Halong Bay, Vietnam, Oct 2008

Vietnam tourism is a harsh industry. This is a country which makes me very negative about travelling. I met not a single soul in the tourism sector who was honest or friendly – everyone was trying to rip me off. Every price must be negotiated, every worst case scenario must be feared. You must be on your guard all the time, never back down or give in on something you’re sure about, and expect the worst for what you pay. Play the game as well as you can and swallow your losses with a smile. If you stay angry, you’ll never enjoy yourself. But once I got used to being suspicious of every situation and once my expectations had hit rock bottom, I started to enjoy my trip. Unscrupulous salesmen aside, Vietnam is a beautiful country.

 

Understanding the Industry

The Vietnamese economy – at least the part that I saw as a foreign tourist – is an ironic specimen of pure, unbridled capitalism. It supports exactly what the market can bear. A salesman (of anything) will ask you for the highest price he thinks you will pay, regardless of its actual value or the price that the last customer paid for it. For example, I ended up on a boat tour with a rather mixed group of tourists: myself and my dad, one Vietnamese-French couple, and a French family. The latter two had booked at the same time at the same place, one right after the other. The Vietnamese-French couple paid the “local discount” price – ten US dollars each. The French group, being in close proximity to the other couple, paid twelve dollars a person. A couple of last-minute travellers desperate for a tour and booking the morning of (that was me and my dad) paid sixteen each. During the course of the day, the boat brought us to about half of the attractions promised – mostly the ones which we had to pay extra for (and therefore brought a kick-back to the boat operators). Later we found out the boat operators got nine dollars a head for their services; the rest went into the pockets of our travel agents. It pays to be a good middleman in Vietnam. Similarly, we booked a cab to the airport through our hotel because they told us we would only pay $12 instead of the usual $15 (which is what we paid coming from the airport). The cab driver later asked how much we had paid the hotel, and revealed that he was given only $7. When we arrived, he insisted on another $5 to make up for his lost revenue, which we refused to pay (by now we were well-experienced). It ended with my dad opening the driver’s door and popping the trunk himself to retrieve our bags, leaving the driver fuming. But the real loser in this scheme was the cab driver, at the bottom, doing all the work.

 

Adventures in Wonderland

The highlights of our trip were the ones done off the beaten track. This is difficult in Vietnam as everyone seems to travel on packaged group tours, and the tourist agents like it that way. Even if you try to book something on your own, you will usually end up overpaying to be put on the tourist boat with the rest of the group, but without getting any of the fun stuff because you’re only along for the ride. However, once we got to Cat Ba Island in Halong Bay, we did our best to strike out on our own. We found a somewhat independent-minded climbing and adventure shop which promised unique experiences, owned by ex-pats of mixed nationalities (which didn’t stop them absorbing a bit of the Vietnam business mentality, however). Having our hearts set on a lot of rock climbing, we set out with the tour group that was going climbing that day (once again, along for the ride). The presence of so many people sort of ruined our fun though, as we had to wait for the group to finish before we could try our hand at the routes, and we were tied to their schedule since we needed to be on the boat when it left. So much for day one.

 

The next day we decided a bit of light trekking was in order, to allow our (or at least my) aching hands a day of recovery. We arranged it with the same company, happy to hear that it would be only the two of us, and the length of time was at our discretion. Being a hot day, and having been informed that there were no waterfalls to stop at (“this is not a ‘destination’ hike, its just going out and exploring the jungle” said the guide), we opted for only two hours. So we were driven out to the middle of nowhere on two motorbikes, and dropped at a quiet rural farm, greeted by a grizzled but happy Vietnamese farmer and his quiet but friendly wife. These were the nicest Vietnamese we met on the whole trip. The rock shop we booked through had apparently been exploring the island for climbing areas for some years; and somehow had befriended this man who owned the land that they wanted to climb on. A long and majestic limestone wall could be seen towering behind his fields, which was the wall that they set up routes on. They now had a nice arrangement where they paid him some sort of rent and he allowed them to climb and bring customers to his land. They also paid him to lead treks. (His qualifications for this were that he owned the land and knew most of the jungle like the back of his hand – at least I hope he did). So, with the promise of a nice, home-cooked lunch when we returned, we set out on our walk.

After making our way through the fields, dazzlingly quiet and peaceful after the constant horn-honking and bustle of every city in Vietnam, we arrived at the edge of the jungle. We first followed a brisk uphill path which was used by the loggers to collect trees and bring them down (we ran into some on the way – they were panting and sweating as much as we were, although to be fair they were carrying three-meter-long tree trunks on their shoulders). We arrived at a strange sort of stone field at the top, a collection of sharp jutting rocks on which we stopped to rest and enjoy the cool breeze. When we continued on, it soon became clear that we had left the logging path and were no longer on any path at all. With the guide hacking his way through vines and bushes, we followed carefully behind along the often perilous route. The jutting stones that we had stopped to rest on were now what we walked on. Balancing on sharp pinnacles of rock, trying not to notice the darkness below them that hinted at deep caverns filled with unknown creatures… I slowly advanced. Holding my breath to cross narrow stone bridges with long falls below, and with the help of the guide who graciously offered me his hand, we finally arrived at the next rest stop. We carefully arranged ourselves on the small outcrop of rock, barely big enough to hold the three of us. Once I stopped looking at the long drop below us and thinking about what would happen if I fell, I caught my breath, tried to relax and looked up. My breath left me again as I saw the sweeping panorama of hills and valleys, the peaceful yet dramatic farmland that made up the secret heart of this island. Suddenly miles away from the bustle of tourists and salespeople and motorbikes in the town, I saw the Vietnamese countryside as it must have looked a hundred years ago. This was a sight I would keep with me in my memories of the country.

Short break over, we started our return descent. About fifteen more minutes on the dangerous rocky terrain, we came to a more comfortable dirt floor. A steep descent brought us back to level fields. While our guide cut a route through the thick, tall grasses, I focused on trying to find somewhere to step among all the undergrowth, trying not to feel claustrophobic in the suffocating greenery. Soon enough the vegetation changed again to dryer farmland, covered in loose slippery dirt and small wiry bushes. Our guide explained (somehow) in Vietnamese and sign language that we were taking a short cut because we were running late. No complaints from me and my grumbling stomach. We started up a small hill covered in shrubs and dry grass. Suddenly I heard the guide shouting in a panicked voice. I looked up to see him dashing ahead, pointing at something on the ground and motioning for us to get away from it. I could make out “No! No!” among his shouted Vietnamese commands. Confused and sluggish from the hot sun, I started moving backwards as I looked for the source of the problem – a snake perhaps? Obviously it must be dangerous to frighten our seasoned and experienced leader. My dad turned to me and asked what was going on. Suddenly I saw it – large heavy shapes swarming up from the ground, as if in slow motion – and heard the low droning sound of large wings bearing heavy bodies. Our guide had stepped in a hornet nest. “Bees!” I yelled, wide-eyed, and turned to stumble blindly down the hill. I felt something in my hair and tried to brush it away, before I was hit in the head with a baseball bat. I fell to the ground, blind, and rolled a bit down the hill. What the hell was that?! With my head pounding and the blood pumping behind my eyes, I got up and struggled to keep running. Another strike, just above the ear, knocked me down again. I ran a few more meters and stopped to catch my breath. My chest was heaving and I felt dizzy and nauseous. I’m not allergic to bees, and I’ve been stung before, but it was nothing like this. We all regrouped and the guide came to me, concerned. I indicated that I’d been stung twice and he brought out a container of Tiger Balm to rub on the throbbing wounds. Suddenly my dad yelped and started dancing around. “It’s in my pants!” he screamed. He had been stung on the thigh. The offending creature was shaken out and flew away without causing any more damage. The guide grabbed my hand and told us to move quickly to get back home. A little panicked and very dizzy, I stumbled along, half dragged behind him. Luckily we were only ten minutes from the house. He brought us chairs and cold Cokes to put on our stings. The food came shortly; unfortunately I was feeling too sick to eat it, although it was delicious.

By the time we got back to the hotel, we were both still aching from the stings. I had the worst migraine I’ve ever had, plus tiny jackhammers drilling at the two sites of impact. Nothing could alleviate this ailing; it was the worst pain I’ve ever had to endure without morphine. The rest of the day was spent lying in bed, except for twenty minutes when the cleaning staff came (for the first and only time), when we sat out on the balcony. Later I realised that fifty dollars which I had left lying on the table had mysteriously disappeared. Figures – we would never have left valuables in the room while we were out, but the one time when we were both there but too dazed to think about possible theft, was the time that they decided to clean the room. This money was never found, of course, and the confrontation with the manager led to awkward relations between us and the staff for the rest of our stay. In the end, though, we got half of our money back by dashing out of town without paying our bill (an exciting and unexpected feat of law-breaking on our father-daughter trip).

 

Not to be put off by one bad experience, we returned to the area the next day for some climbing. The climbing shop wanted us to pay a small fee for using the area, which my dad balked at – he believes you should never charge someone to use a wall. Unsure where the money would go or why we had to pay, we skipped the fee out of principle. We approached a motorcycle taxi and asked to rent his bike for the day, and managed to haggle it down to five dollars – a great price by anyone’s standards. I was driving, being more experienced on a motorbike, but with my dad’s weight and all the climbing gear on the back it was a bit awkward. Still skittish about steep hills after a terrifying road accident a year ago, I drove like a grandma up and down the winding road. Eventually we found the place, with minimal detours and backtracking, and greeted our guide from the previous day’s hike. He was surprised to see us, not having been warned beforehand since we didn’t go through the climbing shop. He was a bit hesitant at first out of loyalty to his partners at the shop, but when we offered to pay the fee directly to him he consented. (It seemed from his reaction that there was no funny business going on and most or all of the shop’s fee was going into his pocket, so the next day we just made things simple and bought our access ticket from the shop.) We set a time for lunch and made our way through the fields to the wall. What followed was a great day of climbing, including an amazing traditional Vietnamese lunch (today we even managed to communicate that we were vegetarian). We were so engrossed in our activities that we didn’t even notice the sun setting, and had to drive back in complete darkness. This meant me hunching over the front of the bike, straining to see with my deficient night vision, squinting my eyes and pursing my mouth to block out bugs, and zooming along the road at about thirty kilometers an hour. We made it back without any mishaps, though. All-in-all, the trip made the previous day worth it just to have discovered that gem hidden in the backcountry of Cat Ba Island.