World Vietnam Haiphong

SOUTHEAST ASIA 2007

En Route To Halong Bay Jan 16, 2007

Next morning I, and friends yet known, congregate in the breakfast room, awaiting the Halong Bay shuttle.

Because I booked a tour, I get breakfast this morning. My choices are baguette with butter, baguette with butter and jam, baguette with jam and cheese, baguette with tomato and fried egg, and baguette with omelet.

I opt for omelet.

Over comes a fried egg and hardened baguette. I later find out that friends have stayed here a week and order the omelet every morn in hopes that the issue will be resolved. It never is...fried egg everyday.

About an hour later than suggested, the shuttle arrives to whisk our butts to the Unesco World Heritage Site.

There are three British couples (Hannah and Gary, Journey Jim and Abby, two nameless) , 3 Germans (Kallie, Mark, unnamed), 4 Frenchies (Emine, Cyril, Yoann, et Laurent...hmm, Laurent) Angeline and myself. I converse mostly with Angeline, though chat up Hannah and her chum, Gary, over a bag of crisps at the rest stop.

When we arrive at the harbour, Tai, our guide, spins himself into a frenzy, trying to count the 21 of us. At the port, we are joined by Jacob and Peter (Aussies), Elena (Spanish) her fella (too grumpy to introduce himself) and a Vietnamese couple who speak no English. He literally has to count us in around 6 times before we board. I realize why I so despise organized trips. I feel like Mutton.

We have to balance along a precarious beam to board the sailing hotel. (We get to sleep one night on the boat, surrounded by limestone mountains, and one night on Cat Ba Island). At this stage of the trip, I am programmed to expect the worst, so the boat comes as a pleasant surprise. The cabins are spacious, beds are comfy, toiletries aplenty, dining room intimate, and the rooftop loungers-heavenly! Let's just hope the tribes get along. I mean, one bad egg and this experience could easily spoil.

I sit with the Spanish girl and her beau and painfully maneuver the rapids of small talk. I am terrible at it. I would rather get into the grit with someone over how they enjoyed breakfast. She is friendly enough, but her fella is mute...and uncomfortably handsome...funny how someone can be so ridiculously attractive and yet so mind numbingly dull. I would rather take self-absorbed over dull any day!

Angeline sneaks over and initiates pleasantries. I get the sudden suspicion that she is hungering for us to be roommates; which is interesting because Helen Keller would concede that this woman is a lesbian. I have yet to see the beds...as far as I know, they're doubles. The fear is that when a lesbian and a gay man share a bed, the mere brush of skin mid-sleep can cause severe thermal implosion. We'd cancel each other out!

I should note that while we munch away, family style, we are still docked. Tai said that we would be cruising around during lunch...hmmm....back-burner proof that he is operating a carnival of lies. The only scenery to be had are other whities dining. Whoopee.

Strange.

Eventually, we set sail and head to one of the islands for a tour of caves.

"Get off the boat, no pictures, follow me, 1 minute to take pictures, follow me, no stopping".

We are shuffled through like Ritalin deprived pre-schoolers. I hate tours, did I mention this? Let me absorb things at my own pace!

We congregate in the middle of the caves for some anecdotal musings. I only half listen, as capturing the stalagmites with my camera is vastly more interesting than the smarmy half-truths that Tai is spouting off. He sees me snapping away on my own volition.

"You catch that...what I say?"

"Uh, sure, what? Yes, yes I did. Great stuff." Snap snap snap.

We are given absolutely no free time at all and are immediately escorted onto the boat. He counts us out another 4 or 5 times. This has us all wondering if he's had a history of losing passengers. We then joke that HALONG BAY is like the film THE ISLAND. The second you land in Vietnam, you are promised that a trip to Halong Bay is a paradise beyond your imagination. You pay your money, board a ship, see a cave, then are pushed off a cliff into the ocean. Any curious family back home are told it was traffic related. They spin your hair into silk, the rest of you used to line jackets and fill sausages.

We are waiting for Jim and Abbey, who've had the brainwave to buy beer at one of the island souvenir kiosks (vastly cheaper than the incredible onboard mark up.)

Tai spots this activity and announces, full volume, that any drink , including water/pop/juice, is subject to a service fee for bringing it aboard. He counts the beer and tallies the total that'll be added to their final bill. And of course, in Vietnam, there is no such thing as a refund.

When we get onboard, signs signaling this part-time prohibition (including no drinking in your room) magically appear.

We are all summoned to the dining room where we receive our room assignments. I am paired up with Kallie, Germany's answer to Harrison Ford...straight...straight...straight. Angeline gets her own room.

It seems weird sharing with a stranger, but what's he going to do, steal from me? He's got no where to run.

We check into the room, two beds, and head to the rooftop deck for the remaining hours of light.

Here we meet the Frenchies. Emine (girl) and Cyril (boy) are a couple. Yoann (boy) and Laurent (boy) might also be a couple. If so, they are very Marky Mark and George Clooney about it. I will find out by journey's end. Laurent is dangerously attractive. The sort of dark haired, sultry eyed, bad boy from St. Tropez. In fact, that's how his foursome got acquainted; working 7 hard months at a dinner/nightclub in St. Tropez. They are polite, fun, and high spirited partiers. Their "English" is heartwarming. Oh, and they are all attractive beyond the parameters of fairness.

Journey Jim and Abbey (the beer pirates) are from the North of England. Abbey, I understand. Jim, though sweet and salt of the earth, is able to pronounce every 18th word in a manner I strain to comprehend. To the rest, I nod, laugh, tsk, or spit out "No kidding" or "that's awful" or "I hear ya" in hopes of delicately synthesizing an appropriate response. Great guy, though high on the energy consumption level.

Hannah, and her chum, Gary, are the ones I make the strongest connection with. They are from the midlands and coach me with my British dialects.

(For those you of who don't know....I am doing this intership type thingy with a British travel program....I am videoing parts of my trip and sending them to this London Production company for use on their website...very complicated and the details are still 'grey'. As it stands, to qualify, you have to be a British citizen....when I first applied, that was not the case....I told them I was born in the UK (for any problems with payment)....anyway, the scope of the project has gone beyond the budget....BUT, this could lead to some great experiences in the future, so, as long as I polish up my dialects, this could lead to some cool stuff...To date, I have been bombared my Brits and have been feeling a tad self conscious about my accent. These kids gave me the thumbs up...and helping me work through my blocks...Bless them!)

Right, Halong Bay is surreal. You cannot describe the sheer vastness of it all. It goes on forever. Sometimes you see nothing but a peak jutting out of the emerald water....Other times, you feel like you are floating in a lake at the peak of a crater. Though the area is touristy, it is shockingly, refreshingly quiet. It's been awhile since I was on a boat of that magnitude. I forget how comfortable I feel sailing the seas. It must come from the great sailing trips I took with my family as a child. I wish I had my curls back...I'd look like a Kennedy.

Dinner is served and I am paired up with Journey Jim, Abbey, Marc (the German) and Angeline. The Vietnamese and unnamed British Couple have now left the boat to stay on land instead. Strange to give up a night at sea. Oh well.

Meals, again, are served family style. It seems strange to chow down with strangers, especially when there is no choice. What if I love spring rolls and not the fish...does this entitle me to more spring rolls and someone more fish....these are heavily weighed silent debates....luckily, we are communistic in our eating habits.

After dinner, we grab a bevy of libations and head to the roof. We drink to the point where Jacob (an Aussie) utters:

"Guys, guys....shhh...hey, Shhhh....holy shit, shit, whoa (he stumbles on a beam-laughing), guys, wanna hear something messed up...we're off the North East coast of Vietnam"

We are silent for about 5 minutes. There is something beautiful, chilling, profound, but mostly surreal about the moment.

"To think that over 30 years ago, there were bombs going off right here.", says Jacob

"To think that 30 years ago, I wasn't born yet" Hannah pipes in.

"Me neither", spouts Gary

"Me neither" hollers Peter

"Me neither" pokes Abbey.

It dawns on me that, for the exception of Angeline and the Germans, everyone is in their twenties...ranging from 20-28. Ouch. I feel old. Must be the NY DJ beard I am trying to sport.

The beauty of partying with 20 year olds is they only have 'the moment' to truly reflect on.

Gary pulls a bottle of red liqour out of his bag.

"Snake wine anyone'?

It's rice wine fermented with the corpse of a snake.

"This one is special, it has the snake's blood in it as well." he joyfully explains.

You see, snake wine has rumoured medicinal qualities in these parts. Elixir of the hill tribes. Sober, I would have grabbed a camera and simply recorded the proceedings. Instead, my level of consumption dictates a more active participation. Two gulps and I feel the hair on my chest mature to the point of visibility. I am a man, I just drank blood. Snake blood.

Cue to two drinks later, a teary eyed Jacob utters a heartfelt, "Guys, guys, this is the best night I've had in Southeast Asia, maybe even the best night of my life".

Sweet little lamb.

"Did you hear that?" says Hannah

"What?", I ask.

"Shhh-there."

"You wanna buy...beer, chips....hello, hello, you buy?" From across the bay, a woman we later refer to as "SNACKY" rows over to greet our vessel. Her skiff is chalk full of chips, chocolate, cookies, beer, vodka...everything a bunch of drunk children could possibly crave....oooo, maybe she'll have Chinese food.

We rush down to greet this heaven sent beauty. When she is about 2 meters from our flailing arms, the captain eyes the almost mutiny and shifts the boat into high gear. This causes Angeline to shift in her bed, the Frenchies to drop their cards, and the hungry 20 somethings wanting to fight for a new cause: the rights of the riverside SNACKY.

We are outraged. He almost slices her craft in half. No worries, she's used to this treatment on the high seas. Man, her skill and determination put us to shame. We promise to keep an ear out for her later in the evening. The call of the salivating siren.

When the conversation inevitably hovers around the strengths and weaknesses of the Nottingham football team, I decide to call it a night; craving a riverside snack.