Getting lost in the sacred valley of Vietnam’ My Son Sanctuary, where ancient bricks tell a thousand-year story

Editor's note: This story was written by Tuoi Tre reader Huu Long, drawing on his impressions and memories of a visit to My Son Sanctuary, with the accompanying photos taken by the author. 

Tuoi Tre News edited, abridged and translated the original piece into English.

In the early morning, as the mountains remain shrouded in mist, the red-brick towers of My Son Sanctuary in Da Nang City, central Vietnam, emerge like a thousand-year-old memory awakening, drawing visitors into the ancient, mysterious and enchanting world of Champa.

From around the ninth to 13th centuries, My Son was an important religious center of the Champa civilization.

Successive rulers built temples dedicated to Hindu deities, most notably Shiva, in various forms.

The UNESCO World Heritage complex once comprised around 72 structures, divided into several groups identified from A to N.

Each group is more than a collection of architectural structures.

It bears traces of a particular historical period, notions of power and the spiritual life among the Champa people of the past.

Groups A, B, C and D now attract many visitors.

Group A once consisted of 13 structures, notably Tower A10 and a monolithic sandstone Linga-Yoni altar recognized as a national treasure.

Groups B, C and D, meanwhile, are considered the heart of the sanctuary, where ancient temples stand amid trees, creating a landscape that is both majestic and haunting.

My Son seems to captivate visitors through its silence.

The deeper they venture, the more they are drawn to questions about the once-flourishing civilization, the people who built these structures and how the small bricks have endured for centuries.

Delicately carved flowers, human figures, deities and mythical creatures adorn the walls, each carrying its own meaning in religious beliefs.

Nearly 50 inscriptions in Sanskrit and ancient Cham script preserve the names of kings, construction dates and historical events, offering messages across time that allow later generations to trace the civilization that once flourished here.

“I had seen many photos of My Son, but standing in the valley and seeing the red towers rising against the mountains and forest felt completely different,” said local photographer The Phong.

“The scenery is both majestic and somewhat mysterious,” Phong added.

“It made me want to take many photos, but at the same time, I wanted to put my camera down and simply take in the view for a while.”

Cao Hoai Thuong, a visitor from Dak Lak Province, shared a similar impression, saying she was captivated not only by the ancient towers but also by the way they are nestled amid the trees.

The red of the bricks, the green of the mountains and the changing sunlight make every viewpoint look like a different picture.

She likened the experience to stepping into a movie about a civilization that seemed to have fallen asleep.

Keeping My Son’s heritage alive

The tower groups are like pages in a book made of bricks. Some remain relatively intact, while others have only a few lines left, or have been torn apart by war.

From reinforcement efforts by Polish experts in the 1980s to conservation solutions introduced by Italian and Indian specialists, generations have contributed to preserving what remains of the sanctuary.

Preserving My Son Sanctuary is not simply about keeping individual bricks from collapsing.

It is also about preserving memories and stories, and allowing people today to continue a dialogue with the past.

If heritage is reduced to silent walls, it can easily become something detached from everyday life.

But when culture continues to be practiced, music continues to resonate and traditional dances are passed down, heritage gains new vitality.

One moment when My Son seems to emerge from its deep solitude is when the afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting a golden glow over the red walls, while the sound of Saranai pipes drifts through the mountains and forest.

Dancers in traditional Champa costumes then appear, performing graceful and captivating Apsara dances.

For those few brief minutes, the boundary between the present and the past seems to grow thinner.

While waiting for the performance, I happened to speak with Takahashi Hiroshi, a Japanese visitor who said he had visited many ancient sites across Southeast Asia.

In his view, My Son shares similarities with Angkor Wat in Cambodia, Sukhothai in Thailand and Wat Phou in Laos, but each site has its own distinctive beauty.

He said My Son does not try to compete on scale. Its appeal lies in its profound solitude and understated beauty, which can awaken deep layers of memory within people.