I arose from my bed at the dawn’s calling. The sole thought in my mind was a simple one. One word with an exclamation point, in capital letters, to add further stress to the exclamatory nature of it: GO! No matter what, I needed to go.
I made a promise to my dear Viet brother in Đà Lạt, Phuc Duy, that I would drive up there and see the man himself. He had recently moved there from Hanoi. I also knew another guy, Hung, whom I had randomly met in Hanoi and it turned out he’d moved there too. So, I needed to stop in Đà Lạt for a while. There was no way I’d do anything else, especially with the apparent bright and clear weather.
The rays of the new rising sun were seeking entrance in the hostel. Making their way through the branches of the trees shadowing our sleeping abode, the sun’s ambassadors were inviting me to step outside.
That time of the day was nothing short but impeccable. The gleaming ocean and the early morning nuances were almost compelling me to break my own promise and loaf around on the private beach one more day. However, my will was set. Once I’d fill my guts, I’d take all that was mine and make the engine purr. No matter how poetic, inviting and ravishing that little quarter of unspoiled nature might’ve been, the call for driving was unalienable.
As I was waiting for breakfast, I noticed in the lounge area another presence. A welcoming one, for that matter, for it was the Saigon lady working on her laptop. She told me she’d been there for an hour already. Her daily strategy was to wake up early, do her tasks and finish everything that had to be done as soon as possible so she could have the rest of the day for herself. As I looked again at the beach, the cliff and the rocks brazed by the morning sun, I figured that there was no better spot for working remotely. That lady was doing it right.
I had my food and chatted a little bit with the Saigon acquaintance, who invited me once again to her farm, in case I’d forgotten. After breakfast, I bid her farewell, took all my stuff and went down the only road I’d ever known for almost 3 weeks: the road down south.
As I was miles away from that magical hostel, I began feeling lucky again. Nature didn’t show any sign of throwing any rain at me. I was driving on a cliff road where the endless ocean seemed to have me on its watch. It felt as if it was saying something to me, as I was looking more at it than at the road itself.
Working my way down the coast, approaching Tuy Hòa, I came across some fancy fishing villages and in the distance I could see tiny islands, silent witnesses of everything that had come and gone on the turf I found myself to be on. All the people and their empires, all they had claimed and all they had built, together with their hopes and dreams, all turned to dust in the wind. Yet those islands never perished. They were the divine creation’s castles made of sand. And unlike other castles made of sand, there was no wave that could break those ones.
There were also many fishing boats, clad in blue and turquoise to blend in with the ocean’s colors, displaying the Vietnamese flag up above, to match their nation and their pride. I thought about joining them in their shrimping business. I would settle there for a while, work day and night, drink beer and their celebrated rice wine, just so one day, I would see my green engine lying in a corner, reminiscent of a glorious, adventurous past. And that moment alone would trigger my curiosity and appetite for road trips and discoveries which had been slumbering during the shrimping business that had made me part of it. Without any warning or signal on my behalf, I would simply drive away and leave all that community behind. My return date would be unbeknownst to them and myself included.
As I was reeling through all those alternate scenarios and realities or unreality, I was unaware that I was already a few miles away from Nha Trang. I was really sprinting down the road. Greeny showed no signs of slowing down and I showed no signs of disapproving Greeny. One barely notices 200km were driven when the weather is nothing but clear skies accompanied by the ocean breeze and the roads are smooth as butter with hardly any traffic. There were no such things as aggressive, entitled and honking morons with SUV cars or ignorant goofballs driving on the wrong side of the road. The further south I found myself from Hanoi, the more rational and calm the traffic seemed to be. I couldn’t really explain this correlation. And I didn’t even have to. One thing was certain. I didn’t miss the Hanoi traffic.
Nha Trang was that city where all Vietnamese people wanted to be in during summer or… whenever actually. It looked as if the one and only sacred purpose of that city was to be a beach haven for anyone seeking the perfect holiday, be it with family, kids, wives, girlfriends or mistresses.
Russians liked that place too. And judging by the multiple stores, hotels and restaurants with writings in Russian next to the Vietnamese ones, I reckoned there were quite plenty of them. The legend said that in every big country there was a town or city with a massive influx of Russians. In Vietnam it turned out to be Nha Trang.
After a quick driving along the beach, it was lunch time. Ever since I came to Vietnam, I experienced a few dishes that simply blew me away. One of them was the celebrated nem nướng Nha Trang[1]. Therefore, it was absolutely necessary to have Nem nướng Nha Trang in Nha Trang in the same way that one day I ought to have KFC somewhere in Kentucky. And sure enough, the experience didn’t let me down. Every bite was a finger licking piece of mouth-watering delicious heaven.
After Nha Trang’s local delight fueled my body and soul, I left the beach haven behind, aiming for Phuc Duy’s abode up in Đà Lạt. There was one road getting me straight over yonder and in the distance I could see the mighty mountains rising, bearing their stories of the days of yore. After weeks of driving along the coast, it was time for a change of scenery.
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I genuinely missed the serpentines. There’s something about feeling that danger and uncertainty which can’t really be found on a straight flat road along the sandy shores. As the altitude kept going up, every mile driven became more difficult. The riding was getting slower, more treacherous and more wearisome. But the landscape and the nature all around me, reminiscent of times immemorial, made up for the hustle.
In the midst of all that realm bearing no traces of society except the long concrete connecting places, I found what appeared to be an abandoned rickety café which had hammocks and tiny tables. I dozed off in one of the hammocks for an hour or two and after that I discovered that the place had in fact one resident.
A tiny puppy showed up from behind that shanty wagging its tail. The lonesome mountain pup, guardian of the forgotten café up the mountains. Obviously, I petted the sweet creature and gave it some biscuits from my backpack which I’d bought along the way, and in exchange I got all the affection that the creature was capable of giving.
Despite the little dog’s attempt to keep me there, the journey couldn’t be postponed any longer. I reckoned that the cute animal didn’t show any sign of being in a bad condition, so it was very possible that someone was already taking care of it. Either that or the puppy possessed some unmatched survival skills. That being the verdict, I left with no remorse.
The driving had been going so well that nature itself felt the need to change that. It was time for the daily dose of adversity. A drop of water landed on my face. And millions more followed. Once again, I got reminded that the mountainous areas were some of nature’s favorite playgrounds.
Despite the rain’s relentless efforts to mess me up, I kept on going and laughed in the face of it. I went from deep frustration to jolly cackling as I faced the realization that the best thing to do was to embrace my suffering while keeping that engine running. There were only 50km left and that was when the driving part became really exciting.
In a matter of minutes I found myself in the clouds. I couldn’t see further than 100m. It was getting darker and my surroundings adopted a mysterious, spooky and eerie countenance. The fading tree silhouettes I could discern through the clouds’ mists were all looking at me, almost menacing. I was the stranger passing by through their queer estates and I was being carefully watched. All eyes were on me. Everything around me looked enchanted in some way or another, possessing some uncanny magic that would turn against me, should I make a wrong move.
Fortunately, no wizards nor fantastic beasts nor any other fairy fabrications came to bother me and the road eventually cleared up. The land of clouds was no more. A big human settlement was suddenly in front of me, covering a whole valley, as all I could make up in the incessant rain was a whole bunch of lights filling the area. My basic reasoning told me it was none other than Đà Lạt what I was seeing. The mountain jewel eventually showed itself.
I stopped at a tea place just outside the city to check the map. I suddenly realized I was cold, thirsty, hungry and drenched to my core. I checked my messages and Phuc Duy wrote me quite a lot of texts, expressing his worry and uncertainty whether I was still alive or not. I was 2 hours past my arrival estimate so I understood him. I texted back, confirming my existence and that I was almost there.
After a cup of hot herbal tea and warming up with thicker clothes, I drove straight to the address that Phuc Duy had given me. Despite the obstacles, the eeriness and mother nature’s unforgiving games, my errand had been finally accomplished. What started as a sunny hot day where the ocean meets the sand ended as a stormy cold night in the misty mountains. I felt troubled but all that feeling melted as lemon drops the moment Phuc Duy opened the gate to meet his gaunt looking friend. Despite the exhaustion and constant discomfort, that friend was still able to put a smile on his tired face.
“Boy, you have no idea how glad I am you’re here!” Phuc Duy told me.
“A promise is a promise, laddie.” I told him. We embraced.
“You had a rough time, dude. You look like God himself gave up on you.”
“I had better days. But that doesn’t matter now. I need to get some food.”
“Well, good news! I cooked some stew and the pot is waiting for us!”
What the man had just told me was the best thing I could’ve heard in the past few hours. We went straight to the outdoors kitchen from that place and in no time we were sitting with 2 steaming bowls of chicken stew with vegetables in front of us. The flashbacks of that treacherous rainy drive were slowly fading out as I was tasting Phuc Duy’s cooking. It wasn’t bad at all. Or perhaps, due to my condition, anything warm would’ve tasted great. But I want to believe that my buddy was a fine cook so I’ll leave it at that.
After dinner we had some witty chit chatting which ended abruptly with my call for rest. Phuc Duy showed me where I could sleep and I immediately passed out. I didn’t even notice any details of his little flat. All I knew was that there was a bed somewhere and that was good enough for me.
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It’s worth mentioning a few things about Đà Lạt. Because there is nothing quite like it in all of Vietnam. Every big city in that country has its quirks and defining aspects. But Đà Lạt takes it a whole step further. It simply refuses to align with the common patterns found in Vietnam’s other urban centers, giving the impression that it has its very own consciousness. If every city in the country was part of the same big family, Đà Lạt would be the rebel child doing its own thing, deliberately refusing to conform to whatever norms expected by the parents. And my 3 days spent there were enough to document that reality.
Phuc Duy had a fair setup where he was living. There were plants all over the place and cats were going about. I had no clue how many of those feline pets were roaming around because every time I was in the outside kitchen I could see a different one scrutinizing the area.
Apart from cats, people were living there too. Phuc Duy was not the only one. And each of those residents seemed to be an artist. 2 dudes were living next to my friend’s room and they sure had style. They had long hair, wore colorful garments and had orange tinted, circled shaped glasses. They were also having artistic tendencies, such as strumming their guitars and smoking pot. And sure enough, Phuc Duy and I joined them at some point.
We had breakfast and my buddy wanted to show me more of his living sanctuary, for it was more than met the eye in that place. The kitchen outside was bordering a garden, which looked thick, dense and impenetrable. However, there was a tiny alley hidden in a corner that was meant to lead somewhere. And that somewhere was a tiny, wooden made, cozy vegan restaurant. I couldn’t make that up. That was literally what it was.
There we met a guy who was simultaneously the chef, the waiter, the manager and the cleaning man of the boutique restaurant. His hands were covered in tattoos and he was wearing earrings with feathers attached to them. He also had a shaved head, giving the vibe of a shaolin martial artist. However, he was a shaolin cook at his very own hidden vegan restaurant, trained in the vegan crafts. What was interesting was that the place wasn’t on any social network. You either knew about it, or you didn’t. One could eat there only through reservation.
“See how cool this place is?” Phuc Duy told me. “We have a vegan restaurant in our backyard. How often do you see that?”
“I sure didn’t see that coming.” I said.
“Wait until you see the city. You’re in for a treat, man.” He went on.
After breakfast we hopped on Phuc Duy’s motorbike and off we went. It was still raining, but there were only a few casual drops.
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Apart from the main roads, Đà Lạt consisted of a bunch of narrow alleys going up and down, bordered by various little family owned enterprises. And every single one of them was inviting you in. It was hard to decide which place to choose for hanging out because they all looked so dern interesting. None of them was basic. None of them was anything else but a mix of intricate aesthetics and patterns, combining elements such as wood crafts, plants and colorful furniture items, all different from each other, but somehow fitting, creating a visually pleasing harmony. A fine tango encompassing wooden crafts, oriental carpets, vintage posters and colorful draperies could be seen behind every window outside those narrow alleys.
Seeing all that array of originality, we didn’t really know what place to pick for our morning coffee. It was a tough decision. Eventually we settled on the place with the most cats going about. We both had a thing for cats.
Later on, we continued our saga in the middle of Đà Lạt, where there was a lake similar in size with the turtle lake in Hanoi. On one of the lake’s sides there was a mall shaped in a futuristic design, a bit like a lotus flower on the verge of blooming. Between the mall and the lake there was a gigantic square with grassy spots, all leveled up in the form of an urban knoll, working its way down to the water.
Phuc Duy and I drove there, bought some snacks from the mall and consumed them on the very top of that concrete knoll, observing the panorama, including the lake, the buildings on the other side, a tiny forest and the green summits stretching far ahead. To me, it felt as if I was in some mountain town somewhere in central Europe. That particular spot had the power to do that. It made me go back in time and recall the days spent on high altitudes as a teenager when I was drinking cups of hot wine with cinnamon and orange slices. I was thinking about those occurrences while Phuc Duy was thinking about his own things. We were both staring into the abyss of our own thoughts, through the power of the view surrounding us.
“Do you miss Hanoi?” I asked the man, as if compelled to break the silence.
“Hell no. I made the right choice coming here. Everything feels fresh. It feels as if I escaped the Matrix and reached Nirvana.” He told me. The more I explored that city the more I could see what he’d meant by those words.
In the meantime, Hung, my other Đà Lạt buddy, gave me a text with an address, inviting me and Phuc Duy to his corner for lunch. Since lunch was just around the corner, we got going.
We drove to some tranquil area after going down a steep rocky road which made me quiver. According to the map, we were at the right location. There were 3 houses in that spot and we basically knocked at every gate to enquire about our buddy Hung but it turned out that this name had been unheard of in each of those households.
At the 3rd mansion an old geezer showed us this muddy path close to his property that was going up the hill through some overgrown weeds and trees. There were two wooden poles bordering the entry and one of them had a plank with a number on it. That was it. The fella said that we might get lucky if we followed that mysterious trail, so that we did. On the other side there was a little opening with a motorbike in the middle covered with some thick cloth. We couldn’t see anything else indicative of a human settlement, so we went back down.
Phuc Duy and I felt like utter idiots in that random part of town and since it began raining as well, and not lightly, we were cursing our days and that old geezer for playing us like a pack of cards. But it turned out that in fact we were the ones who played ourselves because we didn’t look the right way when we were up at the covered motorbike.
Phuc Duy called again the grandpa to give him some smack because we didn’t find any house up there and to that the old fella began laughing, telling us that there was another path taking us further up from the motorbike spot. And indeed, we had to look really close to notice that there was another stairway, hidden among flowers, high grass and weeds. No sooner had we discovered that than we were both roaring with laughter, as we had realized once again how bland and stupid we could sometimes be.
The path was curling up the hill, leading us to a rustic wooden door frame. There was no fence on either side of it. The thing looked as if it predated everything else made in the area. We felt like Alice in Wonderland walking through that frame and we were about to find out how deep the rabbit hole went.
“What’s next? A giant chess board where the men give us directions?” I asked Phuc Duy as we both found ourselves on the other side of the frame.
“I don’t know, man. I’m baffled. I can’t make any sense of this place.” He said, while we were stepping into an orchard. The rain didn’t seem to bother us anymore. Our excitement made us oblivious to it.
Part VII: https://andyvansen.com/2024/10/motorbike-notes-part-vii-from-da-lat-further-south/
[1] Nem nướng Nha Trang: a rusticspecialty originated in Nha Trang, Vietnam, consisting of grilled pork served with rice paper, rice crackers, slices of mango, radish, cucumber and salad, all in a form of a spring roll dipped in a special sauce based on garlic, fish sauce, sugar and annatto oil.