In the small northern town of Sapa there is a story of a French pastry baker. It is said that he became frustrated with baking in the heat and humidity of Vietnam, unable to get his pastries to raise right or attain the right qualities to his ingredients. One day he wondered into the hills to find a climate more similar to his Alpine home and found himself is Sapa, almost believing he was back in his home town.
 
He soon settled down, bought a shop and started his bakery. He was quickly welcomed by the locals who fell in love with his fruit and frangipane* tarts, so much so that he became know as the frangi-man. However, like all French 'artists' he was never truly satisfied with his work -- always trying to get it to perfect. While the climate was, by far, better for his baking, it was still not quite right. He tried all kinds of things but soon became convinced he needed cleaner air in which to perfect his tarts. From his little shop in town he could see one place where the air looked the clearest and cleanest: above it all, on top of the highest mountain in the area, was his chosen spot. 
 
Despite his new friends' pleas for him to stay, he became a man possessed. He collected up all his baking equipment and set about climbing the mountain. After three days he had managed to reach the summit and set about his task: making and cooking the finest frangipane tarts. From the town bellow, the people could see the smoke from his fires and the steam rising from his tarts engulf the summit of the mountain, that until that day had never been obscured. Only days later the frangi-man returned... with his tarts. And all agreed that they where the best he had ever made.
 
To this day he will only bake on top of his mountain, creating a near permanent cloud of steam and smoke around the summit; taking just 30 days of the year off, when once again the summit becomes clear.
 
Over the years this story has been told and retold; the northern Vietnamese struggled with the 'g' sound, so it quickly became a 'z', making Frangi-man into Franzi-man. Later the mountain took the name of the Frenchman's produce becoming known as Frazipan. Finally, Franziman became the term used for any westerner who climbed to the top of the mountain and returned**.
 
And so the story turns to my own...
 
On getting to Sapa, I like any true Smee***  took this as a challenge and was soon booked onto a trip up Franzipan -- leaving Caroline behind to do more cultural things with local tribes people and there different cultures. I set off early in the morning and met up with my climbing companions: three early-twenties Germans/Austrians (all coincidentally born in high mountain towns). We agreed to set a quick pace up the mountain; today was one of those rare days when there was no cloud obscuring the peak and we wanted to get to the summit the same day to enjoy it.
 
The trip was in three parts, with a camp between each section where water could be brought:Section 1; a nice walk with steady climb, could be completed by anyone -- even your average American.Section 2; stared to get hard, constant uphill with sections of scrambling up very steep rocks, could be completed by anyone of vague fitness given time and where most people stop to sleep before the final climb.Section 3; tough, even more so after a full day of walking, lots of scrambling both up and down, plus the added problem of altitude. 
The trip up was stunning and I found myself (much to my own surprise) leading our little band most of the way. However, even though the last section really hit us all, in the last couple of hundred meters the altitude got the better of me and for the first time all day I was the one been encouraged along. Lungs aching I got to the top and was rewarded with a stunning 360 of clear skies with very few clouds in sight. It is hard to explain, but the quiet stillness accompanied by a views hat clearly shows the earth curvature -- like you might see out of an airplane window -- right to edge of the horizon, is beyond anything that can be captured on film, or otherwise shared.
 
All that then remained was a quick descent to camp -- with the last leg in pitch black -- then food and sleep. The next day was a very slow climb back down trying not to jar joints or get run over by Oxen! 
 
On returning to our room in Sapa I was welcomed by a note from Caroline saying that she had gone for a walk****! That evening while I basked in the knowledge that I had become a true Fraziman, Caroline told me about her time in the villages with the tribes people -- the main conclusion being that all the tribes' children like sweets! I wonder if the same will be true for the children of Laos...
 
* frangipane is an almond paste, much like marzipan, used in tarts, often with fruit and then glazed -- you can get some good ones in Waitrose.
 
** after all we all look the same and not one of the locals could remember what the Frenchman looked like.
 
*** we are still working on Caroline, she's getting there...
 
**** see, going for walks on her own, becoming more Smee-like. (Although there was some excuse about being really cold and simply needing to do something!)