Thursday 27 February 2025
I woke at 6am and Dexter already had his curtain drawn. There was water outside his window and he was awake enough to realise we were on a barge headed for the island and our pick-up. The bus left the barge and a very polite man asked us our destination and said he would give us a 10-minute warning before our drop-off point. No ex-Stasi on this bus. It had been a completely different experience. We were let off at the Cat Ba Sunlight Cruise office.
It was early. The office was open but unattended. A woman in the next door shop assisted us, told us we could leave our bags with her and that our bus would arrive at 11.30am. We inquired about laundry and she also arranged this, promising its return by 11. This country. It just worked.
I felt totally confident but Dexter, with cameras and other electronic paraphernalia in his gear, was less inclined. I won. “You’ve got to read the play son. We have experienced nothing but people wanting to help and the honesty is unparalleled. Coffee!”
We went left from the office and headed to a nearby, recommended cafe. Again, the service. The lady running it said she wasn’t open yet but if we only wanted coffee she would serve us. Two egg coffees and the use of the toilet followed. Coming out of this I whacked my head against a low concrete beam in the ceiling. Infamous for my overreactions, I screamed loudly at the shock and the two women owners immediately came to my aid. I was all right; Dexter unconcerned. He knew his father.
Around the corner we walked and went straight into Tit & Mit (my phone translation says ‘Tits & Tits’ but I need a second opinion). Another excellent coffee each but the pastries were what had been needed. (The photograph I have just referred to showed these looked like small loaves of bread but I am sure there must have been some decorous custard involved? Further study showed Bana Cake was the first item on the blackboard menu and Dexter’s fondness for banana bread came to mind).
Next item, another recommendation, a barber shop that would fix Dexter’s skull. We walked on with the maps showing us the way. The signage was slick but incomplete. Barber Shop Long Manh read B A – R B E R S H O P -O N – M A – H. This sitting atop a cube of concrete which looked as if it had been lifted in by crane and placed at a 45 degree angle to existing infrastructure. It looked groovy so the lad’s confidence heightened.
Dexter’s plan was to get his hair cut to within a millimetre of his scalp. A criminal cut but better than what he had, which looked like he had done it himself using a truck stop bathroom mirror and a Lady Remington. We were directed to a sofa for waiting. One of the hairdressers left to go shopping and his vacant chair became occupied by a local man, who entered, took one look at us and decided we could wait. Well that was my assessment.
I became ticked off and then got told off by Dexter for talking too loudly. I abandoned the groovy and went walking. About 100m up the street I saw a very old man shaving a customer in premises about the size of Stand’ In Room in Claremont. The barber looked as though he had been here since the sixties so I took a seat and awaited my shave, a totally unnecessary extravagance but laziness lurked at every turn when on holiday.
A sign sticky taped to his front glass door read Cattuc Lay Day Tai. Again the translation is dodgy but the second part translates as ‘took the ear cord.’ Green curtains had been pulled back from the entry, there was an ancient reclinable barber’s chair, a table with mirror and the first held his working implements: shaving cup, brushes, razors and a long silver item which looked like scissors extending to two fine points. Behind the barber were blue and white towels hung on a hook, beneath photos of family and of a stylish couple cut from a magazine. These were in a single frame, a collage of a life for there also appeared to be a groom making a speech with his new wife seated at the wedding table. There was a music speaker and a phone. Other items needing electricity were plugged into power boards and much of all this hid thin water pipes on every wall.
My barber was meticulous. He shaved my face and then set to work on my ear hair. Something caught his attention so he donned, first spectacles, then a Humphrey Davy-style lamp, the kind of item an optometrist would use. He began poking in my left ear with long tweezers – the ‘scissors’ I had previously seen. I hadn’t come in for a lobotomy but he dug so deep that’s what I thought was happening. He withdrew the surgical instrument and proudly showed off a ball of ear wax the size of an Edgell pea. He went to do the right side but I was beginning to worry that Dexter would be finished and concerned about my whereabouts. Even as I type this, I wonder what my right side would have revealed? “Is this a part of your brain” said in the local language? I overpaid him because I had been impressed and hit the streets.
There was Dexter outside his barber’s looking about for his father. He had sensibly waited, hoping I would return. Despite the street becoming busier, the orange cashmere pullover once again proved useful. He saw me at once. We sightseed, wandering through a food market. Though I have a distaste for apples, I bought one hoping it would improve my body function before boarding a ferry, which was to be our next venture. For the first and only time on this holiday, I was ripped off. With me grumbling about buying the most expensive apple in south-east Asia, we headed back toward our luggage.
We returned via our original coffee shop and had a juice and then back to the office where the laundry had not appeared. It was after 11 but Dexter wanted some more attention so we went a few doors down and asked for a foot spa. The single person working the shop began to fuss about with water bowls and making phone calls. As we waited, we realised she could not do both our feet at the same time so she must have called for backup. My impatience rose to the top. “This is going to be too long. We won’t make the bus departure time.” We dried our feet and put our shoes back on while muttering apologies. As we left, we opened the door for the two foot massage ladies who had arrived by motor bike.
Dexter had been told that laundry service did not include shoes, both of ours being filthy from the scooter ride. When the clean clothes arrived, my pair of adidas, which had been at the bottom of my washing, were returned spotless. Dexter was dismayed; me contented by the error.
The bus picked us up and we took seats in the back row as it headed for the harbour. In typical passenger plane style people stood to get luggage from overhead racks as soon as the vehicle stopped. A plump woman rose to get her bag from an overhead shelf and a large, unopened bottle of water fell into our lap. I thought she was English and was about to say something curt when profuse apologies emanated from her lips – in French. All was forgiven. The French can get away with murder, Pommies no. If that makes me racist, c’est la vie.
We were at Lan Ha Bay and directed into an open shed not unlike the terminal at Rous Head, where ferries leave for Rottnest Island off Perth’s coast. There were tourists everywhere but also guides trying to marshal these into correct groupings. We followed orders as Dexter tried to locate a boat which matched the photograph in his booking. A senior-looking man in a blue uniform and brown pith helmet was barking orders through a megaphone as groups headed to tenders to take them into the bay.
We were headed toward what turned out to be the wrong tender but I showed this man my ticket and he began yelling for people to make way as he ushered us through the throng to the right boat.
We left for more open waters and the rear view of the dock showed there was also fishermen’s houses and walkways built across water. Further around was a restaurant called Tsunami, which may have been poor form but it’s a question of taste? A virtual fishing village built on the bay was next part of the scenery. The red flag with yellow star ubiquitous. Activity was scarce but this was the middle of the day. Children were at school, parents probably catching fish from their boats.
Boarding troubles aside, we stepped onto our vessel and told to leave our bags on deck, unnecessary for Dexter who had his backpack on. Shown to our cabins which had two single beds parallel to the portholes showing off the bay. There was a cupboard for clothes and I was pleased to spot wall lamps above the pillows for easier reading. An ensuite with the shower hugging the porthole side looked good for ventilation but your upper body was available for world view.
Dexter had been having trouble with winding on his camera but had been loathe to open it for fear of losing photographs he had already taken. He decided to create his own dark room by pulling all the curtains shut and getting into the cupboard. My job was to throw a towel over the slightly ajar doors while he attempted to save at least two-thirds of his lovingly-taken shots. Eventually he heard good sounds emanating from the camera but couldn’t be sure of the result. When finished, I tired of the absence of my luggage so retrieved it from the stern.
Our instructions were to meet the rest of the passengers in the dining room and we gathered for a brief profile of what our voyage contained. The congregation was mixed: two French (the Water Bottle Woman and her husband), four Italian, two Americans, a Dutch or Belgian couple (who turned out less mixers than the rest), a young Indian woman travelling alone and a young German man also solo. There was a Dutch guy and his Chinese wife and three Australians, the third being Duncan from North Queensland.
Tour director Hai, a handsome, fit young guy who had been one of the prime movers corralling passengers back at the terminal, addressed us. We all responded to his request for a brief personal ice-breaking profile. Our bus companion Poupi, and her husband Jean-Luc were from France’s Loire Valley; the Italians were two couples from Rome; Will and Kathleen, accountants from near Saratoga, NY; the quiet couple; San and Arthur the single solo travellers; Jurgen the Dutchman and, despite my usual good ear for non-English names, his wife’s, though told to me a few times, never became clear.
Hai introduced us to our barman Lucas and reminded us that alcohol was to be purchased separately from our previously-paid fare which covered everything else. Lunch was served and this was forgettable at best. The ideas were good but fairly ordinary in execution. Conversation though was interesting. Jurgen explained he had worked in Asia for years and appeared to have a very good job in the People’s Republic; Duncan looked like a FIFO worker, with the ‘pretend bikie’ look of facial hair that allowed the beard to be neat but grown long towards the larynx; Arthur from Frankfurt was polite and quiet.
We returned to the room but Dexter found the shower wasn’t hot and the bathroom door didn’t close. Not shy to get help when things aren’t working, he eventually had three men working in the cabin. Door fixed but water would not heat up until later in the day. Shower eschewed, we headed to the stern to board a tender which would take the group kayaking. Duncan remained on board and waved us off.
Seated next to Poupi and Jean-Luc, we immediately warmed to them as they were self-deprecating and funny. She had little English but he was very attentive in keeping her abreast of what was being said. Her giggle about a minute after the rest of us had laughed made what had been said even more humorous.
A neighbouring boat had disgorged its passengers and these included several plump, young French women, who had been on our bus to the terminal. I unkindly cheered inside when one of these girls upset the kayak and ended up in the drink. Oh tester of fate.
The activity was for two-person crews to paddle about the bay for about an hour and return to base. After about eight arm movements, I had enough. Dexter was made to row for us both, powering to a hole in the limestone cliff, the entry to a small and beautiful bay. As we approached the entry, I noticed clam traps 5-10cm beneath the surface. It was very shallow here.
We circumnavigated the bay with our two-boat strong companions all having plenty of room to manoeuvre and I assisted with the paddling. “That’s enough for me,” I said. How many rock faces could you look at in one day? As we exited another kayak was coming in. My attempt to give these paddlers more room steered us left and atop the clam traps. We got ‘beached’ with our vessel not having enough water to continue. I told Dexter I would get off and pull us into deeper water. Three steps later I found it, lost my balance and was upside down in the water with my life jacket over my head.
If that wasn’t bad enough, getting back aboard wasn’t simple either. Shouting abuse at my crew member I needed to be pulled in. He leant further away from me and, with the boat better balanced, was able to haul me aboard. Wet and bedraggled I wanted the comfort of the floating pier from where we had left. When we rowed in, Hai cracked up and asked why we were back so soon and why I was wet. Ten minutes had elapsed.
Dexter dived into the bay and cajoled me to come too. However, though already wet, it provided little appeal. “Too much flotsam and jetsam,” I said and – after defining these as rubbish in the water when they are in fact the debris of wrecked ships or the refuse thrown overboard from ships – he responded with “Lucky we’re not in Ha Long Bay? My friend Asher reckoned it was way busier and more polluted than here.”
Will and Kathleen had returned and kindly offered me a towel before diving in themselves. She first and he after being entreated. I think he was saving face in front of Dexter when he reluctantly entered the water. Kathleen and Will had recently quit their jobs to go touring, which, from my experience of the profession, is a pretty brave move by accountants. Job security usually weighed higher than job satisfaction for this breed. Later Dexter commented that she was all right but Will was a boy trapped in a man’s body. To be fair he thinks all American males fit into the same category. Ah! That apple and that tree. My offspring can be tactful but they are also judgmental.
Eventually the rest of the travellers returned and we were ushered back on the tender. Shivering slightly, Poupi wrapped me in her puffer jacket. When I returned it on arrival, she turned to Jean-Luc: “Chaud,” she said. Her act of kindness had been equally warm.
On return the hot water had kicked in and Dexter hit the shower. I took a photo of the ingredients in the cappuccino biscuits to show Annie the evil men do when away from those trying to protect their health. When it was my turn to shower, Kathleen decided she would dive off the top of the boat. Treading water outside our porthole and me with the blind right up had Dexter in warning mode. “Put the blind down. It’s a very bad look.” I felt he was talking about the social consequences rather than the horrors of my naked body and I am sticking to that.
Further from our cabin, another Sunlight Cruises vessel was moored. As the shower water soothed my limbs, I watched a young woman leap from the top of the craft. She crossed her arms across her breasts and hit the water feet first. Did we used to call this ‘Soldier?’
We repaired upstairs for cocktails and I ordered my son a Singapore Sling. Neither of us much enjoyed the Raffles Hotel creation so I introduced him to Tom Collins. The three of us got on very well. We looked across the railing at rocky mountains covered in green and a rippling water line at their feet. In reality these were hills of what looked like individual boulders carved from the earth’s core by a once rampaging river; or meteorites dropped onto any land not yet overcome by the water. In the distance, another ferry, similar to our vessel, moved casually along the surface.
The strange compilation of tourists began to gel and Dexter and I were the glue. Will endeared himself to me when I brought up horse racing. “We used to live near Saratoga Springs,” he said excitedly and we discussed the social benefits of a day at the track.
The rigours of the day had begun to get to me – eight strokes of a kayak oar notwithstanding, I repaired to our room for a rest and Dexter continued to entertain. Two cocktails in and he was loving it. When he didn’t return after an hour, I went upstairs but he wasn’t there.
Searching the boat I found him at the bow smoking marijuana with Hai. Apparently the tour operator had offered it to him but Dexter gave him the third degree to ensure he wasn’t drug police. Satisfied with that, he was enjoying himself even more. When Dexter returned to the room, it was via the upstairs deck. “Without us, everyone just dispersed into their own company,” he said.
Next activity was rice paper roll-making lessons. I missed the beginning but thought I would have an advantage over most of the crowd as I love cooking. One step which I didn’t agree with but followed blindly turned mine into a bit of mush. Too much water. Dexter put four times the amount of filling into his and it turned into a salad. Using less water to dampen the edges made the next effort a lot better. This over we went up to the roof for dinner.
The scenery was nearly gone. The hills had doubled in size, reflected perfectly on the still water as dusk settled. Soon only the lights of other boats could be seen in the bay. Frustrated by the paucity of wine service, I decided to help myself and poured a glass for every one at our table.
This from an open bottle on a trolley between the two tables each with about eight diners. I had failed to realise that this had been purchased by the other table but no one appeared to notice.
Before we had tasted, Lucas the barman reappeared and I called “Bring us another bottle.” “What’s your room number”, said Lucas and I realised my previous mistake. Then we tasted it, a white wine from Chile. The contents could have got our scooter from the highlands to Du Peak. The thought was there.
As we discussed the wine’s lack of merit, Poupi mentioned in broken English and with Jean-Luc’s help where they lived. “Pouilly-Fume…Chateauneuf de Pape? Have you heard of it?” I had. “Chateauneuf de Pape! Not knowing that is like not knowing who George Clooney is.” She loved it.
A rather forgettable seafood dinner followed before I was the first to bed. Soon Dexter was back to get his pipe from La La Land. He had another smoking date with Hai. He later reported that this time they smoked tobacco and members of the group joined in. Lucas looked tentative because he was on duty. Dexter convinced him it would be ok. “He extended the pipe and lit it like he had been doing it since he was three,” Dexter told me. The pipe proved a monster hit and then they performed karaoke.
“Even Jurgen sang Maroon 5.” Dexter told me this but I had my own version too. From my bed, most of what I heard were songs of which I had never heard. Then Kathleen belted out Bohemian Rhapsody. Not easy; tough choice even for a good singer. Freddie wouldn’t have been happy.
There had also been a conversation between Dexter and Duncan. Second hand and paraphrased, it had gone something like this.
“That’s a lovely pipe. Are you going to take it back into Australia?”
“No. It’s too tricky with wood items through customs.”
“You’ll get away with it. I brought a full rice-nigger hat home last year.”
“A what?”
“A rice..nigger..hat”, the last said with a mischievous look as his tourist audience stared open mouthed.
The big hits of tobacco eventually took their toll and the crowd dropped like flies. Dexter returned to the cabin and I woke up to capture him at his height. Everything I said earned rapturous laughter and I revelled in how funny I was. Or was I?
PART VI ENDS
I WRIGHT 