The people of the sea – By morning, the other boats had gone. We bobbed alone on the milky green waters as fog swirled at the peaks. Over a breakfast of steamed rice and freshly caught squid, Tony spoke of secret lagoons deep within the islands, reached via narrow channels accessible only by kayak. My eyes widened. “Sadly,” he said, checking charts and forecasts, “the tide is too low to reach them.” Instead we sailed to Vung Vieng, the largest fishing village within Bai Tu Long. Hidden from view as we approached, the community of 300 sits in sheltered waters almost completely surrounded by cliffs. A sharp port turn revealed clusters of tiny turquoise huts tied together and floating on large blue barrels. The breeze waltzed through the drying laundry. Dogs dozed in rowboats filled with fishing nets.
Most of the 71 families were nowhere to be seen, either tucked away indoors or out chasing grouper and sea bass. But Vung Vieng isn’t always such a subdued place. The full moon festivals are, by all accounts, vivacious while the heated dragonboat races attract competitors from across the bay. The school run was in full swing. A young girl travelled from house to house collecting her pals, deftly rotating the long oars of her boat with the soles of her feet. With lessons about to start, she moored up outside the one-classroom school and vanished inside. Nearby, and enjoying a rare day off with his fishermen friends, Vu Van Hong was sipping green tea from a cup barely bigger than a thimble. His face creased when he laughed and long strands of hair dangled from his chin.
“I was born on the water and have fished all my life,” he said, refilling my cup. “I’m proud of Bai Tu Long. It is very special and I see its beauty every day. More people should come here.” But Bai Tu Long isn’t an entirely tourist-free zone any more. Signs of growing popularity were plain to see in Vung Vieng. There was a dusty museum, a small stand selling local art and, most tellingly, a shiny gift shop filled with expensive pearl jewellery produced by the sprawling oyster farm on the outskirts of the village. It’s a sign of locals finding new means of income, as fishing is not the fruitful industry it once was. The community has always combined its efforts for the greater good; households would each bring their hauls to the chief’s house where it was collected and taken to the markets on the mainland. But with seafood stocks dwindling due to bigger vessels and modern methods, fishing here is harder than ever.
The strategic location of Vung Vieng has ensured its survival since the early 19th century when it started as a humble anchorage for passing junk boats seeking shelter from the unforgiving winds. Slowly but surely, homes were built and a community took shape. Many families, however, choose to live at sea on tiny fishing boats of wood and bamboo but made the move to more permanent dwellings around 20 years ago. More importantly, the guardian rocks that wrap a protective arm around this isolated enclave have shielded it from unimaginable horror. “Typhoon Haiyan was scary,” recalled fisherman Vu.
