Da Lat is something like the Vietnamese St. Moritz. It’s the only big city in the country where hotels don’t have air conditioning. It’s chilly at 1500 metres. At the beginning of the last century, the French were thrilled by the opportunity not to sweat for a few days. They built 2500 villas, followed later by a small Eiffel Tower. Today, Da Lat is also very popular with the Vietnamese and quite crowded.
We are here because of the roads. First thing in the morning we saddle up our bikes and ride into the surrounding countryside. Again, it’s difficult to see or enjoy anything. A lot of Agent Orange has been sprayed here. It’s blinding. Surviving an American invasion increased our belief in our own immortality to infinity. The driving style of the Vietnamese is accordingly.
We are constantly getting lost as there are no decent maps of the area to buy. We soon give up on fixed destinations and simply drive off into the blue. The tarred road ends. The dirt track that follows is good at first, then bad. The fords and the mud get deeper and deeper. Then the track practically disappears. There’s nobody here in the clouds except us and a few farmers.
Back in Da Lat, we visit the Hang Nga Crazy House. A bigwig from the Communist Party used his position to create a child’s dream, bypassing all building regulations. The resulting guest house is a mixture of Hundertwasser, Dali and Escher. Winding staircases, small, fully organic tower rooms, niches, fountains and bay windows. Smurfs spend their honeymoon here.
Afternoon. Another tour through the highlands. Thick storm clouds gather, before which all the colours glow in the sun. Then the rain needles our faces again. We visit the largest waterfall in the region, Pongour Falls. It’s nothing. Vietnam has built a dam upstream. The last remnants of water now trickle boredly down the rocks.
On the way back, I’m forced off the road twice by overtaking buses and lorries. Happy that the pothole-filled landing zone only almost throws me off my bike, I’m still annoyed as hell by the idiots at the wheel.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.