Articles > Land of the Spirits

By late afternoon, an eerie light drifts across Ha Long, the Bay of a Thousand Islands. It clings to the jungle-clad rocks bristling from the sea, the cliffs dotted with caves, the secret lagoons and islets sprinkled like stardust in jade green waters. Fishermen speak of the 100 foot long dragon lurking in the deep and the sailors who lost their way in this watery maze, haunting it to this day under the gaze of a virgin bride turned into stone. Nothing disturbs the peace but cormorants landing on the fish traps and the occasional chugging of a passing boat.

We dropped anchor in a deserted creek, dived in surprisingly dark waters then as a monsoon storm whipped up the waves, made haste for the safe haven of Cat Ba island.

Lapped by the South China Sea, 50 miles from the coast of north-east Vietnam, Cat Ba greets you with a floating village where coracles and sampans weave around houseboats draped with washing and squid. Sometimes a batwing junk glides in for the night, coppery red in the setting sun. As the air begins to cool, the harbour glows with flickering lamps while on the shore boys play football with shuttlecocks and old men bring out their mats to sleep under the trees. The sound of cicadas echoes like magic across the island.

If you head into the hills beyond the paddies, you come to the mysterious forests of the National Park, their hot springs, lakes and swamps creeping with submerged vegetation. You might spot wild cats and gibbons, monkeys, hornbills and black and gold spiders weaving their webs across the trail. Human remains from the Stone Age still lie in the caves but few locals will venture there for fear of disturbing the dead.

Every day, Cat Ba wakes to the strident call of the waterbus, eager to ferry another human cargo through swirling mist to the port of Hai Phong on the mainland.

It’s barely dawn but already children ride on mud-caked buffaloes, in scenes from another age, and women in conical hats walk to market, balancing their wares on shoulder poles. They sell green oranges and custard apples, crabs, live chickens and eels and herbs and plants to cure any ailment or boost your energy flow.

This is lucky for you will need plenty of energy to explore the capital waiting to cast its spell on the Red River bank. Hanoi is chaotic, a mix of pavement bazaars and colonial villas, spluttering traffic, French baguettes and noodle soup, but it’s also a city of trees and lakes where Tai’Chi adepts unwind in slow motion at the water’s edge and in the gilded pagodas, bells chime crystal clear and the chanting of monks mingles with bird song. Every lake claims a legend from the Dragon King who created West Lake to the Divine Tortoise with the victorious sword seen peeping out of the water, they say, at the change of seasons. On the 15th day of the lunar month, pilgrims head for the Phu Tay Ho pagoda on the West Lake, an auspicious spot to pray for a good husband or wife.

With lakes, river and flooded paddies on the doorstep, Hanoi is a great place for water puppets. Today shows are staged indoors but puppeteers still stand waist deep in water, moving dragons and buffaloes at the end of long bamboo poles, to depict village life and ancient legends.

Here, the spirits never die and the crowds who file past the embalmed remains of Ho Chi Minh know it well. They reflect in silence on the awesome destiny of the man from the hills who led the struggle for independence. Clouds of dragonflies hover in the haze and it seems ‘Uncle Ho’ never left the wooden house by the lake or the orchard he used to tend, having laid bare every facet of his life in the nearby museum.

We left Hanoi for the Mai Chau district and a lush highland valley framed by dramatic peaks near the Laos border. This is the home of the White Thai, one of 54 minorities. They live in bamboo houses built on stilts, to keep away marauding animals and evil spirits, grow rice and revere the forest where they bury their dead. The women weave colourful rugs and waistcoats with chiselled silver buttons. In the long house of an extended family, we joined in tribal dancing, sipped rice wine from the communal pot, through three foot long bamboo straws, then slept blissfully on the floor, under mosquito nets, dreaming of the friendly spirits who dwell in the forest.

As you travel south across Vietnam, you cannot avoid the poignant reminders of the war but in this narrow strip of land squeezed between mountains and sea, history goes back thousands of years, born of the Dragon Lord of the Mighty Seas and the Princess of the Mountains whose union of yang and yin brought forth 100 sons.

Much later in the 17th century, the Nguyen dynasty settled in Hué in central Vietnam, a location chosen for its free flowing energy according to geomantic principles. Visitors wander around the Purple Forbidden City and the Royal Tombs scattered under the pines on the edge of town. On the Perfume River, scented by the flowers growing at its source, dragon boats punt their way to Thien Mu, the lofty pagoda with seven tiers, one for each of the Buddha’s reincarnations. A service is held in the afternoon when child monks with half their hair shaved off daydream behind the pillars.

Hué moves at a gentle pace and as you stroll among frangipani and bougainvillea or sip jasmine tea at the riverside, it’s easy to connect with the past.

Beyond the city, the road climbs up and down mountains with spectacular views over the hinterland and endless beaches of white deserted sands. The fabled Marble Mountains loom in the distance, representing metal, water, wood, fire and earth. They were islands long ago and remain a mystical place where Buddha and local deities are worshipped in the caves.

If the spirits ever get confused, it must be in Hoi An, a lovely old city restored by UNESCO. Once an important port, it attracted waves of settlers who left their mark on the banks of the Thu Bon river.You find Chinese temples and clan houses, dwellings built of precious wood, all carved doors and stucco work, a square well, a pond with a moon-catching carp and a covered Japanese bridge stretching dragon-like across the water.

The fish market takes place at dawn when in the estuary, islands drift out of the shadows and the people greet their gods and light joss sticks for their ancestors.

Ancestor worship is a family duty all over Vietnam and many homes set up a special shrine to ensure the well being of the deceased in the after life. Tet, the greatest of the festivals, celebrates the start of the Lunar Year when in the course of the festivities, ancestors briefly return to earth and are welcome with food offerings and the fragrance of white blossom and sandalwood. Families pray for an auspicious year and read their horoscopes.

From Hoi An, the long drive south is best done in stages, stopping perhaps in the pretty bay of Nha Trang to see the remains of the ancient Cham civilization, or spending a night in the cool hill resort of Dalat where among lakes and waterfalls, Vietnam’s last emperor built his summer residence. Now the town is a favourite for honeymooners who come for peace, scenery and fresh air.

Fresh air is in short supply when you finally reach Saigon, the former capital renamed, officially at least, Ho Chi Minh City. The country’s largest city and river port lives to the rhythm of ‘four people motorbikes’ and mud-churning waters rushing down to the sea, 50 miles away. Wartime memories abound, businesses flourish, alongside poverty, and Christian churches mingle with pagodas and temples. On the outskirts of Chinatown, mothers burn paper offerings to protect their newborn babies while in the peaceful gardens of the Jade Emperor, incense smoke attempts to appease the demons in the Hall of Ten Hells.

In Tay Ninh , a fair drive north west of the city, the spirits are kinder. During a seance in 1919, a Vietnamese, named Ngo Van Chieu, claimed to make contact with a superior spirit who advised him to find ‘The Way’. Later, Cao Dai, the ‘Supreme Being’, introduced himself to him as the only creator, uniting all religions and faiths.

Cream and pastel blue, the Cao Dai church looks like a fairy cake waiting for a birthday party. There are quaint turrets and archways and a vast empty square where the spirits are invited to gather. Tourists arriving for the midday service are ushered up to the gallery and in the gaily painted nave, chanting begins under the all-seeing eye of the Supreme Being.

Led by a pope, the sect relies on mediums who receive messages from the other world, sometimes from illustrious visitors such as Joan of Arc or Winston Churchill.

Meanwhile Mount Ba Den, the Black Lady Mountain, looks down on the town, with its own temples and a crystalline spring gurgling in a grotto. Over 1500 steps take you to the top, an arduous climb in the heat but worth the effort for the stunning views over the Mekong Delta.

Born on the Tibetan plateau, flowing 2800 miles across five countries, the Mekong has an almost mystical aura. To the Vietnamese, this river with nine mouths is Cuu Long, the Nine Dragons who pour millions of gallons of water into the sea and turn the Delta into the rice bowl of Vietnam. This is a land of exotic orchards and rice fields, rivers, canals, lakes and lotus ponds. The people are a melting pot of race and religion but all live at the mercy of the mighty river and its tributaries. Excavations have revealed ancient cities buried or drowned for hundreds of years.

We took a boat on the My Tho river, a northern branch of the Mekong, and sailed through mud-coloured water along banks thick with palms and around islands where children slept in palm leaf hammocks and men chewed betel nut in the shade. Villages came right down to the water and boats carried all sorts of goods, with eyes painted on their prow to ward off evil and see in the dark.

But we found no evil in the Delta and when dusk came that night and coconut fronds rustled in the breeze, our guide made a wish, ‘nahn’. All he was asking was to ‘gaze at the moonlight through the window’ and in this land so close to its roots, we knew the spirits would approve.

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