The Dragon of Halong
My very own dragon of Halong By © A. Harrison
Dawn had barely touched the sky. I stood in the silence, trying to decide where the dragon had plunged into the sea. My boat drifted past those islands and craggy cliffs born when the dragon of the gods, after first gouging the mountains with his tail, plummeted into the sea. Foaming waves flooded into the devastation, creating Halong Bay. In some tales the dragon lies buried beneath the waves; in others he merely slumbers in one of the many limestone caves littering the bay, waiting.
Now these islands with their impossible peaks swim in a sea of emerald. Later as I searched for the dragon I would find a floating village (complete with a primary school and a bar) hidden among the 3000 islands (or maybe 1500 islands, depending upon your sources). Elsewhere hide grottos known only to a few, or islands with names such as The Two Hens or Tea Pot Island.
The Two Hens © A. Harrison
Nearing the town of Halong, however, any sense of the mythical past evaporated with depressing reality. With all tour boats forced to pile almost on top of one another by the pier, by early in the morning the place had exploded into a tourist nightmare.
Yet to discover the true Halong meant being brave and running the gauntlet of touts and tour operators, stall holders and boatmen offering their services for the day. Surely this was where the belly of the dragon had scalded the land as he fell. Or perhaps his fiery breath so scorched the earth nothing of beauty could grow here.
Gladly leaving the gaudy neon lights and dubious hotels behind, I found unexplored streets where school kids ran home for lunch as old men sat smoking in cafes. Grandmothers waited patiently on doorsteps, nursing a baby or two while watching the world pass by. Hairdressers plied their trade on the street, while a few doors away builders hauled bricks and cement to an upper floor with an intricate system of pulleys and buckets (which looked remarkably like a stack of flowerpots). Many of the houses boasted small vegetable gardens.
After walking some half an hour uphill I came across a tiny lane-way, which opened onto the sprawling local market. The wet market stretched before me, seemingly forever. The range of seafood on display was incredible — and largely unrecognisable.
Further back a large covered area served as a food hall — large enough, it seemed, to feed the whole town. Choosing a stall at random, a lady deftly prepared some pho (complete with the tiniest, juiciest limes) using nothing more than a small cooker over a gas burner. A scarf partially covered the curlers in her hair. Next came some thinly sliced beef stir-fried in a sauce with the most incredible aroma.
As I ate her mother came to visit, bringing the baby. I nursed the bub as the lady in the stall next door made coffee. I was at first dubious when, after concocting the brew in a small percolator sitting directly above the cup, she thickened the coffee with a dollop of condensed milk. My fears proved ill-founded. Perhaps it was the setting, perhaps it was because I hadn’t found a decent coffee since leaving Saigon, but this java proved one of the best I have drunk outside of Italy (or Melbourne).
Boats waiting for crew and passengers to return © A. Harrison
The meal and coffee (for two) cost around 80,000 Vietnamese Dong — or less than five Aussie dollars. (A word of caution for fools like myself who try to keep their brain active by not using calculators: when tired, or overwhelmed, I often found myself out by a factor of ten when making the calculations at an ATM. This would leave me with a wad of money in my wallet, worth so very little.)
Nourished and refreshed, I ventured back to the pier. After all, this is why the world comes to Halong Bay. My afternoon passed in a whirl of noise as I explored the islands on a boat about the size of the African Queen — and about as sea-worthy. It lacked only the leeches.
A flotilla of colourful tourist boats © A. Harrison
Having adapted to the chaos, however, I stood on the bow and enjoyed the spectacle as our boat assumed ramming speed to gain prime position at any mooring. The bay resound to the thuds of collisions and the creak of wood as the boats jostled amongst themselves and we clambered from one boat to the next to reach the shore.
As dusk fell a cool breeze came over the water, and the crowds and boats alike melted away. Before me stretched the still waters, empty of all save the islands. A rising mist swirled over the bay and around the boat, as if I slowly travelled back to when the dragon had plunged into the sea, and both myself and Halong Bay were new-born.
Islands in Halong Bay at dusk © A. Harrison
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Some photos taken as I cruised down the Mekong
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