Halong Bay

Beachfront property on Halong Bay
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This morning, before we take off, it’s my intention to visually capture the badminton, jogging and jazzercise by the lake, yet no sooner has my camera appeared than it is matched by a racquet pulled from a bag, and a silent request from a tiny sportswoman. Despite protestations of my being no good, I’m dragged into a back and forth with three octogenarians. Remarkably, my height combined with the length of the implement gives me a reach that is the envy of shuttlecockers throughout Hanoi.

The junks galley gives new meaning to the expression, Its so clean you could eat off the floor.
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Funerary rituals include offerings of green bananas and incense for the dead. On the road to Halong Bay, we see plenty of drivers who, according to our guide “want to eat the green banana and smoke incense.” One may feel as if one has, in fact, gone to heaven, once the gaggle of tourist junks is left behind in port and the beauty of the bay hits one in the chops. Cove after cove after lagoon after spectacular view unfold as our funny old junk plies the waters. The entire boat is wooden so our cabin is darkly charming and reminiscent of another time. One almost expects Bogie and Bacall to glide into the elegant dining room or, better yet, to encounter the cast of characters of an Agatha Christie yarn.

We ate the green banana

I think we ate the green banana.
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The food is fried, deep fried, lightly fried and battered, which becomes a little tiresome, but the cooks are sincere and do their best to accommodate Andy’s vegetarianism which, to most Vietnamese, is a complete mystery. (“But why? Don’t you like eating dog?”)

We’re so grateful for the opportunity to kayak, especially on the second day, when we visit a floating village and “walk down the street” kayakly speaking, greeting the children with a “xin chao” to which they respond in kind. Woo-hoo, how accomplished are we, being able to say hello! Peeking into these houses, we see what one expects on walls -- clocks and paintings – yet hardly any furniture, and what is there is stick. One house has half of its one room devoted to religious statues. One family is playing a card game out front and invites us to join them, holding up a jar of paper cash as incentive. Yeah, right, like we could hold our own! Two little ones see us, jump up and down, call out to us, squeal with excitement, then pick their way across the teeny tiny boats to get closer to us. People swing in hammocks with babes. Charcoal stoves inside are smoking as dinner gets closer. Men and women both are repairing fishing nets. These people have been offered land and houses but generations have lived on the water and continue to choose to do so. They begin with a little handmade boat and, as they make a bit of money, they move to a bigger boat, and finally, to a shack to which they add on as they can. Given the poverty elsewhere, perhaps they’re the lucky ones.

There are no words for this place.
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Actually WE’RE the lucky ones. There’s another lagoon in store for us, through a small gap between two islands and then through a series of caves. The tide is going our way so we drop the paddles and listen – to sparking sounds in the cave at first and then, to nothing. The third cave was a tiny space that could hardly be seen until we were upon it and then it was like a mini-rapid. On the other side, we slip into a sheet of glass and precious silence, broken by the single cry of a sea eagle.

If you have an itch, theres a vendor to scratch it. Oreos anyone? Choco-Pies Henry?
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Even in a land of millions living on top of each other, even in a bay plied by an astonishing 400 junks, we find our piece of heaven.