A month ago I left Denmark. It’s pretty wild that I’ve already been away for a month.

Quick status: good mood, relaxed, enjoying my trip, tired of sunscreen and mosquito spray.

The feeling of being on a short vacation is starting to fade. Every day brings something new, but also at a calm pace. I point at the map and start walking. I’m quietly starting to skip the big sightseeing destinations in favor of my own impulses. It brings peace. I don’t need to get anywhere. I don’t have to get through any checklist or todos. Just one day at a time.
I don’t get tired of discovery and exploration. At the same time, the world is too big for me to ever be done with it. If I could make a living out of trudging around all kinds of cities all over the world, I’d probably jump at that opportunity.

Da Nang to Da Lat

I left Da Nang this week. After having a slightly underwhelming stay at a hotel, I was mentally ready for one more night on a bus. The hotel was partly chosen because the night bus pickup point was within walking distance of it

The bus company calls me in the morning on the day. A taxi is coming to pick me up at 15:00. Service, but also a bit strange. My bus doesn’t leave until 18:00 and the agreed starting point is 100m from the hotel. Before I manage to think it through properly, the call is over and they’ve hung up.
I write to the company that I’m right next to the described meeting point, so a taxi isn’t necessary. In return I’m told that the meeting point has been blocked off, so I’ll be driven to the new meeting point. Okay, so that’s sorted then. At 15:00 I’m picked up in a small taxi, and off we go. I exchange a few messages with the organizer on WhatsApp. My starting point has been moved to Da Nang bus station, and I’m now leaving as early as 16:00.

Taxi drivers in Vietnam are living proof that it’s not only women who can multitask. One thing is the traffic. I don’t want to repeat myself too much. But it’s not for people with neck problems. The head spins around wildly to avoid bumps and traffic accidents. Alongside that runs an asynchronous chat with his buddy over the phone. The kind where it’s voice mail to voice mail back and forth. I’m honestly baffled that they don’t just make a call, given how many messages they sit there sending. Between the messages he also manages to weave in a few questions to me. Where I’m from, how long I’ve been in Da Nang, whether I like Da Nang. A bit distracted, I squeak out “Yes. Good.” It’s not that I don’t want to talk, but I don’t want to take focus away from the road. I seem to be the only one with that concern.

The taxi drops me off on a patch of asphalt. I’m led into a huge hall with around 30 counters. There are no people. At one of the counters a woman sits in the dark. The counter has the same name as the bus company, so I feel reasonably safe. I get a handwritten ticket and am asked to sit on the bench and wait to be picked up.

Night bus time

An experience? Yes!

The night bus this time was fairly empty. Just me, a Chinese couple, and a Vietnamese family, mother, father, and 2 boys.

I think there’s some kind of mathematical formula for the probability of children crying in small confined means of transport. And the odds head toward 100% as soon as the trip includes an overnight stay. One exciting thing about this night bus is that it comes with a toilet. A little box with liquids sloshing around on a Vietnamese highway. What could possibly go wrong? It simply had to be tried.

If you’ve flown before or been to a festival toilet, you know the size. There’s just enough foot space for you to spin your legs around for yourself. We’re in Asia, so no, a 180cm tall person can’t stand upright. And worst of all, riding a bus in Vietnam is just like riding a roller coaster. Acceleration, shaking, sharp turns. Plus, from the moment you’ve deposited the goods in the bowl until the next big road bump, you need to have flushed. You do not want to be caught in a situation where you haven’t flushed.

Action over and back to the sobbing youngster. Yeah, yeah. At least I slept well the night before.

Relaxing in Da Lat

I arrive in Da Lat tired, but in one piece. The city is a big break from Da Nang. The size feels much smaller, and at the same time it’s more condensed. My hostel is located downtown, in the inner city center. There’s a lot of traffic, many restaurants, and 100 m to the lake in the middle of the city.

After dropping my bags off at my hostel, I choose to take a walk around the lake to get my stiff body moving. Right outside my hostel there’s a man on a motorcycle who pulls over and asks where I’m from. “From Denmark,” I answer, ready for the sales pitch. He pulls out a battered notebook and starts flipping through it. He quickly finds a page. The content is written in Danish, signed Louise and Caro. I get the book and flip through it a bit. There are all kinds of greetings from people from all over the world. The guy is a tour guide and is of course selling his tour. Having just landed with a sleep deficit, I choose to say no thanks and move on. It actually looked interesting enough, but I’m not in a state to properly consider what it is I’d be saying yes to.

I reach the lake. It’s 5 km around the lake, so it’s not huge, but it is the center of the city. There’s a mall with a cinema and an opera theater. There are restaurants and flower parks. And there’s a kind of ring road around the lake with a massive amount of traffic 24/7. That makes the area very busy, but also full of all sorts of things to see. About halfway around the lake I’m flagged down once again. A book is pulled out, and who would have guessed, but there’s indeed also a group of Danes who have left a handwritten greeting. “5 stars” it says in big letters with 5 drawn stars. I get the man’s WhatsApp number and trudge on.

On the opposite side of the mall there’s a huge park. Some of it is golf courses, some of it is a flower park. There’s an entrance fee for the flower park. I file that away as a nice little activity if I’m short an hour some day. Along the lakeshore there are small benches. There’s one up under a tree in the shade. I’ve just set my bag down when I hear “Where are you from?” from over my shoulder. Tour guide? Check. Notebook? Check. Danish greeting? Check. He’s politely informed that he’s the 3rd tour guide today. “Maybe… third one, lucky one?” Funny guy. I also take his WhatsApp number. Afraid of getting stopped again, I decide to go find somewhere to eat instead. But 10 steps from the bench and the 4th tour guide is already at my side. This one has a thick French accent. The 5th tour guide gets waved away.

Da Lat Note Hostel

My hostel is top-notch. I have a private room. It has everything I need, while also being well maintained, spacious, and well ventilated. Communal dinners are arranged a few times a week, and the common room has a view over the city, good seating, and is a calm place to hang out. There’s a small group of volunteer foreigners helping out at the hostel. The Vietnamese family that owns the place is also present, along with a couple of sweet little girls who walk around greeting all the guests and otherwise keep the place lively by playing a bit in the foyer.

I’ve fallen into good conversation with a few different people. There’s a group of university students from Portugal, Spain, and Italy who are on some kind of exchange. They’re a bit loud and boisterous, but if you want a game of cards in the evening, they’re up for it, if not already in the middle of one. I spent a whole evening chatting with an American teacher who’s also traveling solo for most of 2026. Several of the volunteers are also open for a chat. They’ve been in Da Lat somewhat longer than me and are therefore good to ask for advice about exciting sights.

The coming days bring a Buddhist monastery, a waterfall, an abandoned art park, and Godzilla.

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