It is the serpentine undulations of its limestone karsts that earn Ha Long Bay its name. However, the magic at the heart of that “descending dragon” saturates the whole scene.
It even permeates the rusting hulls of the endless string of vessels on the water. Their age and size no match for the forces that shaped this place, they serve only to provide perspective to otherwise unbelieving eyes.
At times the layers seem painted on like a simple water colour with fading hues. Some kind of Sistine Chapel to nature, both beautiful and imagined at the same time.
When we approached the famous Fighting Cocks things came in to focus more. The boats would loom in with reckless disregard for the shape of their bows, and yet still I felt like we weren’t close enough.
When our guide had asked if we wanted to kayak today, all hands had gone up. I think they were banking on this to subsidise the delicious seafood meal we’d had on the journey.
Paddles propelled our school of brightly coloured kayaks through low hanging caves. That was when I realised what a safe bet it had been for them. “Who wouldn’t want to be as close to this place as possible?” I thought as I looked around.
What I saw was every face in every kayak eager to drink in every detail of the panoramic lagoon. Whether it was circling the water, matching the circling Kites above us. Stalking the elusive monkeys somewhere in the trees that clung impossibly to those steep cliffs. Or just floating there together marking the moment with a shutter click. Everyone found their moment there I think.
Later in the Thien Cung Caves we would see amazing formations thousands of years in the making. Every size and shape to be discovered, every past and future image imagined, like a fortune teller’s dream. For me though, it was those kayaks that finally made me connect with Ha Long Bay.
Effortlessly pushing the waters away in a world of a thousand islands, sunset turning the beige cliffs slowly rose. “You could visit them all this way in maybe 2 months” our guide suggests. If I lived here I’d certainly try, but I doubt I’d ever claim to have seen it all.
Weighty fish swim freely in the moat around beautifully constructed buildings. The sun shines brightly over impeccable gardens. The mountain awaits.
After much deliberation over the cost and authenticity of the Ba Na Hills Sunworld resort I was already glad I came. But less so the instant the cable car left the station.
“So this is what it feels like to be on the wrong side of the oven door!” I thought as we began our silent ascent to the mysterious mountain fun world.
With 1500 metres at its peak the oven dial inevitably turned slowly down and gasping for air gave way to gasping at the views instead.
The Mist
The throbbing in my head subsided leaving naught but the occasional rumble from the cable car as it crossed each stanchion, and a Jurassic-sounding jungle below. Behind us the vast panorama, before us a eerie wall of mist into which we would soon be enveloped.
It was hard not to be disappointed that we had already had our only glimpse of that sunlit vista. On the Golden Bridge especially, where great stone hands of might and magic support you, the view would be undoubtedly breathtaking.
But for everything the mist took away it also brought it’s own character. Like a soft focus lens blurring the hard edges of reality, the mist added something that may have been otherwise lacking in such a man-made place.
Though at times we could see no more than 30 or 40 metres in front of us, there was another kind of depth to this place.
The mountain’s breath
Getting lost in the monuments and temples, their shrouded architecture intermingled with the mountain’s past structures. There was a feeling of mystery to the place. As if we weren’t in the centre of five Mercure hotels, brimming with tourists.
A glimpse of a 30 foot Buddha we’d never even known was there. Imagining the unreal, lurking behind every corner, just behind that milky wall of mist. It was a pulse of nature still beating behind the fibreglass facades. A sign the mountain still drew a deep misty breath every now and then.
Vietnam had blown through my life like a hurricane. A swirling vortex of landscapes both spatial and social. Not destructive, but powerful. Absorbing my energy like moisture evaporating from the warm South China Sea.
The Sunline Paon Hotel in Hanoi was the eye of the storm for me. I was still surrounded by a cyclone of traffic, and raw surging experience. But for now at least the winds had subsided enough for me to reflect on the group of amazing animals who had been my family for the last 10 days.
Sharing Something
It’s hard to imagine what brings some people together and separates others. The busy riverside road running past the DMZ sky garden bar in Hue, is itself a kind of river. An endless stream of tooting mopeds, each with up to four humans aboard and occasionally a pet dog.
As they aggressively jostle for position it is amazing there are no collisions. Each traffic tributary somehow finds the path of least resistance, and they all go about their lives never having met.
Yet right in the middle of this confluence of disparate lives are group of people with sometimes 15 years between them, homes thousands of miles apart. They play pool, chat, drink and sing together as if there were more between them than just a few shared experiences.
What that thing was, I was sure I’d never understand.
Little did I know that Hoi An would change all that. Like the mysterious mountain resort on Ba Na Hill, there was something there to be understood, but it would take me time to lift it from the mist.
The Bike Ride
The rain ran off the rusty bikes soaking into the fake plastic grass outside the Hotel Paradise. At the time I couldn’t imagine anything further from paradise.
Our ears still ringing from the previous night in Tiger Tiger. Our clothes still wet from the torrential rain/river/swimming pool incidents on the way home. The prospect of a bike ride in the rain was not at all appealing. Especially not with such bizarre sounding stops as the recently bereaved half of the happiest couple in the world. Or watering someone’s allotment and sniffing some herbs.
But I was dead wrong.
Perhaps in part it was, the exercise or the restorative shots of rice and banana wine. But by the time we were all bouncing down the river in conical hats and coracles I was so happy to be there.
Same Same
Later, in Hoi An’s gorgeous old town, the river would reflect what I’d realised. The lights of bars and boats and lanterns all mixing in the water suddenly made sense.
We had our little groups and our own styles, like the clusters of similar shapes and colours on the river. The enthusiasm for that rainy bike ride was same in all of us though. Like the bright candles behind all that coloured paper.
By the time we’d reach Hanoi I’d have shared ghost stories with some, travel nightmares with others. Heard tales of tragedy, music, heartbreak. Shared beer, football, mystery. Even random drunken birthday cake.
I’d realised that just like those lanterns on the river, we were, as they say in Vietnam, “Same same but different”. Through it all together we were something bright and colourful, that I was glad to be a part of.
The night train to Nah Trang was the first place in Vietnam I felt relaxed enough to open my notebook. The previous 48 hours had been a boiling stew of free shots, dodging mopeds and profuse perspiration.
Ironically, what I’d been told would be the hardest part of my time here was easy: Chilling in the 1st class, 4-birth sleeper cabins for 10 or so hours was not the coffin-like accommodation I’d been warned about. No, instead I’d find the hardest part of my experience would be this very post.
With all the amazing animals I’d seen in my first month of travel through Sri Lanka, Singapore, Borneo and Vietnam, I was not expecting the hardest one to write about would be humans.
Foundations of Singapore
Teylok Ayer street in Singapore’s Chinatown was once a coastal road. A port in to which desperate immigrants sailed, unaware of the harsh lives of back breaking work and opium addiction that awaited them. Now that shore is lined with the crisp clean edges of skyscrapers built on reclaimed land. Through it all run seams of rich greenery, giving shade to happy souls.
A tour round the Chinatown Heritage museum can still give voice to those forgotten settlers, and shape to the lives that they lived. Though the accounts and conditions are hard to hear, there are also families provided for, businesses built and doctors who helped the needy in those stories too.
It is the countless past lives of coolies and trishaw drivers who laid the foundations for the litter-free streets in modern-day Singapore. Streets like Sago street; once a place where the frail would go as to not inconvenience the living. Hearing the strength that they had makes me believe they would not begrudge me enjoying my time in the city they helped to build. I tip my glass to the skyscraper sea and give thanks to the builders.
Two Futures
From Singapore’s chequered past to it’s bright future.
I am sure that modern day Singapore still has its problems. Some say the money that once flowed through private swiss accounts now plates the city’s shimmering façade. That western faces peer out of the crystal towers while the descendants of those early settlers are still told where to live. Like Raffles original town plan dividing the growing groups of immigration, allocating people their futures.
Spending time with Bida and Poppy lets me see another viewpoint. The view down Jelan Besar makes the world seem like just another of their playthings. Micro Machines stop and go in unison in between towers made of Lego.
We found Wally, we burst balloons, we hid and chased and swam. They renamed me “baba” and just like that, with no questions asked, I was part of their family.
Their futures were not set, their lives would be what they made of them. Their minds were not corrupt, love and mischief are what they know. Since they are two facets of Singapore’s future, that future feels bright to me.
Cool Waters
Despite it being relatively comfy, when the night train finally reached Nah Trang I was ready for another sleep. I don’t even remember checking in or signing up for a boat party the next day. It wasn’t until the boat left harbour my memory kicked back in and I met my next amazing human.
Turning to shore, the clouded skyline of Nah Trang looked like a city in the grip of industrial revolution. An ever-multiplying line of beach-front giants, the clouds, their exasperated gasps as they struggle to keep up with the tourist influx.
‘Fookin Meenging Cocktails!” The floating barman announced, with a levity that had until now eluded him. I wondered if perhaps after one too many rowdy tour groups, it took being lowered in to the cool waters of the bay to soak away the stiffness in his heart.
Speaking to him later I learned he did not resent us I assumed he would. Vietnam after all has a labyrinthine history of war with French, American, and Australian enemies to name a few. All of which were represented in our group.
He had actually sided with the Americans in their struggle against the Viet Cong in the 70’s. An air traffic controller for wounded fighters, giant C130’s on one last engine, and bombers coming down with live explosives.
New War
In his own words he describes living through the civil war of north vs south as a brutal and horrible time. But today he faces a new kind of invasion.
As we head back to shore, we pass under the cable car to Vinpearl. A theme park resort cut into a previously green and beautiful hillside. “A scar on the landscape,” as my new friend describes it. He prefers the untouched view on the other side, where Russian and Chinese money has yet to flow and Vietnamese are still welcome.
But though his life today is shaped by our tourism, he reflects the peaceful water and warming sun with his crooked smile. “I do this every day,” he says. “Every day the same. No planes, no wars. The only bad thing… fookin meeging cocktails.”
Weighty fish swim freely in the moat around beautifully constructed buildings. The sun shines brightly over impeccable gardens. The mountain awaits.
