Halong Bay - Part II

Our Captain reminds me of an Asian Napoleon…“Nah Poh Leung”. He might be small but what he lacks in stature he amply makes up for in character. Unlike all the other ship Captains, our little fellow stands proud and erect in his uniform as he commands our attention. So what if the sleeves of his oversized navy blue jacket are so long that only his fingers dangle through. Or if his trousers, on the other hand (no pun intended), are so short that this only draws more attention to his flip flop clad feet. Or finally that his cap is so large that it permanently hoods his eyes.

Despite, the fashion faux-pas, the wee man exudes great competence and any Captain capable of skillfully steering the wheel with just one foot is pretty darn awesome in my book. He’s no Richard Gere and he won’t be carrying me off into the sunset to the sound of “Up Where We Belong” (great karaoke song by the way) yet I am disturbingly captivated by this striking little chap. It must be the uniform and what he can do with his feet.

Anyway, on my second night, for obvious reasons (please refer to Part I), I am reluctant to go to my cabin and decide to stick around for the Karaoke portion of the evening. Also, I figure, if you can’t beat them then join them. And if you join them, then put your heart and soul into it! So here I am, singing my lungs out to the cheesiest songs imaginable. Think Britney Spears and Back Street Boys. Secretly (well. Not really) I LOVE it. I even get to, and I use this term loosely, “perform” my signature Karaoke song  (everyone should have one) which is Doris Day’s “Que sera, sera”! After one last round of thunderous applause (Ok. Maybe more of a cheer) from a clearly undemanding audience, unable to delay the inevitable any longer, I finally make the long walk to my cabin…Next door.

Vince, seems decent enough. A quiet (wasn’t Norman Bates?), middle-aged postman from Canada. I am a slightly troubled though when, en passant, he mentions that he was his Mother’s executioner…Erm…I mean Executor (Norman Bates, Norman Bates…). While I’m sure Vince is harmless (that’s what Norman Bate’s victims thought too), I discreetly keep the knife my father gave me for just such “special” occasions safely tucked under my pillow. To be clear, my Dad didn’t really take me aside one day presenting me with it and say: “Paula, bambina, if ever you find yourself alone in a room with a (strange) man, please use this.” But I’m pretty sure that’s what he meant and this moment certainly qualifies (Ok. So I led a very sheltered life. Better safe than sorry). In fact, if my Dad reads this, I imagine he’s relatively proud of me. I add relatively because knowing my father, this moment is swiftly replaced with annoyance. I can see him now rolling his eyes and internally reprimanding me for being in this situation to begin with.

Anyway, in case you were wondering, I did make it through the night…Not unscathed, mind you. The real danger, it turned out, lie elsewhere, in an unexpected corner. It was not my life nor my virtue but my sleep that was jeopardized by my roommate’s nocturnal respiratory activity. Yes people. A snorer…

Halong Bay - Part I

I am lulled into a restful sleep by the gentle sound of waves lapping against our ship. Wait. Scratch that. I am lying in bed, wide awake, listening to the ship’s crew singing the night away to Vietnamese Karaoke tunes. Even the Captain is letting loose. The Karaoke is part of the onboard entertainment (it’s this or squid fishing). Unsurprisingly most of the westerners have opted either for the fishing or for an early night (of Karaoke induced sleeplessness). On the first evening, I am no exception and after about 2 minutes of extremely uneventful fishing, I retire to my little cabin.

I’m in Halong Bay and (apart from the lousy tunes) it’s spectacular. We sail amid thousands of limestone islands, rising from the Ocean, each topped with thick jungle vegetation. I won’t even begin to describe the beauty so you’ll just have to take my word for it. Alternatively, I’ll give you a second to google some images! Back yet? Didn’t I tell you it was spectacular?

Even though the last few days have been cold and misty, this only adds a certain eeriness to the place that just makes it even more mysterious. The scene is perfect for a ghoulish horror movie (starring Jack Nicholson) and in the distance, a shoe floats forlorn in the emerald green water…Brrrrrrr…Perhaps today of all days, I shouldn’t allow my imagination to run wild especially since tonight, on my second night, I’m sharing the room with a stranger. A man I don’t know. Oh Joy…But before telling you this story, let me preface by stating that I think the Vietnamese are a cheeky bunch with a great sense of timing. Let me explain. I booked the Halong Bay cruise through my hotel. If you’re alone and don’t want to share a room, you’re expected to pay a 50$ supplement. The receptionist thinks the probability of sharing is slim so I chance it (How Italian of me) and don’t pay extra (How Dutch of me). On the morning of my departure, while waiting for the bus to pick me up at the hotel, I have breakfast and chat with another friendly receptionist, Bom (this is her real name and as you continue reading, you’ll agree it could not have been better suited for this story). My bus finally arrives and just as I board, Bom, who walked with me, casually mentions: “Ok Pola, tonight you hab room alone, tomorrow you share wid nice man. He 60 year old. Ok. Byyeeeeeeeeeeeee”.

Quick-witted as I am, my clever reaction naturally is: “What? No! What?”. Just then the bus door slams shut and as the bus drives away, Bom sees a bewildered wide-eyed woman staring back at her, two sweaty palms glued to the window, her “O” shaped lips silently mouthing the word: “Nooooooooooooo”.

Deported

Hoi An is magical! But before even taking you here, I feel we’re missing a few important chapters worth recounting. So let me take you back and rewind to the day I leave Macao for Vietnam, on a fateful Tuesday (17 Jan). I am staying with my good friend Cynthia, her husband, Michael and their cute kids, Micah and Jazzy. After 9 days of quality time with the family, unlimited singing of “twinkle twinkle little star” (hand movements included) and NOT gambling in the massive Macanese casinos, it’s time for me to leave. Filled with excitement at the rose-colored adventures that lie ahead, I merrily take the 45 minutes ferry ride from Macao directly to the Hong Kong Airport to catch my flight to Saigon (HCMC). According to my trusted Lonely Planet, I can apply for my visa upon arrival so I’m not too worried…Can you sense what’s coming? I certainly couldn’t. Have I built the right level of suspense yet that usually preludes disaster? I’ll give you one more second to figure it out. You there yet? Yep, imagine my surprise when at the counter, they won’t let me check in without an official government visa approval letter. Unwilling yet to accept this new bleak reality and still naively gripping on to the hope for a positive outcome, I demand to speak with the supervisor in my most authoritative tone. An older Chinese gentleman appears.

Confident Me: “Sir, I booked my ticket to Saigon for today. I plan to leave today. How can you help me?”

Unstirred Supervisor: “I can help you get back on the ferry to Macao.”

Optimistic (slightly agitated. You can tell by the higher pitch in my voice) Me: “No, no. You don’t understand. I must leave today to Vietnam. I have my ticket and everything. What can we do?”

Unmoved Supervisor: “There’s nothing I can do. You must return to Macao.”

Delusional (whining) Me: “But why? I don’t want to go back. Just let me go and I’ll take my chances in Vietnam.”

Silence. Why is he looking at me that way?

At this point in my very own personal Game Show of “Who wants to go to Vietnam”, which clearly I’m not winning, I use my “Phone-a-Friend” Lifeline (since the audience, while entertained, really doesn’t care) and dial Cynthia who now also demands to speak with the Supervisor. She tries to convince him to check me in but even Cynthia, famous for her persuasion skills, fails to impress him and is as successful as the peace talks in the Middle East. It turns out I am now in No Man’s land, neither in Macao nor in Hong Kong so even though I’d have enough time to rush to the Vietnamese Embassy in Hong Kong, they won’t let me out. The only way is back.

One hour later, exhausted from the fruitless exchange with Impassive Supervisor, realization finally dawns on Defeated Me as I draw the following brilliant conclusion: “So you’re saying I can’t fly out today?”

And so my journey prematurely ends as I am shipped back to Macao. Deported no less! My passport is confiscated and I am escorted by a security agent back onto the ferry. When we arrive in Macao, another customs guy escorts me to a little room in the back of the Terminal. After a lot of paper filling and even more stamping (of paper, not feet), my passport is finally returned to me and I am released into the cold Macanese air. Luckily, while all this is going down, Cynthia is able to reschedule my flight to the next day at no extra cost (Thanks again Cyn!). And as much as I would love to blame the world, it really was my own stupid rookie mistake. So kids, allow me to impart my newly acquired knowledge with any one of you planning a trip to Vietnam. For 50$, you can apply online for a visa approval request and actually get it in less than 2 hours. And now, back to “twinkle twinkle little star” J