My Travel Writing Scholarship2012:What is your name

An inconspicuous junction from the main road along coastal Mui Ne is a fenced yard lined with grids of lidded ceramic vats. Trail along the fence on dirt path, with the wafting fragrance (or pungency) of Vietnam’s trademark fermented fish sauce, until it hits an abrupt end. The smell is quickly replaced by vivacious chatter of local women, perched on low wooden stools.
The footwear left behind by their palpably foreign owners is self-explanatory. Yet, a hilarious tangle of commotion between the foreigners present and the women. The latter, brandishing exaggerated gestures and facial expressions, attempt to convince the former to do the same.
This is the makeshift “admission booth” to Fairy Spring. I left my trusty sandals to set foot in the cool, fine grains of the stream’s bed, as they seeped snugly between toes.
Fairy Spring is mild, water clear and shallow, occasionally deepening into stronger currents. Walled on one side by scenic grey and red canyon, the barrens topped with lush greens on the opposite bank. An enclosed landscape, sounds dissipate oddly well, offering serenity unequalled.
Permeating the silhouette of rocky formations are tiny figures, who, I suppose, are the said “fairies”, offering to be guides to an eventual waterfall. Most are children of 8 or 9, scouting the area for tourists who would use their service for a fee. They let on facts about this after-school haunt, 2km away on foot from their village. They guide meticulously, matter-of-factly, within this setting which so fascinates, articulating in good English, mantra-like.
Atop a canyon cliff after a precarious climb, palms and knees tingling, I overlook the wondrous unfurling tapestry of nature, awed by the joyous dots feet below. Had they glanced up, yours truly would have equally been a mere dot. Had these dots been swapped, would I still marvel nature’s magnificence, almost shamelessly gawking? Or would I have been similarly proficient at “What is your name? Where are you from?"