Finding Happiness in Sapa

by Filip Ivkovic (Austria)

Making a local connection Vietnam

"Are you sure you want to drink something that strong?" I asked our nineteen-year-old hiking guide. "Of course," she replied, pouring herself another cup from the labelless plastic bottle, "this is 'happy water', you drink when you sad and you drink and drink until you happy. I drink half bottle every day." The tourists – a married couple from Australia, an aspiring chef from Belgium, honeymooners from France, and my girlfriend and I – shared a look of concern. Our hosts, all female at this point, awkwardly looked away, smiles disappearing from their faces. We were all sitting at a large wooden table in the center of our homestay in Sapa, Vietnam. The dining room we were in could hardly be called a room as it only had two and a half walls; it was on the ground floor of the house with large openings in the front and on one of the sides, expanding into the garden; floors bare concrete, walls covered with the same wooden boards used for the stairs that led to the second floor where we all slept on heavy mattresses covered with mosquito nets. Having just finished dinner, 'happy water' started flowing freely around the table, but it always seemed to find its way into the hands of our young guide. The drink's high alcohol content (over 50%) didn’t shock us. The local moonshine actually paired well with the food we had, serving as both an aperitif and digestif to our meal of fried rice, steamed vegetables, blood sausage stir-fry, and spring rolls. We just didn't expect our eight-month-pregnant guide to outdrink us all. Arriving in Sapa early that morning, we met our group and guides – a small crowd of Vietnamese women, some younger than five, some older than sixty. We were set to hike 14 kilometers to the homestay where we’d spend the night overlooking the rice fields and farms. The hike turned out more difficult than expected. It had rained heavily over the previous days and the paths, if you can call a narrow pile of mud between the rice paddies a path, were wet and slippery. I already felt unprepared for such a task. A huge backpack on my shoulders, I weighed even more than usual, which meant the chances of me sinking in the mud were high. I started sweating just thinking about what awaited us. The guides were not affected by the poor conditions of the paths. They cross similar paths on a daily basis, sometimes carrying heavy loads themselves. Soon enough, they were running circles around us, helping us stay on our feet, pulling us up with their bony arms when we would slip. And we slipped often. The little girls found joy in running around us barefoot, watching us wobble like a herd of fawns. Fourteen kilometers never seemed so long, but the promise of a magnificent view and authentic experience kept us going. Our guide told us how her husband kidnapped her. He, together with two friends, grabbed her from the side of the road and took her home. She was kept there for three days, and when they passed, she had no option but to stay, as per the village law. The more she told us, the emptier the bottle got. She said she became a guide by learning English from the tourists. The job keeps her out of the house, giving her some freedom and income, a sliver of independence from her husband. She believes becoming a guide is the best a young girl can do to avoid the same tragedy she endured. The next morning, she didn't come to say goodbye. She felt too ashamed. As we were getting ready to leave the homestay and carry on with our trip, the children surrounded us for one last hug. My girlfriend knelt down, took off her necklace, and placed it around a little girl’s neck. We all followed, taking off our bracelets, necklaces, pins, and hair ties, giving them to the children. They all said 'Thank you' in English, like good little students. We stood there helpless for a moment before heading back into town, another fourteen kilometers across the mountains of Vietnam.