8th December – Phan Thiet to Dalat

Had to be woken by alarm at 7, I was sleeping so soundly.  Had quick breakfast and checked out.  Was on the road by 8, anxious to get going because I wondered how long it would take to do the 180km through the mountains to Dalat.  Got hopelessly lost in Phan Thiet trying to find Highway 28 but kept asking other motorcyclists at traffic lights.  I seemed to get contradictory advice.  Once I was finally on the right road it turned out to be lovely, flat at first though going through some pretty villages and then as I started up the foothills there seemed to be herds of cows or goats (a solitary pig at one point) on the road every half kilometre.  Fortunately a jeep full of soldiers careered past me and I was able to follow in its wake, the driver simply honking his horn and scattering animals everywhere.  No fatalities that I could see but not the way we do things in Blighty.  Soon, there were no more herds, soldiers, villages or even much traffic.  It was beautifully serene with palms and bamboos giving way to evergreens as I went higher.  Huge valleys of dense tropical forest.  You can see how impossible it would have been for the Americans to have fought in terrain like this.   I was getting progressively colder as I went higher so put on the long sleeve tee-shirt I’d brought in case the sun got too strong.  Far from it.  It was cloudy and getting quite chilly.   I got to De Linh by 11.30 without a proper stop so had made good time; only about 50km to go.  There I stopped for an iced coffee which took an age to filter but I needed the break.  As I went higher still I got even colder despite the extra tee-shirt and it was even spitting with rain.  By the time I came down into Dalat my teeth were chattering.  Once again it took an age to find the hotel on the edge of town I booked a couple of days ago.  Fortunately I had a google maps print-out so using that eventually found it.  The YK Home Villa is a two-star place run by a local family.  Only the daughter speaks English but the parents do their best with sign language.   After changing out of my now filthy clothes I walked down into town. Dalat is as hilly as Bristol albeit shaped more like a bowl, with a lake and the market in its centre and bottom.  Because of its constant spring like weather (it bean raining as soon as I left the hotel so bought myself a plastic poncho) Dalat is big draw for Vietnamese honeymooners. I suppose it’s just the reverse of our tendency to go somewhere warm.  It’s also famous for its bountiful fruit harvest and everywhere around town you find people selling soft fruits on the street: strawberries, mulberries, aloes, and many things I don’t recognise.  In the market you see these same fruits dried.  I tried some and they were delicious so bought a few to send home to the family.  In an attempt to keep out of the rain I went into an enormous church on the edge of town.  It may be a cathedral – classical gothic nave, presumably built by the French.  This was around 5.30 and I realised that people were pouring in around me because a service was just starting.  Indeed when I entered I saw that this huge church was packed with people and that more people were arriving all the time.  Quite interesting for a while to hear a service being conducted in Vietnamese.  The only word I recognised with Amen.  Had supper in a place called Long Hoa and, having skipped lunch, indulged myself by ordering the fish hotpot (and noodles) which turned out to be completely delicious.  Had  a chat with a nice young couple from Hexham near Newcastle who are travelling for ten months in SE Asia and S America.  Nice to have a chat in English I realised.  Still pouring with rain when I came out so was drenched by the time I had climbed back up to the hotel.