Sapa.

Both riders of The Tandem Bike have temporarily gone solo—A on a bus to Laos a few days ahead of me, and I on a side trip to Sapa, a mountainous region in the far north of Vietnam. It was a spur of the moment decision based solely on me seeing a photo of terraced rice paddies—a photo so breathtakingly beautiful that I just couldn’t not go, even though two of the three nights I’d booked would be spent on overnight trains. Which is where I am now.

So…Sapa. Did it live up to the photo? Actually, the photo didn’t live up to it. There are no words to describe the loveliness of this place. Entire mountains are carved into terraced fields like staircases for the Jolly Green Giant. Waterfalls cut through any and every crevice they can find to make their way to rivers winding through verdant valleys. Picturesque villages spot the countryside, and lone women harvest rice wearing conical hats like they’re posing for postcards rather than just going about their daily lives.

Though the weather was somewhat schizophrenic—by turns rainy, sunny, steamy, and chilly—nothing could dampen my enthusiasm to just be out in it. I arrived early in the morning, had a quick breakfast, and then set out on a 12 km hike to the village where I’d be spending the night. I was lead by a tiny little woman named Van, who was from a village we passed through along the way. She was dressed in the traditional garb of the region, which was comprised of velvety leg warmers, and layers of jackets and belts embroidered with hand-dyed hemp. On our way, she showed us the indigo fields that her tribe uses for dye. We also stopped by her shack of a house to see villagers hand-weaving fabrics and sewing incredible designs into their creations. This is possibly the first place I’ve ever been where the people are almost completely self-sufficient.

They grown their own food, ground their own flour, raise their own livestock. It’s pretty incredible to see in this day and age. I basically decided that, at the first sign of the apocalypse, I’m heading straight for Sapa.

Anyway, over two days of hiking, we were accompanied by groups of little local ladies in rain boots with giant baskets attached to their backs. They asked all of the usual questions—What’s your name? Where are you from? How old are you? Are you married?—and tried to build up a personal repport with whomever they’d singled out for their attention. And then, as we got to more treacherous parts of the trail, they would grab our hands to make sure we didn’t go sliding through the mud and endless bogs of animal poo. Their help was pretty invaluable—though they definitely wanted to put a value on it at the end of the day. As soon as we reached the house where we were staying, they pulled out a store’s worth of stuff from their wicker baskets. There were belts, pillowcases, jewelry, clothing, hats. And they wanted you to buy it all—a little token for them helping you through the shit.

And of course I did.

My favorite part was when, on the second day, my “helper” turned out to be all of 10 years old. Her name was Chi, and I cannot tell you how many times she kept me from braining myself on a rocky hillside. It was actually kind of embarrassing to be so reliant upon a child, but she was incredibly strong for her age.

She sold me two highly overpriced bracelets. And then about 30 minutes later, she tracked me down and gave me a third. Just ‘cause she liked me. That sentiment alone was better than any material gift.