A journey into the mountains of central Vietnam.
After 20 hours in the air and a few cups of dreadful coffee, my mum’s nerves were borderline radioactive. I’d never been able to get my wife, Lily, a visa for the U.K., so for any chance of meeting her daughter-in-law, mum had to come to Lily’s hometown, Bảo Lộc. She’d never even heard of it before I moved here, and still can’t pronounce it.
Now, things like humidity, traffic, and mammoth-sized insects aren’t exactly her idea of paradise. She’s the type who prefers pine forests and snowy mountains. Hot climates transform her from a jovial British northerner to a temperamental tourist in the blink of an eye. Her lust for home comforts like pie and chips becomes tangible after a day. How she’d cope with such a radical change of scene was anyone’s guess.
Dawdling out of the airport in Ho Chi Minh City, mum’s face was plastered with confusion. The surrounding human traffic moved at a moderate pace. Her reluctance stuck out like a sore thumb. “Oh bugger, does anyone speak English?” seemed stamped on her forehead. Lily was a bag of nerves, too. We’d been together since 2016, but she’d only ever met mum on video calls. Now she had to break the ice and bond in the space of a few hours. Limited English on one side. Zero Vietnamese on the other. I can’t say I was looking forward to the awkward misunderstandings.
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We caught the first bus out of this concrete jungle and headed straight for Bảo Lộc. This city is no place for a pensioner who is intimidated by too many shopping trollies, let alone millions of motorbikes. As it happens, I was driving side-by-side with a Vietnamese shopkeeper the other day. He’s convinced that “Bảo Lộc seems to be getting more popular with locals.” Western tourists are as common as cheeseburgers around here, and there are fewer than 50 expats.
Despite the language barrier, mum and Lily couldn’t stop chatting. Mum was dying to know more about the love of my life, and Lily was absorbed in her role as cultural conduit. I’ve learned a Vietnamese phrase from DuoLingo: “Người phụ nữ nói hơn người đàn ông.” It translates to “women speak more than men.” I wasn’t in the mood for proving an edtech giant wrong.
The journey up the mountain to Bảo Lộc was eventful to say the least. Every few seconds, it was “Whoaaa!” or “Oh, blimey!” from mum. Lily followed with concerned remarks and giggles seconds later. It’s a 5-mile uphill climb with dozens of twists and turns and our driver thought he was Lewis Hamilton.
Catapulting up the QL20 in third gear, I could see the sweat drops giving mum’s face a natural shine. Lily did a fine job of distracting her by highlighting the incredible mountain views.
“Karen, take a ficture!” she’d burst out in broken English.
Above the Clouds
By the time you reach the top, Bảo Lộc seems like any other town. But it’s like one of those slow-burning films–its real treasures don’t reveal themselves to you in the opening scene. For instance, getting up Đại Bình Mountain will be tough without someone who lives here. There aren’t any signposts.
By the time we arrived, I could see mum was looking more settled with Lily by her side. Our first stop was the church, followed by Phước Huệ Pagoda right next door. Still adjusting to the absence of fish and chips, one religion wasn’t going to cut it. Mum needed blessings from as many sanctuaries as possible. You won’t see another foreigner in sight. That being said, workers at pagodas are either super friendly or just mind their own business.
An expat I spoke to suggests there isn’t much for foreigners here–“Not much English, not much Western food, and no airport.” You’ve got restaurants and coffee shops plonked on every corner. Lily took us to Bún Bò O Hương for the best beef noodle soup in town. Getting mum into Vietnamese food was challenging, but my missus was always able to recommend something she’d love.
Some of the Vietnamese here are adamant in their preference for keeping Bảo Lộc the way it currently is. As it only became a city in 2010, it hasn’t been “absolutely destroyed in the name of modernization.” One local told me he doesn’t want this place to “lose the charm of being a nature sight.”
Two weeks after arriving, we took mum to Damb’ri waterfall. This is the most dazzling attraction and is an exhilarating day out. You’ll always hear tourists from Saigon screaming their heads off as they plummet through the forest on the alpine rollercoaster. I darted down first and climbed the 100 or so steps to the Buddhist statue at the bottom. It’s one of those intricate details that’s rich in meaning for the residents. Foreigners miss it every time, though.
After fifteen minutes, mum and Lily rolled in. Both elated, they were clearly having a great time. They slowed down and posed for the obligatory holiday snap, then drifted across the finish line. We hit the waterfall to enjoy a restorative pause. A refreshing curtain of crashing water and gently-scented mist danced on our faces.
Cool as a Cucumber, What Else?
After the excitement of our Damb’ri adventure, Bát Nhã Monastery was the perfect spot for mum to wind down. I’m not a religious person, but this is one place I find myself coming to almost every weekend. It’s just down the road from Damb’ri and presents the perfect backdrop for some reflection and deep breathing exercises. You might see a handful of tourists, but it’s not selfie central here.
Mum had warmed up to Bảo Lộc by the end of her trip. The natural beauty and perfectly placed coffee shops. The timeless reluctance to appeal directly to the Western world. The morning wake-up calls that come from reptiles instead of receptionists. Most foreigners head straight for Đà Lạt, a more developed city 100 miles up the road, but if you’re looking for that sleepy town experience still lurking in the shadows, you’ll love it here.