A Visceral Voyage by Road to Dalat: An In-depth Exploration

A Visceral Voyage by Road to Dalat: An In-depth Exploration

We found ourselves navigating an uncertain path, seemingly aimlessly, an element of ambiguity hovering in our minds about our precise direction. Conjecturally, we were en route Saigon when my alert eyes detected a waypoint indicating the city known as Dalat. The appellation itself stirred muted echoes from my memory, suggesting the vestiges of an age-old French hill station nestled distinctly to the north of Saigon. The vociferous whispers of its laudatory reputation as a delightful destination, conjured images that were curiously reminiscent of the vintage British hill stations during the era of the Raj. Simla? A faint hint of inquisitive interest arose, and I presented the question to my navigator PB: "Have you been to Dalat?" Her shaking head indicated otherwise, and without further ado or deliberation, I turned the wheel to the right, embarking on this new direction towards unknown horizons.

Our capacity to make such unmediated decisions was a positive aspect; however, it also harboured a certain level of unpreparedness. We were operating blindfolded, so to speak—unaware of the distance that stretched severe and enigmatic ahead of us, struggling to underpredict the road conditions. While I could try and estimate these rudimentary details, the absence of a map rendered them largely imprecise. Even if I were armed with a map, the situation at that time was so random and unpredictable that any geographical resource would have been more of a misleading guide than a reliable assistant. The reality on the ground was starkly different from the sterile lines drawn on the map.

One insight that tailed me was the unexpected presence of local Vietnamese on the turbulent roads. Allowing for the shocking driving standards and the predominance of corruption, their daring, almost reckless courage was baffling. I also witnessed the dreadful aftermath of accidents - horrific scenes that were a testament to the fierce uncertainties that plagued the journey.

At one point, after an unspecified duration of relentless driving, we found ourselves in an ethereal landscape dappled with kilometers of rubber plantations. As we ventured into the undulating green hills, the lack of any discernible traffic activity stirred definite apprehensions. Then, panel by panel, my mind's puzzle blanketed in mystery, began to connect the eerie dots. We desperately needed to protect our identities and decided to dispense with my numbered X plates.

PB and I neared some semblance of a momentary agreement - I would be a French teacher. Though this was not a career I had previously contemplated, it offered a beneficent shield of anonymity under precarious circumstances. Beyond the ploys and subterfuge, there was the irrefutable reality of scenery so vibrant and exuberantly green that it felt as if it had been touched by an artist's brush, dabbed in varying shades of emerald.

Dalat, when we finally arrived, exuded a quaint, charming aire tres francais. The town had seen remarkably better days and now housed the South Vietnamese military and police academies, and the Couvent des Oiseaux. The continuous rounds of small arms fire suggested a prevailing unsettledness that couldn't be ignored.

On the following morning, we began retracing the path served by the previous day. Though the initial journey's mood resembled the nervous excitement of explorers charting an unknown land, the second was relatively mundane now that the initial 'fear of the unknown' had been lifted. The entire expedition was enlightening; the road to Dalat. It was filled with moments, good and bad, painting a singing tapestry of experience. Its memories accommpanied me back home into everyday life - the risks we took, the cover stories we fabricated, and the once-in-a-lifetime journey through the exquisite landscapes, experiencing the highs and lows of Vietnam's tumultuous history.

Our adventure was cut short when, a mere three days after we had trodden and left our tracks on that road, the Viet Cong launched an offensive, controlling the road for five intolerable days.

Looking back today, one might say Dalat's road was as much about Vietnam's history as it was about our expedition. It was an organic tapestry of our experiences - a visceral voyage that I feel fortunate to have been part of, and a story that I continue to tell with pride and longing, four decades on.