Follow up from Part 1: Saigon.
The ride from the airport to the hotel in a van is fantastic. I’m the only passenger, so I seize the opportunity to ride shotgun and chat with the driver – that is, when we are not singing our lungs out to international tunes from the cheap guitar-only cover CD playing – Que Sera Sera, Bambino, La Vie en Rose…
I can feel the hills I can’t see yet by night and it reminds me of my arrival in Aguas Calientes a couple of years prior. Fortunately, Đà Lạt does not appear to be the same shit hole. The Hotel Du Parc is clearly surfing on its lost grandeur, and close to derelict state, which is a shame — except for its vintage elevator. Still, the Shinning vibe is strong in here…
As everything is closed for the night already (it is 9,30pm after all), I’m ordering phở through room service before ending the day on a warm bath. On my own at last!
A 7.15am alarm again, but I’m feeling ready quickly, even without a caffeinated kick. The leftovers from the room service fruit platter are welcome, though.
The weather looks menacing at times, but the temperature and dampness here are perfect. I gear up with walking shoes and get going exploring the city. The contrast between the past colonial luster and the contemporary struggles is stark. Some surreal architecture graces the city, making it look like giant Pokemon shrines.
There’s even a makeshift Eiffel tower!
My first stop of the day is by the former Đà Lạt train station. The colonial feel is strong despite the swarms of Asian tourists alternating between group pictures by the old engine and selfie stick fights.
I flee in a cab to the Truc Lam Zen Monastery, a Buddhist monastery on top of one of the many hills. There is a cable car which I will use on my way down – i just had to rush out of the city.
The place is magical and mystical. I can’t help but thinking of Mom and how she would live it here in these peaceful corners – Bonsai trees, temples, benches, even a fish pond or two. Everything is perfectly tailored to foster meditation, introspection and contemplation. Still, I’m getting my cafe sua da fix, watching the cable cars waltzing over the valley. Life can be good!
Hmmm… Well, life was good until I:
- Realized that the cable cars stopped waltzing during lunch time – good way to keep the tourists trapped to grab a bit. So I obliged and seized this opportunity to try some street food – Banh Mi Op La (the literally phonetic translation of “pain de mie (with egg) au plat” which Ama had recommended back in Saigon. Alas, no Vache Qui Rit to go along this hot egg sandwich 🙁
- Finally made it to the cable cars, only to realize they were waltzing extremely slowly between two mountain pikes – first, the distance to the ground is tantalising and second, the storm which had been brewing all morning projects mighty winds over the valley, sending the flimsy metal bubble I am in high in the sky swinging from left to right. Not feeling great at all. I hate the irrationality of vertigo: it’s been constructed by Swiss engineers, who usually know what they are doing, especially for mountain infrastructure, and operating for more than a decade without any incident.
The walk home appears to be a 30mn straight line down to the hotel and it helps getting over the nauseous cable ride. That’s going to be a lot of walking for one day, but my ankle is still holding up for the time being.
After a pit stop by the hotel, I am trying to set up the afternoon’s to-do: massage, mototour, city hang-outs. Also, getting water. BADLY.
I settle by the quaint “Café de la Poste” in from the of the hotel. I’m wearing my vareuse and of course, the only other people in here are French. A family of five spending their second summer in a raw in Vietnam – North last year, South this year, and another solo traveller. Not feeling to social and still yucky from the walks of the day, I limit my interactions to the bare minimum. The pater familias from Britany is all too happy to do all the talking anyway.
The massage is three time as expansive as the one we had with Ama in D2 and not even quite memorable, except for the masseuse taking some time to answer her phone and finishing 15mn early. This hotel does not seem to stop disappointing.
I rush to the Easy Riders office, only to realize that there is none at the address indicated on their website. There are three variations to choose from: (i) Vietnam Easy Riders, (ii) Dalat Easy Riders and (iii) Original Easy Riders. The competition is fierce and branding & trademark rights, not there yet it seems.
The first one I walk into reeks of of stale beer and looks terrible inside. Pass. The second is closed. Pass. The third one does not try to shove his book of reviews up my face and looks like a jolly grandad. Good as it is the only option available. So i book it for 8.30am tomorrow.
As all the food options close ridiculously early in Vietnam, I check TripAdvisor’s top ranked joint in town, 100 Roofs. Reviews said it was borderline crazy inside but as soon as you’re through the door, you understand what an understatement this is. I’m being asked for my poison of choice and only then do I realize they do not serve food here. So it’ll be a cookie blended with rum to start with, a pumped-up version of a milkshake.
Once my jar in hand, I am informed that I am free to wander around at will, and this is not disappointing. I did not count them all, but the lunatic mash-up of decorations divides the myriad of rooms of various sizes. There’s even a shower at some point for no apparent reason. This place must make it a horendous experience being drunk inside, between the crooked stairs, small alleys and sometime nighmarish visions of walls and ceilings.
Speaking of stairs, I bump into the French solo traveller from Café de la Poste. Well, at least he recognized me. I follow him to the rooftop where we share the company of a nice Australian couple and a Dutch solo traveller.
While very nice, the Aussies have to depart early for dinner. Food for thought. I should stop thinking about food right now. Anyway, that leaves me with the Dutch, woprking at an NGO helping startup and Cyprien, the French expat. While he arrived in HCMC half a year after Ama arrived in Vietnam, he seems insanely connected to both the local and expat scenes – of course he is living in Thao Dien- and organizes a festival tackily branded “Saigonella” aside from his daily grind in the agro sector.
The rum-packed milkshake washes any remnant from the early Banh Mi and I’m starving. The others are chain guzzling beers and we are quickly ready to take off. The Dutch wisely wants to return his bike before he gets too messed up and plans and loosely made to meet sometime and somewhere later. We all know what it means within the framework disposable encounters on the road.
So Cyprien and I wander around to try the V Café, an establishment more renowned for its music than for its food. It’s quite a long walk, especially considering my new mate’s sense of space, and the place is underwhelming – a live act consisting of a tacky piano/singer combo. So we raincheck and head back toward a pizza place to the soundtrack of a read-bearded dude covering Adele.
Pizza is so universal – even in the most remote location in Peru, they had an oven for them in almost any restaurant. Makes sense – it’s known the world over, cheap to make, hard to miss, and good luck to all them bacteries in the fire oven. Pizze are a win/win for both the owners and the customers. Not sure about the peach/blue cheese combo is see on the menu, though…
Cyprien is nice – quite the social animal, but well driven and apparently not as clique-minded as the other expat encountered in Saigon. All in all, it is a pleasant evening. As it turns out, we are staying in the same hotel, so we check the Palace Club nearby for a night cap. The place is almost empty, the drinks are Paris-priced, and the live act is the most horrible to date. It is more akin to a karaoke than an actual music lounge. We make it through one Beatles cover but the follow up drives us across the street and home for the night.
Probably for the best as tomorrow will be spent on a bike.
7am. The alarm again. But no option this morning as the Easy Rider is coming to pick me up in 90mn. I’m trying to pack light to same relative success and opt for breakfast at Café de la Poste.
While there are some continental options, the Asian catering looks more appealing – mostly rice and rice-derived products. The rice cakes and black bean brown rice seem perfect to go through the unknown journey. If anything, the coffee is salvatory.
8.30am sharp, Tri arrives. Same older gentleman who took my booking last night, on a sturdy old Honda motorcycle.
The bike experience is a totally different experience than scooting away in Saigon, probably because the rural and hilly landscape calls for more powered vehicles than the urban ones. Tri is amused by the (relatively) large bag I took (my trusty North Face Base Camp Duffel), but if the bag seems indeed big, it is far from being full. Just easier to carry around than the Dome photo bag alternative.
The first stop is yet another pagoda. What sets this visit apart, though, is Tri’s thorough explanations of the various Buddhist schools. We get to talk about religion in Vietnam and his personal history, raised a catholic through French and English school before the wars, first in Đà Nẵng before relocating to Dallas when he was 10 years old.
Over the course of the day, I’ll get to lear more about him and the things he saw during the war. While Dalat, as a city, was relatively spared by both camps, there’s been some artillery fights from one side and guerrilla through a secret base on the other.
Tri does not detail what he’s been through but the look in his eyes tells it all – events that no one, let alone a kid, should witness in a lifetime. He does seem to carry a huge sympathy for the North and Communists, yet he does not either put them down. His return to freedom came when the country opened up to the West and a US vet helped create the Easy Riders. He does seem to genuinely enjoy sharing about his country, which he clearly loves above all.
While the tour is classically punctuated by touristy options, we manage to get there when the tourists are not yet around. It’s fun to see Westerners with their blue-jacketed guides though! But no one seems to be opening up for conversation. The only one a bit talkative is a Dutch girl I met while attempting to capture a gigantic Happy Buddha. And even then, it was barely a couple of words and no goodbyes.
The day’s highlights included a couple of pagodas, including the one with the afore-mentioned gigantic Happy Buddha, a weasel coffee farm, a silk work factory, a very lame bamboo workshop, the quite underwhelming Elephant Waterfall and a 30mn solo track where I met yet another couple of Dutch girls.
The best, still, was lunch in a definitely off-the-trail place, by a gas station, with a couple of locals, where we got the opportunity to exchange a bit longer with Tri about the history of Vietnam in general, and his own in particular.
Once back at the hotel, it’s still early. I go and try to get high tea, by the Palace Heritage Hotel. While the premises are full of history and long-gone heydays, and the staff is more than eager to please, the whole experience is lacklusting – from the order going wrong to the platter obviously made from left over. I seize the opportunity of being alone in this majestic place nonetheless to update the travel log, and relish in what must have been in my family’s earlier days atmosphere, a century ago. After all, this is where my cousin, Gilles Larrain, was born and raised in his infancy.
Back at the hotel, I don’t feel too well and start dozing of. The laundry delivery briefly take me out of my slumber. I pack and go to bed – it’s not even 8pm. It’s been a long day and I have an early flight in the morning.
Next stop: Hội An