From Hanoi to Halong (without International Incident)

Halong Bay, North Vietnam – Hanoi is different. A sense that you are in “North Vietnam”; the loudspeakers with “helpful parking messages” (really?), the constant red banners with yellow lettering that I sense were not the billboards of aspiration, but more likely conformation. It’s a city where people live, rather than having it impose on them. There are many varied colloquial sights, such as the communal 5:30am morning exercise in the parks, badminton, Tai Chi, and Ballroom Dancing! The 6:30am morning flag raising at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum is filled with patriotic marching and music, but far more interesting is watching the white suited soldiers going puce blowing their whistles at the never-ending surge of Chinese tourists crossing the wrong line. The Army Museum contains the normal re-educational and propagandist rhetoric, but also a sculpture I found strangely moving, made from pieces of shot-down planes from the “American War”. Hoa Lo prison (otherwise known as the Hanoi Hilton, a PoW camp for American pilots) with it’s strange gateway “Maison Centrale” sign is now a museum, but I smiled inwardly when realising that most of the prison footprint has been re-purposed to build a significant multi-storey skyscraper… hotel?

While the British always talk about the weather, for the Vietnamese it’s the traffic. You can understand why… it’s the dominant and significant challenge that first assaults you as you venture beyond the safety of any hotel haven. While I’ve tried to explore the Vietnamese Green Cross Code previously, Hanoi poses a new challenge: walking. Sure there are pavements (sidewalks), but they are quite simply an obstacle course, a venue for spontaneous street restaurants and family dinners, a parking place for the myriad of scooters that if they’re not moving, have to go somewhere. So what of the poor tourist? Targets… an opportunity for mayhem! You might be surprised to learn though that walking is a mere kindergarten sport; the brave warriors have to tackle travelling on roads… not driving (that would be silly), but having the courage to attempt a journey from A to B, any A, any B.

On the two lane highway to Halong Bay, speed is regulated by continuous potholes (and no suspension). It’s frequent to see four-five abreast, each vehicle daring the other to move last; there is NO margin for error. The prime maniacs seem to be buses – these helpfully sound their horns (in perpetuity) to indicate their intent to enter any non-existent gap, in the brave hope that other road users will reinvent the laws of physics to create space for them. I’ve strangely grown to appreciate the horns, as their Doppler shift is a reassuring signal to re-open your eyes and celebrate a few more seconds of life. One must also celebrate the benevolence of the Koreans (Kia and Hyundai supply most of the vehicles). Consider the indiscriminate act-of-war that the mere act of increasing their anti-corrosion warranty would cause, perchance adding an extra layer of paint? Strangely we’ve witnessed virtually no accidents. It seems massively chaotic, but somehow it all (only) just works. The local Vietnamese almost always have a religious icon in their car, a Buddha to offer protection; I like to think our vehicle, with its bobbing head Mickey was the real source – the celestial Mouse would surely not let any tourist come to harm.

Halong Bay is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, lobbying to become one of the “new” seven wonders. Fabulous limestone crags erupting majestically heavenwards from the sea: 1969 islands… no more, no less. It makes one wonder what would have happened had Ho Chi Minh not died in 1969? The Bay is absolutely STUNNING! I’d seen the pictures of our floating palace for three days, a beautiful teak junk. So I was slightly disconcerted to discover an extremely run-down white painted boat, flaking badly and looking significantly in need of repair. The explanation, a new government directive that all Halong Bay boats must be white. So a quick spray job two weeks before ensures compliance but definitely not beauty. The reason for the directive was strangely absent, many explanations, but none that seemed valid. Googling “Halong Bay accident” (never mentioned) may be a clearer source…

“Sticker Shock” has increased gradually throughout our trip, and the beautiful Halong Ginger has lulled us into a beautiful relaxed reverie as we’ve lurched from one stunning view to the next, where photographs just can’t even try to capture the scale or beauty of what you’re affronted with. So to cocktail hour; while we may be “outraged” at the increased prices, it’s a sign of a travelling mind that it’s the principle, the comparative to the previous - cocktails are still less than our European norm. I was intrigued though that the Ginger has a Scotch collection, something of my PLBT (“previous life before travel”). An 18-year old Macallan, wonderful… a treat perchance? I think not – a “glass” was $196!!! WOW… I kept reading; one of the idiosyncrasies (?) of the Vietnam bar list is they will often not only give you the price of a glass, but also a bottle. Helpfully that was included – $14!! That’ll be a case then…

We cycled round Cat Ba island, witnessing numerous mirth opportunities as one poor chap’s back wheel fell off – “Fat Buddha” (a term of honour, prosperity, wealth) likely showed our guide’s superior command of English. The list of “rules” quaintly included “Speed down at sliding areas, sloping road…” (emphasis 2nd word, not first?), “Do not be Panic”, and “Do not race”. However, there were no such rules for Kayaking. So the first ever (annual?) “International Halong Bay Race” commenced, our two Vietnamese guides in one double canoe, Nicky & I in the other. I’d like to say Nicky was helpful, and maybe she was – she resolutely refused to participate, so no problem with synchronised paddles there! It was a splendid event, and I’d like to say I graciously agreed honours were even - my alter-ego Sir Steve was proud of me.