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| 24th Dec 2025 |
3:00 AM. The alarm cuts through the dark. On any other day, this would be torture. But today is Christmas Eve, and I am going hunting.
I booked a "Cloud Hunting" tour two days ago, hoping to see the famous sea of clouds that Da Lat is known for. Our group is a mini United Nations: two from Singapore, two from Bangladesh, one elegant woman named Elle from Vienna, three from China, and me.
Our guide, Chau, is a revelation. Unlike my guide in Saigon, Chau is an artist with an iPhone. She doesn't just take photos; she directs them. When I freeze up, awkward and stiff, she roasts my posture with savage precision. "Chin up! Shoulder down! No, not like that!" She is brutal, but she is brilliant. The resulting photos make me look like a model.
We arrive at Cau Dat, shivering in the cold. The landscape is breathtaking—rolling hills, misty valleys, the endless green tea terraces. But the guest of honor is missing. The famous clouds do not show up.
We stand there, nine strangers staring at a clear view, united by a shared disappointment that quickly turns into laughter. We didn't catch the clouds, but we caught the vibe.
The Sweetness of the Earth
The tour pivots. We visit a persimmon factory, where thousands of orange fruits hang drying in the wind . They look like festive lanterns suspended in the air. It feels like walking into an autumn painting. Next is a strawberry farm. The fruit here isn't the sour, supermarket kind; it is candy-sweet. I pick 145g of strawberries myself, paying 58,000 VND for the privilege of eating pure sugar from the earth.
Our final stop is a coffee shop owned by the same man who runs the cloud hunting spot. The place is a masterpiece of flowers and views—a true "Instagram trap," and he knows his business well.
I spot Elle, the Austrian traveler, looking out over the garden. The light is perfect. I secretly snap a candid photo of her—she looks serene, like a painting. I AirDrop it to her later, and she smiles.
Connection.
The Drop
The tour ends at 10:00 AM. And just like that, the high evaporates.
I return to the hotel, change clothes, and the silence rushes back in. The morning was full of voices and laughter. The afternoon is just... me.
I eat Chicken Rice with salad at a small café, scrolling through my phone. I wander the flower market, but the colors blur together. I end up at Ollin Café, sipping coffee not because I want it, but because I need a place to sit.
Then, the reality check. I visit a gold shop to exchange money. My wallet feels lighter than it should be. Vietnam feels cheap day by day, but when you add up the Grab rides, the tours, the coffees, and the strawberries, the numbers climb. I feel a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. I need to stop spending.
The Silent Night
Evening falls. It is Christmas Eve.
Back home, my family is gathering for dinner. My friends are posting photos of feasts and gifts. Here, the churches are full, but the mass is in a language I cannot understand. I debate going. What is the point of sitting in a pew if the words mean nothing to me?
I choose the hotel room.
It is the lowest moment of the trip. I put on a playlist of Christmas songs, but instead of feeling festive, they just make the room feel emptier. I scroll through Facebook, liking posts, typing "Blessed Christmas Eve" to people thousands of miles away.
Then, I open my gallery. I scroll through the photos from this morning—the mist at Cau Dat, the flowers at the café, the stunning shots Chau took of me.
I look at the beauty in those images, and a sudden, sharp thought pierces me.
It would be so good if I were sharing this view with someone.
Not just friends, not just family. But a partner. The love of my life.
I imagine him standing there next to me in the tea terraces, holding my hand, seeing what I see. The view was perfect, but it lacked a witness. It is a fleeting imagination, but it leaves an ache.
I pull the blanket up. I close my eyes. Life must go on, I whisper. I hope tomorrow brings a surprise. I hope tomorrow brings a friend.
Reflection: The Empty Chair
Christmas is a magnifying glass. When you are with family, it magnifies the love. When you are alone, it magnifies the silence.
Today taught me that you can have a "successful" travel day—great photos, new friends, sweet strawberries—and still go to bed with a heavy heart. And that is okay. You don't have to be happy every single second of a solo trip.
Loneliness is not a failure of the trip; it is just part of the price of the ticket. It reminds you of what you value. I value the freedom to wake up at 3:00 AM and hunt clouds. But tonight, looking at those photos of beautiful places, I realize I also value the idea of a shared witness.
I will sleep through this silent night. The clouds may have missed their cue this morning, but the sun will still rise tomorrow.
Date: December 24, 2025 (Christmas Eve)
Location: Da Lat
Mood: Surrounded by people, yet alone.
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