Woke up early and tanked up on the coffee. They don't skimp on that condensed milk, boy howdy. It drips thickly from the pitcher and hangs there like a frozen image on a cereal box.
In front of the hotel, the streets held only a few hungover, bristle-bearded Scotsmen. They sat on plastic stools and looked out on the fruit bicycles with unknowable plans in their red-headed hearts.
My tour bus arrived. Tall, thin dude came into the lobby and took my hand lightly like we were old friends. I waved good-bye to the misters Tong and Tung and was led across the street to the waiting bus. I had most of my luggage with me, since I would be spending the night on the boat.
Bus was full of the usual assortment of Europeans and Australians, a few Japanese, and truly exotic, a Finn.
Australians are always so pleasant to meet on an adventure. They're similar personality-wise to Texans, but you can stand them and even like them. They're usually resilient and humorous, but most of all they're experienced travelers, since their country encourages exploration and gives them something like three months a year paid vacation.
That last part might not be accurate. Regardless, it's ridiculous of me to make sweeping claims about a national character, but I've never met one who wasn't charmingly boisterous, immediately friendly, and roadwise.
The guide introduced himself as Lics. He pronounced it "leeks" sort of. The words here get all bouncy, and just when you think you can guess how something is pronounced, it hits the gas or the brakes and undulates like a pliosaur in a remote lake.
He said everyone should call him "Lee, as in Bruce Lee, and like Bruce Lee I can help you with anything, even in how to help your darling find paradise."
It was the first of two days worth of erotic innuendo from the very horny Mr. Lics.
Many of us were tired, but Lics got on the mic and read out the first two pages of the Frommer's guidebook to Vietnam. "The ethnicity is 87% Kihn, ok, something like this, ok, so most people Vietnam are Kihn. Up in mountains, ok, are ethnics, ethnic peoples, ok, something like this, like H'mong peoples and Dao peoples, ok. Something like this."
On and on, peppered sometimes by repetition of his "jokes" like, "Many people Vietnam marry young and have one love. I am marry (I could see his ring) but if anyone have trouble with husband, come see Lee and I will show you how to find your heaven and paradise."
Then he asked me where my "darling" was. "You travel alone with no darling? You need tip from Lee."
Maybe there's an appendix in the Frommer's guide I don't know about.
Then he gave us our first big chance at paradise. He said, "Ok. maybe I talk too much, something like this? Maybe you want sleep for rest of ride?" Dead silence. I had hoped, perhaps, for a "Oh no, DO go on, Lee!" from the Finn.
Preeety sure the silence meant nobody wanted to be rude, but that they wanted him to stop. He took it as encouragement, though, and dove into the bloody history of the French occupation, the later Japanese takeover, and eventually the American War.
"The French, ok, they used to make Vietnamese people race, something like this. And they hit them in backside with stick like horse. Because, ok, when you are hurt in buttside, you run faster, ok.
The Japanese make Vietnamese stop growing rice and only grow industrial tree. Rubber tree, something like this, and no food. They say they will pay for tree in rice they grow. But by time trees grow, Japanese peoples leave, ok, and four million people starve. Something like this."
We were headed to see caves and lagoons and crystal waters and interesting geological formations, and he was turning it into a pretty depressing lecture.
Short version is. Japanese lose WWII and go away. French try to come back, but the Vietnamese, hardened now, filled with the spirit of "never again!" now, confound and defeat them at Dien Bien Phu.
Then, I think, the French are like. Well, monsieurs, it seems you're more trouble zen you air worth. A shame, perhaps, you will now become the, 'ow you say, Communeest."
And over in America, we were like, "Communist?! Hell, we need to do something about that. I mean, we can't fight Russia, but we can teach folks who might like the Red way of life that it's no way to be. Hell, I hear four million of 'em just starved to death. They need McDonalds not Mc...Moscow."
So, we came in. But they were hard to fight on the ground, because we couldn't see them very well from the air. We like to bomb first and then walk in to pick off the survivors. Too many trees, though. So we dropped napalm, Agent Orange, to kill the trees. So we could see the people. So we could kill them. To save them from believing the West was bad.
I mean, I'm sure there wasn't a genuine philosophy really. That was all just advertising. Wars are only ever truly about an opportunity to spend money.
If you send in the military, it makes factories light up all over America. A dazzling necklace of bright production strung from the bullet manufacturers in Maine, resting briefly as a pendant in an Indiana chemical factory, and trailing on to the jet plane assembly plants in the Pacific Northwest.
Good for the economy, bad for the "enemy."
"But, napalm destroy tree but Vietnamese peoples are in tunnel underground, ok, something like this, so bomb not work. But napalm in air and water and many peoples born without arm, ok, or baby come out with bad brain, something like this."
And, surely by design, Lee got to the part about napalm and its continuing effects on fertility just as we pulled into something called the "Crafts Factory for Disabled Persons"
It was nice to stretch our legs, though many of us felt almost guilty for having them, as we were led past about fifty tables where assorted children with assorted birth defects cranked out masterwork paintings, silk scarves, and sculptures.
They were genuinely skillful, robotic and efficient. It was chilling to watch.
By coincidence, a bus of female pilots arrived around the same time. They looked very smart and fierce in their uniforms. Dark black hair in a fashionably fierce knot, lipstick as bright as the Soviet flag. Some of the cripples rose from their benches to give them flowers.
I bought some ginger candy and some postcards. I did not buy the cuttlefish-coated dried peas.
We peed and washed our faces and got back on the bus. A few military monuments were on the roadside. They were supposed to look like bullets, but they looked like soldiers worshiping giant cosmetics.
Lee had no more terrors to share, so it was a quiet two hours to the marina of Ha Long Bay.
As we pulled in, on the outskirts, we passed an abandoned amusement park, and my heart twisted when I saw a rusty old ride where the carts were shaped like kangaroos. Another picture I'll never take. Will anyone?
As I've traveled, I always marvel at the sheer number of tourist carts and storefronts and warehouses of pottery and wonder how many of them ever get visited. Blankets in Mexico, honey in Bulgaria, folk music cassettes in Iceland...
The marina had a large train set-looking model of what investors want Ha Long Bay to look like in ten years. A depressing warren of towers and hotels and cabanas. It seemed fine to me, but I reckon they would like people to just fly in there and stay there instead of spending money four hours away in Hanoi first and busing over.
We took a little tender to the boat where we'd be sleeping that night. My cabin was very nice. My grandmother was a very sweet woman, kind, literate, wise, generous. She was only snobby about one thing - nautical terms. If you called your cabin a "room," there was a noticeable passing chill.
My cabin was pretty fancy. As he was handing out the keys, Lee said "Mr. Simon only one traveling without his darling, so I order him a lady for his room tonight."
Everyone laughed.
"Just one?" I said. Everyone laughed harder.
We dumped our packs and washed our faces and met again for lunch. Amazingly, the couple seated across from me were also from Seattle. Tanned, healthy, real-estate investors.
Giant plates heaped with sizzling pork, shrimp, and cabbage. As we set sail, the cool breeze of the sea brought great spirit to the room. The Finn grunted in pleasure.
The scenery was indescribably beautiful. Harsh rocks jutting from out of the sea, floating magical islands threaded with thick green vegetation, ancient shrimp boats, bright blue sky with full clouds.
One of the Germans whispered that it looked like a scene from Avatar. Which it did.
None of my pictures really captured it, but I will remember it forever. So quiet and strange.
We were fed and rested and ready for action, so we boarded the tender again. A floating convenience store in a row boat appeared next to us. A woman and her child selling Oreos and bottle water. I guess someone has to sell you something, and the bikes wouldn't work here, would they?
Lee took us to The Surprising Cave. I was a little disappointed that it was on the agenda, since I'd recently been in a cave in Tennessee, and, you know, it's cool to see one every ten years or so, but...
It was, however, very different and interesting. It was at the center of a mountain, so instead of descending, we climbed up into it, and the cavern was enormous with very different growths and rock patterns than I've seen.
One of the Germans wanted to know if there were secret places you could go to that other tours couldn't go. Lee didn't understand. He, the German, had just been in a cave system in Slovenia where you have to swim to get from chamber to chamber.
In one massive opening, a stalagmite jutted out at a phallic angle, and Lics had a field day. "We stop here. Does anyone know what this look like?"
19 brains said "giant cave dick" in their native language but no one spoke. Lics wouldn't let us off the hook. "It look like something you know, ok. Maybe you just not want say?"
A little Korean boy said, "A cat's tail?" and everyone loved him. I did.
"No," said Lics, "This is what we call the dragon's member, ok, and many women try to stay behind after tour to find paradise with it. I have to make sure two times that all ladies are on the boat tonight. If you are missing, Lee will know where to find you."
It was pretty unbelievable. And got even less so.
"So," he went on,"We are in cave of mountain, but body also have cave. Who can say where in body is cave? Hmmm? Maybe you know and not want say?"
"Your nose?" said the Korean boy.
"Yes! Nose have two caves, and mouth is also cave and also elsewhere. Lady have more than men, though. Does any lady want to show me her cave?"
Nobody did, so we moved on.
"A professional tour with a knowledgeable guide," it said, "Interesting facts about Vietnam," it said.
We went then to the beach on another island. I don't like the beach, so I climbed the rock path to the top. There were stairs. My legs were shaking and I was soaking wet about two-thirds up. It was reasonably dangerous.
It got dark as I climbed and started to rain. I love the electric feel of an island rainstorm.
Worth it, though, for the unmatchable view of an alien landscape.
Made my way down as slowly as possible and holding on to the trees and the occasional rope.
Slippery tender ride back to the ship. Enormous dinner and enormous sleep afterward. Some Vietnamese Americans invited me to sing karaoke on the sun deck, but I was obliged to decline. I thought about sneaking back to the cave to worship the cat's tail, but I drifted away under a warm down comforter.
I'll probably never make it to Nam, but I'm happy to see my tote bag did!
ReplyDelete