Surrounded by 700 years of history and life in Vietnam, I discovered a new part of myself.
I leaned down into the small boat in Vietnam and closed my eyes as we glided through a short opening in the towering peak. When I opened my eyes, it took them a few seconds to adjust to the murky darkness. I was in an arching cave that reached back into the mountain; small lanterns hanging from the cave roof lit the waterway. The pale lights reflected off of the black water, casting an eerie glow in the humid darkness. As our guide, a small Vietnamese woman who rowed and guided our wooden canoe with her feet, rowed slowly through the cave, I shined a dim flashlight towards the ceiling and sides of the cavern, illuminating craggy stalactites and stalagmites reaching down from above and large spiders scurrying across the dripping walls. As we continued through the cave, I felt the weight of the mountain above me, and the warm, stale air, thick in my lungs. We passed the last lantern, and darkness settled around me; my eyes strained, struggling to adjust to the new level of darkness, but they found no light to reflect off of. I remained smothered in blackness. My heart began to beat faster and butterflies unfurled their wings in my stomach as I tried to fend off the claustrophobic panic I felt welling up inside me. The boat turned to the right and suddenly, in the distance, a faint ray of light reached into the blackness from outside. The boat moved towards the opening, and when we finally escaped the cave, sunlight and relief washed over me.
We emerged in a large lake, surrounded on all sides by tall peaks covered with rich green foliage. The chatter of cawing birds and chirping crickets filled the thick, fragrant air. It was hard to believe this serene oasis existed only two hours outside of the bustling city of Hanoi. Our guide moved her legs in a horizontal, bike-riding motion, propelling us gracefully across the water. As I took in my breath-taking surroundings, I noticed a circular roof almost hidden in the foliage, near the top of one of the peaks. I looked closer and noticed long winding stairs leading from the water up to the structure. We were informed that the structure was an ancient temple, accessible only by boat. The guide rowed to the edge of the water and I leaped out onto the narrow shore, prepared to hike to the top.
The stairs were made of stone and were twice the height of a normal step. Surprisingly, the path was extremely well kept, and traced a perfect, clean line through the luscious and wild foliage. I took the first step up; “Not so bad” I thought, stretching my leg forward to take the next step. Twenty minutes later, sweat was dripping down my face. My legs strained with each step and the moist air was suffocating me. I took a deep breath, cemented a determined expression on my face and attacked the last steps at a jog, pushing from step to step in a steady rhythm. The temple was close, only a few more strides; I pushed harder and landed on a flat area, surrounded by a stone wall. The roof I had seen earlier was the top of an open gazebo with stone benches resting underneath it. I walked into the center of the landing and turned around to face the lake. A sense of peaceful awe washed over me. I saw nothing but peaks and lapping green water. The overwhelming din of cars and scooters, so prominent in Hanoi, was absent here. It was a haven, completely secluded from the bustle of daily life. As I took in the view and contemplated my miraculous location, my guide tapped my shoulder and pointed past the gazebo. I followed her finger with my eyes and saw a steep set of stairs leading down into a dense forest. My trek was not finished.
I wound down the steps, heading farther into the trees. I finally reached the bottom. Another, smaller, body of water was squeezed in between two large peaks. I followed a tree-covered, dirt path around the edge of the water, swatting a large, blue bug away from my face. I rounded a bend and saw a stone temple perched on the side of the peak. A strong aura of ancient and knowledgeable peace permeated the area. Two old Vietnamese women sat in folding chairs outside of the temple, resting with closed eyes and out-stretched feet. White candles flickered in notches cut out of the rock on the side of the peak around the temple. Everything was bathed in shade and a relaxed hush settled comfortably over the scene. I approached the temple, nodding to one of the old women as I entered the stone building. The air inside the temple was slightly hazy, and the deep, rich smell of incense filled my nostrils, enhancing my feeling of relaxation and tranquility. Intricate marks and paintings, worn by time, covered the walls. My guide had informed me this particular temple had been built to honor a king and queen and was constructed in the 1300’s. Small stone statues of the king and queen stood behind the altar, gazing out wisely at the visitors and worshipers. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend how long this temple had been here, how it still stood, strong and beautiful, tucked away in this secluded corner of the world. I took a last deep, renewing breath of the perfumed air and turned away from the altar.
As I hiked back up the steps, heading for the top of the gazebo and then the boat, I felt a deep sense of calm and ease, despite the grueling steps and sweltering air. I felt whole and in tune with myself. It was a different sense of peace and relaxation than you experience when you have time to lie down and read a magazine or watch TV. It wasn’t an exhausted, mindless halt of activity. I felt energy pulsing out through my fingertips, but my mind was calm, aware and contemplative. The feeling was invigorating. Being a naturally energetic person, I normally disliked any type of relaxation activity, but in this state my abundant energy became a part of the peace. It was a novel way to be myself, a new state of my personality. I reveled at the discovery, amazed that in this forgotten and ancient corner of Vietnam, surrounded by 700 years of history and life, I discovered a new part of myself.
