I knew nothing about this place before we arrived. We got there within a half hour taxi drive from the busy roadside mosquito ridden hotel at which we had stayed, through long and wide country roads with only the briefest of stops on the way to buy some Banh Mi for breakfast in what turned out to be an almost wholly deserted cafe. I thought we were just going to see a temple before heading back to Ha Noi.
At the base of a hill surrounded by stalls selling everything from brushed off lumps of root ginger to hats and keyrings we left our taxi and caught a little electric buggy to the entrance proper. Here, inside a large pagoda like entrance were more items available to buy, mostly aimed and maximising tourist revenue but also local delicacies such as duck eggs and coffee. I definitely needed the latter.
With the heat already beginning to rise into the late twenties and the sun beating viciously down, I thought about buying a hat to replace the one that I had lost the evening before. Lan however was not hanging about and before I had the chance to signal my intent she was halfway around the courtyard housing partially completed large temples and was making her way out of sight. Dusting my heels to catch up with her I just had time to have a moan at her about dashing off without me before we reached the bottom station of a cable car system that was in place to carry tourists such as us up the hill. We brought a couple of tickets from the trip fund, joined the "no queue" queue and then entered into the barrel shaped carriage to begin the long ascent.
We exited the station at the top of the ride onto a small stone courtyard, layered with the occasional waft of smoke that drifted across from the offerings being burnt in front several statues off to the right. At the far side a small exit led onto another small yard where a set of crooked stone steps led up to another level behind, the elevation crowded with people of all ages and ability ascending and descending its steep variable curvature, some with the aid of sticks and supports, some carrying food, some carrying others, almost all wearing hats. By the time I had made hard work of the climb to the top I was already starting to sweat profusely and and immediately went about seeking some shade from the sun and and a wall to support my tired legs. I then grabbed my bottle from my bag and took the opportunity to take on some much needed fluids at the top of the climb. Except it wasn't the top. It was pretty far from it.
Walking up and around to the right of the temple we passed more small refreshment stalls, selling such things as sausages, ice cream and drinks. The pathway sticking to the contours on the side of the hill took us up and down steep sets of steps and wound around taking in natural waterfalls where people could use the fresh flowing waters to cool themselves down and clean off a little. 5 minutes walking later and half a gallon of dispersed sweat more, we arrived at the base of the second lift, jumped into the available car and one of us looked out again as we gracefully slid up against and above the side of the mountain, over the trees before being completely engulfed by hillside cloud. The other one sat with her back pressed against the back of the seat inside waiting for it all to be over.
At the top station everything was glum and wet, the cooler air causing condensation to drip from every available beam on to whatever object happened to lay below, be that concrete flooring, wooden tables or an uncovered coffee cup. Outside we walked through the grey blanket air along the well kept path lined with long grass and flowers as it again followed the lie of the land, with each climb that followed on from the previous dip becoming more tiring than the one before it. Eventually, we wearily came upon a small crop of crooked buildings that lay amongst the scattered remnants of ones that had stood there before, with the outlines of walls still visible with exposed tiled floors, all under the gaze of a giant bronze buddha that looked down upon them. In the still standing buildings refreshments could be brought, sweetcorn was being boiled and consumed whilst a man brutally hacked sugar cane to size to be fed it into a press for squeezing every last ounce of juice from within it. Lan took the smart decision to take on the liquid required. I however as a diabetic decided to give this one a miss on this occasion, partly playing it safe due to the "sugar" tag in it's name, but also partly due to the fact that to me, well, it really just didn't look all that appealing.
Looking up from that point past the buddha you could just make out the top of the mountain menacingly cloaked by the shifting mist and cloud that caused it to be often more than partially obscured. We debated the option of going up for the few minutes, Lan seemingly torn between tiredness and opportunity and with me no stranger to walking away from things (that don't really matter), the odds were probably stacked against us carrying on, but the opposite happened. Having spent so long getting up to this point and with the likelihood of neither of us ever returning we decided we would push on as far as we could, accepting that it was probably going to be a painful last push, but also harbouring the notion that sometimes it's better to live a fuller life rather than just a long one. Personally I have no idea why you have to choose!
It didn't take long to question the wisdom of our actions, as Lan started to struggle up every new set of steps which had started to come upon us increasingly frequently and my two top system of t-shirt under polo shirt became increasingly heavy and wet due to the combination of the moisture in the air and my own perspiration, The mood however was being markedly lifted by the almost constant greetings that were now being extended, sometimes in English, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in Vietnamese but always conveying the same tone. This wasn't the the kind of greeting you might get elsewhere, where friendliness can be used as the doorway to sell you anything from a hat to a suit to tour. These were everyday normal vietnamese people being everyday normal vietnamese people and I was non vietnamese person doing something not many non vietnamese people do away from the normal tourist trail. After the feelings of frustration that had started to creep in over the previous few weeks in some of the more the built up areas and cities, this was probably the kind of experience that I needed to have to bring everything back to reality. As seemingly the only western person to be on that mountain at that time, the warmth from the Vietnamese people that I crossed that day wasn't because of any desire to monetise, exploit or use me for their personal gain, it was just simply just to make me feel welcome, to extend the hand of friendship and occasionally have the chance to have their photograph taken with a real life giant.
The final push to the very top involved clambering up over steep angled rocks, carefully using infrequently placed carved foot holes the further the climb agains those that were beginning their descent. At the very top was a limited space where the Dong Pagoda sat and people could take time to offer up prayers against the smoke fronted alter whilst the whole place somehow purveyed a sense of calm chaos, people perching upon the raised up verges as they waited for an opportunity to worship.
On the stones below groups of people sat, talked and ate the food they had dutifully carried up, some enduring the trek all the way from the base of the mountain without the need for cable car assistance to reach the peak. No matter how we had managed to get there though, many of us displayed the same traits of exasperation and contentment. The view from the top is as breathtaking as you might expect and the feeling from being there is almost that of stillness and enlightenment, which just happens to sit neatly between those of achievement and exhaustion.
Now all we had to do was get back down.
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