The night sleeper from Lau Cai back down to Hanoi was abysmal. While the uphill train to Sapa trundles on uneventfully, the downhill train stops at a siding every hour or so to let other trains through - so your body is instantly galvanised into action to get off at the Hanoi station, only to find it's still 1am. To make the trip worse, my traveling companions were three Vietnamese who left their cell phones on. Not only was there a steady beep-beep of txt messages through the night, but four calls came through between 3 and 4am, each one consisting of five minutes of animated conversation!
But the clincher. Diligent readers may recall a little bladder problem I had a few nights ago. Well - I was determined not to let my bladder get the better of me again. Noting the train arrived at Hanoi around 5.30am, my body clock kindly woke me at 5am. Great. I struggle down off the top bunk (trying not to wake the soundly sleeping Vietnamese of course) and make my way to the loo. Locked! I wait a few minutes. No one comes out. A guard wanders past - No No No - No toilet - shit on tracks - in station now. Yup - the train was early and had just pulled in to the Hanoi station. With no holding tanks, the toilets were closed to prevent their contents being deposited in steaming piles adjacent to the platform.
No worries - I get off the train and head for the station toilets. After all - this is the big Hanoi railway station handling lots of tourists where surely the facilities must be clean and western.
After 10 minutes of aimlessly wandering the station a guard points me to a concrete bunker in the shape of a pair of portaloos at the far end of the station. With WC written in grubby letters on the side. Does anyone recall Billy Connolly describing going to the public loos in the arse-end of Glasgow? Something like swimming across the piss-lake to get to the bog? Well you're starting to get the idea. It's before dawn, there are no lights inside. By gingerly splashing with my feet I detect this is a squat toilet and the hole is somewhere down there. I aim at it, and mostly hit it. What doesn't adds to the lake.
Feeling absolutely filthy, I back out (wearing my pack), to be confronted by a tout asking for money to use the loo! I tell him to f*** off and stomp away. My mood is not good.
But now the story improves. I've arranged to meet up with Richard and Jenny for breakfast at Jaspas - a western style restaurant in the Hanoi Towers a 10 minute walk from the station. I wash, very thoroughly, in a clean restroom and sit down for an extended chat. Great stuff - we've swapped email addresses in case I ever get to Dubai (unlikely), or they get to NZ (likely - Jenny worked in Napier for a while and wants to show new hubby around her favourite haunts).
Saying goodbye, I hike on up to Kangaroo Cafe where I meet up with a new group heading off on the 8am bus to Halong Bay. After an uneventful trip we stop for lunch before boarding the boat - a 16-sleeper tourist junk. I meet up with my room mate, Paul, a lawyer from Melbourne - the only other single. Most are couples, but there are a couple of guys traveling together, and a mother/daughter pair.
Halong Bay is simply stunning. Imagine the Bay of Islands, but with 1969 limestone and schist islands rising spectacularly into the sky, with the characteristic Vietnam haze causing each to have a slightly different hue as it recedes into the distance. And imagine dozens of junks just like ours, all fighting and jostling for space too! This place is crowded.
Anyway, some photos might help.
The prow of our boat, the Bai Tu Long, overseeing some of its companions.
Heading out into the bay.
Stunning. Sitting on the top deck, beer in hand, watching this incredible view unfold.
Bumper boats at the cave. The Vietnamese have no concept of queuing. Our boat muscled in to the others tied up at the wharf, ripping a bumper tire off one of them. When it could go no further, we clambered off our boat, onto another, then on to the wharf.
The cave is interesting, but no great shakes. "What's that?", said our guide, pointing to a large phallic stalagmite. "A finger of course", he chortled.
Dusk falls over the bay as we look forward to dinner and the evening's entertainment on the boat.
Where's everyone gone? After dinner half the group disappear, and the rest of us wait for the crew to start the party games. Nothing. We spot the big karaoke machine in the corner, and ask the crew if we can put on some music. Rummaging through the CDs we find only Vietnamese music. Believe me - this stuff is awful! Finally we find a genuine karaoke disc and figure out the remote control. I am determined not to sing - anyone who knows me will understand why. Julianna is first up - she does a pretty good rendition of a Shania Twain number. Her partner Nathan chooses a slow Elvis song because, like me, he can't sing. A couple more beers go down.
In a bizarre twist of fate, the menu pointer lands on Steppenwolf's Born To Be Wild! I can't believe it - a day earlier I'd been cruising Sapa on my Honda scooter with this tune running through my head. I grab the microphone and the group is entertained (?) by my rendition, and to tell you the honest truth, it wasn't half bad! This is the alcohol talking here...
The following morning saw me working off the indulgences of the night before. The camouflage hat I finally found at the $2 shop is working particularly well.
Admiring the stunning scenery from (on?) the top deck.
So now I have another hour to kill before the 9.15pm water puppet show, then it's on the night train down to Hue. I hear the storm and floods are clearing down there, so may have lucked out on the weather. No idea what the Internet's like though, so next post may be a week away. Keep well!
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