Hanoi, 12th of January 2020
As I relaxed into the welcoming leather seat of the Daiichi bus, I silently thanked Ha for her help with booking the bus. It was a short four hours from Hanoi to the harbourside in Haiphong, and sitting listening to music, I found the journey to be very peaceful. As a flat and plain landscape of small villages and countless palm trees drifted slowly past me. A short ferry trip took us onto the island, during which I had yet another of those short but immensely welcoming chats with one of the bus drivers who spoke a little English. “Your name like Harry Potter, right?” I laughed. I guess so.
The sun was setting before I caught my first true glimpse of the island. Tired from the three hours of lessons that morning, I rested my head on my bag and shut my eyes, roused every third minute by the bone-rattling jolt of yet another pothole.
After sampling a bowl of steaming Banh da Cua, (Haiphong’s signature dish, a little like pho, but with fish), I wandered around the town lazily. Realising I was too tired to muster the energy to introduce myself to some of the personalities behind the English voices that filled the seafront with a mild hubbub, I headed back to my hostel and fell into a deep and comfortable sleep.
Cat Ba Island, 13th January 2020
After a disappointing shower (although I had no complaints, the three nights in Cat Ba totalled less than £5), I cautiously stirred my host from where he slept on the floor of the downstairs restaurant and acquired the keys to a bike. The bike itself, although adorned with the cheerful slogans “Sexy Mama” and “Ride me baby” in crude white paint, turned out to have seen better days. Having been overcharged for a Banh Mi, and utterly failed to haggle with the seller, I received some assistance from the attendant at the petrol station and headed to the beach.
A chill breeze awaited me once I arrived, and I hurried on along a path that circled the headland with steep rockfaces to the right and steeper cliffs with the sea below on the left. I soon forgot all about the chill in the air, as I caught my first glimpse of Lan Ha Bay. There was a soft, sombre light on the water turning it a deep shade of seafoam green. The sun was trying to break through the clouds with the same enthusiasm of a teenager trying to wake up on a wet Sunday morning.
Skirting round the headland, I made my way down to a small, deserted beach in front of two resorts. I pictured the place full of tourists in the height of the summer season, and smiled, happy to have the place to myself. Walking the length of the beach and depositing my obligatory handful of litter into a bin, I turned on my heel and headed back to my bike. Grabbing a dragon fruit from the market, feeling my boots itching to climb, I wound my way out of the town and onto the main road towards the nature reserve with its patiently waiting peaks.
The long winding road took me deeper and deeper into what felt like true wilderness. A few tourists passed me in the opposite direction, but otherwise the road was deserted.
Arriving at the entrance to the nature reserve, I bought some bananas from a friendly lady on the roadside who invited me to park my bike in her driveway and avoid the parking charge. With my wallet 80k lighter, I began the trek up to the top of Ngu Lam mountain. I soon was out of sight of all man-made structures and found myself climbing up a steep ascent of jagged rocks. I was warm despite the shade of the jungle canopy overhead, and stopped to take off my jacket and look around. Signs on the trees notified me in Vietnamese and Latin of the various rare species of tree in the park, but I made no effort to consider their names.
As I continued through the trees I marvelled at how, quite in contrast to many forests in England, the trees seemed to lack any form of symmetry. Used as I am to the aesthetically symmetrical oak and beech trees of Devon, and even the uniform rows of coniferous trees, I found the mad jumble of roots, trunks, drooping branches and vines to be very alien. In many cases it was unclear where root ended and branch began, as the roots themselves would often stretch for several metres down a craggy rockface, clinging on with all their might.
A near vertical climb up natural rock steps forced me to all fours, and I was panting by the time I emerged above the canopy. Stopping for a drink and a banana, I squinted into the bright sky where the sun still sheltered behind the clouds. All around me and below me the national park stretched out as far as the eye could see. A vast green blanket folded and creased into steep peaks since millions of years ago. The hills that lay before me were so steep that I thought to myself, surely no man has ever set foot on the tops of them all. It was a true wilderness. It was utterly peaceful on the top of the mountain, and I sat in silence for a while before slicing open my dragon fruit and digging in.
Staying hydrated, of course…
I was joined on the peak by three other hikers, Shai from Israel, Clara from Germany and a girl from Italy whose name I soon forgot after we parted ways at the entrance to the park. Having shared my dragon fruit with Shai and Clara, however, I walked with them back down the mountain and decided to join them in looking around a nearby cave.
I was astounded by the vastness of the cave itself, with countless little crawl spaces which seemed to go on forever. Clara and I explored a few such tiny passages with the assistance of only out phone torches but were reluctant to go too deep into the dark depths. A good thirty minutes later, we emerged at the far side of the great hill that housed the cave and proceeded on our bikes some way back down the road to visit the infamous Cat Ba hospital cave.
Perfectly hidden in the midst of Cat Ba’s national park, this hospital had been used by soldiers throughout the entire duration of the Vietnam war. I was amazed at how organised and structured it was, with uniform concrete walls lining little rooms deep inside what looked from the outside like any other of the great rock formations on the island.
After some fried rice, Clara and I parted ways with Shai, and set off in search of a climbing spot. A few wrong turns later and a scramble down a hidden path obscured by countless overhanging plants, we arrived by the rockface. I soon realised that it would be too challenging for me, and sat back to relax and watch the other climbers. At the foot of the wall already were three men, one from Canada, one from Germany and one Czech man from the US who had lived in China for the past ten years. This man in particular intrigued me beyond measure with his curious tales of Chinese society and the entirely separate existence they live. Until now, China had not been high on my list of places to visit, but now I am definitely considering it.
Later that evening, I met up with the climbers who all sat out on the bridge in Cat Ba town drinking fresh beer and eating peanuts, chatting merrily about the day’s climbing. The welcoming atmosphere that comes with such a multicultural group was something I had experienced before in Ninh Binh, and I was grateful for how relaxed and easy-going everyone was.
Jonas, the German climber, was staying at the same hostel as Clara, and we all went back there for food. We spent the evening chatting leisurely at the hostel, meeting new people and exchanging stories of past travel and plans for the onward journey. It was here that I met Robyn, a fellow Brit, who had lost all her essential belongings and was left in borrowed clothes and little to no cash. I happily withdrew around three million dong for her, and waited patiently for her friends in England to send a bank transfer, which arrived the following day.
Lan Ha Bay, 14th January 2020
A man in a minibus picked me up from outside my hostel at 8am the next day, and we hurried off through the town, stopping at various hostels and hotels until the bus was full, at which point we set off for the harbour. The fifteen of us were ushered onto the boat which was to be our home for the day, and after a short wait, we disembarked and headed off into the bay. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that Clara was working on my boat. She had told me the previous day that she was working as a tour guide on the boats, but as I had booked through a separate company to her, I had not expected to be on the same boat. As it turns out, in the quiet season different companies often combine trips together so as not to waste time and resources.
Along with Clara was an Irish man whose name I forgot. His eyes shone bright with a wild and animal passion, and when he talked, they flicked back and forth with intensity. From his chin extended a long beard, plaited into a thin line that stretched down to his stomach. As he sat on the prow of the ship, cradling a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he shared stories about his time working the tour boats. He entertained us all very much.
Also on the boat were the Vietnamese crew, a couple of Vietnamese tourists, two young French men who provided good entertainment, and an older Frenchman with a large DSLR. There were three Polish ladies, two Spanish girls and one guy, and two girls from Belgium. I was surprised that the contingency was so European, as previously I had most commonly encountered American, Korean and Chinese tourists.
Our first stop on the itinerary was a swimming spot. The sun was yet to grace us with its presence, and I felt cautious about entering the water. Despite its rich green colour, experience swimming in England in January told me it would be icy and unwelcoming. The Irishman leapt first from the roof of the boat, and three other passengers and I quickly followed suit. The instant I touched the water I realised how wrong I had been in my assumptions. The water was mild and balmy, nothing like the icy feel of the Atlantic I had been expecting. I dove down deep under the water and rejoiced in the cleansing feeling it brought me.
The Irishman led us towards the nearest island and into a cave. Two girls from Belgium and a Frenchman accompanied us, and Clara brought up the rear as the second guide. Half crawling, half swimming through the cave with barely a foot of headroom above the water, we emerged inside the island on a small circle of sand. Following on through the jungle, we crossed the little island, and emerged on another tiny beach where the rocks all around were covered with little stacks of white stones. It felt like some sort of shrine, as on all sides the vast rockface of the island towered, a dark black in contrast to the little stacks of white stones. We listened as our guide told us the story of an American who had been placed in a coma for some time when riding his bike around north Vietnam. His father had come out to ensure his safe recovery and return to the states, but before they left, they had travelled to Cat Ba and placed a stack of white stones on this island.
Swimming back round the island and onto the boat, we warmed ourselves up and set off again into Lan Ha Bay.
As we continued onwards towards the lunch spot the true beauty of Lan Ha Bay began to hit me. Turning slowly three hundred and sixty degrees I struggled to take it all in. Countless islands stretched out in front of me until those farthest from me disappeared as shadows in the hazy light. These ancient rocks are truly breath-taking. Formed by the same continental collision that formed the Himalayas, they are older than I can even imagine. The deep green water that lies between them is so calm and sheltered that the whole bay feels incredibly peaceful and gentle despite its vastness.
Arriving at a floating jetty and mooring next to some other tour boats, all filed along the walkway past little huts and a fish farm to where attendants waited with kayaks. Gosia, a polish lady on holiday with her sister and mother, joined me in my kayak. We drifted along peacefully for the next hour or so, following our Irish leader on a winding route round little islands, through corridors and channels of peaceful water and under several caves. Along the way we all kept our eyes peeled to look out for wild monkeys on the islands, but no such primates appeared. We did see several large black squirrels, who attracted our attention by the feverish activity in the treetops. Their tails are long and thin, quite unlike the grey or red squirrels in the UK.
The kayaking was relaxing, so calm was the water and so beautiful the scenery. But as we turned back towards the boat my arms began to tire and the sky darkened with rainclouds. Had we returned a mere five minutes earlier we could have avoided the downpour. As it was, we escaped with just a mild soaking, and hurried into the boat for shelter and food.
Lunch was cooked on board by the crew, and it was a buffet style Com Binh Dan, with my favourite option being the popular Vietnamese dish of dau phu ca chua, tofu and tomato.
The hours whiled away and soon we had arrived at Monkey Island and were jumping down from little taxi boats into the surf on the water’s edge. Walking up the beach we instantly noticed the monkeys sitting lazily in the trees, eyeing the tourists with looks of cautious greed. The Irishman amused us with stories of monkeys attacking tourists as we hiked, scrambled, clambered and finally climbed up to the highest point on the island. It was a picturesque short climb through the jungle and up onto the jagged rocks at the top of the island. In front of me lay the mind-boggling vastness that is the Pacific Ocean, and as I turned back towards the mainland my eyes sparkled with wonder at the sight of all the islands.
It was soon time to head back, but there was still time for one last incredible sight; and that was the fishing village. Countless little shacks huddled together on the water, sheltering in the shadows of the towering islands around. Nine thousand people live out there on the water. Even after seeing their houses up close it is difficult to imagine what the sort of life these people live.
9,000 people live in these floating villages in Lan Ha Bay 
It was my last night in Cat Ba, and after hearing tales of music, dancing and indulgence from the climbers the previous day, I was keen to check out the bars on the seafront. Bumping into Shai again by accident, I ate some Pho quickly and we grabbed an egg coffee before heading back to the hostel where Shai, Clara and Jonas were staying.
Meeting an interesting man from Switzerland and a girl called Tatyana from Brazil, I soon found myself swept off my feet with the ease of the people here. I felt free to come and go wherever I wished, introduce myself to anyone I wanted, go anywhere, do anything, meet everyone and anyone. Tatyana, the Swiss man and I headed down to a bar on the seafront which offered free beer until 10pm. A lovely Swedish man ran the bar and he sat with us for a while, colossally drunk and swaying happily to the beats of a bearded DJ who rocked back and forth, girl on his arm, headphones on his neck and spliff in his fingers. Clara re-joined the group and we began to dance. Before my sight became too hazy and my memory too unreliable, we switched location to the Big Man Bar where large signs with arrows pointed upstairs screamed “LOUD” at us. Drinking more beers and dancing to more music and meeting more people the time whiled away too fast to catch, and soon it was 2am and I was outside singing Fleetwood Mac with some Brits with guitars.
Three Vietnamese began pouring beer down my throat and sharing their shisha with me, and before long the four of us poured out into a taxi and were whisked away to some Vietnamese restaurant where they bought me food that I neither remember the name nor taste of. Dropping me back outside my hostel, I stumbled up to bed and groaned as I saw my clothes strewn over the bed in a mess. I still had to pack before my 07:30 bus later that morning.
Having turned off my 06:00 alarm and fallen asleep again, I was woken finally at 07:30 by the lady from Daiichi travel ringing me. Panicking, I packed the fastest I have ever packed in my life and sprinted out of the building and down the street. Somehow finding the office, I hopped on the back of a motorbike and they rushed me off after my bus which had left fifteen minutes ago. My sight was still blurry from my sleepiness as the fresh morning air began to wake me up, and we zipped through shortcuts and around winding roads until finally we caught up with the bus and I was bundled on board.
Finally, back on the mainland, I shut my eyes, popped in my earplugs and fell asleep. Three hours later I arrived in Hanoi, and three hours after that I arrived at what I had come to call home.
Ninh Binh – Vietnam Blog 4