A Finnish Guy, Vietnamese Girl, and American Walk onto a Boat…

DAY: 27
LOCATION: Hanoi, Ha Long Bay

The passenger van picked me up at 8am from the same street corner the Uber had dropped me off. Hang walked me there to make sure I found it, insisting on buying me a half dozen oranges from a street vendor. She was so adorable and sweet – I wanted to pack her in my suitcase and take her with me.

The guide had us do introductions, stating our names and countries. There were about ten of us total, hailing from Thailand, Portugal, China, Finland, Vietnam. He gave us a brief rundown on our day and some history on Vietnam, and then left us in silence to observe the countryside rushing past.

The scenery alternated between rice fields and villages, but not the kind of quaint, traditional ones you see on postcards. These were the ones built up around highways, with dirty cement buildings and clothing and tire stores sporting Coca-Cola banners. The people looked tired and worn down, although there was still something picturesque about the women tending the paddies, a timelessness…

“So you can’t afford school?” I listened to the conversation of the young couple behind me – the boy from Finland and a Vietnamese girl.

“Well, working I can only make about $2 a day, and then I don’t have enough time to study.” Her voice sounded like a song, belying the heavy subject matter.

“That’s terrible, there needs to be a better system in place.” Even though the boy was clearly incensed, he still came across as measured and polite. He fit right into my image of the reserved Scandinavian. Not that I had much experience with the Nordic countries, beyond a few films, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Karl Ove Knausgaard’s memoir, and my stoic Dutch grandfather.

Two dollars a day. I couldn’t fathom it. Obviously things didn’t cost as much here as they did in the US (except for Starbucks), but this still seemed completely unlivable. We stopped at an intersection and I watched a tailor intent on a hemline. Is this what he was making? Is this what the orange vendor makes? My financial worries, while not entirely unreasonable, paled in comparison.

We made a pit stop for people to use the bathrooms and buy obscenely overpriced souvenirs and snacks. A couple of hungry people ignored the sticker shock, but most of us just gasped at the prices.

“Four quid for a package of crisps??” A British girl laughed, holding up a bag of Tyrell’s that would’ve been half that in England.

“It’s crazy, right? What part of the UK you guys from?” I interjected. I hadn’t realized how starved I was for some native English speakers my age.

“Manchester. We graduated from uni last summer and are traveling around before getting jobs,” her boyfriend responded. Okay, so maybe they weren’t quite my age, but close enough.

We chatted for a few more minutes before getting back on our respective vans. The scenery growing increasingly more interesting with longer stretches of rice paddies and teasers of the limestone islands to come. (And a construction site for a gigantic arena in the middle of nowhere, because the area hasn’t been polluted enough, obvs, it needs soccer matches and hot dog wrappers or whatever they eat and play at Vietnamese stadiums. Progress!)

Arrival at the port entailed the usual confusion, as our guide disappeared after linking us up with a group of cooler than thou French kids. They puffed away on their cigarettes as we tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Finally we found him at the end of the pier and boarded our junk.

Most of the seats were already filled at the tables for lunch, and our guide directed us where to sit. He pointed me to a table of Chinese, not one of whom spoke English. Meanwhile the other passengers chatted away happily. A group of Aussie chicks laughed boisterously across the way. I tried to smile at my table, but they were busy in their own conversation. I started to unravel.

“Do you want to come sit with us?” The Vietnamese girl had walked over to me. I nodded, wiping away the tears. As I sat down next to her and her boyfriend, I full on melted down.

“I’m so sorry to be crying, I’ve just been by myself the last week and was really hoping I’d meet some people on this tour and then the other table—“

“Don’t worry, we understand,” she smiled. Her name was Binh, and she had the face of an angel- round, youthful, glowing. She and Henrik were both 19. They’d met on a dating site, and he’d come to Vietnam to meet her. They’d been traveling the country for two months.

“Are you serious?? This is an amazing story!! Can I write it??” I half teased. I didn’t feel nearly as bad about this whole thing with Levi now, who I’d been trying really hard not to think about the last week.

By the time lunch was finished we were in the bay, and everybody dashed out to the deck and upper level to take pictures. I joined in the flurry of photos, making sure I got a few awesome ones before simply enjoying the magnificence unfolding before us. It really was incredible, overcrowding of junks and all. This would have been worth it even for ten minutes! I couldn’t stop smiling.

Thankfully we had more than ten minutes. The tour made several stops, the first at a floating fisherman’s village. While the brightly colored turquoise boats were highly photogenic, this actually felt pretty sad, like a zoo with humans on display. It was clear the village now existed on behalf of us – yey tourism.

The second stop was far more enjoyable – kayaking through grottos. Too bad all the kayaks were massive two-seaters. I watched as couple after couple loaded in, determining whether I could maneuver it alone.

“Wait, are you guys a group of three?” I asked some young Americans. They nodded. “Would one of you want to kayak with me?”

One of them did – Kyle, an accountant from Seattle. We had a blast going in the opposite direction of everyone else, exploring an entire cove by ourselves as the others followed lemming-like the small boats led by tour guides. We relaxed on the calm water staring up at the honeycomb walls, the sun pouring over the tree-dotted limestone.

“Man, this is really amazing,” Kyle remarked from behind me. “I’m so glad we decided to come.” No kidding.

Our last activity was touring Dau Go Cave. From the second we anchored on the island, we knew it would be a shit show. Binh, Henrik and I tried to hang back as the crowds pushed their way up the hillside, but it was impossible to avoid feeling like cattle. Inside the cave was even worse – hundreds of people bumping elbows trying to get pictures of the tackily lit stalactites. What should’ve been an impressive show of nature had been reduced to an Epcot Center exhibit. At least we got some really good laughs out of it.

Our boat did a drive-by of the famous kissing chickens before returning to the port. Although no one was looking forward to the drive back, we all agreed it had been totally worth it. And actually, it felt quicker on the return – probably because I got into an intense philosophical conversation with Henrik. He was a firm atheist and materialist, and we had a lively debate about the meaning of life.

“Ugh, this is hard. I wish I spoke better English,” he said at one point, clearly frustrated. I was surprised, his English seemed fantastic to me. “I’m a different person when I speak in Finnish.”

This hit me hard. Somehow I’d never quite thought about speaking multiple languages in this way, but it made perfect sense. Different cultures, different words, different worlds. I felt a sudden sense of loss for the other selves I could’ve had if only I’d become fluent in another language as a child.

We were still discussing the possibilities of higher realms when the van arrived at my street.

“Would you want to get dinner with us?” Henrik asked, reading my mind.

“Yes! Give me your WhatsApp, I’ll text you in just a bit, there’s a vegan place near here I really want to check out.” We exchanged info and they took off.

The restaurant was called Vegan Uu Dam, a Jo rec, and it was stunning. Multiple levels, marble floors, hanging plants, brick walls, buddhas. I got there 20 minutes before Binh and Henrik, and as I browsed the menu I felt guilty. It was normal prices for me, but I knew it was way out of their range.

“I’m treating you guys,” I said when they arrived. How many times had people taken care of me over the years? It was the least I could do.

“No way,” Henrik replied. “We’re splitting it.”

“No, I insist.”

“No, we will split,” he looked at me in that firm Finnish way. I knew I wasn’t winning.

“Fine, but I’m getting us this hot pot because I’ve been wanting to try one since I got to Vietnam but I’ve never had anyone to share it with… And I’m buying us dessert.”

They agreed, and I got to try my first hot pot – a steaming, do-it-yourself soup that came with a huge plate of vegetables and herbs to be added as we pleased. Pure, warm happiness.

Although Binh had been quiet on the drive home, she opened up over dinner, talking about her family. “Growing up my father had nothing. They got to have meat only once a year, and it was mostly fat but my grandmother cooked it and they loved it anyway.” Henrik and I listened, unable to relate but filled with sympathy.

“I can’t even imagine. Thank you for sharing that Binh,” I said, any dogmatism I felt around veganism slipping away. “By the way, how cool is it that the three of us get to be sharing dinner here right now? Like, sometimes I hate on technology and the globalized world, but it’s moments like these when I remember what an awesome time it is to be alive. It gives me hope.”

And it did. As we walked off our dinner, getting fruit shakes for dessert in the Old Quarter, I felt so filled up by their presence, by the ease in which three strangers from three countries can come together and create a moment of such love and acceptance. This was what it meant to be alive, to be human. And that was something we could all agree on.