Asia in Pictures: Vietnam (part 1)

The boats form ribs along the breastbone of this river, boats that widows in their conical hats have rowed to the Perfume Pagoda for as long as anyone can remember. Their thin arms and stooped backs propel boatloads of visitors forward with surprisingly strong, rhythmic lurches, while the limestone cliffs around us cup sound with the wrinkled fingers of their peaks, amplifying the muffled silence around us until the static in our heads dies down. And the widows row, and the paddles slap the water in a constant rhythm, and believers and tourists and fishermen fix their eyes on the peaks and the plants and the fish and the flame trees, and the widows look at it like for the first time, every time, because that's the only option that's left when the world is so stunning it hurts. My tour guide stops the boat along the way to gather leaves for a home remedy. The Canadian man's camera clicks and whirs, its huge lens looking ostentatious and awkward in front of this backdrop of slowly sloping beauty. The Dutch couple behind me speak in heavy syllables, unconsciously adjusting the rhythm of their speech to match the rhythm of the oars. And the widow's eyes crease against the blinding gray of the cloudy sky as we draw nearer to the river's end and the path to the Pagoda begins to reveal itself to us. This sacred site for believers, hidden deep in the mountain. The prayer flags sigh in welcome like little, fluttering eyelashes and all around us the earth seems to just hold still. Like the pupil in the center of the iris. Like breath held in anticipation.