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| Dalat, a view. Photo: Vo Trang |
I don’t know since when, the two words “Da Lat” have been engraved in my subconscious, even when I didn’t know its shape. Maybe since my mother told me about the year-round cold mountainous region, where women have fair skin, rosy cheeks, where people always wear sweaters, coats, scarves and hats when going out. Or when I saw the black and white photos of my mother in a long dress by Cam Ly waterfall, by Xuan Huong lake with the pine trees leaning over and casting shadows. Or when I heard about the tragic love story at Doi Thong Hai Mo, the legend of Than Tho lake, Lang Biang mountain peak, heard about the places that have become landmarks such as Doi Mong Mo, Thung Lung Tinh Yeu, and Prenn waterfall. Or when I was moved by the melodies of love songs, poems that were filled with the mist of a dreamy land... I didn't know and didn't look for the answer for myself, I only knew that Da Lat was always somewhere in my mind, a wish to visit once, an answer from my school days when someone asked me where I wanted to live in the future. Later, when I met and talked with many people, I realized that I was not the only one who was still thinking about this misty land even though I didn't know much about it.
I still remember the excitement when I first came to Da Lat on a short business trip. It was so different from the coastal area where I was born, and even more so from the river city in the South that I had been attached to during my youth. I looked at the city with the eyes of a child curiously exploring everything around me. The times I came and went after that, I still kept that feeling. Every house precariously perched on a steep slope, every winding road, every garden of red strawberries, every bush of flowers on the side of the road reminded me of so many strange things. I silently looked at the thousand-year-old pine trees, thinking of the fortresses that protected the life of the country day and night. I stood on the "roof of the Central Highlands" and watched the sky split into two halves, one side swirling with heavy gray clouds pouring water into the deep valley, the other side shining with bright yellow sunlight. I drove after the rain, looking up at the mountain tops covered in a milky white rain, and when I arrived, the sky was clear, the clouds had cleared, only the water vapor had formed thin white clouds hanging over the water-soaked pine trees. I was immersed in the cold of the plateau on the Cam Ly slope, watching the city at night. The night was clear, the night was peaceful, the night was quiet. The night erased all the noise of the day, the streets were shimmering and dim, the dew danced under the lights, the grass and trees were soaked with dew, my hair was also bathed by the dew until it was numb. I wandered in the endless alleys that seemed to run to infinity, the roads undulating up and down, listening to the silence of the night. Occasionally, a few rays of light from a car's headlights passed by, piercing the silent night, the sound echoed from somewhere, stirring for a moment then returning the night to its all-encompassing silence. I told myself to wake up before the sun to witness the beauty of the plateau when everything was still sleepy, the mountains and hills, the houses in a row, the gardens in silence were all immersed in the flowing river of mist. Then when dawn broke, I could enjoy the party of shimmering mist dancing under the first rays of sunlight before disappearing into thin air.
Until now, when I have chosen this land as my residence, when I am getting used to daily life, I still give myself quiet moments to admire the city with the eyes of a leisurely traveler.
I followed the path that Alexandre Yersin used to explore the plateau, to the area around the square, where there is a statue of him looking at Lang Biang Mountain hidden in the clouds, imagining the scenery of Da Lat when the explorer set foot, where there are houses and rice fields of ethnic minorities, people born from the mountains and forests and who have devoted their whole lives to the mountains and forests. I went to Dan Kia to see the green pine hills stretching along the Da Dang River pouring into Suoi Vang Lake, the vast Dan Kia Lake with its smoky waves, to see the Ankroet Hydroelectric Plant like a beautiful villa in the middle of a green pine forest, next to the waterfall that flows day and night. I visited the palaces stained with time, the royal palaces, to feel each pebble, each branch, each blade of grass, each mossy wall that still has a golden color of the past. I stopped for a long time in front of the ruined villas with a feeling of regret and sorrow, wondering if the old owners were still alive or dead. If they knew that the beautiful houses filled with laughter were now only ruins, how sad they would be.
I wandered around the peaceful Xuan Huong Lake amidst the bustling city streets, watching the kingfishers soaring up and down, wondering how many memories, how many ups and downs, are stored in the deep lake. I looked at the structures stretching along the clear lake surface. Here is the elegant white Thuy Ta house by the lake. Here is the majestic Dalat Palace hotel weaving the love story of the last emperor and queen of the country, also the place that witnessed the upheavals of the times in each period in the past. Here is the pen tower of the old Lycee Yersin school, vague in the morning mist, proudly stretching out to carry the desire for knowledge far away. Here is the lush green Cu Hill, in the distance is a green mountain range. Here is the once majestic Da Lat market, now humbly standing among the surrounding structures. Here is Lam Vien square, featuring two typical flowers of the mountain town, bustling with visitors. Here is the purple Thanh Thuy coffee shop by the lake. The clattering sound of the hearse, like an echo from a distant land.
I am fascinated by the villages in the heart of the city, the colorful fruit gardens, hearing about the journey from the time of land reclamation to create the villages of Ha Dong, Van Thanh, Thai Phien, Da Thien, Da Phu, Truong Xuan... contributing to creating the brand of the land of vegetables and flowers. Each flower, each vegetable variety becomes vivid with the story since its introduction, to become a specialty that has spread to many places after many years.
I look at the land horizontally to see the different marks from the places I have been to, but I am curious to look vertically, to understand the journey of discovery, to know the shallow and deep layers of each landscape. The first time I saw Da Lat fifteen years ago, it was a modern city mixed with the ancient features of the West. I do not have any nostalgia for Da Lat of the past, I just want to understand a little more about the place I am living, through the stories of the ancients, the pages of books stained with time.
Strangely, Da Lat is a young city compared to the length of the country, but it contains many historical traces, the upheavals of the times, the nostalgia through the memories of many generations, the brilliance and the fading. Every inch of land and road of the country carries its own sediment. There are so many things I want to explore, and then I choose the simplest way, which is to love this land, to keep myself as eager as in the beginning, to want to breathe into the city's heartbeat, to listen to the joys and sorrows in the movements of the highlands.
Source: https://baolamdong.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202504/ve-chon-cao-nguyen-9100206/
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