“Because Vietnam,” Part I: Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

As soon as we set eyes on Ha Long Bay’s fairytale-like scenery of rocky formations that jut almost impossibly out of calm turquoise waters, it was easy to see why this place is the stuff of legend. Sino-Vietnamese mythology believes that Ha Long, which means “descending dragon,” was formed when fabled dragons came down into the beautiful bay to help Vietnam fight off invaders from the north. Using their dragon fire and giant pearls, they formed rock island blockades against invading ships, ultimately defeating their conquerors and leaving behind a country in peace and a string of giant pearls in the sea—which comprise the region’s famous karst mountains and endless islands today. A few thousand years later, they are still shimmering in the bay with Vietnamese pride. For this reason, we had deliberately planned to be on the waters of Ha Long Bay for at least two full days and nights, giving us ample time to relax in the paradise coves of the mountains and to fully absorb the magical scenery.

Or so we thought.

As we quickly learned, things don’t always work out the way we planned in Vietnam. It first started when we checked in with the tour boat company in Hanoi. Even though we had already booked the two nights on the boat weeks in advance and paid a deposit, the company asked us if we’d rather just do one night on the boat and then spend our second night on the nearby island of Quan Lan, still in the stunning and less crowded Bai Tu Long Bay, but not on the boat. We were a little suspect, but didn’t think too much of it and politely told them that we had booked both nights on the boat, and that that was still precisely what we wanted. They smiled and said, “OK, well, you can decide tomorrow after you’ve had one night on the boat, and then tell us then.” To which we thought, “We just told you, but OK...”

Later that morning, we climbed aboard our cute boat with six guest rooms and a wonderful roof deck, and launched into Ha Long Bay. We had been warned that the bay might be very crowded with other boats, which may diminish the experience—and which was another reason we had wanted a second night, to sail farther into less visited sections of the bay. But it was not an issue; Ha Long Bay is so large and grand that the presence of other boats was small and humbling relative to the number of large mountains ahead of us. The ride out was both serene and mystical, with a thin layer of fog shrouding the whole scene with mystery. With the wind blowing across our deck, drowning out our voices but rendering clear the call of the beckoning limestone cliffs, it was easy to get lost in the landscape and feel like no other boat or person was around.

This great start was followed by an equally pleasant afternoon and evening. Lunch on board was a delicious display of fresh local seafood, including fish, prawns, clams, and calamari; several stir fry dishes of vegetables, chicken, and pork; and sweet fresh fruit. We met our fellow travelers on board—in total, we were eleven, including the five in our immediate group (the two of us, Levine, Drew, and Leslie), a couple from Turkey, a couple from Belgium, and a mother-daughter pair from Berkeley, California. We were led by a hilariously quirky and abundantly kind Vietnamese guide named Ngoc. Together, all of us enjoyed excursions off the boat, kayaking between karst mountains into impressive caves with even more impressive views, playing on a small empty beach, and enjoying a colorful sunset peeking through the rocky outcroppings.

We were devouring another bountiful dinner onboard when Ngoc approached our group and quietly asked us whether we had thought about the option of disembarking the next afternoon to spend our second night on Quan Lan island instead of on the boat. He told us that the rest of our group had only booked one-night stays onboard, so we would need to go back to drop them off anyway. This was a bit different than what the company told us earlier; while we knew the other guests were only staying one night, we were told that a separate “transport boat” would come to take them back to port while we would be able to stay out at sea and head to Bai Tu Long Bay in the same boat. Clearly, this was not the case. We were now being told that the only way to spend a second night on the boat was to go back with them the next morning, and then sail back out along the exact same route that we had just completed earlier that day, thereby repeating the same “tour” twice rather than venturing farther out as we were promised. This option, for obvious reasons, felt silly.

When we pressed Ngoc about why the trip and guests had been arranged this way—when they had known for weeks that we booked a two-night boat tour and had time to plan for the differences—he couldn’t give us a straight answer. We were a bit frustrated, of course, and felt like we had been lied to. It also didn’t help that at that very moment, we were anchored into the most peaceful cove all by ourselves, cradled by dramatic mountains all around us, with a brilliant bright moon rising overhead; that setting was exactly why we wanted to be out at sea for at least two nights!

At the same time, we felt badly for Ngoc, because we could tell that he was not trying to deceive us, but rather, was caught in the awkward position of delivering an unwelcome message on behalf of other higher-ups at the company who had not been transparent with us. He was trying his best to provide some rationale for why our original plan—for which we had paid extra, by the way— was not going to work. At the end of a fumbling monologue, stuttering through some reasons about how it’s hard to know whether they could get a two-night permit from the local officials, Ngoc could tell from our facial expressions that we were not buying it. Finally, he just said, “It’s because [sigh]...Vietnam.”

As we’ve traveled more and come to understand that many things often don’t go the way we plan or expect, it’s become easier to quickly accept and adjust to the new scenario at hand without feeling overly emotional about it. So, “because Vietnam” is almost as good a reason as any for why things happened the way they did. Perhaps the company was hoping that everyone on board would book a two-night tour and thus they could keep a full boat out at sea without losing money the second day; perhaps there really was a two-night permit issue; perhaps they are unscrupulous and just use the “two-night gimmick” as a way to reel in customers and then never deliver on it, always forcing customers to make this change as they were doing to us. We still don’t know the real reason, but what we did know was that there was no use in fighting to try to get the second night, because it wasn’t going to happen. We decided to just accept it and go with the flow—but not without first emailing the company to demand some type of refund. Levine and Drew penned a stern but polite email, and to the company’s credit, they were amenable to it, ultimately refunding a sizable portion of our costs after we showed flexibility in going with the rest of the group to Quan Lan.

By sunrise the next morning, we were already over the frustration as the five of us participated in a very entertaining sunrise tai chi session on the boat deck led by Ngoc himself. We don’t think he expected us to actually call his bluff and practice tai chi with him so early in the morning, so he spent the 30 minutes mostly making things up and convincing all of us to flail our arms like dragon wings. The whole group then kayaked again, this time to Hang Luon Cave, a phenomenal open-air cave completely encircled by tall limestone cliffs and replete with macaque monkeys scurrying around. Spirits remained high as we pulled back into port at Ha Long later that afternoon to start the next portion of the new itinerary: a car ride to Van Don, at which point we would board a replica traditional junk boat in magnificent Bai Tu Long Bay to arrive at Quan Lan island, where we would then take a scenic bike ride to our guest house, which was a homestay in which we’d enjoy a cooking class with a local family, and then spend our third and final day out on a boat in Bai Tu Long again.

Or so we thought.

We arrived at the industrial exhaust pile that is Van Don, took a look at our new boat that was not a junk boat, but rather, a piece of junk—and immediately burst out laughing. It had no sails as described, was less than half the size and not even a quarter as nice as our first one, and barely had room for everyone to sit. Plastic chairs flew across the deck if a gust of wind came through. A small motor spit laboriously, as if it might die at any moment. The boat felt like it would sink if too many of us stood over to one side. But, it was certainly authentic, and the trip was only going to be few hours, so we all piled onboard and sat back to enjoy the ride. Ngoc, perhaps sensing our doubts about this ride, played the role of camp counselor, psyching us up for the trip by running around repeating, “Bai Tuuuu Looooooong!” through megaphone hands as if he were cheering for a team. As we set sail across the blue waters, passing mussel farms and more breathtaking mountains, clouds rolled in overhead and a thick mist settled in, making the vast expanse of Bai Tu Long Bay and its karst castles evermore mysterious. At least one thing was as advertised: Bai Tu Long Bay was much less crowded. We were the lone small boat floating across what looked like a movie set.

As the darkening scenery rolled by and we comically wondered how we ended up on this dinky boat in middle of a brewing storm, we started talking more to our fellow travelers, and learned that the company had actually misled everyone else, too! Some of them had also booked two-night boat excursions, while others booked four days across the region, and all were convinced to change plans to join the same random itinerary that all of us were now on. Once we realized that there were others who would’ve done the same tour as our original one, we became even more confused as to why the company forced us to change. Everyone was befuddled while making the best of it; it’s a testament to this region’s unbelievable natural beauty that everyone was still having a good time despite not one single person getting what they signed up for.

Before long—maybe because we were all sharing a much smaller space together on the boat, or maybe because we all jointly commiserated with each other in foiled plans—the twelve of us (Ngoc included) found ourselves sitting on the deck in a giant circle. As if we were in a Kindergarten music class, we passed the time playing children’s group games led by Drew and Colleen, who had both played many of these games with real children in their respective roles as a Disney tour guide and a teacher. There was the chair-swapping chaos of “Have You Seen My Neighbor?,” the tongue-twisting hilarity of “Zip Zap Zop,” the strategic accusations of Mafia (Michael and Levine were the gangsters in one round, and successfully killed everyone else!), and the can’t-stop-laughing-because-it’s-so-stupid Stare-and-Scream Game, which is so ridiculous that it doesn’t even have a real name. By the end of the ride, we weren’t sure if it was the wind or our roaring laughter that rocked the boat more.

Thankfully, we were still laughing when we arrived on the laughable Quan Lan island. We hopped onto rusty bikes and made our way along a “scenic” 8-kilometer ride to the guesthouse, which mostly consisted of dirty seaside bogs and roadside trash-burning. Don’t get us wrong— its’s always great to see local non-manicured sights, but the island had a distinct aura of abandonment, as it was all but empty. That feeling was only exacerbated when we arrived at our designated guesthouse. It was located in the main “town” in Quan Lan, which is basically three dimly-lit streets lined with construction rubble, half-built guesthouses, a couple small convenience stores, and a few empty restaurants. It was almost hard to distinguish whether the ghost town was up-and-coming and just not ready for visitors yet, or if it had seen its heyday in the past and is now abandoned (a Google search later revealed that it is the former, and that the Vietnamese government is trying to attract more tourism to this area, which may explain why our company re-routed all of us there). Nevertheless, our optimistic boat crew walked around the town together, in search of “kem” (ice cream) and/or some activity or intrigue. We felt like the only zombies trudging through deserted streets, and there was no kem to be found (the locals told us it was “too cold” for kem in the winter...it was 75˚F). At the end of the night, there was not much to do but go back and hang out at the guesthouse.

Staying at the guesthouse with us was another tour group experiencing our itinerary in reverse—starting with Bai Tu Long Bay and Quan Lan and then ending with Ha Long Bay. After sharing a “cooking class” with them, in which we basically just wrapped a few spring rolls for ten minutes, we learned more hilarious stories about the company that no longer surprised us: the other group had to get rescued from their dinky boat earlier that afternoon because it had a leak and was sinking! We all went to bed early, preparing for an early 7am breakfast on our third and last morning the next day. At least our rooms and beds in the guesthouse were comfortable, and we had a good night’s sleep in the weird town of Quan Lan.

Or so we thought.

The next morning, we learned that four of the people in our group, who had stayed in a different, nearby guesthouse because ours had run out of room, had slept without any mattresses! Their guesthouse only had bed frames, but no mattresses, so they slept on hard wooden boards! As expected, then, they had a terrible night of sleep and were extremely groggy and sore that morning. The rest of us felt horrible about this, especially because all of us in the main guesthouse had extra beds in our rooms and we certainly would have shared and made room for our bed-less new friends if we had known the situation.

But the person who felt the worst about it was Ngoc. As we all boarded yet another dinky boat to cruise through new parts of Bai Tu Long Bay, Ngoc was beside himself in guilt and remorse. He apologized profusely to everyone, blaming himself for the confusion about our original plans, for being a poor guide, for not knowing that the second guesthouse did not have mattresses, and then not doing something about it after he found out. He wasn’t wrong to apologize on behalf of the company, but when he started to berate himself—questioning his entire existence as a guide and as a person—all of us were quick to point out that these things were not his fault and that the only reason we were still having fun was because of him. And it was true. Ngoc was incredibly genuine and smart, and we highly enjoyed his optimism, humor, and company.

After multiple rounds of heart-to-heart conversations that morning, where it sometimes felt like we were counseling Ngoc more than he was guiding us, the fog broke just in time for all of us to take our last kayak ride on the bay. We paddled through a floating mussel farm, kayak-raced through the crystal still waters, and jumped off the boat to swim in the [jellyfish-infested] waters. Despite everything, we had an amazing third day on our final sail back, enjoying all that was promised of Bai Tu Long Bay—stunning views and terrain in a secluded world of our own, with fun friends and good food.

The entire Ha Long Bay experience was a pendulum swing between high highs and questionable lows, which we tried to turn into highs. We were lied to by the company, but they also employed one of the best guides we’ve ever had. We didn’t glide through the bay for multiple days in our own bed on board a boat like we imagined, but we did see, kayak, and swim through some of the most gorgeous, peaceful landscapes we’ve ever had the privilege of being in. Some people didn’t get beds, but we were all well-fed by delicious, plentiful food all three days. We walked through a crumbling town, sat on crumbling boats, and rode on crumbling bikes, but we laughed through it all with gusto, amusement, and a tinge of excited anticipation for the next “what now?” moment. And we met an amazing group of fellow travelers who didn’t let any of the above ruin their time, which made for a surprisingly heartwarming experience that we wouldn’t have traded for anything else.

In fact, at the end of our Ha Long Bay experience, all of us tried to tip Ngoc generously—despite all the things that went wrong. Ngoc wouldn’t accept it, literally running away from cash that we tried to stuff into his pocket. He didn’t want to take our money because he didn’t think he deserved it. In a region of the world that is infamous for haggling with tourists, it was incredibly interesting and unexpected to hear him admit this and turn down cold hard money. Ngoc seemed surprised and grateful that we were all still in good spirits and wanting to thank him. Like him, the contrast of feeling both disappointed and grateful at once was not common for us, but it would soon become a recurring theme over the next few weeks. Because Vietnam.

Karen & Michael

December 14-16, 2019, Ha Long Bay, Vietnam