Halong Bay

A bunch of people from the Hostel pile into a minibus to Halong Bay yesterday morning. Halong Bay is about 3.5 hours away from Hanoi. Out hostel owner hands each of us an embarassingly large brightly covered sombrero, a couple of bottles of $3 Vietnamese vodka (the good stuff, much better than the $2 bottle) and a small sample sized container of extra-strength insect repellent.





"You're going to need this," he says.





We arrive at Thai Son ceramics, a rest stop on the way, that is a working ceramic factory and
handicraft village. There's also a cooperative that teaches young children how to make needlepoint scenery for sale at the place. I wish the children had looked happier doing what they were doing.





We're impressed by the boat that we have all to ourselves: it's gorgeous red wood, lacquered and large. The rooms on the boat are bigger than you'd expect; the linens perfectly pressed, the silk comforter neatly tucked into place.





There's white linens on the tables, and we're greeted by a huge meal, better than any meal on a boat for a bunch of backpackers should be.





The boat, called a junk, sets sail for the middle of the bay, where we pass by sharp conical protrusions from the water, tree-covered mini-islands. The boat stops, and some of my braver companions jump off the top level of hte boat for a swim. An Aussie jumps first, naturally.





We swim, we laugh, we dive. Over and over again.





It doesn't get any better than this," I proclaim. Famous last words.



We are guided into a limestone cave. My claustrophobic and non-outdoorsy self takes a huge breath and allows peer pressure to force me inside. I'm proud at my willingness to be blindly guide places.

The kayaks come out. I'm strangely happy about this, considering my last kayaking adventure ended in a large argument between my friends and myself, after they convinced me I would LOVE it and were horribly mistaken. I am open for anything.

We kayak into a cove, lead by our non-English speaking Vietnamese guide. There's jumping out of boats, more swimming.


Except this time, there were jellyfish everywhere.

In retrospect, this might have been the exact moment where things took a turn for the worse.

We get back to the boat, the empty beer cans are lining up quickly. It's only 5:30, feeling much later than it was. The sun starts to set, and we sit down to eat.

Dinner was much less enticing than lunch, and as we're eating we notice some very small roaches congregating near one guy's side, on the wood. It's kind of gross. I'm now recalling a conversation a spanish-speaking girl at the hostel was recounting to her friend that went something like "there were cockroaches everwhere." I think I was trying to ignore her, and now it all made sense.

We look around. There are little roaches EVERYWHERE. Not on us, as we were all covered with enough repellent to kill a small child. We're all trying to remain reasonably calm and tough, although I am the first to admis that bugs make me very squeamish. "Just don't think about it," says Lucille, sounding much less cavalier than I just made her appear.

She changes her mind after she finds a dead one in the food. In fact, EVERY table seemed to find dead roaches in the food. We stop eating. We look in the rooms- infestation. We collectively decide that the way to deal with this is to get as drunk as possible so that we just don't care anymore. Stay up until the morning, so we don't have to go back to the roach motel.

Some were already this drunk, but me, at one beer, wasn't nearly there.

'We all go upstairs on the top deck for refuge, as it seems safe from bugs, and after three shots of cheap Hanoi vodka mixed with orange soda, I got more of a headache than a buzz. Everyone is well on their way to being completely wasted, as they are the kinds of young backpackers who seem to be making their way across the continent in search of cheap and asy drinking. They play a drinking game which I described as "less of a game than a quick, methodical, rule-heavy way of getting wasted." I bow out.

I am now very bored. And headachy. And feeling the asthma/allergy attack come on strong. I look at my watch. IT IS ONLY 10:00.

Now I panic. I'd forgotten how much I hate being stuck in a place I can't get out of. I forgot how much I dislike being around young wasted people traveling. You know, the kinds that still think "what is your porn star name, you know, the name of your first pet and the name of the street you grew up on?" is fucking hilarious. I hate it all. (by the way, they were all very very nice.)

I summon up the courage to go back to the room. There aren''t as many bugs as I thought there'd be. I pump myself full of drugs. Now my heart is palpitating, and I'm not sure if it's from the panic or the meds. I talk myself out of it. I manage to fall asleep, if out of nothing but desperation. I''m sleeping with one eye open, creating all of these rules for myself like "if I cover myself with this sarong, they won't crawl on me"and it manages to work. I sleep for a couple of hours and come back upstairs. No one is making any sense. They're drunk and stoned and snuggling, god bless them.

I go back downstairs and manage to sleep for a long time.

I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.

It's unfortunate, because the bay was spectacular.