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| 27th Dec 2025 |
A plan is just a cage with a schedule. Today, I decided to leave the door open.
At 10:00 AM, the thermometer read 17°C—the kind of weather that practically begs you to be outside. So, I listened. No tours, no guides, no itinerary. 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 debated taking a Grab bike to the Suoi May Onsen, which is about 30 minutes away. But my feet made the decision for me. Why rush through a painting? I walked.
And because I walked, I actually saw things.
I spotted gardens exploding with flowers that would have been a blurry smear from a motorbike window. I crossed chaotic streets with the confidence of a local—no flinching, just flowing.
And then, I stumbled on a hidden gem: Tiệm Cà Phê Mây Nhớ Hoài. It’s this little café perched on a hill, wrapped in pine trees, overlooking the lake and mountains. I stopped for coffee and ended up playing with the owner's dogs. The owner saw me trying to take a selfie with the view and kindly stepped in to take a proper photo for me.
If I had taken that Grab bike, I would have missed the dogs, the view, and the kindness.
I reached the Onsen, booked my "Birthday Treatment" for tomorrow, and even found a shortcut back down to the lake. The city was finally unfolding itself to me like a secret map.
By evening, I drifted toward Lam Vien Square. From the outside, it looks like a giant glass artichoke. But inside? It’s an underground labyrinth. A mall, a theater, a food court—it’s basically a subterranean city. I felt like a mouse in a maze, wandering deeper into the belly of Da Lat.
Emerging from the underground, a smell stopped me dead in my tracks.
Wok hei. The breath of the wok.
I’ve been avoiding rice on this trip—too heavy, too familiar. But the scent of salted fish fried rice pulled me into a street-side café. I surrendered. It was my first proper plate of rice in days, and it tasted like heaven.
But the real hunger I’ve been feeling isn’t for food; it’s for connection. And tonight, I finally found it.
I decided to check out Thanh Tam Church, a place close to my hotel that I had somehow ignored. It was only 9 minutes away.
I stepped into the courtyard and was immediately hit by a wall of warmth. The Christmas decorations were dazzling, but the people were brighter. There was an event happening—music, laughter, a lucky draw.
I mingled. I met the priest. And then, a woman approached me. She was there with her mother, and she started offering me food.
Here it is, I thought. The warmth I missed on Christmas Eve. The vibe was electric.
Then she told me the magic words: "English Mass tomorrow at 7:00 PM."
My birthday. An English mass. It felt like a gift wrapped just for me.
We exchanged Facebook Messenger contacts (WhatsApp isn't really her thing). I impulsively invited her to a hotpot dinner tomorrow to celebrate my birthday. She agreed.
As I walked back to the hotel, my phone pinged.
It was her.
"My husband would love to cook for you at our house. We are 18 minutes away."
I stared at the screen. A stranger inviting me into her home? A home-cooked meal?
I didn't promise anything yet—I left it to the wind—but I went 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’ve been chasing sights—clouds, waterfalls, crazy houses. I moved fast, booked tours, and ticked boxes.
But connection doesn't happen at 60km/h on the back of 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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