Messing About in Boats on Halong Bay

“There is nothing — absolute NOTHING — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.” Ratty in Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows.

I hate to fly, I can’t bear long bus trips, and boats, good god, don’t get me started on boats. I love to be in exotic places, but the process of getting there, by most methods, leaves me queasy and tired. I will be the first to admit that this is a pathetic and contrary state of affairs in a person who loves to travel as much as I do, but there you have it. I am happiest on a leisurely stroll or on a road trip where the way is straight or I am doing the driving. I’m okay on a train, too, as long as it’s not too terribly winding. I get seasick, at sea and on land, and there’s not much for it. The drugs leave me feeling worse, so I settle for feeling ill at ease, a little nauseated, and edgy, until the sensation passes.

I had great trepidation about spending the night at sea but my reading suggested that Halong Bay is flat as a mirror, mostly, protected and smooth. I wasn’t prepared for the cold, but the water was just as reported. The only disruption to the stability of our ride was the wake from other passing tour boats. It turns out it’s not boats I dislike, only the (sometimes) cramped quarters and the constant motion of what’s under my feet.

Our boat was a neat little junk with drafty windows and heated cabins; we even had our own private bathroom with a shower. Once we figured out how to get the heat working, it was snug and cozy. The bunks were a little narrow, but I slept like a real water rat and woke up hungry and enchanted. I didn’t want to go back to shore, I could happily have spent another day gazing into the fog at the karst peaks and floating villages. [Me in the cabin, early morning.]

Halong Bay is a Japanese painting serviced by little floating convenience stores. Women row their skiffs right up to your boat to sell you Oreos and cigarettes and bottled water, one woman we saw had all that plus a few fresh crabs and a cuttle fish floating in a basket. Freighters and fishing boats and floating homes are anchored all across the surface of the water. The view changes every few minutes, the shape of the mountains, the light, the color of whatever kind of craft is floating by. [Floating shop.]

I should have been disappointed by the weather but instead, I enjoyed the way the mist muffled the sound, softened the edges of the rock, made the sky and water into one floating gray field. It’s easy to imagine how grand it must be to float Halong Bay in the sunshine, drinking cold beer on the deck and sleeping with the windows open, but I’m not sorry that it was otherwise. [Dragon bow of our boat, karst peaks.]

We took a few more boat trips during our journey – a run down the Perfume River in Hue and a long day from the border town of Chau Doc in Vietnam to Phnom Penh in Cambodia (I was there and I’m still stunned at how exotic that sounds) and I enjoyed both journeys tremendously. It’s open water I can’t take, the churn is too much for my weak stomach, but the steady pace of a river journey suits me just fine. As I was lying at the stern in a pile of luggage, a fellow traveler said, “You’re Mark Twain!” and I thought, “Life on the Mississippi. Maybe that’s for me.” I might have an idea for our next adventure.

I’ve posted a mess of new photos to Flickr, here’s Halong Bay and here’s Hue.

[tags]Halong Bay, junk, boating, Vietnam[/tags]