Eakar, Đắk Lắk: A Slow Bus, a Blood Soup, and a Story That Keeps Unfolding
Sometimes, you catch the bus at a station. Other times, you just stick your thumb out at the side of a dusty Vietnamese highway, say a quick prayer, and hope you don’t end up as roadkill. It’s all part of the adventure. On this particular journey, the bus scooped us up somewhere outside of central Da Nang and we began the familiar 10-hour stretch into the Central Highlands, into the place my wife Ami still calls home.
I've made this trip before. Many times, actually. But Eakar always manages to surprise me. It’s one of those towns you blink and miss from the main road, but just behind the gas stations and concrete shops lies a web of backstreets filled with noodle carts, cafés with hammocks, yoga studios (yes, yoga studios), and a rhythm that feels entirely separate from the hurried world we usually inhabit.
About an hour after we arrived, we pulled over for the mandatory “grab a bite and stretch your legs” stop. Duck rice was the breakfast special, served up with a bowl of blood soup. If you're new here, I know that might sound like something out of a medieval cookbook, but I swear to you, it’s delicious. Rich, earthy, and oddly comforting, especially on a cool morning when the highlands start to breathe in the clouds.
By late morning, we were in Eakar proper. Life moves slowly here. You sit under trees and wait for your car to be washed. You sip tea. You watch kids scream through the streets on electric scooters that are definitely too fast for their skill levels. You breathe.
We stopped by Ami’s old neighborhood. Before the main house was even built, she used to walk down to the market, carrying live chickens to sell; two bucks apiece if she was lucky. It’s hard to reconcile that image with the woman I know today: sharp as a whip, stock market savvy, and able to slice through Vietnamese economic trends like a sushi chef. But she’s still that girl, too, rooted in this red earth.
A family we know invited us over. They were roasting a pig on a makeshift spit, just some steel rods and cinderblocks, all McGyver’d together with that uniquely Vietnamese blend of resourcefulness and zero fuss. We sat lakeside as the meat turned, kids played, and clouds rolled in. That kind of day where you lose track of time in the best way. Lunch was... excessive, as it always is. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in Đắk Lắk, it’s that there’s no such thing as a small meal. Sometimes, it was raccoon. And pigeon. I didn't ask too many questions. I’ve found it’s better that way. And somewhere between the third helping and the last glass of rice wine, someone pointed out the VinFast VF9 parked outside, all sleek and electric and futuristic. Vietnam is full of these contradictions, and I love that about it.
Eakar itself is changing, too. Not in the sprawling, skyline way of Saigon or Hanoi, but in the quietly industrious way of a town finding its modern legs. Cocoa farming is taking root; 750 hectares already cultivated, with plans to jump to 11,000 by 2030. The European Union has even stepped in with support for sustainable practices. This little district, once mostly known for coffee and pepper, might soon be the quiet heart of Vietnam’s chocolate revolution. I don’t know about you, but that feels pretty poetic to me.
The bus ride back to Da Nang was overnight. I’ve started to figure out the sleeper bus system; how to wedge the issued pillow into the right lumbar spot, how to time your bathroom breaks, how to ignore the driver’s YouTube playlist blaring from the overhead screen. They’ve added Wi-Fi and USB ports, so it’s not the rolling digital detox it used to be, however it’s interrupted by potholes and honking.
I got back to the city with mosquito-bitten ankles, a camera full of good shots, and a belly that was still digesting pigeon. But more than that, I brought back something that doesn’t fit neatly into a packing cube: that grounded feeling you get when you leave the asphalt jungle and remember that life doesn't have to move at the speed of TikTok. Sometimes it moves at the speed of a chicken cart and a blood soup breakfast. And maybe that’s the better speed after all.
