Therapy?

The French, or more appropriately le French, are quite a people. Unlike the Brits, centuries ago they made the sane decision that they would NOT conquer the world. So whatever countries they had colonised, all for the better, they knew how to take care of them. Meanwhile, the Brits who are hell-bent on world domination back then, now have to contend with disgruntled colonies who now demand compensation for whatever wrongdoing that might have besotted them 2-3 generations ago. You know who I mean.

So the French, while colonising Vietnam, knew right away that all work and no play makes Pierre a dullard. And so, rightly bothered with the maurading menace of Hanoi, they searched high, low, mostly high, for a mountain resort they could settle on, renovate, and call their own. Thus Sapa was born… and from the quiet and stillness surrounded by the sheer magnificence and splendour of Mother Nature herself, they found the vigour and inspiration to invent fries, toast, Evian, and of course the kiss. Probably.

Meanwhile, JWW Birch got stoned to death and the Brits wondered why the locals were so hell-bent on driving them away. Oh, the stress, the stress…

Getting to Sa Pa was no easy feat, I assure you. An 8-hour overnight train awaited you and if you, for some unknown reasons are not well-adept at sleeping on 2-inch mattresses, then you’ll be in for a harrowing ride, and a stiff neck in the morning to boot. MingKeong suffered the indignity of this (HonCheng and I slept soundly) and was a tired wreck when we arrived at dawn.

A few things impressed us immediately. The quaint French architectural influences are everywhere, and judging by just the people and buildings there you would have thought you were lost in some part of Europe (lots of caucasians there). The weather was inviting, mild sunlight and Cameron-like coolness throughout, with the odd misty morning now and again. The streets were safe enough to walk in round the clock, and kids are seen parading and peddling their handiwork deep into the dead of night. Locals greet you with whatever greeting they knew, which were either "hello" or "hello buy for me please." (more the latter) And if I hadn’t emphasised enough then, let me tell you, the scenery there was breathtaking, in both senses of the word.

Marketplaces are the hub of Sa Pa town. These places are what give life to what would be a normal, quiet mountain town. They operate everywhere, around the clock, always up for a joust of bargaining and photography. They make beautiful stuff here, from embroidery to pillowcases to fridge magnets to national costumes to stone carvings. The town square was where we spent most of our time, each time for a round of negotiating, purchasing and debriefing… and the next visit for another particular item that caught our interest. Hotels are dirt cheap too. One night in a 3-bed room with our own bathroom and cable television cost us US$2 per person. The rationale is so we’d stay longer and buy more stuff. And so we got sucked into this enchanting, surreal palace of the gods for nearly half our entire duration in Vietnam.

The town itself is charming enough. People from all walks of life actually greet you (no joke), tourists and locals alike. The locals, we were told, wear their own handiwork, so we made sure to buy from those who look the most splendid. HonCheng noted, it was better to buy from locals in their traditional costumes, so it’d help directly their families and livelihoods. Go straight to the source, as they say. Nothing like taking your own empty bottle to the mountains to get real mineral water, figuratively. Those who wear suits and western gear are almost immediately labeled as "middlemen" or "greedy" or "trying too hard to impress the tourists" and we avoid them mostly.

Local tour agencies are everywhere. They would promote day tours to other nearby sanctuaries and villages, each with their own people, costume, flavour and marketplace. We took a day tour of the Sunday Bac Ha market, where many different tribes converge in a massive open-air marketplace, in their own costumes, where they would not only sell their wares but make purchases from the other tribes as well. A 3 hour van ride to a most obscure location suddenly arife with people and colour and glorious activity.

Obviously the marketplace is the best place to practice your bargaining skills. Since nothing had a price tag on, it was up to the seller to name a starting price and go down from there. According to our Lonely Planet guidebook, the rule of thumb is one-third the offered price. We were persistent, we were unpleasant, we were the stingy Malaysian boys. MingKeong was undoubtedly the grand sumo champion of bargaining, with him ending up spending the least of the 3 of us. It was with much anticipation and interest that I saw him haggle with the most experienced of market dwellers. Hence the picture above. We used our non-verbal capacities to the fullest that day, needless to say.

At night, the town lights up, amidst a background of gentle mist and the soft glow of amber streetlights along the walkways and at the town square. Places that are exclusively open at night, the coffee houses, the dinner-themed restaurants, cybercafes, a separate night market, bars and watering holes, beckon you to be a part of the atmosphere. We soaked in the sights, and once again were amazed by the fact that the sun set at 5pm. The people were still up though.

The people here, far far away from metropolitan stresses and stressors, knew how to have a good time, and relish in the slower pace of living here. The average restaurant meal takes 10 to 15 minutes to prepare, and if you order fried rice or noodles, be prepared to wait 20 minutes. The Vietnamese coffee, immense in flavour and body, takes 15 minutes to drip fully into a cup. This pace affords the pleasures of conversation, good company, and dispelling the thoughts of to-do lists, angry bosses at work and the pain of commuting. Like the Fraggle Rock theme song, "dance your cares away, worries for another day…" its fully embodied here.

On our last evening in Sa Pa, the town had a power cut. The whole town was shrouded in darkness at 6pm. If at anywhere else, the people would be scrambling for emergency lights, candles, and angrily calling TNB for an explanation and a quick restoration of electricity. Over here, it meant another setting to shop/dine/mingle in. We sought shelter in a nearby coffeehouse (it was a blistering cold evening), and the staff slowly lit up the tables one by one. And the three of us, weathered city boys who could not imagine a world without electricity even for 3 minutes, sat quietly, illuminted by the faint candle light, arrested by the charm of a town so at ease with itself, charming holidaymakers to be with them just for a little while more.

It was true. I had not wanted to leave Sa Pa.