All that was missing was the cowboy hat, the mask and the cylinder of nitrous oxide. That was a crazy-ass ride up from HCMC to Dalat driven by a Vietnames Dennis Hopper. We’ve spent way too many hours on buses in the past few days. There has to be better way to travel.
Dalat was a French colonial town. Like the British, the French hightailed it to the highlands when it got stinking hot in the city. The climate is quite different here. They grow strawberries and coffee as well as a boatload full of gladiolus and mangoes, passion fruit and the like. The altitude changes quickly so there are lots of micro climates. It’s a beautiful city in a gorgeous landscape – for the record.
Anyway, back to the bus drivers. I’ve experienced some pretty scary ones. They generally involve prime candidates for Adler’s form of psychotherapy – bullies and tyrants (when the are pushing several tons of metal around). Ours was driving hell-bent for leather through dense fog on the wrong side of the road (in my opinion – he would have been good for India). Even though it was 3 in the morning there were plenty of pedestrians and cyclists walking at the margin of the highway (always back facing the traffic), they would appear suddenly and be gone before I had a chance to wet myself. If there was an oncoming motorcycle he would let that driver make the decision to go off the road – they would have been like so much bug splat. If he was overtaking a bus or truck he would pause in the oncoming lane to pick his teeth, seeming to dare the world to present him with an obstacle (did I mention that Vietnamese roads are designed with ungraded curves – so vehicles will slide off if they don’t slow down enough – our driver was exploring the physical limits of inertia on gravelly, potholed serpentine surfaces). All this to the score of a bizarre Chinese melody that sounded like a pop song played backwards - accompanied by a Chet Atkins tremolo guitar. Like Chinese surf-punk. Kind of cool if I could have detached. I asked the driver who the musician was and he wrote it down but the hawkers in the market wanted to sell me Korean porn and Cha Cha Cha music. Oh they teased me wickedly! I don’t think I got the right CD but I’ll have to wait ‘til I get home – might be an interesting Brazilian/Korean danceporn Cha Cha Cha extravaganza!
It all goes back to Yugoslavia in the late 70s. I was travelling with Cyd, Darby and J Owen Saunders by magic bus to Greece. The highway was pin straight and the day was clear and dry but we passed two fatal head-on accidents. All you could see was the bluish toes poking up from the coarse grey blanket, a dark black pool like transmission fluid seeping slowly underneath the still figure. How could that happen in perfect driving conditions? Then Peru – coming back from Nazca to Lima they put me in the front window so I felt like a goldfish in a house full of cats. The driver wove in and out of traffic like a snowboarder with a death wish. The theme is repeated; India where they drive like the steering wheel is loosely connected to the horn – our driver thought he was Tom Cruise in Top Gun - and now Vietnam. I couldn’t bear to wake Sophie up because it was just too horrible to witness. Anyway, we’re alive. It’s been an ok day in Dalat. The roads are less dense with traffic, the air is breatheable, the morning market was rich with fantastic produce. The Dreams Hotel, recommended by Lonely Planet is terrific.
We poor fleshy tourists are ripe picking for the folks here. Wishing to find interest and meaning we are like 8 year olds and our comic books; sending away for a fantastic toy based on inflated claims and unscrupulous writing. And always that terrible feeling; Not exactly as advertised. Vietnam is an amazing place but it is super-dense and the fleece that they get from tourist-sheep is clearly a critical part of the economy. Just the typical caveat for any interested parties.
We’re learning.
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