What’s new? What’s trendy? What haven’t I explored? Such questions often dictate our travel plans, but sometimes, we’d be better off asking the opposite: What’s old? What’s impervious to being in style? Where have I been before and loved?
And thus, I returned, yet again, to Cát Tiên. The national park’s value is intrinsically linked to its age: to enter, I cross a river that has been hurtling ahead since the Ice Age. I walk beneath centuries-old tùng trees, their limbs sheltering primitive apes and old-world monkeys, on the way to a lake filled with reptiles that evolved millions of years ago. Within this alcove of the very old, I encounter familiar faces and retraced recent steps to savor one of the most overlooked escapes from Saigon.
Cát Tiên takes on different personalities depending on the season. Visiting at the tail-end of the wet season introduced me to these magnificant mushrooms for the first time.
Saigoneer first wrote about a trip to the national park nearly eight years ago, and in the time since, I have visited on numerous occasions. Much to my satisfaction, very little has changed, though I’ve gained some tips and advice for how best to enjoy the roughly 710-square-kilometer park. Vietnam’s fourth-largest national park and the largest in the south, it’s integrated into the Đồng Nai Biosphere Reserve that extends across Đồng Nai and Lâm Đồng Provinces. Consisting of several types of forest and grasslands, the park is home to hundreds of endemic plants and animals, including many of Vietnam’s remaining wild elephants along with pangolins, sunbears, slow loris, gibbons, langur, mouse deer, muntjac, guar, civets, siamese crocodile, and hornbills. Cát Tiên once contained Vietnam’s final rhinoceros, as alluded to in the park’s unfortunate logo. Sadly, poachers killed the last one in 2001. Similarly, the forests once supported tigers and leopards, but those are most certainly extinct now.
Try to look past the lingering despair of what was lost, however, and focus on what remains. While you won’t see all those precious creatures, such as the ever-elusive pangolin and the elephants roaming at the park’s distant edge, you are certain to witness a truly spectacular assemblage of Vietnam’s wildlife. Fresh air, the earthy odor of photosynthesis, skittering insects, rustling leaves, and a reminder that the world is so much greater than humanity: it’s what the soul needs.
Easier to reach than expected, but not that easy
Much to my repeated shock and dismay, few people I know, including born-and-raised Saigoneers, have been to Cát Tiên. I chalk part of this up to poor national park marketing and also the assumption that it is difficult to reach. But it’s really not that tough to get to, and it makes for a perfect weekend trip. For this most recent excursion, I enlisted our former editor-in-chief, Mike, and we set out from the city early on a Saturday morning. While it’s possible to take a Đà Lạt-bound sleeper bus and disembark about 30 minutes from the park entrance and hail a xe ôm, for a little more money, you can hire a car service to bring you door to door. If it weren’t for an unfortunate flight tire, we would have made the trip in less than three hours.
A certain romantic notion of adventuring accompanies a ferry ride into the park; for now.
Authorities are currently building a bridge across the Đồng Nai River, but for the time being, you will still need to buy tickets for a ferry to take you into the park. At VND80,000 a piece, this represented the first of many costs that would build up over the weekend. At around VND4.5 million a person, including food, lodging, and guide services, it’s not a cheap experience, but when considering that much of those funds go to maintaining and protecting the park and supporting its conservation efforts, it's an acceptable rate, particularly when compared to the restaurants, cafes, or stores otherwise angling for your duckets in the city.
A number of eco-lodges line the riverbank across from the entrance, while Cát Tiên itself also offers lodging that can be reserved via a quick Zalo message. I’ve stayed in both, and there is no great difference: the mosquito nets work just the same, and after a long day of hiking, any simple meal tastes delicious. Upon arriving, we quickly dropped off our things and prepared for an afternoon hike. For me, this meant rolling my wool socks over my pants cuffs. Mike didn’t think to bring long socks, and I will let you guess which of us acquired several leeches.
Crocodiles, butterflies, langurs and leeches
The trailhead to Crocodile Lake is approximately 10 kilometers from the park entrance, where the lodging and restaurants stand. We opted to take a car to save energy, though you could bicycle. On the way, we passed gaggles of cycling youths. Whether for university trips or simply small groups of friends, the park is popular amongst young people taking a day or two away from the city. With snack-filled plastic sacks dangling from their handlebars, they peddle between the many short paths off the main road that lead to various trees of particular note, water rapids, and other natural scenes of aesthetic significance. On a previous trip, I rented a bicycle with some friends and did the same. A highlight was being overtaken by a swarm of butterflies; gentle, colorful wingflaps in each direction as if a stained-glass window had been shattered apart by a whisper.
But we were not here for butterflies; we wanted to see the Siamese crocodiles. As documented in channels like Sticky Discovery, the reintroduction program of the unique species has been a huge success. The giant reptiles float across Bàu Sấu like errant logs or lie on the banks sunning, their humongous jaws wide open to regulate heat. On the far side of the lake, a soaked swamp forest stretches with stands of trees attracting migratory birds. And far, far past that is where the elephants saunter. It’s possible to arrange a multi-day trek out that way and potentially see them in the wild, but doing so would require costs and planning beyond the spirit of this 36-hour excursion. Put that on the bucket list, along with a visit to the bear sanctuary in the park.
The park has constructed a humble but charming structure beside Bàu Sấu. You can rest, sip a cold beverage, and spot crocodiles. The boat tours we wrote about have recently stopped operating for the sake of the reptile’s peace and comfort, which is just about the best explanation I’ve ever heard for any activity ceasing. The view is entrancing, particularly at dusk and dawn, and if you want to take it all in, you can stay at one of the rudimentary cabins built there. When I stayed there once, I awoke in the middle of the night to a horrific, shuddering tumble. The rangers surmised it was deer going to or from the lake for a drink before sunrise. Deer on the roof — what a place!
Keep a safe distance from the cold-blooded creatures.
The 5-kilometer walk to and from the lake is quite easy thanks to a well-maintained and clearly marked pathway. My 73-year-old mother completed it earlier this year, even. Such stable ground is important because you’ll want to keep your eyes on the trees. If you hear a voluminous, crunchy crash and shudder above, it's likely a langur. Black-shanked douc langur, a critically endangered species that subsists entirely on leaves, lives in moderate-sized family groups in the canopy. Traveling by leaping from branch to branch, they make a lot of noise, which is at odds with their peaceful demeanor and gentle nature that contrasts with the pesky, pugnacious, miserable macaques in the park. Witnessing them nibble leaves, scamper across the limbs, and interact playfully with one another in their natural habitat is a rare gift that is surprisingly accessible with a bit of luck.
An estimated 500 black-shanked douc langur remain in the wild in Vietnam and we were blessed to see several families of them in the trees including this adult male.
Speaking of luck, we needed a bit of it to secure a phone signal to call back to the park office to send a car to pick us up. I’m not entirely sure what we would have done otherwise, which is worth noting for future visits. Thankfully, it arrived in time for us to get a quick dinner, shower and go to bed at a respectable hour because the most rewarding part of our visit was set to begin at 5am the next day. On a future trip, I’d like to stay a few nights so as to stay up late listening to the forest and walk with a flashlight, hoping to catch the reflective eyes of the many nocturnal species such as civets, jungle cats, porcupines and slow loris. A group of friends would probably enjoy late nights drinking beer and swapping stories as well in such a magnanimity-inducing setting.
A bumpy ride back to the lodge.
When I die, play gibbon songs at my funeral
My favorite sound in the world is a gibbon’s call, and it might be yours too if you hear it in the middle of the forest while dawn light trickles through a thousand shades of green and brown above. Our guide, Khánh, was previously a ranger in the park, and his familiarity with the animals was evident when he cocked his head in response to a barely perceptible sound in the distance. It sent him quickly scampering across tree limbs and rocks as he frequently craned his face upwards. Gibbons occupy the highest trees in the forest, and although their songs echo with extravagant veracity, they move silently, swinging limb to limb. Because they sometimes refrain from vocalizing during the cold, rainy season, it was not guaranteed that we would spot them.
Filmed during one of Khánh's previous hikes. Video via Khánh's YouTube page.
But then the calls came: the female’s high and skittering trills that tapper into a clicking cadence followed by the male’s wooping response. Truly stranger than any Hollywood sound effect, hearing them is a quasi-religious experience. Once he located them, Khánh knew exactly where we should stand to have an unobstructed view of a family as it made its daily journey towards the forest’s interior, pausing to perform their duet as they moved. During the 90-minute walk, we were blessed with two different families, which is quite impressive considering each prefers a 50-kilometer range and their songs are a means of announcing their presence and securing their territory.
Spending VND900,000 for the hike is my highest recommendation for any visit to Cát Tiên. Pack some smelling salts and an energy drink if you have trouble waking up to ensure you make the start time. And in addition to long socks and bug spray, bring a pair of binoculars if you have one. Your guide will generously lend you his or hers, but they are handy to have around your neck at all times so you can investigate flocks of birds in the distance, or spiders that happen to be spinning webs beside the path.
While the gibbons make being astounded easy, we should challenge ourselves to find splendor in every spider, centipede and leech. Binoculars make doing so easier.
If you don’t see a gibbon during your hike, you can still see the distinguished apes at the Đảo Tiên Endangered Primate Species Centre, which is very much worth a visit regardless. Located on an island in the Đồng Nai River near the park entrance, the UK-funded operation works with local and national authorities to rescue, rehabilitate, and release primates to their native habitats. Particularly focused on yellow-cheeked gibbons, black-shanked douc langur, and slow loris, they are a great example of the hard-working individuals needed to address environmental destruction as well as the importance of education efforts.
The island has both cage enclosures and semi-wild spaces surrounded by electric fences. Gibbons and langurs are both smart, emotionally complex creatures who require years of learning from parents and siblings to function normally in their primate societies. The animals at the center were often abducted as children and kept in miserable conditions surrounded by humans, and thus require extensive acclimation with their species before they can be reintroduced. Sometimes, the mental, emotional, and physical damage is so extensive that they will never be able to return to the wild. In this case, they will live the rest of their lives at the center, at least surrounded by other animals and under the careful watch of animal experts as opposed to a cage in some musty millionaire’s garish mansion.
When they first arrive at the center, the gibbons must learn how to be gibbons with the help of fellow animals and are kept in these cages.
The Đảo Tiên Endangered Primate Species Centre does unquestionably good work, and the need for it is obvious. In a sign of their and the park’s success, the center is nearly at carrying capacity for the rescued animals, and the park itself is about full for gibbons. Any more rescues, of which there undoubtedly will be, is going to present a challenge.
From an elevated platform, we watched this langur munching leaves peacefully in the rescue center's semi-wild area.
Ensuring that any illegally kept animals are given to the property authorities and people respect their natural homes involves education. If the forests and their inhabitants have any hope, the larger population beyond animal enthusiasts and nature lovers must value them for their intrinsic importance unrelated to human uses as food, pets, or medicine. As poignantly observed by Cambridge researchers: “We love what we know…What is the extinction of the condor to a child who has never seen a wren?”
So, how do we ensure people know about Vietnam’s priceless nature and can thus love it? Individuals like Nguyễn Trần at Đảo Tiên are doing their part by speaking to visitors, sharing fascinating facts and information as well speaking to the dire situation for the nation’s wildlife. More than just a friendly guide with great English, Nguyễn provides inspiration. The Đà Lạt native moved to Saigon to study technology and worked in IT before becoming disenfranchised with the work grind, the city, the ruinous futility of civilization, and moved to the countryside and began leading private tours while establishing a self-sufficient garden and eco-friendly lifestyle. Two years ago, a spot opened up at the center, and he now leads tours five mornings a week. Chatting with him while Saigon’s snarling clogs of commercial pursuits and full-throated announcements of self-importance provides a beautiful reminder that alternative ways to live exist for us all.
Nguyễn Trần poses in front of the gibbon cages.
Our visit to Đảo Tiên over, it was time to leave, for now. I trust that the next time I return, the gibbons will still be singing, the crocodiles sunbathing, the dipterocarp raising branches in ecstatic worship of the sun, and the leeches twirling their unquenchable thirst in the underbrush. Threats to this exist. Whenever a new hydroelectric dam plan, mining operation, airport road or highway expansion is announced, we must consider if it is at the expensive of this ecosystem that once we lose, we can never get back. And in the meantime, if you are feeling burned out or exhausted, pained by the intermittent piercing of a cavity developing in your soul, go to Cát Tiên. Go!
Leaving the park by ferry, we pass the under-construction bridge that will soon usher in visitors.
