When the fog and pine hills leave Da Lat

(VTC News) - Amidst the crowded and noisy mountain town, the old people of Da Lat still linger on the memories of a city obscured in the fog, now only a lingering regret.

It was a drizzling rain in Dalat that morning. Tiny drops of water landed on my shoulders, but they didn’t carry the gentle chill of the past, but a damp, stuffy smell of vehicle exhaust and construction dust.

In the midst of today's bustling Da Lat, finding someone who has lived through almost a century here is like finding an underground stream under a thick layer of concrete. There are not many "village elders" of the flower city left. Finding them is difficult, hearing them talk is even more difficult, because you have to rekindle a beautiful memory that now only exists as a dreamlike shadow, then face a reality that has changed to the point of heartbreak.

There was once a golden Dalat

We started our journey with a small clue. A friend said: “In Ward 6, there is an old man named Nguyen Huu Tranh, 87 years old, a Dalat scholar”.

A corner of Da Lat center 15 years ago. (Photo: Pham Anh Dung)

Tranh’s house is nestled on Hai Ba Trung Street in Ward 6, now renamed Cam Ly Ward. Finding his house is like finding an old piece in the old Da Lat picture, it takes a lot of time and patience.

Although his health is poor and his memory is sometimes erratic, just mentioning “old Da Lat” makes him feel young again, his voice clear, his eyes bright. As if looking through the close-packed roofs to find a lost misty sky.

“My Dalat in those days,” he said slowly, “was a village town with a strong French style. There weren’t many houses, the streets were small but clean, the sidewalks were wide, the pine trees stood straight. We walked, listened to the wind in the pine trees, smelled the scent of wild flowers. Every morning, opening the door, we saw the mist hanging like a white veil…” He stopped, looking at the house he was living in, which no longer had a porch, was close to the road and was cramped.

He said that in the past, building a house had to be properly planned. Each plot of land was at least 250 square meters, only about 80 square meters could be built on, and there had to be a front yard and a back garden to grow crops and ornamental plants.

“In the center, houses cannot be built higher than 19 meters, no more than two floors to keep the landscape and view unobstructed. Every few houses have wide alleys, in case of fire, the fire truck can come and go. From the balcony of each house, the view opens up to the foot of the pine forest in the distance, under the thin mist, you can clearly hear the birds singing at the beginning of the day. Dalat at that time was as pure as a hand-painted picture, without a single unnecessary line, everywhere you looked you could see the sky and the mountains,” he said, as if returning to the old days.

Mr. Nguyen Huu Tranh with a picture of Dalat in 1955.

Then, he sighed, his eyes seemed to penetrate the space: “Now… Houses are close together, gardens are gone, and few people keep the planning. Every principle to protect Da Lat has been left behind.”

As if afraid we wouldn’t believe him, he pointed to an old photo of a corner of Da Lat in 1955, which he had enlarged and hung solemnly in his living room. In the photo, the roads were wide, the pine trees were tall, and the roofs were hidden among the green trees.

“Compared to today, those were two different worlds ,” he paused for a moment, then whispered: “If you want to understand more, you should look for Mr. Thanh - my childhood friend. He grew up in this city, remembering every street, every foggy season.”

Thanks to that introduction, we found the house of Mr. Pham Phu Thanh, 89 years old. The road to his house winds through newly built neighborhoods, with concrete walls so close together that it is suffocating. However, Mr. Thanh's house is not difficult for us to recognize because it still retains its old features.

However, over the years, new houses have sprung up next to them, without any rules, in a haphazard manner. Mr. Thanh’s house, because he did not bother to “compete”, is now lost, having to approach the road through a steep gate.

Passing through the steep gate, we felt like we were lost in another Da Lat. As young people who had been to Da Lat countless times, we thought we were familiar with every corner of the mountain town. But this was the first time we touched the old Da Lat - not through photos, but with all our senses.

The front yard was full of flowers, the back garden was lush with vegetables, the smell of moist soil mixed with the scent of yellow chrysanthemums. The house had a tiled roof, the old wooden door was painted red. Inside, the light through the small window shone on the chipped tiled floor, the smell of wood and old books made us forget the noisy mountain town outside.

Mr. Pham Phu Thanh with the house built in 1968.

Mr. Thanh, wearing a sweater and thick gloves, welcomed us with a smile tinged with sadness. He told us about Dalat in the past, about the time his father first set foot on this land in 1922, about memories of his time studying at French schools...

Mr. Thanh's father was originally from Quang Nam , he traveled everywhere but still had a hard time making a living. In 1922, he found his way to Da Lat to find work. When he arrived, Da Lat had few Vietnamese people, the few were mostly ethnic minorities, a few were of Chinese origin, the rest were wealthy French families.

“The day Dr. Alexandre Yersin came to inaugurate Lycée Yersin (now Dalat Pedagogical College), my father witnessed it. Dr. Alexandre Yersin was also the one who discovered Dalat and said, 'We must make this place a resort city for Europeans.' People from cold regions need a cool place, and Dalat is number one,” Mr. Thanh recalled.

The family's first house was in Hoa Binh area, Ward 1 (now Xuan Huong ward), and in 1940 they moved to Ward 7 (now Lang Biang ward).

“It used to be a small house. In 1968, my father stopped building this house and kept it as it is today. Only thing is…”, he paused, then continued word by word, trying not to lose his voice. “My father built it with the intention of opening the window on the attic to see the three peaks of Lang Biang mountain. Now it is no longer there, the houses are blocking the view. The same angle, but the mountain is now only in memory.”

He said that from primary to high school, he studied at a French school. Most of his friends and teachers were French. At that time, Da Lat had the appearance of a miniature European town: orderly streets, polite people, and seasonal food.

He missed the weekends when his students would wear sweaters and berets and leisurely cycle along the road along Xuan Huong Lake. Sometimes, just out of nostalgia, he would call a taxi to take him around the city. But each trip was a disappointment.

Mr. Pham Phu Thanh (4th from left) with his old French school friends.

“I can’t recognize the old streets. The houses are too small and crowded. Xuan Huong Lake has become smaller and no longer vast, and the fog in the early morning is not as clear as before. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve just wandered into another place,” the old man’s voice choked up.

"Mentioning old Dalat… so embarrassing!"

From the stories of Mr. Tranh and Mr. Thanh, we found a coffee shop behind Da Lat market. It was a small shop. People said that if you were patient enough to sit here from early morning, you would meet people who had witnessed the most beautiful Da Lat.

The owner of the shop is Mr. Phan Anh Dung, 62 years old, a photographer who has spent his life capturing the mountain town with his lens. Inside the shop, he has framed and hung pictures of mist-covered pine hills, calm lakes, Cu Tra hills with smooth grass, and deserted stone-paved streets on the wall.

We were surprised to see some old people arrive before us. They were wearing thick warm coats, but they were waving pieces of paper in their hands, their foreheads were slightly sweaty. This image can be easily seen anywhere on the streets of Da Lat.

We did not hide the reason for our presence, but when we finished speaking, the elders ignored us. Some of them, perhaps out of pity, smiled and shook their heads in consolation. Then we suddenly realized that we were making the atmosphere in the cafe become thick.

That coffee date was only truly "saved" when Mr. Dung spoke up.

Photographer Pham Anh Dung - the person who preserves Da Lat through each photo.

Mr. Dung pointed to the photos on the wall, and also on his phone: “I took them to keep, but also to remind myself that there used to be a Da Lat like that. Now finding them in reality is… very difficult.”

Many people saw the photo he posted on social media and said it was photoshopped. That’s true, because Dalat now has no more fog, no more green pine hills.

“They don’t know that this is a photo I took decades ago. The mist is real. The atmosphere is real. And the truth is that Da Lat has disappeared,” Mr. Dung said, gently stroking an old photo as if afraid of tearing his memory.

For Mr. Dung, Da Lat is not only a place to live, but also a "work of art" created by humans and nature, something that has been eroded over the years.

Now, every time he presses the shutter, he has to try to avoid the concrete slabs and the white glass roofs that are spreading up the hill. But the avoidance is only temporary, because the real Da Lat is so different from the past.

At a table deep in the corner, an old man nearly a hundred years old quietly sipped his coffee. At first, he shook his head, refusing to talk. But when their eyes met after Mr. Dung’s words, he gently put down his cup, agreeing to tell the story with a request… not to ask for his name.

“It’s not difficult, but I really don’t want to mention it, because it’s embarrassing to mention it. There’s nothing left to tell about Dalat today. If we want to tell, we have to tell about the good and beautiful things, not about going backwards,” he began frankly.

A regretful post by Mr. Pham Anh Dung received sympathy from many people.

The nearly hundred-year-old man did not tell the story with pleasant memories, but with a blunt verdict: Da Lat used to live on forests, and the forests themselves had been cleared by humans. The forests no longer held the soil, water, or climate. The once lush green hills were now bare red soil or swallowed up by a series of constructions.

From above, the city is covered in concrete and greenhouses. The soil has no room to breathe. And when the soil is sealed, the dew - the water vapor that rises from the ground in the early morning - disappears.

In the past, wherever you stood, you could see the green of pine trees, flower gardens, and tea hills. Now, that green has been replaced by the gray of corrugated iron roofs and the white of greenhouses. The dreamy photos hanging in coffee shops are now no different from the remains of a lost city.

He said, it all started when people saw Da Lat as a lucrative cake. Hills and forests became land, valleys became greenhouses, every square meter was converted into money. Regardless of whether they were big investors or small traders, everyone wanted to “find a place” before it was too late. Each person made a cut, a piece of encroachment, then put together a picture of destruction.

The price is not just lost landscapes, but human lives. Landslides sweep away homes, heavy rains kill, rocks and debris block roads, but the cycle of destruction continues. No one stops, perhaps because the profits are too big and too easy to make.

"They cut up Da Lat meat to sell piece by piece, everyone wants the best part," he said bitterly, pointing at his old friends: "We sweat in the heat but still wear warm clothes, because we are stubborn, stubborn with a habit we have kept all our lives."

Dalat today - concrete and greenhouses.

For him, Da Lat did not disappear overnight, but died piece by piece, forest by forest, valley by valley. It happened slowly but surely, and the most painful thing was that everyone saw it, but no one was willing to stop.

Leaving the cafe, we carried with us an indescribable feeling. We were both lucky to have recorded these precious stories, and saddened to know that when these witnesses leave, a part of Da Lat’s memories will be lost.

In the eyes of witnesses, Da Lat has lost more than changed. When those “village elders” are gone, the memory of a city on the plateau with a temperate climate, harmonious architecture and surrounded by nature will only remain in photo books or unfinished stories.

The biggest question is not “how to keep Dalat”, because much of it has been lost, but “how to keep the remaining part from being swallowed up by concrete, greenhouses and short-term profits”.

A city can continue to grow, but when it loses its soul, it is just an empty name. And with Dalat, the scariest thing is when people stop missing it.

Thy Hue - Vtcnews.vn

Source: https://vtcnews.vn/khi-suong-mu-doi-thong-roi-xa-da-lat-ar965680.html