Ok After the tropical sweatbox of Saigon, we arrived in Dalat and Craig immediately reached for knitwear. The man didn’t even blink — straight from humidity to wool like it was a medical emergency.

It’s cool. It’s misty. It’s suspiciously kind to middle‑aged skin, the sort of climate that makes you think, yes, this is where I shall age gracefully and moisturiser‑free.

At 1,500 metres above sea level, Dalat feels less like Vietnam and more like a French colonial daydream meets Italian Tyrol, pines instead of palms, hydrangeas instead of hibiscus, and a cathedral spire poking politely at the skyline as if to say, “Bonjour.”

Ordinarily, it’s a small town with Alpine aspirations.

During Tết, it becomes something else entirely.

Imagine two million people queueing for the same coffee while the city’s plumbing quietly gives up. The resulting bouquet could fell a horse.

I did not thrive.

Xuan Huong Lake: Humanity at Full Volume

Dalat curls around Xuan Huong Lake, a crescent of water edged with pines and walking paths. In quieter months, it probably reflects clouds and poetry. During Tết, it reflects humanity at full volume and humanity is loud.

Families picnic on every available patch of grass. Children career past on neon scooters. Vendors sell grilled corn, sweet potatoes, soy milk, and enough knitwear to survive a Scandinavian winter. At one point I even debated buying a fluffy bear hat, but Craig gently and correctly steered me back to reality before I became a walking mascot.

Dalat takes flowers extremely seriously. Gardens are manicured within an inch of their botanical lives. Floral heart sculptures bloom with confidence. Hydrangeas appear contractually obligated to impress.

If you’ve ever wanted to feel mildly judged by a pansy, this is your moment.

Underneath the chaos, though, you can see why Dalat works as a base. The air hovers between 15–22°C practically Arctic after Saigon. The centre is compact. And within minutes you can escape into proper countryside.

But it has good bones.

The Summer Palace: Imperial Escape in the Pines

The summer palace was the getaway home of Emperor Bảo Đại in the 1930s and 40s.

Not a gold‑leaf, chandelier‑swinging Versailles situation. More understated modernist villa than imperial extravagance. When you’re the last emperor of Vietnam and things are getting politically awkward, the obvious solution is simple: pop up to the mountains and pretend everything is fine.

The house sits among pine trees, calm and composed, as if mildly surprised to still be involved in history. Inside, the décor leans practical rather than opulent — a reminder that even royalty occasionally prefers fresh air to ceremony.

Guest House Olympics: Fourth-Floor Fitness

We stayed at Trung Duc Signature, a small guest house a few minutes uphill from the centre.

There is no lift.

Our room was on the fourth floor.

Each ascent felt like a minor Himalayan expedition. By the time you reach the top, you half expect a sherpa, a medal, or at the very least someone handing out isotonic drinks.

The owner runs the place with care — aroma vases in the rooms, accent chairs in the hallway — small touches we hadn’t seen elsewhere in Vietnam. It’s not grand, but it’s thoughtful.

The plumbing, however, had entered its Tết era. Our toilet had a slow, contemplative flush — the kind that makes you grateful this isn’t your honeymoon.

Unlike the nearby pond, which bubbles with a mysterious green froth best left unexplored.

Culinary Adventures: Food with a Twist

Food during Tết becomes an act of faith.

One evening, Craig ordered chicken with Thai basil. What arrived looked less like dinner and more like supporting evidence in a veterinary investigation. Tubular structures featured prominently. Craig broke into a sweat before he’d even picked up his chopsticks.

To his credit, he tried it.

My pork had been minced into total anonymity, which made denial easier.

The night market is peak chaos — smoke, sweetness, five‑spice sausage (which Craig avoids inhaling on principle), and teenagers buying armfuls of sweaters as if winter is genuinely coming.

It’s loud. It’s relentless. It’s oddly compelling.

Mobile Telecoms Tower – Eiffel Tower?

Cable Cars and Calm: Perspective Above the Chaos

The Dalat cable car offers brief perspective.

One minute you’re in traffic and Tết noise; the next you’re suspended in a small glass box drifting over pine forest and Tuyền Lâm Lake. From above, everything appears composed. The roads look organised. The forest cooperative. Even the hills behave themselves.

It was good — but we both had the odd sensation of being too young to fully appreciate the slow, meditative pace. Strange to say “too young” at our age, but in a rather lovely way. A very different experience to the one in Tux

It deposits you near Trúc Lâm Monastery, which offers calm, bonsai precision, and a welcome reduction in decibels — provided you catch the return cable car before it pauses for its three‑hour lunch break.

Even tranquillity here keeps its own schedule.

The Crazy House: Surreal Streets and Lost Pagodas

Dalat would not be Dalat without the Crazy House.

Officially Hằng Nga Guesthouse, it resembles what might happen if a tree, a fairytale, and an architect with strong feelings about straight lines collided. Staircases twist. Windows lean. Concrete flows like melted wax.

We took one look at the queue and decided we’d seen enough from the outside.

Instead, we set off in search of a nearby pagoda which, according to Google Maps, was definitely there.

It was not.

We wandered through a maze of alleyways, past laundry, low plastic stools, and elderly women who regarded us with polite indifference, before conceding defeat.

Linh Phuoc Pagoda sits just beyond the Trai Mat, a riot of mosaics and colour that looks, at first glance, like Buddhism sponsored by a craft‑glue manufacturer. By the time we finally located the entrance it was edging towards closing time. But even in a rush, you can’t help but admire the sheer commitment: dragons made from beer bottles, walls tiled with broken porcelain, entire staircases shimmering with recycled ceramics. It’s chaotic, eccentric, and a little overwhelming, but there’s something genuinely touching about the effort, a temple built from fragments, holding itself together with devotion and grout.

Our Little Bit of Heaven: Supermarket Salvation. 

On the edge of the lake sit two modern buildings we nicknamed “the Pumpkin” and “the Sprout” — curved, contemporary structures that look faintly futuristic against Dalat’s colonial leftovers.

Pumpkin

Underneath them lies our unexpected sanctuary: a world of shops, stalls, a cinema, and — most importantly — a supermarket.

We spent far more time there than we’d care to admit.

In a town where dinner could involve anatomical surprises, the supermarket provided civilisation: apples, bread, yoghurt, and on one particularly triumphant occasion, a roast chicken that looked reassuringly like chicken.

It became our reset button. Our quiet corner. Our reminder that sometimes heaven is fluorescent‑lit and sells bakery goods.

A Civilised Interlude: French Colonial Rail

For calm, we found the train.

Built in 1932 during the French colonial period, Dalat Railway Station is an Art Deco confection with three triangular roofs said to echo the peaks of Lang Biang mountain. It looks less like a transport hub and more like somewhere you’d post a wistful letter before boarding a steamship.

For £4.30 return — which in Britain would barely allow you to stand near a train — you can ride the surviving 7 km stretch to Trai Mat. It’s less “epic rail adventure” and more “pleasant afternoon outing with saxophone.”

It trundles past vegetable plots and small houses, scenery sliding by like a moving postcard. It is not transformative.     

Inside, the carriages are refurbished in a retro style: polished wood, patterned seats, ceiling fans that look decorative rather than ambitious. There’s something reassuringly theatrical about it. You half expect someone in linen trousers to appear with a silver tea tray, 

It is simply, quietly, lovely.

Dalat, Honestly: Not Serene, but Perfect as a Base

Dalat during Tết is not serene.

It smells occasionally questionable. It is unapologetically crowded. Its pavements are structurally imaginative.

But it’s cool. It’s walkable. It’s full of colonial oddities, cable cars, surreal architecture, imperial escape plans — and, if you look hard enough, small fluorescent‑lit havens selling apples.

More importantly, it makes an excellent base.

Give it a motorbiker, a stretch of open road, and fewer people queueing for coffee, and Dalat begins to show its better angles.

I’m glad I came.

And as the rain rolled in, I suspected the real highlight was still to come