In search of Vietnam’s lost Champa kingdom at My Son Sanctuary

Just before sunrise, My Son Sanctuary begins to stir. First light scatters across the surrounding mountains. An overture of birdsong and frog chirps builds towards an electric crescendo of cicadas. When sunbeams thread gaps in the canopy, the shadows loosen their grip on the ornate Unesco-listed Hindu temples, resting undisturbed for centuries, many of them more than a thousand years old.

“Watching the light come through the valley feels like connecting with the gods,” says Shi Dang, co-founder of tour company Oriental Sky Travel  and a member of the location team for Netflix’s Vietnam-set romantic comedy A Tourist’s Guide to Love . While filming in My Son, Dang and the crew would arrive well before dawn. “In the early hours you can hear the jungle waking up,” he says. “The site feels alive.” 

When French explorer Camille Paris stumbled upon My Son during the colonial period (1858-1945), the site had been left in a state of decay. It was the turn of the 19th century, and ancient ruins were very much in vogue – especially after Henri Mouhot’s illustrations propelled Cambodia’s Angkor Wat into the Western imagination. A jungle-choked constellation of temple towers, built by the rulers of the forgotten kingdom of Champa and then abandoned for centuries, My Son was primed to ignite every orientalist fantasy.

Scholarly attention soon followed. Study and restoration of the archaeological sites began under the École française d’Extrême-Orient,  founded shortly afterwards in Hanoi. Progress was slow and brutally derailed during the American War (1955-1975) when bombing raids – intended to flush out North Vietnamese forces – obliterated many of the sanctuary’s most significant towers. 

Yet since those dark, destructive years, My Son has continued to yield revelations. Last year, Italian archaeologist Patrizia Zolese, director of the CM Lerici Foundation, a European organisation that supports research projects, uncovered evidence of a rare two-storey structure. Meanwhile, the Archaeological Survey of India is overseeing an ambitious programme of restoration, including the reconstruction of several towers lost to wartime bombing.

At its zenith, My Son was the heart of Amaravati, one of a handful of states of the Indianised Champa kingdom, which flourished from the 2nd to the 17th centuries. The longest-serving spiritual capital of the kingdom, the sanctuary owes its spiritual origins to Hinduism, with visceral dedications to Shiva, Vishnu and other deities.

My Son is the only Champa site with Unesco World Heritage recognition, and for Miquel Angel, founder of MQL Sustainable Tourism Services  in Vietnam and a member of the Vietnam Tourism Advisory Board, “Champa sites are one of the most important heritage collections in the country.” And still, visitor numbers remain surprisingly modest. A telling comparison: Cambodia receives fewer than half as many international arrivals as Vietnam, yet Angkor Wat attracts more than twice the number of visitors as My Son. 

This is only one chapter of a much larger story. In Da Nang, just 40km from the site, sits the Museum of Cham Sculpture, home to the world’s largest collection of Champa art. In nearby Hoi An, a lantern-lit old town layered with architectural styles from the past two centuries, millennium-old wells underpin the town’s Champa foundations.

“When you explore Hoi An and then visit My Son, the story becomes clearer,” says Dang. “The two places complete each other.” 

Away from Central Vietnam, Champa’s architectural legacy fades almost entirely from the tourist map. Near Quy Nhon, some 300km south of Da Nang, lie the overlooked Cham towers of Vijaya. “Tourists don’t ignore the towers,” says Dinh Quoc Thich, founder of Quy Nhon-based Thich Tours. “They simply don’t know they exist.” 

That omission says nothing of their scale or splendour. Built between the 11th and 13th centuries, the towers collectively form a complex several times larger than My Son. Some, like Banh It and Canh Tien, have been lavishly restored. Others, like the Duong Long towers, remain haunting ruins, their weathered walls still whispering with carvings of celestial beings and beasts. 

Yet the legacy of Champa’s is more alive than these cold stone ruins might suggest. Contemporary Cham villages, particularly around Phan Rang–Thap Cham, 300km south of Quy Nhon, continue ancient traditions through artisanal crafts. Quang Dại Tuyen, a researcher at Van Lang University and author of Heritage Conservation and Tourism Development at Cham Sacred Sites in Vietnam: Living Heritage Has a Heart , was born in Caklaing, a community famous for its weaving.

“In the past, many Cham were not confident about presenting our culture publicly. Tourism felt strange and risky,” says Tuyen, who also goes by his Cham name of Isvan. “Now, some families have shown that Cham culture itself can be the core value of successful tourism businesses.” 

Angel echoes the sentiment. “Showing these assets to international visitors is key to protecting and promoting Cham culture,” he says, “and to ensuring that its future is not confined to books alone.” 

How to visit My Son and Central Vietnam’s ancient Champa kingdom

My Son is one hour by car from Da Nang and Hoi An; entry tickets for foreign adults are VND150,000 (US$5.90/HK$46). Visit the scattered Cham towers of Vijaya (free or marginal entrance fees) from Quy Nhon on half- or full-day trips with Thich Tours .  

Tours to Cham villages in Phan Rang-Thap Cham are still in their early stages but keep an eye on platforms such as GetYourGuide . To learn about the Cham ethnolinguistic group, visit the Museum of Ethnology in Hanoi, on the top floor of Da Nang’s Museum of Cham Sculpture and at the Cham Cultural Research Centre in Phan Rang-Thap Cham.

The best way to travel between Da Nang, Quy Nhon and Phan Rang-Thap Cham is by train. The Vietage by Anantara  is an ultra-luxury train carriage between Da Nang and Quy Nhan – the brand also offers high-end accommodation at both ends.