By Ivan Yap
Six months ago, my wife and I decided that it was about time our son experienced a new environment. We thus began to plan for an overseas trip in December, and very quickly settled on Da Nang, Vietnam for its abundance of family-friendly beach resorts.
As has become something of a tradition for me, I would always cater one (or half a) day to discover the natural wonders available in the vicinity of our place of stay. A quick search on the internet yielded an immediate result—Bach Ma National Park—a vaunted “paradise for bird watching lovers” boasting over 300 species. My heart was set there and then, and I made transport arrangements way in advance to ensure that nothing would jeopardise my visit to this lush landmark.
Having made the necessary transport arrangements, I deigned to do further research on the park. After all, it was just another forest—only bigger. Or so I thought.
The road to Bach Ma
The months came and went, and very soon I found myself eagerly waiting for my pick up at the resort lobby. Right at the stroke of 8am, a jovial man in a jacket, jeans and flip-flops introduced himself as my driver for the day, and we set off without any delay.
En route to Bach Ma National Park with my intrepid driver, "three".
The journey to Bach Ma was uneventful but replete with interesting sights. Rolling hills stretched for miles and miles, a promise of what was to come. The little towns that we sped by also served as a visual primer of Vietnamese culture, a surrogate for interacting with the people themselves.
Beautiful hills lined the roads that we traveled on, a refreshing departure from the cold, urban environments that I have become accustomed to.
As we neared the park, the weather grew increasingly ominous. “We’re supposed to see the mountain on the left,” the driver—whose name phonetically approximates “three”—remarked with a hint of concern. All we could glimpse then, however, was a solid wall of white fog.
Before long, we arrived at our destination and began our arduous ascent up the gradual slopes of the hill. As we neared the summit, our fears were realised—the rain was unrelenting and visibility was close to nil at various points. Large rocks were strewn across the winding road, evidence of recent mini-avalanches.
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Visibly worried, “three” stopped at what I presumed was a ranger station of some sort to seek the park staff’s counsel on whether it would be wise for us to proceed any further. The staff initially looked reluctant to give us their endorsement, but after a brief exchange with an enthusiastic “three”, they pointed us in the direction of the summit.
Hopping back into the car with renewed vigour, “three” and I travelled the final kilometre or so to the start of the summit trail. Once there, I grabbed all my gear, slid on my camouflaged poncho, bade farewell to a still-smiling “three” and made my way into the inviting arms of Bach Ma National Park.
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Click here for Part Two.