Hue
Vietnam
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I sniffled and blew my nose on my painting shirt as I sat transfixed in a mausoleum just outside Huế. A couple of rogue, plump tears meandered down my cheek.
Tet in Ancient Hue
I was hot and sweaty, frustrated with my painting, lost in the Greatest Hits of Sade, entirely alone and profusely happy. All at the same time.
I was savouring the Pavilion of Light in Emperor Minh Mang’s Tomb, the single most magical spot in Vietnam, if not the whole world.
The Nguyen dynasty ruled Vietnam from 1802 to 1945 from Imperial Huế (pronounced 'hooray' without the 'r'). Each successive Emperor had the privilege of commissioning his own resting place. So, Huế finds itself blessed with seven such indulgences. Whilst they're tombs, it’s best to appreciate them as exercises in architectural showing off, with each successive Emperor competing to eclipse his predecessor in creativity, personality and design wit.
Minh Mang was arguably the winner.
A strong and decisive ruler, Emperor Mang knew exactly what he wanted from his tomb. So much so, he designed every detail himself. His courtiers spent 14 years scouting for the ideal location before our man Mang eventually settled on the confluence of two rivers upstream of the Perfume River, on the side of Cam Ke mountain. This offered the ideal feng shui of isolation, water, trees and hillside.
Emperors typically built their tomb complexes in own their lifetime, so they could use them for the three ‘R’s; rest, recreation and reputation. However, after such a protracted design phase, Minh Mang fell suddenly ill, construction had to be rushed through and he unfortunately died before his full vision was realised.
Ah! But what a vision.
The complex respects Confucian principles, but you can also detect a light-hearted playfulness. A series of courtyards each cleverly shield what’s yet to come, yielding a series of surprise transitions.
As your first experience, The Honour Courtyard, is designed to be vast, formal, impressive and scream of authority. It's a little dull and will leave you thinking there’s not that much to this site. But as you move beyond it, the games begin. Levels, doorways, reveals and vistas all skilfully mess with your expectations.
A vista skilfully messing with you
Around half way, you reach a gateway only to realise you have imperceptivly gained height. Steps drop away steeply to a bridge spanning the moat, then rise again on the other side, to the aforementioned Pavilion of Light.
Light flooding the Pavilion of Light
Built atop an artificial hill, Minh Lau Pavilion is shuttered, light and airy. Some say it was designed for moon watching. (It overlooks a moat modelled in the shape of a crescent moon). But really, it’s for cool contemplation. Our man Mang was supposed to lie in state here, before being entombed in the private island across the moat.
What little breeze there is wafts gently through the shutters, the silence whispers delicately, the view wraps around dramatically, and there’s the distinct sense of spirits gliding, gathering, and guarding. To my mind, anyway.
I struggled to do justice to the spirituality of the place in my sketchbook. Until a piece of newsprint featuring an illustration of a lion fluttered from my scrap pile and landed on my painting. This was a sign. It was clearly where the scrap wanted to be, representing the unseen spirits that still loitered there, perhaps even nudged there by them?
Whatever, the perfection of this spot is certainly palpable and poignant. You cannot fail to feel it. Hence my tears.
Mind you, if it’s playfulness you want, Emperor Tu Duc delivered in spades.
The Nguyen’s longest serving Emperor made full use of his tomb complex whilst he was alive. Along with his 104 wives! As a bon viveur and lover of the arts, Tu Duc created a lake to write poetry on, an island to hunt on and a theatre balanced theatrically over the lake. Presumably with all those date nights to fit in, it was handy not to have to leave the compound to fit in dinner and a show.
Actually, Tu Duc was pretty much confined to base anyway. His populace were rebelling violently against the tax levy imposed to fund the building of his pleasure palace, and he wasn’t exactly welcome in and around Huế.
As somewhere to sit out a self-made lockdown, Tu Duc's Tomb was poetic, aesthetic and idyllic. But Tu Duc himself appeared to be as dogmatic as he was artistic, if that’s possible. He ended up having many more issues to ride out; cholera, flooding, family treachery, corrupt mandolins, and growing resentment to his oppressively isolationist Confucian policies.
Theatrical reflections
In a macabre way TD had the last laugh after his death, finally managing to leave his compound. Ironically, he wasn’t buried in his tomb, but in a secret location elsewhere. As per his instructions, the precise position of his resting place was kept secret by beheading each of the 200 labourers who transported his dead body there. Charming.
Orange sunset over the Purple Forbidden City
But, believe it or not, Huế’s charms don’t all revolve around death.
The Citadel’s big draw is the Purple Forbidden City. Naturally, this place is not purple, no longer a city, or for that matter, forbidden.
Purple is in fact a reference to the Chinese name for a group of stars, supposedly home to the Celestial Emperor. And although only eunuchs, concubines, mandarins and royalty were admitted during the Nguyen rein, nowadays anyone dropping 200,000 dong is free to venture inside this city within a city.
Funnily enough, the novelty of being a dong multi-millionaire endures for some time. Over 30 years in my case. A Vietnamese ATM will bring an impressive (and inconvenient) bulge to your wallet. A hundred quid yields over three million of those notes. Only the Iranian rial and Lebanese lira are more deflated.
Mind you, a decent lunch might set you back 500 grand a head. It's not often you stomach that level of indulgence.
The Purple Palace brought rampant inflation to the Nguyen dynasty’s architectural and political power play, showcasing the newly (and bloodily) united Vietnam and its new capital in Huế.
On the ramparts, observant visitors will note two obvious reasons for siting the Citadel in Huế. The Ngu Binh Mountains, known as the Royal Screen, supposedly take the form of a blue dragon to the left and a white tiger to the right; powerful celestial guardians that deter malevolent spirits.
Those geomancers certainly knew how to earn their fees! Those of us in any form of advice business could learn a lot!
10km of moated walls surround the Citadel. Within these a second impenetrable wall and moat safeguard the Emperors’ VIP section, the Forbidden City itself.
Colourful patina in the Purple Place
The Emperor’s crib was built with full Vietnamese Imperial bling, featuring myriad gated courtyards, gardens, pavilions and palaces. The Nguyens seemed to channel creativity into inventing specific purposes for each construction. There were pavilions exclusively for playing games, worshiping ancestors, drinking tea, issuing decrees, paying bills and doing admin, even an elaborate gazebo concealing gas and ‘lecky meters behind miscellaneous household junk.
Poetic Tu Duc stairs
The Emperor’s mother had a palace entirely to herself. Concubines were graded 1 to 9 and afforded accommodation pro rata to their status. Just imagine the ensuing politics!
Interestingly, it seems the Emperors figured the only way to guarantee loyalty from their trusty male servants was to have them castrated!
With the eventual ceding of the Nguyen dynasty to French control, the Forbidden City fell into disrepair. Copious Indochina wars (including what we know as 'the Vietnam War') did it no favours and today only around 15% of the original buildings stand. Nevertheless, that’s more than enough to give you an idea of the grandeur, perfection and sheer audacity of the site.
Hien Lam Cac, or the Pavilion of Splendour, pretty much does it all, living up to its name. It’s credited to our old mate and certified show off, Ming Mang.
Restoration is underway, including the entire ground up reconstruction of Điện Kiến Trung, a full-on French Chateau fused with Vietnamese twiddly bits.
My favourite parts, however are those that have neither fallen down, nor been built back up, but manage to limp on, artfully.
They stand with dignity and decay in equal measure. Colours degrade in the hot and humid Vietnamese climate, until they achieve a vivid, synthetic quality, pink and yellow in particular. Walls flake and crack, creating detail and narrative to rival the artefacts around them. Dark mould garnishes and stipples surfaces. Smoothness and slickness is replaced with texture and patina. Majestic becomes evocative.
I’m afraid it all brought me to tears. Once more.
There was actually a fair bit of precipitation on this trip. See my note below on the optimum time to visit. Ultimately, trying to second guess the weather in Vietnam's tropical monsoon climate is a bit of a Goldilocks activity. Too cold one month, too hot the next. Sweet as you like one day, not so much the next.
Colour, patina and decoration
But just like experiencing the remains of the Nguyen's architectural showing off show, taking the rough with the smooth is all part of the experience.
A Few Links and Practicalities
(Just sharing the love. I absolutely don’t get paid for these.)
Do avoid the mistake most people make and allow more than one or two days to see Huế.
Huế Ancient Garden Houses: www.ancienthue.com.vn
I loved this hotel. It’s about a kilometre outside the Citadel, in what they describe as the historic village of Kim Long. It’s more like a pleasant, unremarkable suburb. Just at the point you’re starting to feel uninspired, you encounter this remarkable place, slightly out of place really. Here they’ve relocated antique wooden houses from the region and converted them into lavish suites; all dark teak, sliding doors and jewel coloured upholstery. If you know Jim Thompson’s House in Bangkok, you can picture the vibe. Be sure to book one of these suites and not the more ordinary rooms. The restaurant was fantastic, the spa too and the staff could not have been more attentive.
Visiting the tombs.
I’ve described my two favourites above; the classics Ming Mang and Tu Duc. Both are a few km outside town. I reached them by bicycle, but probably more sensible to have a taxi ferry you around. Particularly if you want to take in more than one in a day. You can also reach Ming Mang by river, although it’s a two hour journey each way.
If you really fancy a dragon boat ride, Thien Mu Pagoda offers a far more realistic proposition.
Other tombs to consider are;
Thiệu Trị. This offers the full unrestored experience for those wanting to buy into my ‘dignity in decay’ philosophy.
Gia Long. Appropriately the first Emperor’s tomb is a long way out of town and somewhat inaccessible even when you get there. But it offers peace, solitude and exploration galore. A strong recommend for the intrepid.
Duc Duc. This tomb is closest to the centre of town, so can be taken in easily. Duc Duc only reigned for three days, before he was deposed and sentenced to death, so it may not surprise that this is not exactly the most magnificent of the tombs.
Khải Định. This tomb divides opinion somewhat. Khai Dinh was the dynasty’s most eccentric Emperor, embracing French colonialism and other outside influences. His tomb is thus a blend of Eastern and Western styles. Built on the side of a hill it offers great views. It’s also obviously built of concrete, now elaborately patina-ed.
When to visit.
It’s tricky to find a time that’s neither too hot, nor a tad cold, or else grey and muggy or just plain sweltering.
Arguably, the optimum time to visit is when I was there, between February and mid-March. With luck, the monsoon rains will have petered out in January, with the extreme heat yet to kick in.
Huế New Town.
On the other side of the Perfume River from the Citadel. This is where the backpacking, clubbing, hosteling, bartering and general grot happens. Although a decent place to eat and drink cheaply it really has little to recommend it. Unless of course you’re after that kind of thing. Within seconds of parking my bike I was offered drugs and a woman. When I refused, they suggested hard liquor and a man.
Don’t miss;
Dignity in decay.
Do Miss
There's plenty about the City that's not so dignified, so it's a place for precision visiting. Save random wandering for Hoi An.