Daring to Dream of Dalat
Trip Start
Nov 30, 2008
1
17
27
Trip End
Feb 28, 2009
Dalat, Vietnam
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Here we go again ....
We had been told many times, by many different trippers in Nha Trang, that we should bypass Dalat, the foremost reason being that it was too cold or chilly for their tastes. We shrugged off this advise nonchalantly, and, in time, were pleased we did. Having come all the way down from Beijing, where even the slightest hint of a wind provoked our eyes to mist over with tears and our fingers to become stilted as if beset with arthritis, a slightly cooler temperature to what we were experiencing in Nha Trang did not concern us in the least. In fact, rather alluring was the notion of not continually being covering in a grimy film of sweat, and I've never been an abhorrer of the cold anyways.
Now, let me touch upon the bus ride first, for I have this initial wanting to write about it: and in no doubt a satisfactory wanting to be sure, sequentially speaking.
The first bus: a sleeper bus, departing at 7 a.m. sharp from the Phu Quy Hotel; the first bus of this sort to privilege us with its three rows and two levels of semi-reclining, semi-soft - with a scant padding of foam - bunks. With the acquisition of a top bunk and with superfluously flowery curtains drawn across the windows to block out the searing sun, I was barely conscious in seconds, the unremitting swaying of the bus lulling me into an even deeper slumber.
Pit stop and second bus: the pit stop had a crocodile in a cage, enough said. Second bus: a seated bus this time, the sort of which we had grown accustomed to, albeit more dilapidated in condition. My selection of seat was dismal at best, and Jessie was astute enough to move up a couple of rows while I had senselessly resolved to be stubborn and keep my rear glued to my choosen seat when it indeed wasn't even properly adhered to its own frame! At least it provided some teetering amusement when the bus had good cause to slam on its breaks or to accelerate rapidly to overtake a sluggish vehicle ahead - and there were many, I'll give you that much. And I'd be quite deficient in my description of the bus if I failed to mention that the window in front of my seat had at one time been shattered, resulting in hurricane-esque gales buffeting against my dainty face, which only had the good graces to desist when I had the good sense to jam a sweattop into the space through which they were so zealously gusting.
The ride: picture this: a severely sinuous stretch of road, a bulky bus, and a tipsy seat near its rear. A spin on a coaster would have been far less hair-raising, especially when the bus's tires, at one distinct point in the journey, crept mere inches away from the cliff's edge. Don't worry mom, I'm sure a tumble down a steep precipice in a twinkie-shaped-vehicle with metallic walls wouldn't have hurt much. And now, sorry if I've given you any cause for dreams of a disagreeable nature, especially when, upon arriving into Dalat, we encountered nothing but Nice Dreams - Hotel, that is, where we dumped our belongings into a sizeable basement room that was a little too damp for our liking, but it served its purpose none-the-less.
Day one: we had every intention of taking the cable car - a 2.3 kilometer panoramic ride above Dalat's pine forests - to the Quang Trung Reservoir. Trumped up on sugar, in the form of a handful of Chupa Chups - delectable lollipops, in case you are pitifully ignorant - the walk to the cable car was unexpectedly sweltering - O how the backpackers from Nha Trang spoke falsely! Despite the heat, we plodded onwards, only to come face-to-face - as luck would have it so - with a sign bearing the wretched news that the car was to be inoperable for the duration of the day.
Downhearted, our feet scraping the pavement liberally, we decended the hill back towards our hotel. No more than a quarter of the way back, we chanced upon - and perhaps I might be inclined to call it serendipitous, if not for the fact that they tend to be everywhere - a motorbike man, and, with carefree caprice, commissioned him and his friend to drive us forty kilometers out of town to Nam Ban to visit the Elephant Falls and the Cuong Hoan Traditional Silk Center. The silk center was fascinating, as we were permitted to observe all the different steps in the silk making process: from poking the silk worms themselves, to seeing them boiled and the silk spun from them, to the actual weaving of the fabric. Here, Jessie was able to assuage her growing affection for silk. The Elephant Falls, with no admission fee, were also worth the time we spent at them, though they are nothing in comparison to Niagara Falls. A gigantic Budda close by was much more impressive.
Day two: we booked a canyoning/abseiling tour from Gecko Tours. Definately a pinnacle of our trip so far; the two diligent Vietnamese boys, who acted as our guides for the day, were so efficient at setting up and taking down the ropes that, by the end of the day, I was inclined to believe the act of scaling waterfalls with a wee bit of rope to be one of the easiest things in the world. Lunch - in my opinion, not so much Jessie's - was perfectly delightful: baguettes, spreadable cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, and sliced pork - all the fixings to make a great sandwich. Cliff jumping and sliding down rapids were additional highlights of the day, and even simply hanging around amongst the pine trees while the boys took care of the ropes was extremely enjoyable. No where else in Vietnam so readily reminded us of our camp on Shebandowan Lake, and we found ourselves being haunted by a yearning to be there. Funny how you can be somewhere so exotic as Vietnam and still pine for that which is most familiar and beloved.
Back in town, and with the setting of the sun, we took a leisurely stroll around Xuan Huong Lake, which I have no reservations in deeming an actual lake.
Day three: we finally made it onto the cable car, though the trip there was somewhat excruciating, what with Jessie feeling ill and all. Before reaching the cable car, we took a lengthy detour to the Hang Nga Crazy House. I liked to the house straightaway: it reminded me of akin dwellings I had viewed on a television program deemed World's Most Extreme Homes. It was indeed extreme, and quirky, and zany, and altogether imaginative. I fear words will not be able to do this house justice; let's just say it had giraffes, tree trunks, kangaroos with glowing red eyes, caves that even live bats were convinced were real, winding-curving passageways and stairs, and low stump-like tables and chairs nestled in covert alcoves.
Leaving Dalat: I would like to communicate one last thing before concluding this post and before I grow overly fond of the attention I am gleaning with my trifling words. The first bus enlisted to take us away from Dalat was very dissimilar to the one that brought us in. A diminutive minibus it was, so small that being the smallest kid about, I was handpicked by the driver to sit next to him. I had a splendid time being his waterbottle opener and watching him with mummed-lips as he text-meassaged on his phone whilst manoeuvring around tight corners and speeding past unhurried vehicles. Don't worry mom, our lungs still draw in the sweet air and our hearts still beat rhythmically in our chests, though my butt currently aches with a soreness that only comes about from being stationary for far too long. So, at last Blog-Dogs, I bid you all a fond adieu!
Schezwan :)
