Highlands & Lowlands

Highlands and Lowlands

In an effort to escape the relentless heat, I decided to head up into the mountains of Dalat for a few days. This small town, surrounded by lakes and waterfalls, is so beautiful that both sides declared it a neutral zone during the war. No bombs were dropped here, or rounds fired. It managed to escape this violent period of history unmarred.

I caught a late afternoon bus up to the mountains. As usual, I was the only foreigner on board. And as usual, I managed to land one of the least appealing seats on the bus. Slightly better then the usual vomiting local, I was instead seated next to a mother with her young baby. The 3 of us were jammed into the 2 seater bench seat for the 5 hour trip up the winding mountain roads. The baby was cute for the first hour or so. At that point in time he was delighted with the experience and did nothing but giggle and squirm. His good mood did not last however, and so eventually subsided into unhappy wails. Finally, exhaustion overtook him and he slept. Across my lap. It managed to be both an uncomfortable and soothing experience. I placed my blanket over him to keep him warm and dozed in and out of sleep. At one of the obligatory roadside stops, I gently disentangled myself and slipped out to stretch my legs. When I came back, I noticed that the baby, still wrapped in my beloved sarong, had puked all over it and my seat. That was more like it. I snagged an empty seat nearby and managed to catch another hour of sleep before we arrived in Dalat. When I woke up, I noticed that the woman and baby had already gotten off. And taken my blanket with them.

Are you serious!?

I couldn’t believe it. I had played with her baby. Allowed it to sleep across my lap. Didn’t utter a single complaint when it threw up all over my seat. And her thanks was to steal my blanket. Granted it had baby puke all over it, but still. I had sentimental value attached to that sarong.

Surprisingly annoyed, I tried scouring the town for a place to sleep but the entire town was already shut down for the night. I ended up paying far too much for a spot in the bus station’s attached hotel. The next morning, while shopping around for some breakfast, I was quickly ‘adopted’ by one of the hundreds of roaming motorcyclists who were constantly on the prowl for rich tourists who would consent to pay upwards of $40USD per day for them to take you around the surrounding countryside. They all appeared to be acting out the same script, and the repetition soon because tiring. It went something like this;

Staking claim to any and every available street corner, they would call out a cheery ‘Hello lady, where are you from?’ as soon as you came within hearing distance. After learning that you were from [insert country here] they would exclaim excitingly that they had many friends from there and then whip out a handy little black book that contained glowing approbations from previous customers. Shoving the book in front of your face so that you had no choice but to look at it, they would rapidly shuffle through it until they landed on a page that contained comments from someone else who came from your country of origin. Oftentimes, a small passport-sized picture of the author would be glued to the bottom of the page. I’m not entirely sure why anyone would sacrifice a passport photo to their tour guide, but the practice appeared prevalent enough. Then, after you had commented politely on how nice the picture/review was, the driver would whip out a second book containing several overpriced ‘tours’ that he would be more then happy to take you on. Declining their services, you would hand back the book and attempt to move on your way, only to have the same persistent driver shadow you down the streets while progressively lowering the cost of the tour down in an attempt to secure your business. It didn’t seem to matter how insistent you were that you were not interested in hanging off the back of a motorbike for 4 days through the countryside during the rainy season. They seemed to feel that your fervent refusal was just a cunning bartering ploy.

This dialogue was mildly amusing at the beginning of the day. But after literally getting harassed nonstop from sunrise to sunset, it became extremely difficult for me to stop myself from impatiently pointing out that if I wanted a motorcycle then I would have already been on one! It’s not like I had a shortage of offers!

While walking through the town, one of the highlight was visiting the crazy architecture of the local crazy house. As the Lonely Planet book eloquently promised, this unusual guesthouse was a cross between a Gaudi masterpiece and a scene straight from the pages of Alice in Wonderland. Each room had a strange and unexplained theme. They ranged from the Tiger room to the Gourd room. The honeymoon suite was a little cottage that was bedecked with giant mushrooms and spider webs. Very atmospheric.

I went from the mild and wet weather of Dalat down to the scorching sand dunes of Mui Ne. I love how Vietnam can incorporate drastically different landscapes within such a small and compact area.

Mui Ne itself was a narrow and rundown little resort town that managed to be spread along 10 miles of coastline and not contain a single decent beach. Thankfully the majority of hotels offered a pool as a swimming substitute. Ours was located in a beautiful stone patio that went right to the edge of the ocean. If I closed my eyes I could almost imagine that I was swimming in the blue waters of the China Sea.

The following day, I grabbed a motorcycle taxi to the 3 main sights of Mui Ne; the red cliffs, the white sand dunes, and the red sand dunes. While all three were spectacularly beautiful, the white sand dunes in particular took my breath away. They were located in the middle of nowhere and stretched out for miles in each direction. I was the only person in sight, which made the trek through the soft sand extremely surreal. I pretended to be a lone and lost traveler traversing through the Sahara desert. It wasn’t a difficult scenario to imagine. And after walking through the ‘desert’ for an hour, I felt a greater affinity for camels then I had ever previously known. Not only did my calves ache for days, but I was digging sand out of places that I don’t even want to mention.

And on that note, I believe it’s time to sign out.

Cheers
Jen

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