To Sapa, with love

I have never visited a place more beautiful than Sapa. Even the old-world charm of Paris cannot rival my newfound love for this mountainous region, home to a number of Vietnam’s ethnic minorities. I’ve seen Sapa in pictures--many of which capture the morning fog hovering over Sapa’s iconic terraced rice fields--and briefly learned about the ethnic minorities populating this region in college. Never did I expect, however, that a short visit to this region would leave such a heavy impression on me.

Perhaps it was the beautiful scenery of the terraced rice fields, the cool weather that brought forth a case of homesickness I’ve been trying so hard to suppress, or the heartbreaking sweetness of the ethnic minorities with whom I was fortunate to interact? Or, was it the frustration I felt with the exploitative tourist industry that treats the ethnic minorities as nothing more than showcases to lure in visitors while pocketing all the money and leaving none for the local people? Or, was it the despicable actions of the tourists themselves, many of whom were incredibly disrespectful to the ethnic minorities and ignorant to the poverty they experience?

It’s been a week since my visit and I’m still thinking of Sapa and all that I witnessed during my stay there. I can’t let go of the incredible beauty of the region. Those terraced rice fields are not only breathtaking scenery to be admired, but they are an agricultural genius and evidence that, while uneducated in formal schooling, the ethnic minorities are the sole experts in this region.


I also can’t let go of the heartbreaking sweetness of the locals. I use the term heartbreaking because the ethnic minorities have all the reason to be resentful of outsiders, who come in and gawk at them, intrude on their lives, and force them to conform to our societal structure, but they were nothing but welcoming and genuinely interested to learn about our lives. I was fortunate enough to visit a Dzao village, one of the five ethnic minorities that inhabit this region (before, there were over 60 groups).

Immediately when I got out of the car, I was swarmed by a group of Dzao women, who began throwing questions at me, “Where are you from?” “What’s your name?” “Do you like Sapa?” Together, walking alongside Dzao women and children (the men were in the fields working), passing their stilt houses, I felt I was in another world, but not for a single moment did I feel awkward or uninvited. The women made sure that wasn’t the case.
I also can’t shake off the memory of the cutest little baby boy, named Ta, whom I played with in the village. Just a little over a year old, chubby little Ta was strapped to his mom’s back and every time I looked at him, he smiled this cute, dimpled smile and hid his face in shyness. He was the cutest little thing and it broke my heart having to leave knowing that Ta, like most of the children in the village, will not get an education and be forced to live a life peddling souvenirs to insensitive tourists.

And the 15 year-old girl H’mong girl selling handmade items in the central market, who gave me a friendship bracelet after returning over and over to purchase from her… and the older H’mong ladies we bargained with…
...and the little kids, covered in dirt that we passed in the mountainside…and the little H’mong baby playing with his dad, who sold bitter watermelon that no one seemed to buy…

Most of all, I can’t let go of the frustration I feel toward the tourist industry in Sapa, which I will discuss in another blog entry. The injustice and the disgusting scenes I witnessed is something I will never forget.

Sapa is a land of beautiful scenery, genuinely sweet locals, and a region facing complex issues concerning exploitation, clashes in old world vs. modern social values, and poverty. This mixture of incredible beauty and sadness that I witnessed is why Sapa has such a hold on me. I want to see more, learn more, and spend more time there. I don’t know if I will ever have an opportunity to return again. I will most likely never see little Ta again or the same sellers in the market I had grown fond of. But as corny as this sounds, I will carry with me my experiences—both good and bad—everywhere I go, so even if I never return again, I will at least have my memories of Sapa.