The weather in Hanoi hovered down to twelve degrees according to the app on my phone; whether it was accurate or not, my pulsating fingers were telling me there was no need to question its veracity. So, while waiting for the van to pick me up at the office of Sinh Tourist, I walked across to a small noodle joint and ordered a bowl of hot Pho Ga. My newfound friend in the city, Hoang, had told me about the snow that had fallen in Sapa a few days before; she advised me to add extra layers of clothing. I told Hoang the cold never bothered me anyway. It was a lie; as I sat quivering, waiting to sip on some hot Vietnamese chicken noodles, I imagined how much coldness awaited me in Sapa.
8:30 Sleeper Train to Sapa | Vietnam
Boarding Cabin Number Five
Again, my excitement about riding my first sleeper train diminished my worry about the cold mountain weather. As similarly delighted as I was during my previous trip to Yogyakarta via a seven-hour train ride, there was that added thrill of spending the night on a train lying on a cabin bed. Although I had already expected it to be small and deprived of proper space—and I had prepared myself to develop cramped-up kicks—I was still eager to experience it.
The van picked me up at around 7:45 PM, and the driver asked me to sit at the front. As I took a glance at my back, I saw a packed van filled with huge bodies of Caucasian people huddled inside. I was glad I got that seat, as I was only seated beside a petite Vietnamese woman. The train station was not far from downtown; the ride took less than ten minutes, and after we got off the van, we quickly proceeded to our assigned train cars. Mine was located in car number seven, cabin number five, with my bed located at the lower-left berth.
Strangers on a Train
It was almost eight o'clock in the evening already, and as dozens of passengers walked past my cabin, I was hoping that nobody else was assigned to it because I did not want to be sharing the night with three rowdy and loud-snoring passengers. The clock became my ally, and as a few more tick-tock minutes went by, just as I was sure that I would be alone in my cab, two Asian women entered the cabin to my delight. I later found out they were from Ho Chi Minh and were rushing to Sapa to see the snow.
A few minutes later, a Caucasian woman entered and occupied the bed above mine. I was able to talk to her later in the night and learned that her name was Agatha, born and raised in Argentina but then based in Portugal, which she referred to as her "former home" because she intended to reside everywhere over the next few years.
The two Vietnamese girls talked and giggled with each other while Agatha read her book. I was reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig, which was about a father and son's cross-country road trip across the continental USA, peppered with philosophical anecdotes. I showed and explained the gist of the book to Agatha, who in turn narrated the story so far of her Alice Munro book. It was one of those little chats that I appreciated whenever I traveled alone. To me, it was like a cameo appearance in someone else's life—fleeting moments that would surely be gone before you knew it. You often shared a train with someone going to work, but it was different when you were both taking one to a destination alien to both of you, and the sense of traveling kicked in; you felt the urge to connect and share a talk for a while.
A Seven-Hour Delay
I dozed off at page 125 of my book, as evidenced by its folded leaf as I left the book pressed between my chest and the pillow. I could feel the train shaking and vibrating over the tracks; the movement made me sleepier, like a baby being rocked and lulled to sleep. I slept through the night and was awakened at the sound of the train making a full stop. Accompanied by creeping morning light in the window, I thought we had reached Sapa. I stood up, washed my face and brushed my teeth in the small comfort room, and hurriedly checked out the scene outside. There were no mountain slopes nearby, not even anything that looked like a train station.
We were in the middle of nowhere in a town somewhere. Soon, other clueless passengers descended down the tracks and asked the train crew what was going on. It was weird because nobody knew the reason; it was a random person selling tea on the trackside who told me about a train that had broken down ahead of us. In short, we were delayed at that place for seven hours, from five o'clock in the morning until noon. I was able to explore the small town on foot during that time. The two Vietnamese women, whose patience had abandoned them, hired a motorcycle to take them to Sapa—something that cost them four million VND. They bade me goodbye before they left and even added me on Facebook. Sweet.
Agatha and I remained in the cabin; I listened to her stories of travels in Southeast Asia and South America, and how she found life in Portugal boring. She had started to tell the story of how she saved up to travel when we heard the bells and horn of the train sounding off, signaling we were about to leave. We high-fived each other, and as I felt the train start to move, all of my thoughts went back to how cold it was in Sapa. I could use a cuddle. Fortunately, Agatha needed the same.
