Just as how it was impossible to capture the beauty of Sapa in photos (as evident from the photo below, courtesy of my iPhone camera. Sorry, I tried.), it is difficult to put all the emotions that I have experience throughout this 7-day trip into words. But I think this quote from Brandon Sanderson sums it up well:

“We are not creatures of destination. It is the journey that shapes us. Our callused feet, our backs strong from carrying the weights of our travels, our eyes open with the fresh delight of experiences lived.”

I set out for Vietnam, eager to learn about the Vietnamese culture. What I did not expect was to take away so many important life lessons as well.

In my pre-trip reflection, I talked about becoming an active traveller. Indeed, our research project was the necessary motivation for me to step out of my comfort zone and interact with the locals. It was through the interviews that I was able to hear so many stories from our tour guides. Xuan, my tour guide in Sapa, spoke about how she single-handedly works as a guide, farms and raises her child. She shared about her dream to open up her house for homestays so that she can be both a tour guide and homestay host. It was humbling to hear her stories and dreams. I was touched and inspired by the enthusiasm and passion with which she spoke about her dream. She has so little, compared to us. Yet, she is able to make so much out of what she has. It made me ashamed to think about the abundance that I live in and how I have never really taken full advantage of it. I feel like I have never really dared to dream. I have always felt somewhat too inadequate, too small, too insignificant to dream. Xuan’s story made me realize that it is not about what you lack but how you make use of what you have. It is about the strength of your character and the tenacity of your dream.

In our interview with Linh, our guide from Hanoi Kids, he talked about the efforts made by Hanoi Kids to preserve the Vietnamese culture and also about how many youths are too busy with their studies to do so. The next, instinctive question was: But aren’t you busy too? Why do you have time but others do not? This made me reflect on myself: How about me? Which group do I belong to: the vast majority constantly bemoaning the lack of time or those who quietly find the time to pursue their dreams? I feel that these stories are important to me, both at a personal level and as a scholar. Linh’s and Suan’s stories invalidate the excuses I often make: That I do not have time, or that I am not good, smart or competent enough. It is a notion that is empowering: We can be achieve anything, as long as we set our mind to it. At the same time, it is humbling: Always be grateful for the privilege that we were born into.

Beyond that, I have indeed achieved my initial goal of learning more about the Vietnamese culture and gaining a new perspective to analyse global issues. Through interaction with the locals, I was able to experience the conflict and emotions they feel. This transformed cold, academic topics into something real and personal. In particular, it was interesting to talk to the Sapa O’ Chau tour guides about cultural dilution. One of the guides, Pay, told us that tourism has greatly affected the culture of the ethnic minorities in Sapa, such as the introduction of foreign food like Coca-Cola or even bottled water. Yet, the irony is that, as a tour guide, he has an undeniable role in developing tourism in Sapa. Later on, we learnt from the group which was guided by Pay that he had said that he would rather work as a farmer than a tour guide. It was sad to hear how conflicted the locals feel and witness their resignation to the fact that their culture will eventually fade away. I felt that Pay is a living embodiment of the conflict between development and cultural preservation. It is an age-old conflict which Vietnam, Singapore, and almost every other country faces. As humans, we pursue development for a better, more comfortable life. Yet, development entails change, and change entails loss; Loss of peace and tranquillity, of memories of the simple past, of culture and identity.

As a bystander, it is really conflicting for me as well. As a tourist, I feel a sense of responsibility for the loss of Vietnamese culture. As much as I want to be a responsible tourist, I can’t help but wonder if some of our subconscious actions have unintentionally damaged the culture. When the locals follow us around to sell their handicraft, we all felt conflicted about what we should do. The tour guide told us that most of the handicrafts, particularly the brightly coloured ones, are not “traditional”. By purchasing these handicrafts, are we encouraging the commodification and thus dilution of their culture? But then again, is our very presence itself already encouraging this commercialisation? As reluctant as I am to admit it, I think that we must accept that there will always be trade-offs and sacrifices. Ultimately, it is about finding a balance between cultural preservation and development.

The “weights of my travel”, as Sanderson calls it, would be the real, vivid stories of the locals. These stories brought out a confusing mess of emotions from me – gratitude, nostalgia, regret and so much more. But this is an emotional baggage that I am grateful for. These stories have given me new perspectives to view my own life and various other global issues. Facts and information can be forgotten, but emotions etch indelible marks on one’s memories. I hope that they will stay with me as a motivating force to be a better person, in all senses of the word.