Sunday Snapshot: A story for the grandkids

This snapshot features a trip from several years back. I briefly mentioned it in a previous snapshot, and include it here to bolster my courage as I head off on what will likely prove to be an interesting journey tomorrow. When facing stressful travel in Asia, I always remind myself, “If you survived the Sapa trip, you can do this.”

It was February 2007. I had already been traveling through China, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam for more than five weeks. My teammate Seth, his friend Jason and I were meeting up with Kirsten in Hanoi. Kirsten was a friend of Seth’s who taught in Vietnam, and who I had briefly met before.  Prior to our arrival, Kirsten had booked train tickets for us up to Sapa, a town in the mountains of northern Vietnam.  Due to a lack of knowledge of our budget and limited ticket availability during Tet holiday (Vietnam’s New Year), Kirsten had purchased hard seat tickets.  When we  found out the news, we weren’t too phased.  We had all done hard seaters in China, and while the quarters are quite cramped, the benches actually have some padding and aren’t unbearable.  However, upon arrival at the train station and after a peek in the window of a train we realized hard seat in Vietnam literally means hard seat.  Or to be more exact, wooden park benches.  We immediately asked Kirsten if it was possible to upgrade to a bed once on the train, a procedure that is quite common in China.

Kirsten obligingly asked around the station and eventually found a train attendant who said there was a private cabin available, although there was only one bed in the cabin. However, the cabin was private making it more conducive to sharing. We figured one bed was better than no beds, and reasoned that we could rotate between who was on the bed and who was on the seats throughout the night. We boarded the train to check out the accommodations, and the attendant led us to none other than the steward’s cabin. It was a tiny closet of a room, likely no more than 4ft by 5ft with one bunk, a luggage rack, and a rusty bucket of rusty tools. But, once again, better than nothing, so after bargaining about the price we handed over the cash. Soon thereafter the train started to roll out of the station.

It was as the train was rolling out that we realized there were two trains going to Sapa that night. And that our seats were on the other train. Which meant our tiny closet of a cabin needed to house all four of us for the night. Seth climbed up to the luggage rack (which, surprisingly, may have been the most comfortable perch of the night), Kirsten and I crawled into the bunk, and Jason toughed it up and stretched out on the dirty floor.  Actually, stretched isn’t a very accurate term. Due to the actual size of the cabin and the fact that he had to share the floor with all of our backpacks, there was no stretching to be done. Kirsten’s and my positioning on the bunk was complicated by the fact that a) it was only about 4 ft long and b) one end was slanted at a 45 degree angle. To make matters worse, the train got hotter and hotter throughout the night. One of my most distinct memories of the night is at one point Kirsten and I literally recoiling from each other–sitting upright, with legs pulled up to our chests at opposite ends of the bunk just trying to cool down.

You may think no desitnation is worth that, but we awoke in the morning to one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. Gorgeous mountains melting away into mist. Winding roads through untouched landscapes. Terraced rice paddies. Beautiful people. Hikes and motorbike rides in deserted areas. Gloriously worth it.

When it came time to leave this serene mountain retreat, we decided to tough it out with our hard seat tickets.  It certainly couldn’t be worse than the steward’s cabin, right?  We boarded the train and after Kirsten and I declined a few marriage proposals from a few happily intoxicated men, we settled in for the night.  The benches were barely large enough for two American sized bottoms, but with a constant rotation through various positions of leaning on each other, we began to doze off some. But then the train stopped. And a woman, face weathered with years of experience, slowly picked her way down the aisle of our car. And then stopped a few rows from us. You see, in Asia, they sell standing only tickets for the trains. The other dozing passengers took little notice of this wearied traveler. However, we couldn’t ignore her. We squished our bottoms closer and invited her to our bench. Luckily, she had an Asian sized bottom. Once again, we dropped our heads in an attempt at rest. Fifteen minutes had barely passed when, body drooping in the languor of sleep, the old woman fell off the bench. And so ensued constant vigilance over our new travelmate, as arms reached out to steady her each time sleep overcame the rigidity of her muscles.

It was a long night.  By the time we got back to Kirsten’s house, all we wanted to do was lie on the couch, watch movies and order Indian food.  Regardless, the above travel experience did teach me that when necessity calls for it, I can tough it out. And quite often the destination is worth the headache of the journey.