If you’re currently standing somewhere in Hanoi, then you’re only an overnight train, a couple of hours bus ride and a days worth of inclinous hiking away from the world’s most delicious and highest altitude bowl of Pho.
Somewhere tucked between the peaks of northern Vietnam in Sapa, bordering China, lives the world’s best noodle soup chef.
I don’t know her name, or her village, and the only thing for me differentiating her modest address from the next was the fact that I was seated there.
The events leading up to this gastronomical juncture were many, and perhaps worth a mention….
When disembarking the bus from Lao Cai to Sapa one finds oneself in the centre of a small town which lies in a valley. Sapa is a main market town in the area so there are numerous stalls selling handicrafts and produce. The local people are mostly ethnic minority groups such as the Hmong and Dao people, and their traditional dress and artisan skills are on display for all to see (and purchase).
Surrounding the valley are mountains and rice fields and beyond the peaks are tribal villages accessible only by foot. The morning of my arrival I met Vien, my local guide who would be hiking with me over the peaks and into the villages beyond. The day started out foggy and the tops of the mountains were concealed as we gradually made our way up grassy hills and through terraced fields. We spotted a low lying river up ahead and a distressed farmer trying to lure his ox from the middle of it. As you do in those parts, we too began to call for the ox and as it inched its way closer to the bank we all stepped in and pushed from behind, the mud from his haunches covering our shoes, our hands and well, everything else. Feeling quite heroic and neighbourly, (and might I add filthy) we continued on across the rope bridge and ever more northward we trudged.
Hmong women in their thick mountain dress with their woven baskets strapped to their backs began to hike alongside of us. Between attempts at selling us their woven bracelets, there were mutual smiles and warm exchanges. Once the bracelets were purchased however the exchanges became less forced and their company began to feel friendly, comforting even. What started out as three turned into a robust group of ten. Flanked on either side they began to feel like Sherpas, hiking beside and in front of me as I amateurishly scrambled my way up their well-trodden paths. Eventually, the women grew bored of my company (one can only suspect) and departed, leaving our original group as we inched closer to the summit.
Down below we saw a village set in the valley. That was our next target. We took a small breather after the gruelling sprint for the summit and as we wiped the dusty sweat from our brow we noticed a small wooden hut just 10 yards ahead. We decided to take a seat and regain our energies before the downward journey. Vietnamese pleasantries were exchanged between Vien and the resident of the hut and before we knew it a piping hot bowl was set before us. The air had just enough bite in it to warrant a hot meal, but our stomachs were too empty to care about such frivolities as temperature.
I let the steam drift up to my face before picking up the chopsticks and devouring the fried egg delicately floating on top. The broth passed my lips and before long every noodle, herb and garnish had been slurped. The owner returned to collect our bowls and asked what I can only imagine was “How was it?” I didn’t have the words to express my deep satisfaction, but a wide and contented smile crossed my face as she grinned and slinked back into the darkness of her kitchen.
