Cat Ba Island - Lan Ha Bay - Halong Bay

cat ba

Avoiding rabies on Monkey Island

Cat Ba fish market

 

A small clam farm

Halong Bay is the largest tourist attraction in the Northeast of Vietnam, with crowds of day and overnight visitors leaving from Hanoi every morning.  Lan Ha Bay is farther south, and is therefore less accessible to and mostly forgotten by the larger tour groups.  We went big and chartered a private boat to take us on a two day, overnight adventure leaving from Cat Ba Island.  Neither Christina nor our two Vietnamese sailors would address me as the preferred "Skipper Pete." Missed opportunities.

Approaching the bays, you sail toward what appears to be a body of water completely enclosed by a range of mountains.  But as you get closer, the fog reveals the mountains to be at varying distances, and the range to actually be over two thousand dark islands rising independently out of the Gulf of Tonkin.  Separating the peaks are channels of calm water, while grottoes, carved out by time, wind, and waves, dot the floors of the islands.  Primed for exploration, we left our boat by kayak, and followed the maze of passes and caves to private lakes, swinging monkeys, and enormous karst amphitheaters that reflected and amplified our voices and primate calls through the uninhabited jungle.

The weather was frigid, cloudy, and often drizzling, which contributed to the mysterious air of the bays.  We stayed warm on the deck of the ship under a pile of heavy blankets, and escaped to our cabin when things got too wet.  Our tasty meals were cooked for us onboard and presented as a great banquet on the deck, a mix of vegetables, fried treats, rice, and fresh seafood (the stir fried baby squid and pineapple was a surprise hit).

Hundreds of people live scattered throughout the bays on small floating houses.  They farm shellfish for Cat Ba and the mainland, run boating operations, and spend time with the two or three dogs that protect their isolated property, from European scuba diving thieves I imagine.  We docked at one such home, friends of our captains, where we were graciously welcomed to drink homemade rice whisky and sing and dance karaoke.  More Vietnamese poured in, and we had a party, one of the most fun I've been to.  Christina and I struggled to guess melodies for some obscure American folk songs which were selected for us, before we sang a powerful rendition of "Boys Don't Cry," which did actually make a small Chinese boy cry.

Tears mean bedtime.  We slept anchored and alone in the middle of the bay.  Somewhere beyond the fog there were stars.