The village where time stands still

"Are you planning to visit the most peaceful place where Han Mac Tu once lived?"

"...Where is it?"

"That's the village you just passed through."

"Oh, yes, I will."

I quickly replied to the driver on the taxi ride from the airport to downtown Quy Nhon. I was mentally rehearsing the keyword "Han Mac Tu village" and planned to search for it on Google later at the hotel. To my surprise, that place wasn't even on the map.

"THE MOST PEACEFUL PLACE HAN MAC TU EVER LIVED"

Hàn Mặc Tử (1912-1940), a journalist and poet, was born in Quảng Bình and died in Qui Nhơn. His poetry, with its frenzied and surrealistic style, is not widely known, memorized, or appreciated. However, the story of this sensitive poet, afflicted with leprosy and spending his final days in agony, is probably familiar to everyone. The place that witnessed those last days of Hàn Mặc Tử's life was Qui Nhơn, at the Quy Hòa Leprosy Colony.

Around 1929, the French priest Paul Maheu discovered the rare pristine nature of this land and decided to build a treatment center for leprosy patients called the Laproserie de Quy Hoa Hospital. In 1932, the hospital was rebuilt by Charles Antoine and Ozithe, including a residential area for patients to receive long-term treatment. Besides the hospital, the Quy Hoa complex also includes a church, a nun's residence, and over 200 houses for leprosy patients to settle in. In 1936, Han Mac Tu contracted leprosy and spent his final years in Quy Hoa.

Today, the hospital has been upgraded to be more spacious and modern; and there is now a cure for leprosy. However, families with leprosy patients, having spent a large part of their lives here, still choose to stay.

THE VILLAGE AMIDST GRAVES

My three-day beach trip had to be extended to four days, simply because I couldn't find my way to the Quy Hoa Leprosy Colony and was determined to spend an extra day searching for it until I found it.

There were only a few scattered articles about the leprosy colony on the internet, and it wasn't listed on Google Maps. I kept going back and forth between the Ghenh Rang area and Quy Hoa village in a circular fashion. Looking down from the highway, Quy Hoa village nestled along the gentle coastline. On the way into the village, I passed ICISE – a prominent architectural, scientific, and educational complex in Quy Nhon, situated right by the sea, exuding a contemporary, spacious, and peaceful atmosphere (which I promised myself I would definitely visit on my next return).

But the Leprosy Colony...hideWhere?

Finally, around 11 a.m., I reached the edge of the village and stopped the car, feeling dejected. At the very end of the village was the cemetery, with old, weathered graves lined up one after another. Suddenly, I turned to the left, and looming before me was a thin, gaunt gate with a sign that read "Quy Hoa Leprosy Colony."

What I was most compelled to notice here was... the graves. Too many graves for such a sparsely populated area. The camp itself is located right next to the Quy Hoa village cemetery; inside the camp, after walking a short distance, you'll find a house reserved for visitors to light incense and commemorate the patients with "special" backgrounds who died (from leprosy) here. At the end of the camp, where the grass is greenest, lies the resting place of the deceased. Among the pristine white tombstones, somewhere was once the grave of Han Mac Tu.

Perhaps this is what creates the peaceful, tranquil atmosphere of the camp. Everyone I met—the security guard, the residents, or the children returning from school—was strangely quiet. It wasn't that they exuded boredom or illness; they were simply very gentle. Perhaps few people live in such a unique and "paradoxical" world as the people of Quy Hoa Leprosy Camp. On one hand, life is like a fairy tale, with the blue sea and gentle sunshine; time doesn't appear on television or phones, but flows through the life of flowers, plants, and animals. On the other hand, death is also present in their lives—right next to their homes, right in their everyday walks.

Who could make people love life more than Death itself?

WAVES CRASHING, A LULLABY

The only place in the camp that always welcomes strangers is the "Han Mac Tu Memorial House". The house still retains the belongings he used there, and the walls are adorned with some handwritten notes, photographs, and poems written by friends about his life.

Trees and flowers abound along every path, creating vibrant photo opportunities for visitors. Every turn leads to Quy Hoa beach, with its crystal-clear blue water. Of course, you can't (and shouldn't) come here to swim, but I did see a few groups of young people picnicking with plenty of food and drinks. They were the quietest picnickers I've ever seen.

Another unique aspect of the camp is the color scheme and architecture of the houses. They are all square, single-story houses from the 20th century, combining many soft and bright tones; in front of each house are flowerbeds that add vibrant accents to the overall grounds. Most strangely, each house has its own unique blend of colors, different yet unified; no two houses are alike, yet none are separate from each other.

In a more secluded corner, families erected small huts opposite their houses. These huts had fabric roofs, and they placed a few thin blankets or pillows inside to create a comfortable place to sit and relax.

When I drove past, it was 12 noon. It wasn't scorching hot, but the sun was still blazing, and everyone was indoors. Only this house had two people sitting motionless in their hut: a grandmother and her grandson.

In the hazy midday sun, a young man of about 20 lay with his head resting on his grandmother's lap. Her pale, grayish hands gently stroked his hair, her lips softly humming a song. He squinted his eyes in a smile, his eyes like a flowing river.

I still try to remember those eyes. I hope to remember them for a lifetime. They made me suddenly understand why even the younger generation chooses to grow up in this place.

AND "DOGS STILL BARKE"

I guess it's because of the quietness of the Leprosy Colony that there are so few tourists here. (Yet I spent half a day here breathing in that life.) But actually, it's not too quiet – there are still dogs barking.

The cows and chickens raised on the farm usually gather in the most "picturesque" spot – right next to the beach. There they leisurely graze, stroll among the trees, and bask in the sea breeze. Then, out of nowhere, a stray dog ​​appears, without a pack of friends. It will try to approach the herd of cows, bark incessantly, and then run for its life when the cows try to growl. Five minutes later, the scene repeats: the dog barks again, the cows growl again, and the dog runs again. And so it goes, and that's all it takes.

Additional information

According to historical records, during his time receiving treatment at Quy Hoa prison, Han Mac Tu was close to two friends: one was a nurse at the prison, and the other was a street vendor selling drinks. Before his death, Han Mac Tu gave both of them copies of his last collection of poems. The street vendor received "more" because he was more favored by Han Mac Tu, as he was the only one who selflessly kept him company during his final lonely moments.

What's remarkable is that the street vendor, who was poor, illiterate, and certainly didn't know who Han Mac Tu was... Han Mac Tu. After the poet's death, he gradually tore up the pages of his poems to use as toilet paper.

Lam Oanh