|
The Central Highlands' city of Da Lat is one of my favourite
holiday destinations in Viet Nam. I have visited the city many times, yet every
time I do so I'm always enchanted by the beauty of the landscape, the brilliance
of the flowers that adorn the parks and hills and houses, and the crisp clear
air that never fails to intoxicate.
First discovered by Swiss-French bacteriologist Alexandre John Emile Yersin in
1893, the city and its environs soon became the playground of the French who
built villas in the clear mountain air to escape the heat and humidity of the
coast and Sai Gon, now known as HCM City.
Da Lat looks like a cross between Viet Nam and the French Alps. The city spreads
across a series of pine-covered hills, with a small lake in the centre and a
manmade lake on the periphery. It is quite unlike the rest of Viet Nam.
Temperatures are pleasantly warm by day, and quite cool at night, when it drops
to about 100 C.
On this trip to Da Lat I chose to visit Lang Biang Plateau, and the village of
local ethnic groups who live at the foot of the mountain range.
Taking the advice of a local taxi driver, I awoke early in order to reach Lang
Biang Tourism Site and reach the summit by 7am when the morning fog wreaths the
mountain before it disperses in the warmth of the day.
Evergreen pines trees, occupying some 971ha, cover the three mounts of Chu Yen
Du (known locally as Mr Nhut Mount), Lang Biang (Lam Vien) and Bi Doup (or Ba
Mount). All three mounts are over 2,000m high, the latter being the tallest at
2,287m above sea level.
Mai Ngoc Lam, who works at Lang Biang Tourism Site, which is 12km north of Da
Lat centre, said that the more adventurous tourist can trek up the tree-lined
tracks to get to the summit, while the less fit can take a jeep. He said
trekking added to the experience because one could admire the natural
environment close up.
"You will see a number of different species of pine tree, some very rare, with a
trunk diameter of up to 4m and reaching a height of 20m," he said.
"You will also see wild orchids. There are about 300 species here," he added.
"If you are lucky, you might also see rare birds as well as a number of wild
animals."
Feeling slightly guilty, I took a jeep to the summit, doubtful my lungs could
cope with the climb. The journey by jeep is along a 6km road that zigzags
through the forest to the summit.
The air was wonderfully fresh and perfumed with the scent of pine and wild
plants. Streams cascaded down rock outcrops and birdsong permeated the air,
which grew noticeable thinner as we climbed higher up the mountain.
When we reached the peak (where there is a coffee shop for the weary and a
souvenir shop for tourists) I climbed out the jeep and followed the faint sound
of distant voices to a flat viewing area.
On the peak, I was lost in reverie, aware only of the mist-clad scenery, the
sky, the clouds, the wonderfully fresh air, which seemed to have a smell and
taste that was quite alien to me. A few minutes later, a warm ray of sunlight
pierced the clouds and the mist began to clear, revealing the magnificent
scenery before me in all its glory. I could not help yelling with joy as the
landscape unfolded before me. A yellow river, known as Suoi Vang (Golden Stream)
zigzagged through tree-lined hills in the foreground, while in the distance,
wave upon wave of undulating hills disappeared into the horizon to the north.
My thoughts drifted to the legends I had read on my journey here. One legend
says that a Chil ethnic woman named Lang fell in love with Biang, an ethnic
Lach. The couple, forbidden to marry by their clans, committed suicide in order
to stay together forever. Moved by their eternal love, the animals, birds and
trees in the forest began building two tombs to the sweethearts. The tombs got
bigger and bigger until they became the two high peaks now known as Lang Biang.
That night I got the chance to watch a dance and gong performance by Lach people
in Lat Commune at the foot of the mountain.
Krajan Tham, a local man, told me there were ten groups of ethnic musicians and
dancers performing for tourists each night.
"At least one person from each family performs nightly," he said. "Each group of
musicians plays a set of six gongs. It means the sounds of more than 60 gongs
break the silence of the village every night."
A bonfire was lit to take the chill out of the air, while ruou can (wine stored
in jar and drunk from bamboo pipes) warmed from within, as did the barbecue put
on for us.
"All of us are farmers during the day and artists at night," said Pangting Thu,
aged about 20. "I feel bored if no tourists come when it rains. Then I miss the
chance to sing and dance."
Looking at barefoot artists losing themselves in dance and song, their shirts
damp with sweat, their faces bright and their eyes shining in the light of the
bonfire, I began to feel pleasantly intoxicated, not so much from the wine, but
from the joyful enthusiasm of the performers, the music and the wonderful
evening air.
|
