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| 27th Dec 2025 |
A plan is a cage. Today, I decided to open the door.
At 10:00 AM, the thermometer reads 17°C—the kind of weather that begs you to walk. So, I do. No tours, no guides, no schedule. Just me, a bowl of Siu Mai noodle soup for breakfast, and a vague mission to book a spa appointment for my birthday tomorrow.
I debate taking a Grab bike to the Suoi May Onsen, which is 30 minutes away. But my feet make the decision for me. Why rush through a painting? I walk.
And because I walk, I see.
I spot gardens exploding with flowers that would have been a blur from a motorbike window. I find myself crossing the chaotic streets with the confidence of a local now—no hesitation, just flow.
And then, I find the hidden gem: Tiệm Cà Phê Mây Nhớ Hoài. It’s a café perched on a hill, wrapped in pine trees, overlooking the lake and mountains. I stop for coffee and end up playing with the owner's dogs. The owner, seeing a solo traveler trying to capture the moment, kindly steps in to take my picture.
If I had taken that Grab bike, I would have missed the dogs, the view, and the kindness.
I reach the Onsen, book my "Birthday Treatment" for tomorrow, and discover a shortcut back down to the lake. The city is unfolding itself to me like a secret map.
By evening, I drift toward Lam Vien Square. From the outside, it looks like a giant glass artichoke. But inside, I discover the secret: an underground labyrinth. A mall, a theater, a food court—it’s a subterranean city. I feel like a mouse in a maze, wandering deeper into the belly of Da Lat.
Emerging from the underground, a smell stops me in my tracks.
Wok hei. The breath of the wok.
I have been avoiding rice on this trip—too heavy, too familiar. But the scent of salted fish fried rice pulls me into a street-side café. I surrender. It is my first proper plate of rice in days, and it tastes like heaven.
But the real hunger I’ve been feeling isn’t for food; it’s for connection. And tonight, I finally find it.
I decide to visit Thanh Tam Church, a place close to my hotel that I had somehow ignored. It is 9 minutes away.
I step into the courtyard and am immediately hit by a wall of warmth. The Christmas decorations are dazzling, but the people are brighter. There is an event happening—music, laughter, a lucky draw.
I mingle. I meet the priest. And then, a woman approaches me. She is there with her mother, and she offers me food.
Here it is. The warmth I missed on Christmas Eve. The vibe is electric, positive, welcoming.
She tells me the magic words: "English Mass tomorrow at 7:00 PM."
My birthday. An English mass. It feels like a gift wrapped just for me.
We exchange Facebook Messenger contacts (WhatsApp isn't her thing). I impulsively invite her to a hotpot dinner tomorrow to celebrate my birthday. She agrees.
As I walk back to the hotel, my phone pings.
It’s her.
"My husband would love to cook for you at our house. We are 18 minutes away."
I stare at the screen. A stranger inviting me into her home? A home-cooked meal?
I don't promise anything yet—I leave it to the wind—but I go to bed with the biggest smile of the trip. The connection I have been craving has finally arrived.
Reflection: The Speed of Connection
For ten days, I have been chasing sights—clouds, waterfalls, crazy houses. I moved fast, booked tours, and ticked boxes.
But connection doesn't happen at 60km/h on a motorbike. It happens at walking speed.
Because I walked today, I found the café on the hill. Because I lingered at the church, I found a friend.
We think we need to make things happen when we travel. But sometimes, you just have to walk slowly enough for the world to catch up to you.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I am turning a year older in a foreign land, but for the first time on this trip, I don't feel like a stranger.
Date: December 27, 2025
Location: Da Lat
Temperature: 17°C (Chilly perfection)
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