It's a strange thing to slowly cruise towards a small island with thatch-roofed huts nudging against a backdrop of six shades of green and a front lawn of white sand. It seems like a postcard come to life in a Frankenstein recreation that was never meant for real life. One of those places that only exists in other people's worlds or the kind of place that can be found on a cartoon map of an amusement park. Right next to the hot dog stand. But I can assure you, Monkey Island does exist and it's home to one of the world's greatest getaways.
As our boat rocked up to the sand and pebble beach, we made way to allow an eight food board no wider than a toaster to be set from the front of the boat to the shore. This was apparently needed to entice tourists from the boat to paradise, but I have a feeling it was proposed when people were throwing themselves overboard with excitement the minute they were within fifty feet of the shoreline.
With packs on our backs we set one foot in front of the other along the narrow plank while the boat rocked back and forth to the beck and call of the gentle waves. A few of the island residents held up a equal length of bamboo to create a makeshift handrail; a nice gesture I thought. Once on shore you were free to dig your toes in the sand or just marvel at your surroundings as you came to grips with the fact that you can actually afford a vacation like this. I must have uttered countless times "I'm not supposed to be able to go to these places..." and I joked to a friend that at any moment, one of the workers was going to smack the back of my head and tell me to grab a shovel and get back to work. I'm more comfortable on the blue collar side of these arrangements and found it hard to believe that I was the one being catered to for once.
We set ourselves up around the pool table and exchanged passports for bungalow keys. I was to bunk with Renee from Mexico and once we were given our key there was little small talk as we rushed to find our accommodations.
Right at the very end of our row of huts stood good ol' Number 8. Perched on stilts of bamboo, there were five simple stairs leading to the front door which was padlocked shut. You had to bend down under the overhanging palm fronds that made up the roof to get close enough to the door to figure out the lock. Once inside we were amazed to find two white sheeted cots, each with a majestic looking mosquito net hung from each corner in a perfect square of protection, an air conditioner as well as a wall mounted fan and in the back quarter of the room a working bathroom and shower. I was stunned. An air conditioner in a thatch-roof hut.
We guffawed for a little while and played with the switches on the wall until we discovered all their electronic magic. We played with the mosquito netting and slid the shutters of the windows open to the sound of our neighbors exasperated glee as they took in their new homes for the first time.
I jumped back outside to snap a photo, still in shock at the fortune that had obviously been bestowed upon me. I couldn't help but notice a large ceramic vase at the corner of the stair post and when I inspected it, found it to be filled with water. Poking out from the middle was a bamboo handle which was sticking out of a halved coconut shell. I picked up the makeshift ladle and spooned some water into the air, letting it fall back into the urn with a puzzled look on my face. "What's this for, you think?" I questioned Renee. "I don't know, don't drink it." Good advice. I would later learn that this pot comes in handy as you find yourself forever covered with sand and need a quick rinse before going into the hut. A great idea, and a small sample of the detail to which we were cared for.
I actually miss that pot of water almost as much as the island itself. The sound it made when you dipped the ladle in and bumped the edge, a resounding "poom" that meant the perpetually cool water was about to dance and tickle it's way down your legs and through your hair. It is the sound of paradise for me. The sound of natural luxury made with simple human ingenuity.
Right away the guide brought us over to the main building, also thatch-roofed, where our lunch was served. Another delicious meal of fried calamari, white rice, steamed vegetables of all variety and color, perfectly salted peanuts, sweet and sour pork, spicy tofu and whatever kind of ice cold beverage you preferred.
We ate hungrily, as though we had been without food for days when it was really more like hours, and shared in each others excitement about the trip we were having. Di, our guide, reminded us that in a few hours there would be a short hike over to the other side of the island, where the monkeys lived, and that we were free to do as we pleased but to be here again if we wanted to partake in the monkeys. Everyone was in agreement that seeing the monkeys was a must do, it's Monkey Island after all, and after we finished our meals we immediately changed into our swimming gear.
The water was the perfect temperature. Not cold enough to make you wince at that first dip above the waist, but not so warm that you weren't refreshed from the humid air. We all took to the water like ducks in a pond and soon people were grabbing life saver rings, sea kayaks, snorkel kits and all the other things strewn along the beach for our pleasure. "Don't use that one! It has a hole in the back and will sink if it gets any water in it, try the orange one." Di was always there to let you know what to do but was never, ever, pushy about rules or regulations, of which there seemed to be none.
Will, a University student from England, got it in his head to set up a volleyball court on the beach and began a laborious process of filling in a sunken area of beach with sand from a berm that had built up along the edge of the shore a few meters away. This involved shovels, a wheel barrow, and some planks of wood to push the barrow across so that the sand could be dumped where it was needed. It certainly looked like work to me and at first I did what I could to make sure I wasn't caught up in the testosterone fueled frenzy of shovels and rakes. It wasn't long before I was being cajoled into leaving the comfort of the ocean for the baking heat of the beach to shovel sand and move planks of wood around with rusty nails sticking out of them.
I'll admit, it felt right in my bones to be working with my hands and toiling away under the sun, especially given the surroundings, but that didn't mean that I enjoyed it 100%. I would have liked to continue playing in the water, enjoying a lazy bob in the ocean with a life ring positioned just right under my arm pits, but I also understood what it meant to Will and the others to set up the volleyball court and knew that it would take effort now to have fun later.
With the work of six guys, one of them an Irish farmer who took to the shoveling and pushing of barrows without pause, we were finished with our project in half an hour's time. I was amazed that it was finished so quickly, and before I knew it Di was smiling his broad toothy grin as he hopped down the last of the stairs to the beach with cans of beer in his hand. "I told him that for our work we should at least get a beer," said Will with a smile. I couldn't agree more, and was reminded of the scene in The Shawshank Redemption when Andy barters beer for his friends in return for some accounting advice to the prison guard, only our guard was the ever friendly Di, and our prison was a pristine island paradise in the south pacific.
One of the men who lived and worked on the island, named Sun, put together a game of water polo that was played in the shallows where you could stand and even run at a lumbering pace. With two life rings spaced twenty yards apart and held in place by a rock anchor, we set up teams of six and began an all out war for points. It was a wild, thrashing, heartfelt game that went on for a lot longer than any of us thought it would, as we all seemed to be just the right kind of competitive. The kind that wouldn't allow us to give an inch but also kept smiles on our faces even when we were losing.
After the water polo Di reminded us of the monkeys and we all made way to the bungalows to change. I put on my same damp shirt that I'd used for our hike on Cat Ba and felt comfortable with the smell of stale sweat and dirt caked into the fiber. We met at the big house and listened to Di as he explained the guidelines which he ensured would keep us safe from attack. "If you're going to smile, put your hand over your mouth, baring your teeth is a sign of aggression for the monkeys and they might harm you." He gave his speech with his usual thousand watt beam and I couldn't believe that this man was in charge of telling us not to smile. "If you feel uncomfortable, just back away slowly and don't make a lot of crazy movements, just be calm and they will be calm too." We nodded and agreed to be good and rushed him to get on with things so we could see the damn monkeys already. "Ok follow me, it's an easy hike but I want everyone to be careful."
We started up a rocky path that twisted through the jungle behind our huts and reached a metal gate with a number lock. Beyond the gate lie more rocky outcrops which led along a beautiful ridge where you could take in both halves of the island at once. On the one side, our quaint bay with the volleyball court and bungalows, on the other, a beautiful strip of fine sand beach and even more enticing water which led out into a large enclosed bay set against the Halong Bay island-scape that we'd come to expect.
It was a quick hike, as Di had said, and before we knew it we were walking along the beautiful stretch of beach that far outclassed the pebbly bay on the other side of the island. I was smitten, and after all was said and done and everyone had gone back to the other side again, I asked Di if I could stay a little longer by myself. "Sure, if you can just lock up the gate for me you can stay
here. The code for the lock is 1234." It felt good to be entrusted with the gate code, though I'm sure he felt nothing of handing out information like that to strangers.The monkeys themselves had made a home among the branches of some wild and untamed beach shrubs with leafy branches and good perches. Within this patch of shrubs was a cement block of what must have once been a foundation of some kind but now stood as the only human intrusion on an otherwise natural kingdom for the monkeys.
I have to admit, wild monkeys are much scarier when you know there isn't a protective barrier between you. To them, you're just a big monkey with no claws and a stupid hand over your mouth and they wouldn't think twice to snatch the bread out of your paw as you held it towards them. One of them had a baby clinging to its underbelly and it seemed to be quite unsure about guests. Di assured us, behind his hand, that it was alright and that we could get closer, eventually pulling me and Dan up next to him in the shrubs while the others trickled onto the beach from the trail. I was nervous, and felt like I needed a better exit route among the shrubs and the cement wall. Dan plodded straight over to Di and asked for some bread to feed them and seemed far less wary, which I admired as a sign of bravery.
Before long the others were standing a safe distance behind us and staring with wonder as Dan fed the monkeys and I stood within grasping distance of their wild paws. Dan had his back to the wall, where a couple of monkeys were perched, and was feeding a big fat monkey on of the branches when disaster struck.
One of the monkeys on the wall made a wild attack at the back of Dan's head and neck, trying to bite his way into his skull while hanging on tight to his shirt collar and neck. Dan didn't even make a sound and was sure to have one hand over his mouth as he crouched down to get away from the attack. His eyes the size of golf balls, he made a beeline past me and towards the safety of the open beach, which I followed with equal enthusiasm.
"HOLY shit!" Yelled Sarah. "Am I bleeding?" He asked with a calm that I could only describe as coming from shock. "Yes," was Sarah's reply, which caused everyone to crane their necks to check out his. "Oh yeah, he swiped ya pretty good, one big gash and a couple little scrapes, nothing too serious." Will was unimpressed and gave Dan a quick clap on the shoulder before looking back out over the water. "Did you get your rabies jab? You've only got... 48 hours I think, before the rabies kills you." Everyone was an expert now and Dan brushed off their best efforts to stir him into a frenzy, "Oh it's alright, I didn't get bitten it was just his claw, you can't get rabies from a claw." I agreed, if only for his piece of mind, and told him that it looked alright to me. "Just put some antiseptic on it and a band aid and call it good."
Di was deflated. "I don't know why that happened, these monkeys are my friends, they know me and I come here everyday to feed them." He apologized profusely to not only Dan but everyone else, sad that he had to cut short what was obviously one of his favorite parts of the trip. "I'm sorry guys, I just don't know what happened." We all told him it was fine, that it wasn't a big deal and that we didn't mind leaving the monkeys early. At this time we were sitting in a shady patch of sand under a thick canopy of mangrove, half of us lounging in hammocks that were swaying in the ocean breeze. "Really, it's alright."
After enjoying the secluded beach to myself, taking a swim sans clothing in the perfect water, I joined the others on the opposite side of the island, being sure to lock the gate before I left. My arrival was perfectly timed. Di had just begun his famous "Floating Bar" which was a sea kayak that he sat in with a tub of vodka and orange juice between his legs. Everyone else grabbed a life ring and chased after him like baby ducklings as he scooped small cups of booze into their outstretched arms, everyone grasping their own tiny teacups.
In this way we enjoyed the sunset as it dipped behind a far stretch of islands that wound around the outside edge of our view. Slightly buzzed, bobbing in the ocean, perfect.
When we made it to shore, the beach volleyball began and our competitive streaks kicked in once more. It was a close game, each side talking merciless trash between serves and almost invariably screwing up the first touch of the ball. None of us were experts, but we all played with heart.
As darkness began to set in we changed once more into our formal dining attire: flip flops, faded t-shirts and whatever shorts we could find scrunched up at the bottom of our packs. Some of the women were wearing very nice dresses, new purchases on their trip, and looked much more elegant than the men. As usual.
The feast was buffet style and included fried rice, pork, chicken legs and wings, whole boiled crabs, a vegetable medley, watermelon and dragon fruit. We were spoiled for choice and the banter was cut to a minimum until everyone was finally full, leaning back with a rosy cheeked grin as we surveyed the carnage. There's a lot of a crab that you can't eat, for example, and when you've done your best to devour two, your plate can come to resemble an abandoned pier after the seagulls have had their dinner.
When the food was finished the drinking began, some of the English folks purchasing bottles of wine at a time and breaking out the cards. I didn't have the money or the appetite for booze and sauntered on out to the patio where some of the others were chatting away.
Around the table sat Minh, her sister Yiv, their mother and my Dutch friends Carla and Erica. I sat down and joined in their discussion on life in Vietnam, Minh and her family being from Saigon, and the trip that Carla and Eric were currently embarking upon. It turned out that Vietnam was the second stop on a worldwide tour which began in Russia, where they boarded a train to Cambodia to do some camping by horseback. Then they met me at Central Backpackers Hostel in Hanoi and booked their trip to Halong Bay. After this, they were going to head south along the coast of Vietnam until they got to Saigon, where they would board a flight for Vancouver B.C. Then they were to rent a car and drive it across the length of the Canadian border, taking some time to enjoy the sights around the Canadian Rockies, before dipping down to the US and into New York. From here they planned to fly to LA on the west coast and then rent another car to drive across the US and back to New York, which would put them on another plan back to Denmark. I admired their grand plan but it seemed pretty bold given a two month time frame. I offered council on ways to pack everything they wanted to see from America into a shorter trip, saving them time and money. I also mentioned that they ought to visit Seattle, since it's the best city in the US.
After chatting with them for about an hour I decided to go down to the beach by myself for a while to stare at the stars. I grabbed a pad off of one of the lounge chairs and threw it on the sand, laying back with my hands folded behind my head to gaze up at the unpolluted view of the night sky. Along the horizon, there was a massive thunderstorm broiling over far off mountain tops, each lightning bolt sending a strobe of light to reveal the size and contour of gargantuan cumulus clouds otherwise invisible as they blended in with the black of the night sky. Each flash lit up a small portion of the monstrous cloud formation with a brief orange and yellow glow, just enough to give you a taste for the size and might of the far away storm. With the thunderstorm unleashing it's light show in the distance and the shooting stars flaring up in the sky above me, so many that I lost count, I gave in to the majesty of night.
I lay peacefully and in complete silence, other than the lapping waves on our gentle shore, for just under an hour before deciding to share my find with the others.
I went back up to the patio and invited them down to beach, explaining all that was to be found out in the darkness. Erica, Carla, Minh and Yiv all agreed to come, along with Sun, who had been playing cards with the others. I brought them down to the sand and grabbed a couple of mats off the lounge chairs, setting them up so they could enjoy the sensation of the stars and lightning bolts the same way I had.
We sat and talked about life, religion, our views on the world and what it meant for us to be at this place at this time in our lives. We discussed stars and galaxies, thunderstorms and island chains, all in the varying skill level and accents of their non-native English. I did my best to explain to Sun that when you look at the stars and there's a particularly bright spot that doesn't twinkle, that's a planet. And that by the time we see a shooting star, it's already been gone for millions of years--that what we see has traveled light years across space to bring the flash of their death to us, here on Earth. I don't know if he understood, but he shook his head vigorously while pointing at the sky and saying "Yes, yes, and it is so beautiful."
For the first few shooting stars, everyone pointed and inhaled a quick breath at once, each of us turning to look at each other and laughing at our reactions. Then we bowed our heads silently and made a wish, something that I guess people do in every part of the world. Sun explained to me that he lived on Cat Ba island and that he wished for a motorcycle, which was why he was working on Monkey Island, saving his money for two wheeled freedom. He had been on Monkey Island for four months and was one month away from going home to Cat Ba. Minh asked him if he had a girlfriend or wife, to which he smiled brightly and said "When I have a motorcycle, I will have a girlfriend." It's the same the world over. Him and Minh had long discussions in Vietnamese while I stared off at the flashing sky ahead and wondered what it must feel like to be in a boat beneath a storm like that.
Eventually Erica retired to her bungalow, at around one in the morning. Not long after that, Carla did the same, leaving just Sun, Minh and me. We continued to discuss life and nature, beauty and struggle. It was interesting to hear Sun describe his life on the various islands he called home, and he was shocked and happy to find out that I had not only known about, but had been dying to see Halong Bay for over ten years. This was home to him, nothing special, and in his 29 years he had never gone so far away that he couldn't hop on a boat and get back. It was moving to get to know someone in one night and hear their life story, hear about all the things that make them tick and how those things were only different in a matter of proportion and objectivity from the wants and needs of myself. He wanted a wife, some day, a home and a job that made him happy. He desired a motorcycle and a place where his parents could be safe and help him to raise his children--the simple and necessary parts of life.
We sat out on that beach until three in the morning. The stars shifting slowly across the sky as the world turned another revolution. The thunderstorm refused to let up and continued to flash and beat it's chest over the horizon. On the sand in front of us I'd discovered that bio luminescent algae between the grains would light up if you swished your hand along the surface. We dug our heels in creating a crater of flashing lights, lasting for a fraction of a second, like the dying stars above our heads. I'd never experienced so much natural wonder in one place and at one time. I felt like a little kid who was seeing everything for the first time, still enraptured by the banality of human existence. Give me an ice cream cone and stroller and I would be out like a light, dreaming the technicolor dreams of youth with a soggy sugar cone grasped in-firmly between pudgy fingers.
Minh had begun to show Sun some yoga moves, as she was a professional instructor, and they even had a push-up contest. Sun tried to get me to agree to be up at six to do some exercise before the sun came up when the air was cool and clean. I told him I would try, but that I couldn't promise I would be able to get up in three hours.
At three in the morning I called it good, not wanting to leave but knowing that the eight o'clock wake up call to catch our boat off the island would come all too soon.
As I grabbed the pads and dusted off the sand I was reminded of something that one of the men on our first boat had said. I had asked him, "Since you work in Halong Bay, is it boring after a while, just seeing the same islands every day?" His answer was poetry and I won't soon forget it:
"If you see boring, you get boring. If you see beauty, you get beauty. I choose to see beauty."
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