Hiking in Sapa was undoubtedly the best part of our ten day trip through Vietnam, with a hilarious local guide and some of the most stunning landscapes I’ve ever set eyes on.
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We booked our two day trekking in Sapa trip with Get Your Guide, and I would recommend it to anyone and everyone who wants to get a deeper understanding of this beautiful region and its incredible people. Book the same hiking in Sapa trip here.
Our guide, Sua, jumped out of the minibus and beckoned for us to follow her. We jumped out after her into the stifling heat, earnestly but nervously, to discover we were overlooking a deep valley, patch-worked with a network of rice terraces carved into its steep slopes. Endless green and brown steps covered the landscape, some of them filled in with muddy water, which somehow twinkled in the sunshine as if there were diamonds hidden beneath the surface. It was mid-afternoon and the colours of the landscape beneath us were so brightly saturated that my eyes almost couldn’t cope.
It feels quite ridiculous to compare one of the world’s most stunning landscapes to the screensaver of a Microsoft PC, but in the 21st century it seems impossible not to. Like the mountains of Cap Noir in Reúnion, or the rugged Big Sur coastline in California, the sight of Sapa dazzled my little brain in a way that seemed way too perfect to be true.
The town of the clouds
The Sapa region is in the northeast of Vietnam, not far from the Chinese border, and its stunning mountainous landscape is part of the Hoang Lien Son mountain range. Technically, folks, that’s at the eastern-most end of the Himalayas; so although I can’t really claim to have been anywhere near Everest, it’s still nice to think that I was closer than normal, you know?
Locally known as ‘The Town of the Clouds,’ at 1,560 metres above sea-level, it’s no wonder that the weather in the Sapa region is generally much cooler and wetter than most other parts of Vietnam. Visibility levels here also vary frequently thanks to the fact that it’s often almost completely shrouded in clouds.
Back in Hanoi, I’d dabbled with the idea of buying a plastic poncho from a shop which sold, exclusively, plastic ponchos. But after a little too much deliberation I decided against making my purchase; this may be very skewed logic, pals, but I thought I’d be very disappointed if, having bought one, it never rained. I didn’t want to become the type of person who is disappointed if it doesn’t rain.
And on day one of hiking in Sapa, the decision was so far paying off. With not a single cloud in the sky, and a heat that was seeping deep into my actual skin, the prospect of rain seemed highly unlikely.
Hiking in Sapa
Chris, Polis, and I, slathered on a layer of suncream by the roadside while Sua waited patiently, watching us with a slight twinkle in her eye. We were dressed in very skin-exposing shorts and t-shirts, while she was wearing leggings, a traditionally patterned skirt, a pink zip up hoodie and a bucket hat, not a sliver of skin exposed other than her face and hands.
A tiny grey-haired lady crossed over the road to come nearer to us, with a cheery disposition, a colourful scarf wrapped around her head, and a basket hooked onto her back. She smiled a wide smile and observed us quietly. We smiled back and said hello. She nodded back and continued smiling and observing.
“Ready?” Sua asked. “Let’s go!”
We were going to be spending one night and two days trekking in Sapa, and that evening we were due to be staying at a homestay in a village in the valley. I had no idea what to expect from the experience, not just because of the alien-ness of trekking through the Vietnamese hills, but also because a guided tour isn’t something I’d normally choose to do, even if it is with a local guide. Organised tours, organised fun, in fact organised pretty-much-anything, is just not my normal style, but in this case I was tagging along with Chris and Polis on a trip which (for me) was as much about immersing myself in their way of travelling as immersing myself in Vietnam and Thailand.
We headed downhill, on a narrow path which wove through rice terraces and past little houses, with Sua leading, and with the old lady apparently now accompanying us as well. Another younger woman and a teenage girl, joined our little group, and we continued along the path looking like the Lost Boys trekking through Neverland. As a general rule, the people of south east Asia are much shorter than us Europeans, and the Hmong people of Sapa are no exception.
My long-legged pal Chris bounded along at the front with Sua, giving off the air of Peter Pan in this tropical fairytale setting.
I walked with the teenage girl, who was full of questions. “What is your name? How old are you? Do you have brothers and sisters?” When I told her I have one brother and five sisters she was downright delighted- “You have a big family! Like Hmong family!! We all have many children.”
She passed on the info to Sua who was very impressed. “Wow! You are like Hmong, so many! My mum, she is saying to me that I will understand one day: it is amazing to have so many children. Because, she had eight children. But now, I have three children and I’m thinking: my mum is crazy!! No thankyou!! Not for me, mum! I don’t want more! It hurts!! Ha!!!”
The Hmong people
Fact of the day, pals- Vietnam is one of the most ethnically diverse countries in the entire world, with over 50 ethnic minorities living within its borders. The Hmong hill tribes have never had their own actual country, and have lived here in northern Vietnam since they migrated from China over 300 years ago. Their way of life has remained fairly unchanged for centuries, although one of the bigger changes, aside from the introduction of motorbikes, electricity, and mobile phones, is the introduction of tourism.
(Check out this Czech village I visited, which is surprisingly, home to a massive number of Vietnamese people.)
Amongst Hmong people, the idea of the clan is super important, and each clan is named after a colour or pattern: Black Hmong, Striped Hmong, White Hmong, Flower Hmong. And the names refer to the defining features of their clothes, which are absolutely kaleidoscopic in colour and pattern, particularly for the women.
Sua pointed out a slope running alongside us which was completely abundant with hemp plants. “We Black Hmong, we use these plants to dye our clothes. You want me to show you? But be careful, because it stains your hands ok!?”
She demonstrated how to roll the leaves in a ball until they became a saturated ball of stringy mushiness, then handed a ball to Chris to keep rolling until the palms of his hands turned a deep shade of indigo.
“We weave the material, then we dye it with this, and then we sew into clothes. We are always sewing sewing sewing!” The brightly coloured, intricate patterns that are embroidered into the material are astounding, and beautiful, and frankly so detailed that it’s no wonder that Sua feels as if she spends her entire life sewing sewing sewing.
Later she told us she was jealous of her friends in other clans where sewing wasn’t such a big part of life. “For Black Hmong we finish working in the day, in the farm, and then our free time is: sewing sewing sewing.” She rolled her eyes. “Some of my friends in other clans, they have so much free time! In the evening they can just… ” she mimed hunching over her mobile phone with a zombie-like expression on her face, scrolling with one hand.
“They are watching Youtube, and Tiktok! I am so jealous!”
Pineapple and cocktail sticks
The hills were stunningly silent apart from birdsong and the punctuation of a few human sounds here and there. Occasionally a motorbike or moped would hum past us, as likely to be driven by a ten year old as a fully-fledged adult. In the distance below, people worked away in the fields, wading ankle-deep through muddy water with babies strapped to their backs. Children leapt and splashed in a distant river, seemingly free of any adult supervision. Sua told us that her own children were now grown up enough to be left at home, which meant her and her husband could both be at work during the day. (‘Grown up’ I later realised, meant that the youngest could now walk, and the oldest was around seven years old.)
A couple of times we crossed paths with toddlers or children who were seemingly wandering alone, but the communities are so close that I presumed it’s not really a problem for kids to go a-wandering around the countryside. And there’s no danger of cars rumbling over the horizon here.
We stopped by a little hut where a woman was selling snacks and drinks, mainly to tourists like us. Chris bought a polystyrene tray filled with wedges of juicy pineapple, and the woman gave us all cocktail sticks to eat with. Being a chopstickish kind of a country, the idea of forks is mildly ludicrous, so takeaway food like pineapples-in-polystyrene is often eaten- and even sometimes chopped up with- a mere cocktail stick. I never quite mastered the art of cutting with these miniscule wooden skewers, but I gave it my best shot. (My best shot, being: not that great. My mouth became accustomed, when cocktail sticks were involved, to being overstuffed with food that I could not cut.)
You’re still a tourist when you’re hiking in Sapa
The light became golden and shadows lengthened as we wound our way lower into the valley, and just before the path turned off into a village, the women who had been trekking through Sapa with us stopped to say goodbye. I’d already had an inkling that, at some point, they would want to sell us something, and the moment had finally arrived.
From the baskets on their backs they produced bracelets and rings, batik scarves and factory-made purses which they’d then embroidered with intricate patterns. One of the ladies put a comforting arm around the teenage girl and pleadingly told us “she will be sad if she sells nothing.” I’ll be honest, pals. I didn’t want to buy anything, and I didn’t really have space in my bag for anything extra (especially not things that I didn’t really need), but each of us chose a few things and handed over our cash. I was still glad to have spent time with these ladies and as awkward a position as it was, I didn’t mind too much.
We said goodbye and carried on with Sua into the village, although not before we were briefly met by a group of children who wanted to sell us some bracelets. “Buy from me. I made it by my own. Buy from me. I made it by my own.” The oldest girl repeated her phrase halfheartedly over and over, looking at the floor the entire time. By then we’d almost run out of cash (having handed over what was actually quite a lot, especially by Vietnamese standards, to our walking companions), and we wanted to make sure we had enough left to tip Sua the next day. Unfortunately buying from the children wasn’t even an option for us.
Throughout these moments, Sua maintained the attitude of a wildlife documentary-maker who is there to observe but not interfere, letting slightly uncomfortable scenes play out naturally. She never said anything to try and convince us to buy from anybody, but she also never said anything to reassure us that we didn’t have to. And I weirdly appreciated that. When hiking in Sapa, however isolated we felt from the rest of the world, and however much of a ‘local’ experience we felt we were having, we were still tourists. For the Hmong people who live here, tourism has changed their lives, and flogging a few souvenirs to potentially unsuspecting hikers is all part of the process.
Sua and the tourists
I’m just gonna come out and say it, guys. Sua is my idol. As the little girls traipsed away from us in their colourful skirts, she told us that she used to sell things to tourists like these girls did. “But I don’t like it! This is better! Even though I am tired from the walking!”
We also discovered that although the government pays for Hmong children to go to school, they don’t learn English and she had never taken English lessons. “But how is your English so amazing!?” Polis asked incredulously. Sua’s level of English was so good that she was more than capable of cracking hilarious jokes, telling us all kinds of detailed stories about her life, and ask us any and every question that popped into her head. It far surpassed the English-speaking level of every single Vietnamese person we’d met so far.
“I learned from tourists!”
My mind was blown, and I thought Sua was surely one of the most intelligent people I’d ever met. She explained, when we asked, that she thought tourism in Sapa was a really good thing; she liked showing people around, and it had given people more interesting jobs and more money. “At first, when more tourists started to come, I was sometimes shocked by some things, but now it’s normal to see. Like when I first saw two people holding hands! We do not do this! And the clothes, for Hmong we should cover everything with trousers, long sleeves. But I saw what western people were wearing and WOW!”
Although I hadn’t read anything about having to dress a specific way in Sapa (other than for the unpredictable weather), I had been wondering if my shorts and top were offending at all, and just decided to ask outright. “Is it offensive if someone comes to Sapa and they’re not covered up?”
“No! It’s ok. That is your culture. This is our culture. It’s just different. We don’t mind.”
Through the village
Every time we saw a water buffalo, (at one point one actually sprung out of a bush towards us) at least one of us would stop to take a picture. Which naturally, Sua thought was hilarious. She started to laugh as Chris photographed his fourth water buffalo of the hike. “He is obsessed with them! Why do you like buffalo so much!?”
I suppose stopping to photograph something so normal as a water buffalo in Vietnam is akin to stopping to photograph every sheep you see in England. Tourists.
We stopped in at a house in the village, where a row of wellington boots balanced upside down to dry on a fence. A little boy played outside while colourful fabric swayed gently in the breeze, an old sewing machine beneath it, ready to go when it was time to sew sew sew.
Sua turned to us as we walked past the locked front door. “We cannot go inside, because the shaman is visiting. The wife is pregnant, and the shaman has come to make a ritual for the pregnancy.”
We carried on through the town, which although small was fairly busy compared to the quiet paths that we’d been walking on for the last few hours. Polis, a city-dweller at heart, was beginning to feel the effects of the lack of caffeine in his body, and was craving a coffee. He looked around in desperation for a sign declaring that coffee was for sale, but there was not a single coffee cup to be found. Poor Polis.
“Why do they not have coffee here!? This is Vietnam! They love coffee!” This was a desperate man, indeed. Call me cynical but it seemed to me that the chances of finding a coffee shop in a tiny mountain village of Hmong people were very slim. But I’m no expert. And the cravings were clearly getting to him.
I kept my mouth strategically shut.
The homestay
We passed several home stays as we left the centre of the town, as well as a few which were in the process of being built. Big buildings with chunky balconies all constructed out of freshly varnished wood. It’s a great business idea, to operate a homestay here where tourism is starting to grow again after the pandemic stopped everything, but I hope it doesn’t get out of control like other parts of the world I’ve visited.
By the time we reached our homestay, the sun was setting. The owner welcomed us inside, giving each of us a pair of plastic sliders to wear inside the house instead of our shoes. Plastic sliders aren’t just a fashion statement in Vietnam; when boarding our sleeper bus to Sapa, we were all given a plastic carrier bag for our actual shoes and plastic sliders to wear if we wanted to get off at a rest stop. And I could give you all the advice about what shoes to wear when you’re hiking in Sapa- but the elderly woman who had joined us that afternoon had worn plastic sliders for the entire very steep hike.
In Vietnam: sliders are the practical footwear of choice, whether on flat terrain or scaling a mountain.
The owner poured us all some tea and after we’d cleaned up we headed over to the house across the road, which was where she and her family lived. We sat down at the little table and plastic chairs outside, and she placed bowls of rice and intriguing-looking meat and vegetables and spring rolls in front of us. We ate in the twilight with a bright lamp shining on the wall behind us, fighting off the odd mosquito.
It was strange to see the difference in the accommodation that was being provided for us, (which, Get Your Guide had informed us, would be very basic), and the accommodation that the family stayed in (which, by most western standards, really was very basic). The family home was clearly much older, and far more higgledy-piggledy in layout. The kitchen, where the family was eating, was crowded with utensils and pots and ingredients; the sink was a tin bowl on the floor.
Families in Vietnam are far more tightly-knit than most British or American families, and it’s very normal for several generations to live together and even sleep in the same room, whether in a Hmong household in Sapa or in a city household in Hanoi. And this family of at least three generations was no different, sharing one big room in the middle of the house with mosquito nets around each mattress. I’m so accustomed to living alone that even the thought of living with a housemate terrifies me, let alone my entire family, but I suspected that somebody from this Hmong family might feel equally as daunted by the idea of living solo.
As we were the only guests in the homestay that evening, we were each offered our own room, instead of the big dorm room on the second floor of the brand-new homestay building. I’d never slept under a mosquito net before, but it worked a treat and I’m pleased to say that I woke up the following morning after the best night’s sleep I’d had in ages, with exactly zero fresh mosquito bites.
Breakfast of champions
I may not have been bitten overnight but I couldn’t shroud myself in a mosquito net permanently.
The next morning I stood in the shower eyeing a particularly pointy-looking mosquito which seemed to be eyeing me back, aggressively, from the shower-head. “How can something so tiny be so intimidating?” I wondered. Also “Does the family have a shower in their house?”
I remembered seeing a girl washing her hair with soapy suds under an outdoor tap the day before, and decided that it was unlikely that the owners of the homestay had a shower in their house over the road. This was probably one of the comforts that were considered essential for attracting western guests. Showers, private rooms, toilet paper and forks. There was no wifi, but I didn’t want it or miss it.
Sometimes I hate wifi, for sucking people (myself included) out of the present.
We crossed over the road and waved hello to the grandfather of the house, who was bouncing a baby boy on his hip. He picked up the boy’s hand to wave back, and smiled. Out came Sua from the kitchen, letting us know we should sit down for breakfast and that they were going to make pancakes for us so that we could have a breakfast we were used to.
Vietnamese breakfast is often salty broth, rice or noodles, and although I actually quite appreciated the times I started the day with a plate of noodles or a bowl of broth, it was actually really nice to have a taste of a sweet pancake and some fruit. And Polis’s eyes glowed when the word ‘coffee’ was mentioned; a thermos of hot water was produced, along with some sachets of instant coffee, and we were grateful for the gesture. This may well be a homestay, but it wasn’t a completely ‘Hmong’ homestay experience.
Hiking in Sapa: Day 2
When I’d first woken up that morning, there was a tumble of mist rolling across the valley, leaving the flowers coated in crystal beads of dew. I loved that we were getting to see this place in all different lights, at all different times of the day, and as we left the homestay and carried on along the path, the sky was bright but the mist was still rolling low at the foot of the hills, like a layer of dry ice on stage.
We carried on through farmland, along the stepped fields and past more water buffalo and lines of laundry and wellington boots, chatting to Sua as we went.
We’d seen a snake preserved in a jar of rice wine in Ha Long Bay, and asked Sua if there were ever snakes here in Sapa.
“Yes, my husband found one yesterday.”
“Oh my god! What did he do with it!?”
Sua laughed out loud because, I’m pretty sure, she knew we would be shocked by what she was going to say.
“He ate it!”
Vietnam is one of the most snake-consuming countries in the world, and whilst snake meat is considered a delicacy, the blood is thought to be great for your health. Not that I was aware of this until after Sua had explained her husband’s eating habits to us. “I don’t like the taste, so I didn’t have some. Bleurgh! But he likes it!” She shrugged and laughed again, probably mostly at the expression on my face.
On our first day hiking in Sapa, we’d only seen a couple of other tourists, but this second day was very different. The path was by no means packed, but there were so many more hikers. Not just western tourists, but also small groups of Asian visitors, all often being guided by Hmong women as well.
We climbed uphill, into a thick bamboo forest where we had to pull ourselves upwards by grabbing onto the bamboo, being careful not to touch the younger grass which is covered in spikes. Sua is built to navigate her way through these woody forests; but longer-limbed folk are at a slight disadvantage, size-wise.
After surfacing from the bamboo and trekking even higher uphill, we turned to marvel the landscape around us. This place really is breathtaking. We were drenched in sweat, quite exhausted, and still had over an hour until we reached our final destination, but I was so so happy that we were there. Down below, we spotted a buffalo being driven along one of the steps.
“Look, a buffalo!” Sua remarked.
She knew us so well.
The final hour or so hiking in Sapa was the most difficult. The sun was high up in the sky, our bottles of water had grown rather warm, and we were all together pretty tired from heading uphill rather than down. But it was so, so, worth the tiredness. At the end of the hike, after a brief sit-down, along came a bus to take us back into the town- and it was a shocker to realise how far we’d walked.
For someone who normally shies away from on organised tour, I’m so so glad that my lovely pals made the decision to book this trip. (And that I made the decision to tag along.) We learnt so much from Sua about the Hmong way of life, and saw so much of this stunning landscape, which frankly I would never have seen had I been travelling alone.
Sapa is a stunner, and it has completely won my heart.
We booked our two day trekking in Sapa trip with Get Your Guide, and I would recommend it to anyone and everyone who wants to get a deeper understanding of this beautiful region and its incredible people. Book the same hiking in Sapa trip here.
Hiking in Sapa: Logistical Statisticals
- The tour we booked with Get Your Guide included transportation by sleeper bus from Hanoi.
- It takes about six hours by road to get from Hanoi to Sapa Town, and if you want to book your own travel, the best way to do it is using 12Go.
- You can also get a train from Hanoi to Sapa, which takes around seven hours. Book this with 12Go.
- It is definitely possible to trek through Sapa without a guide, although I’m glad we used a guide just to learn more about the Hmong way of life; also to hear some of Sua’s hilarious stories.
- We left our big bags in a hotel in Sapa, and only took a small backpack each on our two day hike.
- What to wear when hiking in Sapa? Layers. The weather we experienced in late April was extremely hot and humid, so we all wore thin layers and tonnes of suncream. BUT- most visitors experience much cooler, wetter weather. A waterproof jacket is probably a good idea; and make sure your backpack is waterproof, too.
- The best time to go hiking in Sapa is either in the dry season between March and May, or September to October when the Autumnal colours are out in full glory.
- The town of Sapa is actually very touristy, with lots of hotels (and plenty of coffee shops if you need your caffeine fix.)
- Hiking in Sapa is really as difficult as you want it to be. Sua gave us the option of following more challenging routes, or easier ones, (we chose the trickier ones), and that’s another reason I appreciated having a guide while we were hiking.
- Bring cash, and mosquito spray!
Fabulous article on your trek through Sapa! You’re a very good writer. Sapa is one of my favorite parts of Vietnam–reading this article brought back great memories of my time there.