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…