I keep a box of index cards in the kitchen. Anything worth making twice gets written on one: ingredients down the left, method underneath, and a line at the bottom for the parts I got wrong. It is a silly habit and I have never managed to give it up.
So on the Tuesday evening, sunburnt in a neat stripe across the back of my neck and unable to lift my arms past shoulder height, I sat on the hotel balcony in Da Lat with a notebook. My husband asked what on earth I was doing. I said I was writing the day down so we could make it again.
Here it is, then, in the only format my brain accepts.
Back at the hotel a little after three, which leaves the whole evening free — a fact I did not appreciate when I booked it and appreciated enormously afterwards.
Shower. Clean shirt. Then out into town for a coffee, because that is what Da Lat is for, and because after a day like that sitting down becomes an activity in its own right. We found somewhere with a garden and stayed in it until dark, working out which muscles were going to hurt in the morning. (All of them, as it turned out.)
We had booked the week through TGROUP and this was the day we nearly cut to save money, which would have been the wrong economy. If you want the same one, it is their trekking-and-kayaking day in Da Lat — message them, tell them how much walking you actually want, and ask them to stretch the paddling. They will also tell you honestly whether the lake is behaving that week, which is more than the weather app managed.
The card is in the box now, filed under Vietnam. It has a water stain on it.