Exotic Destinations: Halong Bay-Vietnam
August-September 1996
This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
by Maria Coffey
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Unusual landforms dot Halong Bay, making for picturesque paddling |
Ahead, through the mist, strange shapes had begun to mate- rialize. Limestone rocks rose sheer from the water up to several hundred feet. They were strangely humped and angled, patterned with fissures, caves and arches and improbably covered with trees. As we moved past them, more and more appeared, in serried ranks stretching back into the fog, as if some clever trick with mirrors was creating the illusion of hundreds of these surreal islets. But there were hundreds of them, creating a mysterious scene straight from some ancient painting, and giving credence to the legends of this enormous bay: that its islands were formed from jewels spat out by dragons, and that sea monsters still lurk in its waters.*
This was our first sight of Halong Bay, in August 1994. Dag and I were almost at the end of a three month trip that had taken us the length of Vietnam's spectacular coastline. Sadly, we'd not been able to do the journey by kayak: then, as now, the coast was still very restricted, and the country's Communist government didn't take too kindly to foreigners paddling unusual little boats along it without permission. Nor did it approve of foreigners straying too far off the usual tourist paths, as Dag and I discovered when we set off up the coast aboard local fishing vessels: we had to hide from police patrols in the engine rooms of boats, and were finally arrested. So we resorted to a couple of local bikes and took our chances on the infamous Highway One, the road that runs between Saigon and Hanoi, clinging to the coast most of the way.
Vietnam is a small country dominated by a huge coastline. Its narrow, S-shaped slip of land stretches between the Mekong Delta in the south and the Red River Delta in the north, and meets the South China Sea in a dramatic one and a half thousand mile sweep of beautiful beaches, traditional fishing villages, impressive headlands and island filled bays. As we travelled along it, we constantly had our eyes peeled for areas we'd like to explore by kayak when, at some future date, official restrictions eased. Then we reached Halong Bay, a huge body of calm water with not only hundreds but thousands of fantastically shaped limestone islands. We fell in love with it on sight, and realized we had stumbled on the ultimate kayaking destination.
Strings of chance pull us to certain places and, at times, bind us to them. In northern Vietnam we befriended two children, Vinh and Bac, who live on the streets, busking and begging to support their blind father. Before leaving the country we committed ourselves to doing whatever we could to ensure a better future for them. A few months later, back in Canada, I was sitting at my computer, supposedly working on a book about our trip in Vietnam, but instead worrying and daydreaming. The worries concerned how we could afford to return to Vietnam in order to see Vinh and Bac. And the dreams were of Halong Bay, and drifting between its rock spires in a kayak. Then the phone rang. The man at the other end introduced himself as Olaf Malver, from the adventure travel company Mountain Travel Sobek. He had just read A Boat In Our Baggage, my book about the year Dag and I spent exploring some remote corners of the world in a double kayak. Olaf had two questions. Would we be interested in working as guides? And did we have any ideas for a new kayaking destination? It was one of those rare moments of pure serendipity, when worries vanish and a dream is realized.
...
Almost two years after first seeing Halong Bay, Dag and I were back there once more in our new incarnations as kayak guides. Since our last visit, the bay had been declared a World Heritage Site, and was increasingly becoming a tourist attraction. In the small town of Bai Chay, our taking off point, boats were lined up two deep, offering to take visitors on three hour tours of some nearby islands and grottoes. Our plan was to travel far beyond the reaches of these tourist boats, deep into the bay, and spend nine days exploring by kayak. This time, there was no fear of run-ins with the authorities, as Mountain Travel Sobek had managed to obtain full permission for the trip, and Huy, a local guide and interpreter, was coming along with us. We also had a support boat, a charming wooden vessel with a golden dragon as its figure-head. After the good-natured crew of Dragon One welcomed us aboard and loaded our double kayaks onto the cabin roof, we set off, away from Bai Chay and into another world.
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The 'floating village' in Halong Bay Photo by Dag Goering |
And what a world it turned out to be. My sense of wonder and awe at the place steadily increased as we paddled amid towering islands wreathed in thick, tumbling vegetation, explored spectacular sea arches, pretty rock gardens, dramatic caves and golden ribbons of beaches. Dag led the way, his excellent navigational skills essential in such a complex landscape. After hours in the kayaks we would return to the support boat, which had a large, covered deck with tables and benches where we could relax and socialize, and to a cook who had been sent to us from heaven. Lien, as well as being blessed with beauty and a sweet disposition, had the gift of being able to whip up eight course banquets in a tiny galley area, over two kerosene burners. At mealtimes, cries of delight could be heard from the boat as one superb dish after another was placed before us. The best sea food imaginable - lobster, prawns, crab, an array of fish, as well as delicate spring rolls, fragrant soups, stir-fried meat and vegetables, all exquisitely prepared. As we ate, we could gaze out at a stunning panorama of islands that stretched endlessly in all directions, beckoning us to go further into the bay, to discover its deep secrets and ancient mysteries.
We'd already noticed the joss sticks burning in the cockpit of the support boat, and the paper offerings our skipper, Mr. Chin, tossed into the water each day. Like many Vietnamese people, he and his crew had strong animistic beliefs. Spirits, they said, resided in our boat, the ocean, the rocks and the wind, and, for the safety of our trip, these spirits had to be placated. Also there were the dragons, which had descended from heaven many centuries ago to help the Viet people fight off foreign invaders. After spitting out streams of precious stones that turned into a barricade of islands, the dragons became enchanted by the landscape they had created, and sank beneath its waters, where they remain to this day. It's easy to shrug this off as mere superstition until, paddling into a dark cave at the base of an island, you are greeted by loud, deep growling - made, you know logically, by water on rock, but sounding for all the world like a furious dragon warning off the first group of kayakers it has ever encountered.
Towards the end of our third day of paddling, we came across a small temple on a sand beach at the base of a cliff. Colourful paper boats hung from its low ceiling. On its altar, brass pots bristled with incense sticks, and plates were heaped with offerings of fruit, cigarettes and money left by passing fishermen. One by one, our crew of six added to these offerings, then lit incense sticks and stood with them between their palms, bowing towards the altar and praying. Silently and a little self-consciously, we kayakers also paid our respects to the spirits and dragons of the sea, leaving our Western offerings behind - dollar bills, candy bars and cookies. This scene was to be re-enacted several times over the coming days, as we discovered more shrines, tucked away on beaches amid thick vegetation, all with evidence of having been recently visited by fishermen.
Fishing families in Halong Bay live aboard their small, simple boats, which are built from woven bamboo caulked with tar. Often, the boats are rafted up together to form floating 'villages'. It's a way of life that increasingly is being threatened by Vietnam's economic changes, as foreign fleets begin to gobble up fish stocks in the waters just outside Halong Bay. Paddling between islands, we frequently came across these villages, where smoke rose from charcoal burners, radios played, dogs barked at us from the decks of boats, and older children shouted excitedly while their younger siblings peered fearfully around the low straw canopies. As we exchanging greetings with the adults, they gazed at our red, fibre glass boats, our double-bladed paddles, our life jackets and hats. Huy offered explanations to the fishermen about this strange group of people with him, and the odd boats we were paddling. Interspersing his musical Vietnamese sentences were "Kayak," and "kayaking." - a word, and a sport, still brand new in Vietnam.
At times, our senses were overloaded by what Halong Bay offered us. On our fourth day we paddled into a low tunnel which led beneath the rock cliff of a towering island. At the far end of the tunnel was a pinprick of light. Ducking beneath stalactites and fending off bulging walls with our paddles, we manoeuvred towards it. The beams from our head torches were swallowed up by the shadowy depths and our nervous laughter echoed around us. Gradually, the light expanded, grew in brightness and shimmered on the water. Presuming we had paddled right beneath the island, I expected us to re-emerge into Halong Bay, and see the now familiar vistas. Instead, we had paddled into the very heart of this limestone island, that over centuries had been eaten away by water and wind until it was perfectly hollow, and open to the sky. A profound silence fell over our group as, kayak by kayak, we emerged, blinking, from the dark tunnel into a lagoon enclosed by a circle of sheer walls. The air was still and hot. The only sound was the ringing cry of a solitary bird, hidden somewhere in the dense, hanging vegetation. We floated in jade water; above us, framed by sharp rock, the sky was pale, the sun masked by clouds. I hardly dared breath, afraid of breaking the spell cast by this ethereal garden, this untouched and perfect place. It would have been easy to stay there for hours, but the tide was creeping up and soon the tunnel would be sealed by water. As we left, I thought of the vastness of this marvellous bay, and how on this and future trips there was so much more to discover - shrines, beaches, caves, tunnels, lagoons inside islands - and who knows what else?
* excerpt from "Three Moons In Vietnam".
Dag Goering and Maria Coffey regularly guide kayaking tours of Halong Bay, Vietnam.
For information on these tours they can be contacted at the address below, at phone/fax no: (604) 754 6367, or by e-mail: dagmaria@island.net.
Maria Coffey is the author of THREE MOONS IN VIETNAM, A Haphazard Journey By Boat and Bicycle. This hardback edition, illustrated by Dag Goering's coloured photographs, is published by Little, Brown in Canada and the UK, priced CAN$29.95. Readers elsewhere can obtain the book by mail order by sending US$30 (p&p included) to: Maria Coffey, 68 Pirates Lane, Nanaimo, BC, Canada, V9R 6R1.
The couple's previous book, A BOAT IN OUR BAGGAGE, Around the World With a Kayak, is now available in paperback, priced CAN$12.99, published by Abacus in Canada and the UK, and by Ragged Mountain Press in the USA.
This September will see the publication of Maria and Dag's illustrated book, SAILING BACK IN TIME, the story of the summer they spent with Allen and Sharie Farrell, on their last voyage aboard the legendary China Cloud.
