A trip to Marble Mountains

Our salup sailed upstream for an hour and a half, through a landscape that, in places, resembled the remote Egyptian countryside, some distant delta region. To the left, vast white sand dunes obscured the sea, and the sound of the waves crashing like thunder could be clearly heard. To the right, it was still sand, swept away by the sea breeze across the dunes: not piled up but scattered across the alluvial plain in the form of fine powder, where shimmering mica fragments interspersed with pale blue.

In the Marble Mountains caves in the 1920s

Here and there, cultivated areas are divided into fairly wide strips, rice paddies stretch along the dusty foothills, sand encroachment is prevented by irrigation systems, barren land is fertilized, and crops flourish in brackish water areas.

Some deep drainage ditches channel water directly from the river, and when the land is too high, the use of a complex canal system is no longer suitable, so wells are dug in intervals; a series of bamboo buckets are wrapped around a rudimentary winch operated by a single person. Sometimes this tool is powered by a buffalo, its slow gait and exaggerated silhouette silhouetted against the vast sky.

On the edge of the rice fields, groups of laborers busily dredged ditches and built embankments with clay. They sat shirtless, squatting, their heads adorned with large, umbrella-like palm leaf hats; they no longer resembled human beings but rather giant wildflowers nestled among the tall grass and gorse bushes.

Occasionally, near the thatched house, a woman would appear, lighting a fire or fetching water from a jar. She replaced her bulky hat with a scarf wrapped around her head: from a distance, with her loose, dark, flowing robe revealing her bronzed skin, we mistook her for a North African woman carrying water, despite her small, thin frame.

Our boat docked deep in a small bay, about a quarter mile from three hills, the highest only 150 meters. But the isolation and the reflected light made them appear much larger; "mountains" was the word one would almost utter upon seeing the marble formations, with their strangely jagged edges, rising between two vast spaces, the ocean and the endless plain, a deep blue like the sea, on the horizon.

For 45 minutes, we were wading through knee-deep dust. There was no vegetation other than a few brittle blades of dry grass and sparse, gray bean bushes. Another sand dune, and then we reached the foot of the main mountain with 300 steps carved into the rock, the first 20 of which were buried under sand.

The climb up the mountain wasn't long, but it was tiring. Under the scorching midday sun, the western cliffs were blazed with fire at every undulation. But the higher we climbed, the cooler the sea breeze became, invigorating and uplifting us. Its moisture accumulated in the smallest cracks, creating ideal conditions for the thorny bushes and flowers to bloom in a riot of colors.

Giant cacti shot up like rockets everywhere. The bushes overlapped, their roots crisscrossing and twisting through the rocks; branches intertwined and knotted. And soon, above us was a canopy of shrubs covered in barely perceptible fine threads—a canopy of orchids in full bloom, beautiful and delicate like butterfly wings in a gentle breeze, a flower that blooms and fades in a single day.

The steep path leads to a semicircular platform: a small temple, or rather, a three-bay structure with glazed tile roofs and Chinese-style carved eaves, built in this tranquil space by order of Emperor Minh Mạng of Annam, about 60 years ago. These buildings, surrounded by several small, carefully tended gardens, are no longer used for worship but serve as the meditation quarters of six monks – the guardians of this sacred mountain. They live there, in peaceful surroundings, chanting scriptures and gardening daily. Occasionally, kindhearted locals bring them baskets of soil to maintain their vegetable gardens and some delicious food like rice and salted fish. In return, these locals are allowed to worship at the main hall, which is difficult for first-time pilgrims to find without guidance.

This unparalleled temple was not built out of the devotion of monarchs. Nature accomplished that task; no sketch by a brilliant architect, no dream of a poet, could ever compare to this masterpiece born from a geological event. (to be continued)

(Nguyen Quang Dieu excerpted from the book * Around Asia: Southern, Central , and Northern Vietnam*, translated by Hoang Thi Hang and Bui Thi He, published by AlphaBooks - National Archives Center I and Dan Tri Publishing House in July 2024)

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/du-ky-viet-nam-du-ngoan-tai-ngu-hanh-son-185241207201602863.htm