RETURNING TO THE LOST VILLAGE

Six years ago, I attempted to reach an abandoned village hidden along a deserted beach by carrying my bicycle down from the Hai Van Pass. This village was once a refuge for people suffering from leprosy. However, I was disappointed—I lacked the strength and courage to navigate the jagged cliffs jutting into the sea, where waves relentlessly crashed against the rocks, sending white foam spraying into the air.

This was Lang Van, once known as the Leper Village or the Village of the Afflicted. But to me, it was the Lost Village—a place that no longer existed as it once had. By then, the residents had already been relocated inland by the authorities to make way for a multi-billion-dollar resort complex, funded by an American corporation.

Over the years, the Lost Village has become a popular destination for adventure seekers. As more travelers made their way there, a trail through the forest from Hai Van Pass to Lang Van Beach gradually took shape, making access easier. However, this morning, instead of taking the well-trodden path, two friends and I decided to return to the Lost Village the hard way—by conquering the treacherous cliffs I had failed to pass six years earlier.

A PERILOUS JOURNEY

We cycled down a rough, rocky path from Hai Van Vien to Rail Tunnel No. 14, then carried our bikes down a steep slope leading to Bai Ham, a pristine and breathtakingly beautiful beach. From there, we began our trek over the cliffs.

The first challenge was Ganh Hai, a 300-meter stretch of massive, slippery boulders covered in moss. Towering as if they had risen from the depths of the ocean or erupted from the mountains, these rocks were steep, wet, and treacherous. A single misstep could lead to a broken limb—or worse, a fatal fall. Perhaps this is why most travel blogs about Lang Van never mention this path.

Climbing over these cliffs was anything but easy, yet the reward was priceless: spectacular, unforgettable photographs of this untouched, awe-inspiring landscape.

Today, however, luck was on our side. Just as we were preparing to tackle Ganh Chua, we spotted a fishing boat passing by. Seizing the opportunity, we altered our plan and hired the boat to take us to Lang Van. The waves were rough, making it difficult for the boat to approach the rocky shore, but after some struggle, we managed to climb aboard. What followed was an exhilarating journey across the sea—an experience far beyond our expectations.

DISCOVERING THE REMAINS OF THE VILLAGE

Wading through a shallow stream, we finally set foot on the sandy beach of Lang Van. Before us lay the ruins of abandoned houses, hidden beneath coconut trees and overgrown vegetation. As we examined the remnants of the village gate—now reduced to two lonely pillars—a small, smiling man suddenly appeared, greeting us warmly.

His name was Le Dinh Chinh, a 50-year-old former resident of Lang Van. He was born and raised here, the son of a leprosy patient. Though his family had been relocated to Hoa Hiep Nam, he had been hired to stay behind and guard the pearl oyster farms, only returning home once a week. He told us that despite his father’s illness, he and his child had never contracted leprosy.

We walked through the ruins, where crumbling brick walls were all that remained of most houses. The old leprosy treatment center and the village cultural house were still standing, though their roofs were riddled with holes. Sunlight filtered through, casting eerie beams into the empty, desolate rooms—now littered with dry cow dung.

On some doors, faded signs still hung: Doctor’s Office, Injection Room, Nurse’s Station, Physiotherapy Room—silent witnesses to the village’s past as a sanctuary for the afflicted.

THE FINAL CHAPTER

Leaving Lang Van, we waded through another crystal-clear stream and stopped by the Hoa Van Border Guard Station, where only one soldier remained on duty that weekend. Nearby, a makeshift drink stall stood—a small business run by a woman from Xuan Thieu, catering to adventurers who trekked down to explore Lang Van.

To our surprise, the young man who had ferried us here earlier, Tiep, turned out to be her son. “That’s my boy! He’s a father of three now,” she proudly announced. She explained that Tiep usually made his living fishing but also took tourists on boat trips to Lang Van.

After sipping a cup of instant coffee—just 5,000 VND—we decided to visit Mui Yen, a nearby landmark the woman had highly praised. “It’s stunning! They’re about to start a massive project there,” she said.

As we approached Mui Yen, we saw an eerie rock formation—its shape resembling a giant bird’s beak, with streaks of white stains resembling dripping saliva. “That’s Mui Yen,” Tiep said as he turned the boat back toward Bai Ham.

The waves were rough, just as they had been in the morning. As we neared shore, the boat rocked violently against the surf. In the end, we had no choice but to jump into the sea. Getting soaked wasn’t a concern—but if our cameras got wet, we would lose all the incredible photos we had taken on this unforgettable journey.

LAST BUT NOT LEAST

In the 1960s, Lang Van was nothing more than a remote, untouched forest. Its isolation inadvertently made it a sanctuary for people with leprosy, who sought refuge from a world that had shunned them.

The history of Lang Van records that in 1968, Gordon Smith, a missionary, traveled by boat to the area, surveyed the land, and established a leprosy treatment center. He named the village Hy Lac Vien, believing it would provide a hopeful future for its inhabitants. At the time, the village had just 40 patients, who gradually built a self-sufficient life—farming, fishing, and relying on each other for survival. Over time, small families formed, giving rise to a community that eventually became known as Lang Van.

As medical advancements progressed, leprosy became curable. However, Lang Van’s residents remained isolated from the outside world. It wasn’t until 1998 that Da Nang made efforts to reintegrate them into society, officially establishing Hoa Van Hamlet under Hoa Hiep Bac Ward, Lien Chieu District.

For the first time, the residents of Lang Van were recognized as citizens. They were granted household registration, voting rights, and a place in society. Yet, despite this newfound status, their lives remained impoverished and disconnected from modern civilization.

In 2012, 138 households with 362 residents made a historic migration inland, moving into modern townhouses in Hoa Hiep Nam. Nearly a decade later, they have adapted, integrated, and built new lives. The children and grandchildren of former leprosy patients now receive an education and opportunities that their ancestors could only dream of.

THE FINAL FAREWELL TO LANG VAN

On March 29, 2021, marking 46 years since Da Nang’s liberation, the city officially launched the Lang Van Integrated Resort and Entertainment Complex Project—a 1,000-hectare development (600 hectares of forest and 400 hectares of water), funded by Vinpearl.

It was a bittersweet moment. The project promised economic prosperity, yet it also meant that Lang Van would be lost forever. In the future, Lang Van will no longer be a free, open space—it will belong to Vinpearl, accessible only to wealthy tourists.

The once-forgotten village of the afflicted, which had endured decades of hardship, would now be erased from existence. And those who once called it home—including the former leprosy patients—would never be able to return, by land or by sea.

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Mr. Old Man, 2/2021