On New Year's Eve, I certainly didn't expect to be sailing in Halong Bay, a natural wonder in northern Vietnam famous for its large rock formations.
The boat was wooden and small, and we six tourists became close to one another quickly. We began the trip in the afternoon, after a harrowing van ride on bumpy, one-lane roads where drivers communicated to each other entirely by honking.
To board our boat, we had to walk along the edges of other tour boats, holding onto the roofs to balance. Luckily, we had left our suitcases in Hanoi, the capital. After we sped away from the shore, the boat stopped so that a crew member could catch a box of chocolate pies, which a woman tossed from another boat, and to trade bottles of wine. The top of the boat was lined with tables, as though it were a restaurant. The driver also sat there, navigating a wooden steering wheel.
Shortly after we left, they served lunch. Our guide had told us that she didn't need to accompany us because the people manning the boat spoke such good English. Their English consisted of "You like?" and "Want more?" Each time I thought the meal was over, another course would come.
I think the crew was disappointed when we didn't finish everything because, for them, the bounty of seafood was a delicacy. I wanted to tell them that it was not their food that we hated, just the large quantities of it. Afterwards, we were served vegetables, beef, pork, and finally rice, the food I looked forward to the most each meal because it didn't contain meat. Ironically, I would have gladly traded my food for their chocolate pies and fresh corn.
After dinner, our group decided to play charades. The game quickly became boisterous when I spent almost thirty minutes acting out "curb." The small crew, most likely a family, ate on the floor after we had finished our food, and some were sleeping there when we started our game. The one man who was still awake looked over at us several times and smiled. He came over with a plate of wrapped chocolates as midnight approached. After eating fruit for dessert for one week straight, it felt strange to eat chocolate again.
The Vietnamese mainly celebrate Tet, their New Year, on February 9. I had been looking forward to drinking champagne all evening, but when the crew gave us a bottle of Russian champagne, we opened it, took a few sips, and discreetly spat it out. We left the half-filled bottle on the table. I wish I could have communicated with the crew using charades. We went to bed early that night, ready to return to Hanoi, where our rooms were heated and our guide at least spoke English.
In Cambodia, we took a less scenic boat trip, but were able to observe people going about their daily lives. On the van ride to the edge of the river where the boats docked, we passed countless homes constructed from thatch.
The streets were littered with naked children, their legs covered in sand. Some children slept in tiny one or two room homes that housed large families. Although only a small minority of the population owns a refrigerator, many homes we passed had televisions, which they powered with auto batteries.
The boat, like the houses, was open. It was canoe-shaped and we sat under a small awning. A man drove the boat, accompanied by his son. Under ten years old, the boy had already mastered steering the boat and pumping the motor.
It was hard not to imagine that he would be working on that boat for the rest of his life. Before we left, a boy and a girl who were sitting on top of a nearby boat waved to us and I waved back. They giggled and I repeated this gesture three or four times as they repeatedly whispered to one another and waved back. Although this was a small exchange, it brightened my day because these children, who seemed to have nothing, were nevertheless able to laugh a bit.
We passed many dwellings along the river, some of which were floating houses. People who lived in them were permanent nomads, hoisting their houses onto boats and rowing away to another spot every few months because of fluctuating water levels during different seasons. The coastal water areas are subdivided by buoy barriers among wealthy people who bid for the rights to fish there annually. The poor people living along the river banks are hired to fish by the wealthy.
We passed a village with a predominately Vietnamese population. Older women squatted in boats over baskets of vegetables, shaded from the sun by their infamous conical-shapedhats. And although the boat we rode on was primitive and we joked about the wonderful commentary we were receiving, I felt content to be there, with a gentle breeze blowing in my face, watching families spending an afternoon together.
