singapore group had just made the summit, and The Dude greeted me enthusiastically. It was a formidable sight from the top–a 360-degree view to great green mountains all around, Sapa far below, and much of Northwestern Vietnam covered in a sea of clouds. The wind was potent, fluttering a large Vietnamese flag. Also at the summit was a steel pyramid marking Vietnam’s highest point and a small standing Buddha.

I soaked up the sunshine, had my picture taken by The Dude, and was very happy to be above 10,000 feet. Clouds started to whiz over the summit, sometimes obscuring the view. My timing had been incredible. I gave thanks to the Buddha, took a few more pics and took some deep draughts of clear air. I said my good-byes to the Singaporeans, and headed back down to where Tuan was waiting and our long descent.

After eating the universal Vietnamese trekking lunch (baguettes, La Vache Qui Rit cheese, canned meat, tomatoes, and cucumbers) we began the long trail back to first basecamp. For the most part, we hiked in silence. At one point, Tuan turned on a little radio. I’m not usually one for radios in the wilderness, but the combination of late afternoon mountain light, flitting birds, wind rustling the bamboo, and the tinny, distant sound of traditional Vietnamese music was exceedingly pleasant.

It was a long stretch of hiking, and our knees definitely felt it. Tuan confided to me that he thought this was going to be his last trip guiding Fansipan–his legs weren’t what they used to be, he said. I’m not sure I believed him. If he was in pain, he was tough, as his pace still quite fast. I think perhaps he was older than the 29 years he said he was. Still, I think he loves this place, and would find it hard not to return. “Maybe with a bigger group,” he said. “They’re always slower,” he said with a smile.

On the trail back down from the summit.

Coming down the “Great Wall” was magical–I had to stop frequently to snap photos in the golden light, knowing that the pictures would never capture the quiet beauty of the moment. I’d never noticed that bamboo leaves could be so reflective–the entire mountainside caught the sunlight in millions of diamond-like points, scintillating in the mountain breeze.

By early evening–around 5 p.m.–we returned to the grotty basecamp. Andrew had managed to eat a little, and had slept most of the afternoon. Tuan made another huge dinner that evening, and I was thankful, as I had a good appetite from the all the day’s exertions. We skipped the rice liquor.

I should quickly note the latrine at this place–perhaps if you return in six months there will be a proper toilet here. Suffice to say, right now the rudimentary toilet at the basecamp required some nerve. You squat over a hole in a rickety wooden platform  hanging over a brushy cliff. A fall would be disgusting, not to mention you’d probably break your neck.

The next day Andrew was feeling much better and we did the easy hike back down to Tram Ton Pass.

We spent the rest of the day exploring Sapa, buying a few trinkets, sitting in a cafe reading our books, and eating pizza and chicken burgers at a tourist restaurant. Then a minibus down to Lao Cai, and a night train back to Hanoi. We felt bad about  having a rather pronounced backpacker aroma (the downside of doing the night trains and not staying a night in a hotel). We changed out of our stinky shirts at least, and our cabin mates–two older Vietnamese women–didn’t protest about our appearance. Of course they spoke no English, so I guess we’ll never know what they really felt about the two grubby American trekkers.

We arrived back in Hanoi in early morning, and it was delightful to be home where there were hot showers and warm beds.

It was a great adventure getting to the summit of Vietnam’s highest peak, although I’m sad that my hiking partner didn’t make it to the top. All the more reason to return…