I have got eighteen years attached to the cold country before leaving it behind me. I wandered the prosperous South and North cities. Walking along Pleiku night streets, trembling in the chilly cold of Tam Đảo forest ... breathing in the salty sea breeze under the yellow high voltage lamp lighted brilliantly at night in Phan Rang - Thap Cham ... So far it has been nearly six years since I left Dalat. Sobbing, in ecstasy, and I do not need to say, I do not forget what seemed to be so normal in the city of pine trees, or in the windy town. Strangely, I remember overflowing things like the rain and remember ... the dew, the mist of that loving area.
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The mist absorbed right into the body and made me feel cold all over in the early morning of about twenty years ago when the cranky old coach spent more than thirty hours to take me from the central region to the coach station at the top of Preen pass and miraculously made the traveler immersed in the mist. It would be a strange experience if you are courageous enough to open your mouth and inhale deeply the thick and romantic mist at that time.
Some motorbike taxi drivers solicited me for a ride in a whisper (maybe because they are too familiar with the cold of the mountain land and with their inherent politenes?); however I decided to walk along the strret under the cold mist spreading over my head. The writer would like to confess that it is very peaceful in the mind owever he feels irresistible to his desire to put his hand on his head when the mist has soaked his hair after nearly two painful days on the "cranky" coach. My crazy impulse has tortured me almost during my stay of nearly two decades in the lovely mountain city. There are "extraordinary" people who have chosen " litterature and humanities" subjects and love things that are not identical to anyone else. A fellow countryman and colleague said, "You are uite quite unusual!" Well, well! Maybe my friend is right and does not exaggerate. Striving to learn one’s living, to build, to match the conditions of happiness and to warm human love and the love of life in the cold land, sometimes everything seems to come to fling and bruise you, but the close-knit relationship with the wind, with Da Lat mist in me is still unchanged compared to the old ast moment . The way I choose a special place to admire the mist is also different from other people. From the legendary Langbiang peak at seven o’clock in the rainy season, in the endlessly thick and white mist, it seems Da Lat does not have ... even a roof. The central post office iron tower, the Rooster Church or the top of the arched architecture tower of the The Teachers’ training College of the province on Yersin Road are also very hard to maintain their stand across the sea of mist a few meters.
The canopy of pine trees a few dozen meters high on Hung Vuong, Tran Hung Dao or Thai Phien and Trai Mat streets ... is just hidden behind the gleaming white mist. Thousands of greenhouses, plastic houses or hundreds of vegetables, strawberries ... are not seen because they are too low and become silver like the colour of dew. In it, under the dew, each mother, each sister still diligently wrapped their body in woollen clothes to tend the flowers, the vegetables and the people to adorn the flower blossoms. And walking to the top of the cable car hill on the night of the dry season when I was a writer about sevety or eighty months was more interesting and thrilling. Prenn Pass with more than ten kilometers long is submerged by the light from the cars. I do not understand what the word "Prenn" of this mountain pass means, it seems to be the way to call the dangerous forest road leading down to the stream of the native ethnic minority Cill, Lach at the time of Dr. Yersin had not yet found "Paris of Indochina", maybe?
But in the night of dew, the name is of no concern, the pass is still as beautiful as a river of light flowing up the mountain peak. People are heading toDa Lat day and night, coming to the cold city to love the dew, the pine trees like me. I turn my back against the pass, looking at the 3/4street, I phone my friend and ask him to turn on the security light on the fifth floor. Silently, but he does it right away. The light of the lamp is a very clear concept of physics, but watching the waves of dew encircle the space and make the lampshade gradually disappear, and I am filled with strange thoughts. My friend, the owner of that high-rise concrete house is on the contrary, warmed me up during my stay on the cold land. Every time I failed to follow my chosen road, I was on the "two wheeled bike" on my hard trip, I could never forget the suitcase containing shirts, scarves, socks and stockings that he brought to the room. I will never forget his call just saying "is your blanket warm enough for you, or I bring more? “, in his "heavy" accent of my younger friend who is now a writer.
The "unusual" guy like you used to say in the past also has an ... unusual hobby, that is, sailing in Dan Kia - Suoi Vang lake to "immerse" himself in the almost absolute silence. That Suoi Vang land is peaceful and surprisingly quiet in the late night dew. You sit still on the boat which is lying still on the lake surface will probably be startled if you suddenly hear the fierce sound of a fish swallow the bait. You may not believe it, but this sound is not enough for me to break the peace and the quiet of Dan Kia beautiful valley. Tourists push one another to take pictures of the pine clusters, watch lovingly the sun through countless dense pine canopy pouring its rays on the green grass ... For me, with a warm heart and a cool head , it is difficult to resist the strange peace and tranquility of the sprawling forest in the lower valley. Why does that place help us feel such wonderful thing!
My friend is right. When people still perceive unspecific things, like the dew, that is, one cannot forget. Six or more years, many times, I can’t forget anything in the flower city and the cold streets. Someone, a poet has once written: "The years go by without turning into nostalgia / But only in once meeting / A glimpse / will be forever in return" But for me, it is almost two decades. And remembering the dawn, it is not something unreal, but the existence./.
(TRẦN SƠN TÙNG)
