“The wind was strong and noisy, the rain heavier than I’ve ever seen it. We put the children to bed and stayed up all night in case others needed help but we knew our islands would keep us safe.” The village now faces a threat of a different kind with talk of the government relocating families to preserve the integrity of the bay. Concern is running high. “My family have fished here for centuries. I can’t imagine living on the mainland,” added Vu, mournfully. After a final refill I said goodbye to my new friend, leaving him to his tea and quietly wondering how many more cups he will sip in this idyllic spot.
Playing Crusoe – And so, to Thien Canh Son. On the beach, I scrambled over algae-covered boulders and paddled in the sea, all the while indulging in an inner Crusoe fantasy. Robinson, though, didn’t have a private chef firing up a barbecue to make his lunch. Darkening clouds ended our plans to eat on the beach so, instead, we dined in the vast chambers of the island’s cave. The interior, a cathedral of stalactites oozing from the ceiling like melting candle wax, was silent and warm. Threads of daylight seeped through deep cracks. As the prawns sizzled on the grill I explored the cave, eventually emerging onto a high vantage point overlooking the greying seascape below.
Drained of light, the sheer limestone pillars – usually verdant with unruly vines and overgrown Halong palms – had been demoted to monochrome. But even in such mist there was great majesty. The sky wept. Drizzle drifted downwards and the circling sea hawks sought refuge in the rocks. Visibility remained poor well into the evening but our trusted Captain wasn’t particularly fazed. “Sailing here is easy,” he laughed, twirling the ship’s wheel with a flick of the ankle. Still, these waters are to be respected. Many early trading vessels ran aground here, striking rocks in the shallow waters.
Treasure hunters seeking ancient ceramics have pillaged these wrecks; some got more than they bargained for, discovering unexploded bombs dropped by American planes during the Vietnam War. The thought of sailing over shipwrecks and ordnance was an uneasy one but the small Buddhist shrine tucked in the corner beside the skipper was reassuring. Halong City beckoned early the following morning. At first the only boat sailing alongside us was a tiny launch belonging to an old lady in a pointy straw hat; she sat hunched, diligently feeding long fishing lines into the water, the frayed nets unravelling through her clenched palm like a magician’s hankie.
However, more and more boats appeared as we neared the harbour until, suddenly, it seemed we were part of some river pageant. As the high-rises began to form on the shore, so too did tiny figures, eagerly awaiting the starts of their Halong adventures. Many, I imagined, were destined for the gargantuan cruise liner moored nearby. Poised and pointing west, there were no prizes for guessing to which of the two bays it was heading.
