We had paid about half the amount for a private car to pick us up at the airport about forty minutes away, so Jessica and I sort of assumed Jenny had arranged some sort of private car. We should have asked more questions, or perhaps just known better as she did say "bus."
At 8, a crowded minibus arrived to pick us up. We were squeezed onto the back row surrounded by people who eagerly got out to smoke at any stop we made and loud teenagers who were excited to go the beach. Nope, not exactly what we pictured.
Two hours later we arrived to... where I have no idea as it sort of appeared to just be the end of a road. We were shuffled along with other groups from other buses onto a boat. There is a feeling that accompanies boats, almost a romantic charm that rings inside of me when someone mentions a boat ride. Whether it's a cruise, watching the sunset over the lake, an early morning kayak ride or even a ferry that seamlessly delivers you from place to place. I'm learning that this feeling should not be associated with all boats. The interior of the boat looked more like an airplane with three seats on each side. As Jessica and I were two of the last ones on board, not only were we worried about our luggage toppling off the pile in the back, but we had to squeeze into the last two remaining seats. That's okay, it'll be a nice view. Wrong again. The boat sat low in the water and the windows were sort of grungy. We soon learned why. Thankfully, the windows were closed (why yes, you're right, the airflow was just fine on this humid July day), because the waves crashed well above them blocking all hopes of seeing the gorgeous island we were approaching.
We deboarded to the smell of rotting fish and climbed aboard another bus. This one was much larger, so we were able to spread out. Of course the old, squeaky seats made the hour long journey across the island not quite as pleasant. We asked our adorable guide if the bus would take us to the hotel. She said no, but told us a very cheap price that we should be able to get a taxi to the hotel.
We were dropped off in the heart of Cat Ba town surrounded by a dozen or so buses at a pier where lots of other boats were bringing in fellow tourists, so we assumed catching a taxi would not be difficult. Jenny had told us the golden rule of Vietnam was to bargain, even for food and even in stores. She had also told us that many taxi drivers will try to scam you, so our feet had been our only taxi so far. Studying the map to book our hotel, I knew it wasn't too far, but I didn't know exactly how far and I was fairly certain it was in the uphill direction. I found a taxi driver and asked how much to our hotel. He said "50,000." Our guide had told us it should be 30,000, so I started there. He didn't meet me half way, he just said no. So, we walked away thinking he'd call us back. Nope, he didn't actually look interested in working as he and his fellow taxi driver friends seemed to be busy telling jokes to one another. We walked on thinking we'd find many more. Guess what, wrong again. One man did lean out his window and yell, "taxi," but as there were no signs of any sort on his car, and visions of Taken flashed in our heads, we said no. Our guide had also told us that the hotel probably had a private car that would come pick us up. So, I tried calling them. During this time, a Vietnamese man put his son by us to get a picture. Yep, I'm sure I had a real thrilled look on my face. Phone lines wouldn't go through. We walked on a bit more and a man with a sticker on the side of the car yelled "taxi." I asked how much and when he responded with "40,000," I forgot the golden rule and we accepted his price. To put things in perspective, that's $1.76, and yes, we should have just paid the first guy.
Jessica and I had really been looking forward to this resort. It was by far the most expensive place we had booked and we were eager to enjoy relaxing there. So, when the taxi delivered us to a beach bar that could have easily been related to the FloraBama, I repeated the name of our hotel with a question. He pointed and so, hearts sinking, we exited the taxi. Just around the bend in the path, about 100 meters away we arrived at our beautiful resort eager to chill after the four and a half hour journey.
The next day, we began thinking about how we would get back home. Jenny had booked our return trip and had asked for our hotel address, so surely that was all we needed, right? But, we had no paperwork indicating what company was to pick us up nor proof of purchase should they question us. We had seen bus times advertised saying they left town at 8, 9, 11, 4 and 5, but we were told they'd pick us up at 3. We were able to text (yep, free texts) to our hotel in Hanoi and they confirmed 3pm pick up at our hotel in Cat Ba.
So, we relaxed for a couple more days on the beach, up until 2:30 before our departure, then, with bated breath, waited where our taxi had dropped us off. We watched lots of people passing back and forth, knowing exactly what they were doing. Some were climbing the narrow hillside road from the beach, many were flocking down the hill ready for the beach. A private car for our hotel came down to the narrow parking lot and took some other tourists. We waited, fingers crossed for our ride. A man hurried down the hill, approached us and said, "I'm looking for Jessica and Rebecca." Yes!!! A huge sigh of relief came over us, despite the fact that the minibus had stopped at the top of the hill (it couldn't make it into the narrow parking lot at the bottom of the hill) which meant we were dragging all of our belongings a couple hundred meters up a steep hill.
Our ride back to Hanoi was much more pleasant than our ride to Cat Ba for several reasons. 1) We knew what to expect and so odd occurances did not bother us as much. 2) The bus, boat and bus were not quite as crowded, so we were able to spread out a bit. 3) Our fellow travelers were much more pleasant and not as loud.
I thoroughly enjoyed the bus ride from the boat to Hanoi. Not only did I finish my audiobook, The Book Thief, but the sights were beautiful, tranquil and seemingly idealistic. Much of our ride was on a highway, but just off the highway were extensive farm lands. There were farms growing banana trees, citrus fruits and vines unknown to me. A young man drove down the narrow road alongside the highway peacefully, putting his feet up on the handlebars as he laid back on his scooter. Men with small herds of ten or twenty cows walked along or let the cows nibble in the uncut triangles formed at intersections. One young cow put his head against his guide asking for a scratch. There were what appeared to be graveyards or large groups of small, brightly colored temples in grassy wetlands, reminding me of the famous cemeteries in New Orleans. Small ponds, like catfish ponds at home, were overflowing with white ducks. I must have seen thousands of these ducks along the way. Their life seemed happy, but my guess is that changes when they are put into tight cages and driven down the highway on the back of a motorbike. One man rode a bike as he herded a hundred or so goats down the narrow road.
One of the most fascinating things to me has been the rice fields. I have loved watching diligent farmers growing their rice with careful attention. Flying into Ireland, it looks like a giant green quilt with tracts of land broken into smaller pieces by fences. Here, although not always green, the rice fields give that same sort of effect. The rice fields are shallow, most farmers have on rain boots and that is more than adequate to protect them from getting too wet. In between these fields is tracts of piled dirt, packed tight forming sort of dams as well as walking paths between the multitiude of rice fields. I've watched farmers in a variety of stages of the planting. Some are hoeing through a muddy field, preparing the soil for planting. Some are planting bright green stalks in spaced out rows (transplanting rather than seed planting). Some seem to be breaking up seedbeds where the green plants are close to one another, preparing them to be transplanted.
There I was, mystified by the surroundings and in a nice, comfortable state. Our guide tells us that we won't be dropped at our hotels, but at the lake in the Old Quarter. No problem, that's just a few blocks from our hotel. He gets off early and says the driver will take us there. A few minutes later the driver stops on the side of a major road and tells us all to get off. We are not by a lake. We are not even in the Old Quarter as that's easy to identify with narrow roads and tight spaces. A taxi driver approaches us, and although we knew we were about to be ripped off, we had no clue where we were, so we told him where we were staying. It took a few minutes but he figured it out. Then he said taxis could not go into the Old Quarter. Okay. And yes, since we are not at a tourist attraction nor even a bus station, there seems to be no other choice but to walk and see what we can find.
Did I mention that on our way into the city, it had gotten dark? Not just because the sun had recently set but because the clouds had also settled in. Don't worry, it lit up frequently with lightening. There we were, luggage in tow, in the rain and we had no clue where we were. I turned on my cellular data for about two minutes to use GPS (we'll see what that costs later), but we were able to quickly orient ourselves. Turned out the driver dropped us off just outside the Old Quarter, but still about three quarters of a mile from our hotel. Yes, I know that's not that far, but in the rain, slippery flip flops, a bag on front and on back, scooters parked on the sideways and going every which way on the roads, it felt like an eternity. And I can't tell you how many taxis we also had to navigate our way through, so as for no taxis in the Old Quarter, I don't know.
We did however make it, looking like drowned rats no doubt, and there was Jenny there to greet us with that incredible smile on her face. She asked if they had just dropped us off around the corner. When we told her where they had left us, she was quite upset and said she'd be calling them in the morning. Ah, precious Jenny. Coming back to the Golden Legend sort of felt like coming home.
Were our travel days all that bad? No. Will they be fun stories to tell later? Absolutely. Did we feel stronger, braver and more adventurous after making it through them? Absolutely. What did we learn? Ask more questions, or just take your Dramamine and go along for the ride.
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