Seven hours on my back

 Saturday - November 4

A long day of not much to report.

6am out the door to catch the 6:30am bus for Sapa. Sapa a hill town in the north on the way to China. It is known for trekking through the terraced rice fields and having a cable car to the top of the tallest mountain in Indochina. Seven hours by bus and could probably save an hour by shared limo van. I don’t know the price difference, but I opted for the bus.

It was the strangest bus I have ever ridden. A sleeper bus. Instead of plush seats like a normal tourist but this was a long distance local bus. On one side of the aisle were two nearly lay flat positions, the other side had singles. The ‘seating’ was bunk bed style. With the lower at the actual floor level and upper at chest height. My berth was at the back of the bus on the floor. So down on my knees I crawled into my allotted space. It wasn’t too bad, certainly designed for shorter stature people but miles ahead of economy seating on Vietnam Air. There was a blanket and a bottle of water for each passenger. With a low diesel rumble we were off.

What can I say about a bus ride? Actually is wasn’t too bad. Long, and a little cramped, but manageable. A couple pee and, snack stops on the way and we got to Sapa in one piece.

My first impression was very similar to Shimla in India. A hill town that was popularized in the late 1800’s by the colonial powers as an escape from the summer heat and humidity of the capital. Delhi in India and Hanoi here. Both towns had a large flattened area as the main square including the stone Catholic Church. The main difference is that Sapa was French influence and Shimla was British. Meaning that when you cross the street you look left and not right (mostly). Off of the main square were streets like spokes on a wheel radiating out. There was no real rhyme or reason to their path, except they were probably following some goat path that was established before the French even heard of the place. Oh! Did I mention it was in the mountains? That means that except for the central square every other way is either steeply up or sometimes steeper down.

My hotel was about as far from the square as is possible and still be in the town proper. The taxi dropped me off and I entered the most austere reception area ever. I looked a “Where is the reception desk?” Question at the doorman and the words I thought I understood were ‘Fifteen’ and ‘one’ and he pointed to a bank of elevators. The main reception desk was on the first floor and the hotel was 18 floors high and kind of glued to the side of a cliff.

After one of the world’s most impersonal check in I went to my ‘City view’ room. The room itself was great, really great. The city view was a bare cliff face on the other side of the road I taxied in on and directly above the entrance. The elevators were a short 3 steps from my room door and each elevator arrival was announced with a almost subtle ‘ding’. Well at least it wasn’t next to the coke and ice machine, because there wasn’t one.

It was mid afternoon so I took a walk back up to the square and looked around, mostly to get a feel for the town, I’ll do tourist stuff tomorrow . I was surprised how tiring laying on a bed for seven plus hours made me. I decided on a sandwich and coke for dinner and then went back to my room and laid around some more. I watched a show that is part of my Sunday ritual back home and read a little before lights out before 10pm. I was still in the embrace of Jet-lag.