VI
EN
There are mornings at Amanoi when I wake up to a golden, honey-like light pouring through the window. A ray of sunlight touches the edge of the white bedsheets, filters through the lush green trees in front of the porch, and scatters a shimmering, gold-like layer on the sea far below. Peace here isn't something to search for; it's present in every breath, in the wind rustling along the hillside, in the waves whispering in my ear even with my eyes closed.
Aman in Sanskrit means peace, and Amanoi means "oh peace." But it wasn't until I set foot here that I understood it wasn't just a beautiful name. It was also the original and vibrant emotion that permeated every minute detail this place offered.
Amanoi is nestled within Nui Chua National Park.
Amanoi is nestled in isolation on the slopes of Vinh Hy hill, perched precariously between the ancient forests of Nui Chua National Park on one side and the pristine blue sea of Central Vietnam on the other. From Cam Ranh airport, the nearly 75-minute drive gradually led me away from all the hustle and bustle. The only sounds remaining as the car slowly climbed the hill were the wind rustling through the trees and the strangely peaceful feeling in my heart.
Amanoi doesn't "show off" its luxury. On the contrary, it hides everything very carefully and subtly, like the style of seasoned professionals; it doesn't need to be ostentatious to leave a lasting impression.
Forests and seas intertwine in a wordless symphony.
The path to peace
To reach my room, I had to walk past the large swimming pool – its surface as still as a mirror. The sky was reflected in the water with astonishing clarity, as if nature itself had been drawn closer. In the distance was the sea, the tranquil earthy brown of the characteristic Ninh Thuan rocks, lying silently as if they had been there since time immemorial. I walked along the stone-paved path, the chirping of insects beneath the lush green trees embracing my way home.
My room faces the sea. Opening the window reveals lush green foliage so dense it feels like you could almost touch it. The sea is in the distance, close enough to hear the waves, yet far enough not to intrude on the tranquility I'm experiencing.
The sky reflected down in such a stunningly perfect way, as if all of nature had been brought one step closer.
Every time I leave my room to go somewhere—trekking, swimming, or simply lying by the pool reading a book—when I return, I always feel as if an invisible hand has silently passed by. The jacket I had casually draped over the chair has been neatly hung up. The unfinished book has been rearranged on the table. My mismatched slippers from the porch have been straightened. Everything is tidy and well-organized, but not ostentatious; just enough to make me feel cared for and noticed.
There are afternoons when I sit at my desk, closing my laptop after a day of unfinished work, and look up to see the reddish-orange sunset embracing the beach below. The last rays of light silently stream into the room, casting a warm, dreamy glow on the wooden door. I just sit there, watching, doing nothing more, thinking nothing more. It's just another afternoon passing slowly and peacefully.
The window opens onto a stunning view of the bay.
Goga and the sunrise rendezvous on the mountaintop.
At 5 a.m., it was still pitch dark when the vehicle brought us to the trail leading into the forest. Flashlights were switched on, the sound of footsteps on dry rocks, insects, and wild animals echoed in the silent night. No one spoke. The whole group walked in silence, as if each person were carrying their own private dialogue with nature.
Trekking Goga isn't difficult, but it's not easy either if you're not used to solitude. The deeper you go, the more the forest closes in. But each bend in the road reveals a different facet of nature: a patch of sky beginning to brighten, a strong wind rushing up from the mountain crevices, the rustling of dry bushes as forest birds suddenly dart away... Looking up, I saw Amanoi shrinking at the foot of the mountain – like a small, peaceful dot amidst the vast green expanse of forest and sea.
Looking up, I saw Amanoi shrinking below the mountain.
Reaching the summit of Goga, the reward was a sunrise embracing Vinh Hy. The first rays of light poured down like honey onto the sea, casting shadows on the dark cliffs, and golden-tinged the eyes of those standing there—silent, lost in thought. Without a word, we simply stood there for a long time. In those moments, silence itself was the most complete response to that beauty.
Reaching the summit of Goga, the reward is a breathtaking sunrise over Vinh Hy.
Return to yourself
Amanoi isn't a place for exhilarating experiences, but a place to return to – to nature, and more profoundly, to oneself. The subtlety here isn't ostentatious, but lies in how everything blends together so gently, almost imperceptibly. It's the rooms nestled on the hillside, the meticulously maintained cobblestone paths, the soothing meditative music echoing in the spa each afternoon, or the way the staff greet you with the same warm, welcoming bow as if you were a loved one returning from afar.
Amanoi is not a place for exciting experiences, but a place to return to – to nature, and more profoundly, to oneself.
At Amanoi, doing nothing becomes a valuable act. I used to sit for hours on the porch chair, just watching the clouds drift by, listening to the wind blow, feeling time pass in its truest form. No deadlines, no interrupting sounds, nothing to rush. Just me, complete and whole.
On my last night at Amanoi, I sat by the pool under a sky sparkling with stars, gazing at the deep blue sea in the distance, illuminated only by the silvery moonlight. I thought about the name "Amanoi" - peace, oh peace.
Yes, there are places in the world where you go not just for relaxation. You go to relearn how to live slowly, to relearn how to listen to yourself, amidst a beautiful, unadorned natural setting.
Perhaps that is the greatest luxury that Amanoi offers.
