The Central Highlands Have a lot to Offer

Let's see... From Mui Ne we were headed to Dalat in the central highlands. We were going from a hot desertish seaside-town to the mountains almost 2000m above sea level. We were destined for the cold. And our hearts were frozen over with fear that we'd left our passports behind.
When we checked out of the hotel we didn't think to ask for our passports back and Mr. Massage forgot to give them back. It was only in Vietnam that we had to start leaving them with the hotel and Mui Ne was our second stop. Still, we felt stupid and irresponsible for having left them behind.

Naturally, when we arrived in Dalat we talked to the bus company and they called and basically couriered it for us (after they forgot the next day we got worried but they arrived on the third day and it was all good). Never going to make that mistake again, but it did lead to a rather funny situation with the manger of our new hotel, who will always be known as "Basthma".

Doing our normal walk from guest house to guest house we found a nice little place down the road run by a friendly elderly couple. They were very pleased to show us a couple of different rooms until we decided on one off the street with a gracious bathroom and two big beds. We got our packs off and changed into pants and long sleeve shirts to accommodate the mountain air and then walked downstairs to complete check-in. At this point our hostess pointed to herself and said "Basthma" while smiling. I repeated her and then gestured to myself and said "Mike"! Very excited to be communicating I informed Leighton of our hostesses name.

"Leighton, this is Basthma."
"Mmm, Basthma," she said, again gesturing to herself.
"Leighton," with a smile and gesture.
"Mike," with a smile and gesture.
"Basthma," more forcefully with a gesture and fading smile.
As we turned to walk away, having gotten our key and towels she headed us off and told us her name again. We get it lady, your name is Basthma. What a strange name for a Vietnamese person. "Basthma! Basthma!"
Something was up...
Turns out Basthma wanted our passports, and Basthma wasn't her name at all.
Oops.
Luckily she took our driver's licenses instead.

So we spent a couple days bumming around and did a day tour as well that took us around the countryside. Our first stop was a flower and coffee plantation with loads of beautiful scents and colors. The coffee stretched out for miles and made me very happy. All I really wanted to do was drink the stuff and seeing it growing and drying and the seed casings being used as fertilizer and burning fuel all around me made me want to find the coffee swimming pool I was sure they had hiding somewhere. I knew that I'd be the first and last one in that pool and that it would for sure be empty by the time I left. Alas, no pool.

So then we went to the rice wine factory. It was smelly and intoxicating and reminded me of a lot of old men's breath in Korea. But, we got to taste it and then were served complementary tea. This is where I got my first cup of yummy fresh coffee! Delicious. Two Singaporean folks on our tour were equally coffee-addicted and we
asked for more hot water like gluttons and continued to fill up our glasses. You see, in Vietnam the coffee comes served as it's brewing in a steel pot that sits on top of your glass. It is fresh and chocolaty coffee but takes a few minutes to brew and there's never ever enough of it. So I usually ask for a thermos of hot water with my coffee to get my fill.

Then we went to the silk worm factory. Amazing. I have always been curious how silk comes from worms. Well, they're caterpillars. They make their little cocoons from a natural silk and then we humans evil-like split open the cocoons, eat the worms (optional), boil the silk and then use magic machines that grab the threads and weave them into yarns. From these silk yarns you can weave anything. Pretty things mostly.Silk worm cocoon before being boiled.

The looms hard at work. You can see the cocoons with worms still inside on the right and the yarn in the foreground to the left.

Then we made our way to the cricket farm where the insects are bred and raised for 6 months before they're ready to eat. Don't say "gross" too quickly. They're pretty tasty when you fry them up and dip them in a little sauce. They're an eco-friendly protein source as well. To get 1kg of beef or pork you have to use about 10kgs of feed. But 10kgs of the same feed will produce 9kgs of crickets, locusts, and other tasty 6-legged treats. Additionally, insects are about as far from the human genome as possible, so cross-infections are virtually impossible. Never heard of the Cricket-flu, have you?Yummy crickets for lunch! Okay, just for a snack.

Dalat was quaint and cute, not as quiet as we'd have liked, and plenty cold. But that's okay, we were headed to the beach! Nha Trang, here we come!

Leighton of Arabia and The Case of The Missing Beach

Heading away from Saigon we made for the beaches of Mui Ne.  Only problem was there weren't any beaches in this beach town. That us, unless we paid triple the price for a hotel on the beach. Bummed to the max we moped around the first day in the sun. At least our hotel was nice. The manager seemed very interested in us in an uncomfortable way. He kept offering us free massages. No Thanks, Buddy!!!
We did hire bikes on day 2 and ride out to the sand dunes. Mui Ne is called the "Sahara of Asia" because that's basically what it looks like. Vast seas of red sand stretch for kilometers and form pretty impressive dunes. Little children who should have been in school begged us to rent their vinyl sleds but the dunes just weren't steep enough (the price for a sled sure was though). The Red Dunes were just 5-6km from our hotel... but the White Dunes were a bit further: 25km further. So of course we rode to them! How could we resist? It was a stunningly sunny day and the coastal road crept through the seaside hills in languid fashion. Or so it seemed until we had covered half the distance and faced our third hill of epic proportions! Thank God I had "the good bike" because I was struggling! Not Leighton though, he pedaled on like a beast. He really pushed me to keep going and fight through the pain in my quads. We made it to the White Dunes, took some photos, and turned around. Another 45km back to the hotel. In the full midday sun.
We stopped at a little cafe where the locals were partaking in rowdy card games and noon-time iced coffees. We guzzled Pepsi's and some isotonic drinks for lunch since food was not on the menu. When we got back to the hotel we both collapsed into bed after adamantly refusing massages from the manager (who was dusky impressed that we rode all the way out and back). For the North Americans, 70 kilometers is about 43.75 miles. Call it 44!
The next day we vamoused from the beachless beach town and headed for Dalat up in the mountains. Only problem was we forgot to get our passports back from Mr. Creepy Massage. Didn't realize til we had been on the bus for an hour. 
Would Mike and Leighton ever see their passports again?
Would Mr. Creepy Massage find another pair of foreigners to scare?
Find out in the next episode of Leighton of Arabia!