Insights and Stories from Sapa and the Northern Borderbelt provinces of Vietnam.
Riding the Backroads of Dien Bien Phu
Join us on a four-day motorbike journey through the quiet valleys and hidden trails of Dien Bien Phu. Along the way, we shared meals, stories and moments of connection with the land and its people.
A Journey Beyond the Beaten Path
Over four days we travelled by motorbike through the upland plateaus and quiet valleys west of Sapa. The route led us ast calm lakes, terraced hillsides and small farming communities where life follows the rhythm of the seasons. It was a journey into the heart of the mountains, where every bend in the road revealed something new and beautiful.
Learning from the Land
Our local hosts guided us with warmth and patience, stopping often to walk, share food and talk about the land. They showed us how to forage for wild herbs, edible shoots and mountain mushrooms. Each stop uncovered another layer of local knowledge, passed down through generations and shaped by a deep relationship with the forest and fields.
Evenings by the Fire
When the day’s riding was done, we gathered beside small fires to share bowls of rice and stories. Conversations flowed in a gentle mix of Hmong, Vietnamese and English. The nights were filled with laughter, soft music and the quiet comfort of companionship under a sky full of stars.
Through the Backroads of Dien Bien Phu
These photographs capture the beginning of that journey through the backroads of Dien Bien Phu. Each image tells a part of the story — of movement, discovery and connection with a landscape that holds both history and peace.
A Smile Across the Mountains
In the misted highlands of Vietnam, two La Hù sisters spent sixteen years apart, their reunion arriving not in person but through a single photograph. This is a story of memory, resilience and love that travelled further than any road.
The Sisters Who Waited for Time to Catch Up
Though separated by less than five miles of steep terrain, sisters Lý Ca Su and Lý Lỳ Chí had not seen one another for over sixteen years. Their final years unfolded in quiet solitude, filled with longing, memory, and the ache of distance. The eldest sister had long since passed away, lost to hunger during a time of great scarcity; a sorrow that lingered in every conversation that followed.
The sisters belonged to the La Hủ ethnic group, one of Vietnam’s smallest and most secluded communities, numbering fewer than ten thousand. For generations, the La Hủ lived as semi-nomadic hunters, following the forest’s rhythm across the misted highlands of the far northwest. Change came suddenly in 1996, when hydroelectric projects and government reforms encouraged the community to settle permanently. The forest paths gave way to villages and fields. The transition was uneasy, as traditions adapted and some, quietly, faded.
A Life Divided by Mountains
Lý Lỳ Chí left her childhood home at seventeen. She married early and settled in a neighbouring valley. For many years, the two sisters would make the long, arduous trek along a narrow mountain path to visit each other, their journeys a thread of connection between ridges. But time is unrelenting. Age weakened their steps, and the trail grew quiet. Sixteen years passed without reunion.
By ninety-three, Lý Ca Su had gone completely blind. Her younger sister, at one hundred and three, could still see, but her hearing had faded almost entirely. With no literacy, there were no letters. With no electricity, no phones. The silence between them stretched impossibly wide.
Progress Arrives Too Late
In 2019, a new road was completed linking their villages. What had once taken days could now be done in two hours. Yet for the sisters, it changed nothing. Neither could ride a motorcycle, and there were no cars or buses. Even electricity remained a rumour. The distance was only five miles, but it might as well have been a hundred.
And still, life has its small mercies.
The Photograph That Crossed Mountains
Two years earlier, photographer Réhahn had taken a portrait of Lý Ca Su. Her face, deeply lined, seemed to hold entire lifetimes. Her smile was gentle; the kind that hums quietly rather than shouts. When ETHOS visited the La Hủ villages, they carried that photograph with them and showed it to Lý Lỳ Chí.
For a brief, trembling moment, her eyes brightened. Recognition flickered. The years fell away. She saw her sister’s face again, if only in an image. Tears came, soft and sudden. There was reunion — not in person, but in spirit.
What Remains
Now both sisters have passed beyond this world, and that single photograph holds what words cannot. A connection unbroken by mountains or silence. A reminder that love, in its simplest form, can travel further than any road.
Sometimes, the distance between two hearts is measured not in miles, but in memory.
Thank you to Rehahn for the wonderful photo. To see this and many other portraits, please considering visiting the Precious Heritage Museum in Hoi An.
Across the River: A Border Story from Northern Vietnam
A chance meeting with a 68 year old woman near the Vietnam China border reveals how a simple fence can separate families and change daily life.
A Chance Meeting on the Road
While riding in the hills of northern Vietnam, I met a lovely lady named Ma Thị Dủa. She is 68 years old, full of warmth and quick to smile. I always enjoy stopping to talk with local people, so I asked her about her life and what she used to do.
Her story stayed with me.
A Village Divided by a River
She told me that her village sits right beside the Chinese border. The only thing separating the two lands is a small river. In the past, people would cross it freely. Villagers from both sides, including different ethnic groups, would walk across to visit markets in China and vice versa. Villagers would frequently cross both ways.
She described it with shining eyes. The market was always lively and full of colour. Fabrics hung in long bright rows. Spices and fresh food filled the air with their scent. People spoke different languages yet somehow understood one another. It was not just a place to buy and sell. It was where people met friends, shared news and reconnected with relatives.
A Walk Across the Border
She herself used to walk around 4km to reach her nearest market. Her daughter had married a Hmong man in China, so the market trips were not only for shopping. They were a chance to see family, hold her grandchildren and laugh over tea.
Those journeys were part of her life for many years.
Then the Border Closed
After Covid, everything changed. The Chinese side built a fence along the river. The crossing that was once open became blocked by metal.
Now, if she wants to go to a market on her side, she must walk 9km each way. What used to be a simple stroll has become an 18km round trip, and worse than that, she can no longer visit her daughter or her family across the border.
The river is still there, quiet and unchanged. Yet now it divides rather than connects.
A Quiet Reminder of How Borders Shape Lives
Meeting her was a powerful reminder that borders are not just lines on a map. They are real for the people who live beside them. They can carry joy, connection and freedom. They can also bring distance, silence and longing.
All of this came from one gentle conversation on a mountain road. Stories like hers deserve to be heard.
