Vietnam: Hustled in Halong Bay

Why do things the easy way when there is a much more difficult and stressful way to do it? I suppose it would be more accurate to say that we don’t necessarily look for opportunities that are guaranteed to present unforeseen obstacles, but it’s not like we go out of our way to avoid them either. Most people, for instance, opt to purchase a tour package for Halong Bay while they’re in Hanoi, which is something that can easily be arranged at most hotels. These packages typically include a ride to and from Halong Bay, a night aboard a boat, and four meals (exclusive of drinks). All in all, this no hassle approach would have saved us a lot of time and aggravation, but on the other hand, there wouldn’t be much of a story to tell, would there?

We had opted out of booking a tour in advance, mainly because that’s what a ‘freedom tourist’ doesn’t do, as we wanted to have a chance to be a little more shrewd and selective with the kind of boat we wanted to hire. We knew that we didn’t want to spend a ridiculously large sum of money, nor did we want to spend a ridiculously small sum of money either. After all, in Asia you really do get what you pay for and the dollar can go a long way. According to sources Laura had read, it is to the advantage of the budget-conscious traveler to actually head down to the docks in Halong City and see the boats yourself – after all, the tour companies are only going to show photos of their best and newest boats, not the ones that have been doing the tourist grind for a decade or more. There was the possibility as well that we could negotiate a better price with the actual owners of the boat, rather than having to pay the naturally inflated rates issued by the tour companies in Hanoi.

We therefore left Haiphong (where we had stayed after our two days in Sapa) early on Friday morning on a local bus due for Halong City. Of course, travelling via local intercity transit is always an educational experience when it comes to interacting with another culture. Buses such as these, which are slightly larger than an extended van, always leave from a central bus depot, but proceed to crawl through the city streets before hitting the highway in the hopes of enticing more passengers in order to fill up the seats. As a result, you can often flag one of these buses down anywhere along its route, which is precisely what we did.

Of course, we expected the bus to take us where it stated it was going, which it didn’t quite do. In fact, within a kilometer of the Halong City, we were unceremoniously thrust to the side of the road and left to the mercy of the elements (it was cold and raining) and the moto-taxi drivers who were waiting along the side of the road to take advantage of poor, unsuspecting suckers such as we. Having little option but to agree to the inflated fare that was roughly equal to the cost of the one-and-a-half hour bus ride to Halong City from Haiphong, we each hopped onto the back of a motorcycle and placed our livelihoods into the hands of two complete strangers. As we were led along rain-soaked roads into Halong City, I couldn’t quite push past that gnawing fear that something could go horribly wrong. As long-time readers can attest, the last time I rode on a motorbike, it did not end all that well. There was, however, the thrill of adventure as we sped the opposite way along one-way streets, raindrops pelting our faces like shards of glass, and my 45 litre backpack strapped over my shoulders creating a precarious imbalance of weight on the bike. After all, these kinds of seat-of-your-pants thrills were part of the reason for travelling independently! What could be better?

A lot, apparently. Instead of taking us to the tourist dock in Halong City from where all of the houseboats depart, the two moto-taxi drivers brought us to a dodgy hotel, complete with a dodgy boat-booking office and a dodgy-looking booking agent. Naturally, the drivers played dumb as we pulled the map out once again and attempted in vain to communicate that we wished to brought to the dock, which was still a few kilometers from where we stood. The agent attempted in the five words of English he knew to calm us down and convince us to just come inside and sit for a few minutes while we waited for his boss. After a few minutes of intense arguing, we knew we were going to get nowhere, as the drivers were paid a commission for bringing us to this very spot and weren’t going to give up on the money they were promised. So we paid off our moto-taxi drivers (despite not actually reaching our destination), and started hoofing it in the direction of the pier, some 2-3 kilometres away.

Just as we turned to begin our long march, I caught the image of the booking agent’s boss out of the corner of my eye, as he darted down the street in his shiny grey suit in hopes of catching us in time. Not willing at this point to even speak to another Vietnamese, we trudged forward without looking back.

However, roughly ten minutes later, the same man in the shiny grey suit zipped past us on his scooter and pulled into the parking lot of a hotel that we eventually passed on foot. As we passed by, I saw him lurking behind one of the pillars that formed the gated entrance to the parking lot, trying his best to appear completely disinterested in us. I didn’t mention this to Laura, preoccupied as I was already with the fact that I had not anticipated having to walk any significant distance that day with my bag, and as a result, failed to wear anything but my flip-flops (which did nothing to protect my feet and legs from the fresh layer of mud that caked the wet sidewalks). Needless to say, the combined factors of our morning’s misadventures had instilled in me a level of irritability and uninhibited rage that threatened to tear the very fabric of the cosmos in half.

So when we approached the tourist docks and the first person to come running at us was the man in the shiny grey suit, I had lost all sense of culture and refinement and lashed out, telling the man not so kindly to “Fuck off!” before he even had a chance to utter a word. Shocked, he backed off and left us alone as we headed for the tourist information building. While there, we chatted with a tour operator who showed us some samples of the various boats his company had to offer, and we settled on one that seemed to meet our needs. Since we were early, however, we had a few hours to wait before the boat sailed, so we grabbed a bite to eat on the street and ambled around the dock until it was time to meet up with the booking agent once more.

Despite the setbacks that the day had thrown our way, we were content, at least, in the fact that we had done it on our own, and most importantly, shafted the man in the shiny grey suit from getting his commission.

When we arrived back at the tourist centre to meet up with our booking agent (who was to take us to the boat), who approached us but the man in the shiny grey suit. Turns out the agent who we’d done business was actually his partner. He politely told us that his partner would be there to meet us momentarily and went on his way as Laura and I stared on, mouths gaping, and silently cursing the Fates.