Do not dwell in the past.
Do not dream of the future.
Concentrate the mind on the
present moment.
What's with Walter? What is he, Buddhist?
Well, no. But I did have a singularly moving experience a few days ago. For the first time in a while, I found myself firmly rooted in the here-and-now. I wasn't ruminating about the Vietnam War, perceived racism, or whether I'd remembered to auto-pay my cell phone service in San Francisco.
I was in Halong Bay, Vietnam.
A near-silent driver, Hiro, and our loquacious tour guide, Mr. Cham, retrieved us from our hotel in Hanoi and stowed us and our luggage in the back of a cavernous SUV. Hemmed in by moto-scooters that buzzed around us like aggro dragonflies, we finally crossed the Red River and left the city behind. Even while traversing the bridge, we progressed through traffic nearly twice as fast as chilled molasses.
There wasn't time to be bored; Cham's patter was non-stop, and there was much to see. Superficial observation #12: every square inch of Vietnam is in use. As part of free market reforms rolled out after the USSR imploded, rural people each received about 400 square meters of land.
I don't know how much food a person can get out of 400 sq. meters, but other than a small plot with a sign warning against land mines, I didn't see a single fallow field. Paddies stretched to the horizon, and there were women in conical hats everywhere. Some planted green rice shoots in methodical rows or urged on a water buffalo that towed a plow through knee-deep mud. Others merely used hands and hoes to work their land.
Cham explained that we were more likely to see women in the fields doing this stoop labor because men have "very weak backs." I was a mite surprised to hear such blatant sexism from a man who fought an insurgent war to "liberate" and "unite" his country, but these notions die hard, I guess.
My father was in ROTC in the sixties, but marriage and children kept him Stateside. Had he been dispatched here to defend, um, democracy(?), Cham, a Viet Cong communications officer, would have been looking for him. And not to give him a guided tour or a history lesson.
The past is past. Now, Cham makes a living ferrying Westerners like me and Liz around his country, and we give him greenbacks in return.
Although the high-speed tourist buses passing us on the two-lane roads made me reach for the Jesus handle a few times, the drive to Halong was relaxing. Cham helped us wrap our tongues around the six (count 'em, six) tonal sounds in his language, filled us in on ancient and recent history, and pointed out memorial after memorial commemorating Vietnamese patriots.
It's monsoon season, so the irrigation ditches by the side of the road were filled with ducks, blooming lotuses and lounging buffaloes. Many entrepreneurial folks had dug out their small front yards to create ponds where they raised ducks and catfish. We also saw scores of lavish French Colonial-style villas, many still under construction.
It was explained that the villas most likely belonged to party officials who'd cobbled together joint ventures with foreign investors -- a seaside hotel or casino built with Hong Kong dollars, perhaps a new bridge funded by Japanese yen. One of the largest villas was gaudy by any standard: flamingo-pink with ornate porticos and gables, three front-facing balconies with ocean views, and a large Vietnamese flag flapping atop a 40-foot pole.
Finally, we arrived at the Halong City docks and boarded our boat. We were the only passengers on a junk that could have easily accommodated thirty. The small crew was attentive, but for the most part, they busied themselves with a noisy card game; the captain divided his attentions between navigating and flirting with our pretty young hostess.
There are more than 3000 islands in Halong Bay. Legend says that a dragon who lived inland created the tree-topped, jutting limestone towers thousands of years ago when it returned to the coast from the ocean -- its tail leaving deep impressions that filled in with water. Today, the islands are a natural buffer from the South China Sea, leaving the deep, green bay calm and still, disturbed only by tourist/fishing boats.
We cast off and pulled away from the docks. The fat, gray clouds we'd seen through the windshield dissipated almost on cue once the diesels cranked up. Our first stop was Han Sung Sot, a cave discovered only 20 years ago; it had been hidden for millennia by an overgrowth of plum trees.
The caves were spectacular and tacky -- Carlsbad Caverns meets Las Vegas. Myriad rock formations were garishly lit by pink, green and red fluorescents -- they'd even inserted two red bulbs into the sockets of one spectacular pile of mineral drippings to affirm that the formation really does resemble a dragon. The caves were impressive, though I don't think our species has a particular knack for embellishing nature. Cham pointed out a lingam-shaped formation lit in pink, eliciting a polite giggle from Liz.
Outside and back aboard the junk, it was, as my father is fond of saying, "all good."
I was momentarily distracted from the incredible views by a meal that I can only describe as a seafood feast: fresh jumbo prawns, steamed crab, squid salad, broiled snapper, spring rolls and river spinach. Tasting these treats, it wasn't a stretch to imagine that our food had been swimming beneath us just a few hours before. The hostess sidled in next to Liz to help her crack crab and shell shrimp. Between and during courses, one of us would beeline for the bow, camera in hand.
After our hostess expertly filleted the snapper, Liz took a bite and looked at me with a can you believe? glance. I just smiled and shook my head. Fortunate, we are.
So much to see, but I never felt a sense of urgency -- just a calmness that bordered on serenity. It's a unique feeling to be somewhere, look around, and realize that I'm inside a moment that I'll never forget. As ever, I feel incapable of truly expressing what it was like to be there -- to leisurely cruise around skyscraping escarpments forced from the sea floor and covered in lush green, butterflies playing past and feeling a gentle sea breeze.
It matters not at all whether the islands were created by seismic forces or a dragon bound for home. They are magical.
Several times, the captain stilled the motors so we could drift past some spectacular islands. Cham pointed out one that looked like a duck, another that closely resembled a bald monk, deep in meditation. I got a few few good snaps, but after a while, I started recording with my senses and put down the camera.
Tipping is not customary in Vietnam. Still, Liz and I have paid tribute to good service during our time here. Near the end of the cruise, we conferred to determine an appropriate amount, given the extraordinary day and its profound effect on our on our shared memory.
I extracted some dong from my wallet and folded it under a piece of hotel note paper after jotting:
We sat in front, watching Halong City grow larger as we meandered through straits that moved us in and out of shadows the size of football fields. In my peripheral vision, I noticed the busboy peering curiously at the note tucked under the bud vase.
He beckoned to one of his colleagues, and the two conferred in hasty Vietnamese, clearly confused. The first guy motioned me over and pointed to the note and bills.
"What is?" he asked.
I explained that we were grateful to the crew for the attention and excellent service. Judging from his blank expression, the clarification didn't cut any ice. I motioned Cham over, and he picked up the paper and read the line I'd copied out of our phrase book, nodding.
"Ah! Very nice," he said, smiling.
"Could you please explain that we really appreciate them for taking such excellent care of us -- and that we wanted to say 'thank you' by leaving a tip?"
He conversed quickly with the two crew members, and then turned back with a broader smile.
"They were confused -- you see, the bottle of wine with your lunch cost $15, and that --" he pointed at the tip -- "won't pay for it."
Me, Liz and Cham enjoyed a hearty, literal laugh at our own expense. We fished out the additional cash and handed it to one of the crew.
"Cam on em," said Liz. "Thank you."
We must have sailed the bay for two, perhaps three hours. I lost all sense of time. On approach to the pier, I didn't feel a pang of regret or wistfulness; just as surely as the meal we'd eaten, I have Halong Bay under my belt.
This was either the fourth or fifth World Heritage site we've seen, but it was unlike any of the previous destinations. It wasn't hewn by human hands at the behest of a megalomaniacal ruler, nor was it created as a center for worship, trade or culture.
It's just there, because sometimes, nature is incredibly generous. If you have an opportunity to see it for yourself, take it. It's like nowhere else on Earth.
Posted by Walter at July 26, 2005 11:08 AM