There are many types of translation problem in Vietnam besides that of simple language. Temple and Pagoda, for example, are intertwined concepts which can bemuse. Pagodas are the buildings of Buddhism and its rituals, whereas temples are buildings dedicated to the memory of famous dead people - with no connection to a systematic set of beliefs. So that's easy. But then, of course, there are Buddhists who are famous and dead! The Thầy Pagoda is an 11th century Buddhist complex in Sài Sơn village where lived a herbalist Đạo Hành around whom are woven the stories which have led to the name Master's Pagoda (chùa Thầy). Our concepts have to stay flexible, a fluidity which alerts us to the fact that anyway Buddhism here has had 2,000 years of its own unique developments. It has animalism and ancestor worship as main principles, and seems, at least out in society, to have rather little reverence for non-human life forms; except that is on set lunar days.

The courtyard of the annex to the Thầy Pagoda which sits on the hill above the main buildings

The journey to the Thầy Pagoda is easy. Straight out on the Hồ Chí Minh Road due west for about 20 miles. (It might be better if that road didn't go due west as Hồ Chí Minh City, for which it is making and to which it will someday arrive, happens to be 1,200 miles due south - 'someday' as, after about 50 miles, the road gives up just where it does turn left. Further south it revives, but it is quicker and easier to find that continuation by going back to Hà Nội and out on the old crowded, dusty, bedlam of a road that runs south from the start!) So after that storyteller's diversion an easy run to the Thầy Pagoda which is a few minutes from the main road, and at once brings the visitor to the more sequestered life of the Viet small town.
We had come in search of this the Thầy Pagoda because I had seen a delightful picture of the tower building set within its lake and surrounded by blossom. When Hân drew off the road I was surprised, being unaware that the large, nearly empty, smelling reservoir was the beautiful lake, and the crumbling building the tower, of the picture. Gaps between expectations and reality are the essence of my oriental life. The converse of this coin is the way that the unexpected then steps in to the void of frustration: each chimera allows the opportunity for a hidden gem. The upper part of the Thầy Pagoda is certainly such a gem.

The tower of the Thầy Pagoda with its lake and one of the newly restored bridges

After spending a little time trying carefully to take the type of picture used in the publicity material - by excluding the fetid lake bottom and showing the good side of the building – I wandered to the 'back door'. This was by mistake for I was absorbed in my photography. Here the reason for the lack of water was evident; behind the main buildings the retaining walls along the water's edge were being rebuilt. There I noticed a small decaying archway, with a Chinese inscription above that seemed to invite. Other signs were absent; a not un-common lack for it pushes the visitor into the hands of the local guides. I mooched between the houses and saw new steps ascending purposely up a hill. The hill is one of these amazing karsts, (limestone towers) which are common throughout the landscape of Northern Vietnam. To test the steps' purpose and newness takes the energetic a few minutes – the guide books say 10 which is fair and includes rests; but I live in flat Hà Nội and jelly soon replaced the muscle of my legs. Photography offers balm to this particular complaint, uninteresting details become rare photographic opportunities.

At the top is a wider arch, with beautiful wooden doors, awaiting your admiration; however this admiration is unforthcoming for at once the gateway is upstaged by the view it offers of the buildings beyond and which compose this upper pagoda. And an artistic composition it is. The structure of the whole small scene is dictated by the nature of the karst formation. These jagged vertical rocks have left a rough cauldron within which the buildings are displayed as though in an architects model. They cling to the edges and upright rocks squeezing back to allow the visitor to pass between them: open shrines, enclosed halls, stilted rooms, all intertwined with staircases and decorated with memorials and sculptures. The scale is delightful: the entrance of the shrines two or three yards across, the steps in places just three feet wide and the central square seeming like a large room. There is little space, and none is wasted. The walls of the rock hold plaques and sculptures – like the dragon shown below – and everywhere there are trees and plants, in pots and troughs and crevices and hanging from one another to catch what little light falls between the buildings and rocks into the miniature amphitheatre.

Dragon at the Thầy Pagoda emerging from the rocks - notice the hand-like foot and the tail above the sign

The main body of the hill, above the pagoda buildings, offers an alternative diversion for those less interested in Buddhist minutiae. The top pinnacles of rock, within which the pagoda nestles, rise just above the tree line, and with a little precarious scrambling the panorama of the local town is revealed. Views anywhere in the Red River Plain are curtained by the mist and pollution which hangs all around Hà Nội. Sài Sơn is no exception. But diversion lay closer. The Vietnamese in general are not fond of unnecessary physical exercise, but have a great taste for what they see as romantic settings. So guides persuade the young to ascend and have their photos taken. And what could add more to their pleasure than to see an old man hauling himself up the rocks. A pleasure shown by the hesitant enquiry: "What age are you?"!
The Thầy Pagoda offers that most delightful Oriental charm: the conversion of frustration to delight. What lies to hand, and is discovered by us, eclipsing what was merely anticipated.