Trek Fansipan Sapa

Through the unsettling cloudy haze, I saw an alignment of charred trees and was grateful for the greener more vibrant vegetation near our base camp.  My leg was wounded but not seriously, so I could still walk, despite the throbbing pain emanating from both of my callused feet. 

The four of us all sat quietly resting after hours of a non-stop hiking up the side of Fansipan mountain.  It was too late to turn back now – and we had already come halfway and were determined to finish what we had started.

Eoin, Brennan, Suzanna and I gazed curiously at the black scalded war-torn trees in front of us. After the guys dealed another round of cards, Suzanna finally had the courage to speak up and directed a question toward our Vietnamese guides, “Are the trees from… the war?”

We expecting a somewhat sorrowful response from them, but instead, the guides all looked at one another; said something in Vietnamese, and then started to chuckle at her remark.

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Sunday 10th December 1995

I’d spent seven days in Sapa and each had been cold, wet and foggy. This morning brought thick fog again and my spirits dropped. I’d been told that today the weather would change and we’d set off for the summit of Fansipan. Two days ago a party had tried to make the trip and failed as a result of the poor weather and I knew that without the sun we’d never make it to the top.

The small town of Sapa, built by the French at 3,000 feet and perched on the side of the valley facing Vietnam’s highest mountain ridge, gets pretty cold and damp at the end of the rainy season. Then, in December the winds change and the skies clear for about a month before they veer round again and bring bitterly cold weather and snow from the north. Just my luck that the rainy season finished late this year.

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