Rice is Nice

The bus ride (this time in a lovely, uncrowded van) from BMT to Da Lat was beautiful. Somehow, it seemingly took the sun a long time to set, so the normal oranges and yellows gave way to a bright blue that lingered for an hour or so before the sky went black. This made it possible to see the villages that we passed through, where the houses consisted of mud walls and thatched roofs. They all had electricity, however, so you could see the glows of televisions inside, and people sitting on their porches at the end of the work day. The fields seemed to be mostly corn, and still more coffee. The ride was not equally enjoyable for all. A woman in the front bench, traveling with her husband and two small children, had a visible motion-sickness patch behind her ear. But it didn't work. The road was both windy and bumpy, and it did not take more than 30 minutes for her to be bent over heaving into a plastic bag. This continued, on and off, for about an hour. After that, she was reduced to whimpering. And every so often, she would lift her head and yell at her husband, who would just kind of chuckle. I would guess she was telling him that this is the last time that she comes to Da Lat with the rest of the family.

And a lot of families do come to Da Lat. The city is a maze of winding streets, necessitated by the fact that it is built on hillsides surrounding a man-made lake. This was initially a retreat for French colonialists, and even Bao Dai has a rather unimpressive "palace" there. But now, the place is chock-a-block with hotels. The air is cool at night, but not cold, at least not by American standards. Yet the Vietnamese walk around in winter coats and hats, and many of the street stalls peddle sweaters to Vietnamese women who, I would guess, buy them not primarily to stay warm but so they finally have an excuse to wear a sweater. The soil in the area is rich, and combined with the climate, makes it the fruit and vegetable garden of Vietnam. Local specialties are strawberry, mulberry (and the silk industry that is supports), flowers, cauliflower, carrots, and more coffee. But really, all of this makes Da Lat sound a lot more idyllic than it is.


Da Lat has an orderly, alpine feel, though it is still distinctly Vietnamese

In Da Lat, I saw several homeless people, which I had not noticed before in Vietnam. They are bundled up like many of the Vietnamese tourists, but they are uncharacteristically dirty and just seem to be wandering about. The narrow, crowded streets can be very noisy.

The main attraction in town is the lake, so I took a walk around that, and checked out the golf course on its northern side. There is a museum which is good by Vietnamese standards (meaning not very good) devoted to the minority cultures of the highlands. It is yet more baskets, jars, and textiles. But one of the most striking examples of weaving featured traditional patterns alongside helicopters. Apparently, the people who lived in the hills saw helicopters flying over many times (during the American War), and incorporated them into their weaving. On the way back to town, I walked past many of the French villas, which are, for the most part, standing vacant.

Once upon a time, there were trains and Art Deco style. Now, most of the rail yard is a vegetable garden

You can play golf here, though it was closed when I visited

I had called back the first motorcycle guide who approached me that morning, to do a countryside tour the next day. Da Lat was a bit crowded for me, and this would, at least, be a last jaunt through the highlands. To prepare for the next day, Khien, my driver and guide (whose email I'll post later), took me out for a pitcher of beer and to make decisions about what to visit. Mostly, we ended up trudging through fields and farms, manhandling flowers, coffee, tea, and the like. There was, of course, a waterfall. And the restaurant where we ate an enormous lunch made its own rice wine in the basement. So I saw the process of making Vietnamese moonshine. The left over mash (I'm sure there's a name for that) still has a lot of rice and alcohol left in it, so they feed it to pigs. And in the basement, there are two enormous pigs, the biggest that I've seen in Asia, who live in perpetual drunkenness. I also probably damaged the doorway to that basement with my head. As I did in the Bahnar village, I knocked my head pretty good on the top of the door. This time it was with enough force to knock myself down, and feel dizzy for a bit. It's still pretty sore, but I think no lasting damage was done. Here's Khien's contact information:
thanh_khien@yahoo.com
mobile: 0977 856653

Making silk outside of Da Lat

This pig was fed only the alcoholic mash leftover from distillation of rice wine

The jolly Buddha mocks me

I said goodbye to the highlands by taking a tourist bus to Nha Trang. Most tourists doing the length of Vietnam cover the distance between Nha Trang and Hoi An on one, long bus ride. Instead, I had gone inland and covered the distance in a week. Nha Trang would represent a return to the hordes of Western tourists. But I'm craving beach relaxation right now. I'm just nervous about whether Nha Trang can deliver.