Getting to Da Lat

Our arrival was a flood of relief after our experience in Mui Ne, and the escape journey out.

The private bus company collected us from our hotel for the mere 4-hour ascent into the hills, but that is where the convenience ended.  We bundled on with our large packpacks stashed in the aisle, headed to the back where there seemed to be the most space.  The driver stopped every few hundred yards, squeezing more and more red-faced sweaty passengers on until we were really bursting, knees up around ears and the aisle popping with bags which new passengers had to climb over to fill the last seats.  Still not satisfied, a child was put on her mother's knees and a large American bottom was placed upfront by the driver.  Bags were adjusted to find more room for more large bottoms and every time the bus stopped and the doors opened, all the faces peered nervously out to gage the size and number of embarking passengers.  I was right at the back in the corner by the window, Matt was sort of next to me with with legs hanging down the aisle, a woman next to him shared the aisle as she also had a knee injury, and the man next to her, squeezed up against the other window, was part of a young Israeli group travelling together and spread out across the bus.  Finally, it seemed we were moving out of town and no more chattel was herded on.

Then we got a puncture.

Pulling into a workshop, first the fit and flexible Israeli men monkeyed down the aisle, hanging on to the luggage rack and tiptoeing along the armrests, finally navigating the pile of bags by the door and swinging down out of the bus to the ground.  We all followed, realising we may be a while and we should stretch our legs.  Everyone smoked nervously but Matt and I were good, resolutely sticking to our quitting ambitions.

I watched a small boy sew up a patch on the tyre, it looked fragile as a plaster.  Other workmen napped in hammocks, I had to duck under one to get to the toilet.

Eventually we were ready to go and everyone clambered up and everyone clambered along the aisle and everyone groaned as we tucked ourselves back into our seats like contortionists, and everyone fell silent as we climbed the most beautiful mountains and rose about valleys and plateaus, electric green with paddy fields and banana trees and the most splendid flora stretched across the huge rocks jutting up like mossy teeth.

Vietnam is beautiful.

Hissing and puffing, the bus pulled in to a rest stop halfway up a mountain.  We hadn't passed another vehicle for hours, no signs of human life for miles around.  The back wheel (the one below my seat) was hissing air and looking rather forlorn.  We didn't hold much hope for it, but where else were we going to go?  Matt and I buckled, and I bought a packet of fags.  All aboard once more.

Somehow, 7 or 8 hours later, after a languid sunset that had lulled us all into a squashed but happy stupor, we pulled into Da Lat.  A chirpy young woman broke the spell, leaping on board to tell us about the cheap but comfortable rooms they had at the adjacent hotel.  Matt and I were glad to fall straight into a room, which turned out to be a great choice for our stay in Da Lat.

Love, E.