Another Hung Temple in the South

Located approximately 30km from the center of Ho Chi Minh City, in Long Binh ward (formerly Thu Duc City), lies a tranquil space preserved like a layer of accumulated memory. Nestled within the vast green space of the National Historical and Cultural Park, the Hung Kings Memorial Temple stands as a landmark of memory amidst the ever-expanding present, a place where people can temporarily leave the familiar hustle and bustle to connect with their roots.

The Hung Kings Memorial Temple in Ho Chi Minh City began construction in 1992 and was completed around 2009. The temple's construction stemmed from the goal of creating a solemn place of worship for the Hung Kings in the southern region, allowing people to practice their faith and participate in ceremonies such as the Hung Kings' Commemoration Day without having to travel to Phu Tho. This also represents Ho Chi Minh City's contribution to extending the Hung Kings' cultural space from North to South.

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If we view the Hung Kings Memorial Temple as a story told through space, then each architectural layer here acts as a "frame"—opening up and leading the way. For Huynh Tran Uy Lam (Lam Uy Huynh)—a director of photography and cinematographer accustomed to seeing the world through a lens—this journey is not just sightseeing, but a visual experience.

In addition to his main job, Lam often takes photos in cultural and spiritual spaces such as temples, churches, and shrines, viewing it as a way to preserve a slice of time while simultaneously honing his visual thinking and storytelling skills through images.

"This is a rather 'hidden' place," Lam said, recalling his photography trip to the Hung Kings Memorial Temple. Amidst the familiar city of Ho Chi Minh, this space exists so quietly that even long-time residents may never have heard of it.

Located just about 30 minutes from the city center and near the university village, the first impression the temple gives upon entering the gate is not one of closeness, but rather a clear sense of separation.

From the entrance gate, a bamboo-lined pathway unfolds, stretching as a transitional layer between the urban environment and the memorial space. "The atmosphere here is peaceful, clean, and profound, making me automatically slow down to observe and feel more," Lam said.

Beyond the green bamboo hedge, a spacious and airy square emerges, its spatial layout reminiscent of the Dong Son bronze drums. From here, the architectural axis becomes clearer, leading directly to the main hall, gradually rising in elevation, creating a sense of increasing solemnity.

The main temple complex is situated on a raised platform, where the architectural elements become more compact: sloping roofs and a system of columns. In front is a spacious courtyard, serving both as a place for rituals and providing a breathing space for the structure to stand out more clearly. Interspersed within this overall design are stones from the Hoang Sa and Truong Sa archipelagos, symbolizing sovereignty and territorial integrity.

Through Lam's artistic vision, the combination of bamboo groves, columned houses, and vaulted roofs creates a space that is both solemn and deeply rooted in Vietnamese identity. This makes the entire journey from the gate to the main hall not just a movement within space, but a journey through layers of concepts, from the outside in, from the present towards the roots. For someone working with images, this is an advantage: each step is a new perspective, each stop is a frame already pre-arranged by the space itself.

But what caught Lam's attention wasn't just the shape or layout. "In the main hall, I saw quite a few people, including companies, coming to pay their respects and offer gifts like fruit and cakes. This gave me the feeling that this place wasn't just an architectural structure, but also a living spiritual space."

Perhaps that's why the main hall is where he spends the most time. Not necessarily because it's the architectural center, but because there's always something going on there. "I like moments that combine imagery and storytelling," he says, explaining why a memorial space can evoke so many layers of emotion when viewed through the lens of a visual storyteller.

Leaving the main hall, the lingering feeling isn't just that of a tourist attraction, but rather a space that needs to be preserved in its own way. There, people instinctively feel the need to speak more softly, walk more slowly, and choose a simple approach in their attire, movement, and even photography.

Perhaps that's why the best time to visit isn't during peak hours, but rather early morning or late afternoon, when the light is soft and the space is sparse enough to fully appreciate the atmosphere. The spacious grounds and long pathways allow visitors to spend more time moving around and observing. And if you bring a camera, what's worth capturing isn't just a beautiful background, but the very atmosphere and the subtle movements of a spiritual space that continues to unfold every day.

And perhaps, as Lam perceives through each frame, the value of the Hung Kings Memorial Temple lies not in its outward appearance, but in how this space is preserved and continued every day. As the Hung Kings' Commemoration Day approaches, that flow becomes even clearer. Not only in Phu Tho, but also in Ho Chi Minh City, incense is still lit as a way of extending the memory and belief in a shared origin.

Text: Quynh Mai - Photos: Lam Uy Huynh