Dalat

Two things that you should know: one, the Vietnamese are possibly the most kitsch-loving people on earth; and two, Dalat, where I am now, is the honeymoon capital of Vietnam.

As I write this I am looking out over a man-made lake in the center of town, watching couples paddle swan-shaped boats under a light drizzle. Just beyond the lake looms a smaller-scale replica of the Eiffel Tower (topped, in a postcolonial flourish, with a Vietnamese flag). The song playing right now over the café’s speakers is ”What is a Youth” from Franco Zefferelli’s Romeo and Juliet (“A rose will bloom/ and then will fade/ so does the youth/ so does the fairest maid . . .”) On my agenda tomorrow are even hokier attractions with names like The Valley of Love and The Lake of Sighs.

One thing you probably shouldn’t know is how much I like places like this. It honestly pains me a little that I’m here by myself.

Tackiness aside, there’s actually a charming town hidden in all this. Dalat is a couple hundred miles north of Saigon in the central highlands, and at a merciful elevation of 1500 meters. The weather here is cool, almost cold. People are wearing things I haven’t seen in months: woolen hats, long coats, scarves. Just being here makes me nostalgic for fall.

The town was established as a French hill station in 1912, and retains a fair amount of colonial architecture (it was known as “Le Petit Paris” by early builders and residents.) More than an air de Paris, though, it has a kind of alpine feel; there are pine trees everywhere and lots of flowers, and narrow, hilly streets with warm little restaurants perched on sloping embankments. It’s a nice escape from Saigon, which, as I will post, was starting to feel like my own personal quagmire.