Tragedy in Dalat.

Dalat makes a pleasant spot for some rest, repose and decent food. The fresh mountain air provides respite from the hotter, more humid surroundings; respite is also needed due to the concussion-inducing road on the way in!

Datanla Falls, Dalat.

The city is famous for its status as a resort town, popular with the French and then, later, the Vietnamese: it's said that during the war both the South Vietnamese and North Vietnamese/N.L.F. agreed to spare the city from attack, with South Vietnamese officers going there on leave as well as their V.C. counterparts. French influences in the form of villas abound, while there are a number of attractive churches, restaurants, bakeries and landscaped features which give Dalat a distinctly European feel. Sights include the Crazy House, Bao Dai's palaces and some nearby waterfalls, the latter two providing the main content for this post.

The cathedral, Dalat.

The Crazy House.

Bao Dai's summer palace, a 1930's Art Deco building, made me think a little more about this little-known, tragic figure. Bao Dai was the final Emperor of Annam (most of modern-day Vietnam), though his power was entirely dependent on his French colonial overlords. Crowned in 1926, he abdicated from 1945 after being persuaded by Ho Chi Minh that his association with the French would be too damaging in an independent post-war Vietnam. Of course, a king would also be in the way of Ho Chi Minh's intended Communist state - monarchs and communists don't seem to go together too well.

Bao Dai's Summer Palace.

Bao Dai became a puppet in many ways, firstly as the pre-war proxy of the French, then under the Vichy/Japanese government during World War Two and, finally, as the leader of South Vietnam until 1955, effectively as a Franco-American figurehead. In this year, he was ousted by Ngo Dinh Diem, whose rigged referendum established him as president of South Vietnam. Bao Dai had by this time left for Paris, retaining influence in a number of Vietnamese political circles and even being approached (unsuccessfully) by the North in 1972 to become a member of a coalition government. He died in France in 1997. He was unpopular with the people, due to his pro-France ideals and collaboration with the government. Of course, the modern narrative is skewed, for the Party has decided which aspects of the Emperor's life are known...

As I walked around the palace, seeing the pictures of the king, his family and their various belongings around the place in some sort of time capsule, I couldn't help but feel sorry for a man whose life was ill-starred from the beginning, becoming the leader of his country (in name at least) at the most fractious time possible. I always find deposed monarchs to be incredibly sad figures: born to lead their peoples, they find themselves hated or despised by their nations, usually due to the machinations of others and often extreme ideologies. Dalat was Bao Dai's favourite retreat, and thence came my first tragic sentiments.

The second incidence was a rather more sobering, shocking experience. Around six miles outside Dalat is the Prenn waterfall, a popular destination for locals where they can have their photos printed on plates, go in horse-drawn carriages and dress in period clothing. I emerged from the park to find a large crowd gathered on the road. The entrance to the park is mildly complicated: a wide, multi-lane highway passes by and traffic coming from Dalat has to take a slip-road which passes under the highway in order to enter the park. However, someone had failed to heed the signs.

The Prenn Waterfall.

The scene which greeted me was incredibly saddening to say the least. A van had stopped on the road, its windscreen shattered, and the remains of a scooter were mangled beneath its front wheels, various parts of it scattered across the road together with flowers from nearby bushes. The rider was nowhere to be seen.

The bystanders told me what had happened. A Thai national had failed to take the slip-road, instead turning left into the oncoming traffic, which was a van travelling at high speed. The motorcyclist had absolutely no chance, hitting the van head-on and being dragged beneath it as the driver tried to stop. The bystanders said, ruefully but in a resigned, matter-of-fact fashion, that he had died, losing his foot in the process. I hadn't seen the accident and there were no vestiges of such a gruesome end on the road, but I felt sick to the stomach, especially in light of my own accident the day before, from which I had emerged unscathed. The roads can be unforgiving places and those intending to use them should exercise extreme caution, this being the second such tragedy I've witnessed in my two visits to this country.