We woke up early the next day and our tour took us to Hạ Long Bay. The scenery was a mix of shipyards, marshlands, and wetlands, with varying degrees of development. In some places, there were factories and malls, larger than any I’d see in the US. In others, there were small single-family huts, built out of impermanent material, ready to be washed away. I wondered what life was like for people whose homes and livelihoods were at the mercy of the rising water. How has that changed with modern roads and tourism? Did they build around the natural paths of water or was the impermanence a way to adapt?

Hạ Long Bay felt like a ghost town. There were streets lined with shops and food stalls, but no one around to eat at them. I wondered how many of the hotels along the main road were still operational. One of them seemed like it closed down as a result of the pandemic, were there more like it? There was no traffic, no other cars in the road. I’m told that Hạ Long Bay is busier in the summer. I hoped so.

When we made it to the Hạ Long Bay harbor, there were more people than we had seen in our entire drive over. The dock was a grand and beautiful building, built by the money from visiting tourists. Our tour included a private boat, so we were able to leave right away. I welcomed the sea breeze and ocean spray, the overcast sky added to the mystery. Our boat pulled away from the dock, and the noise of the shore faded away, replaced by the hum of the boat’s engine.

Limestone caves on an island in Hạ Long Bay.

Our first stop was an island full of limestone caves, shaped by the ebb and flow of sea water. The rock formations looked a lot like mushrooms, dripping down and growing atop each other. I looked around, listening to our voices and footsteps disappear into the caves before echoing back at us. The cave was hotter in some places than others, and the stale air was suffocating. I shuddered at the idea of being stuck here without lights. That had to have happened to someone before… Hopefully a long time ago…

We made our way back to the boat, which drove us through some of the islands. Legend says that a dragon and her children came to defend the Vietnamese people from invaders. When they left, their emerald teeth took root in the earth, becoming the islands that now guard the bay. Each island jutted out of the sea in perfect rows and arches, I wondered what it was like for the people might have lived here before modern boats. How long did it take to get around? Did they make up these stories as they sailed from the mainland to these walls of teeth? Was everyday another chance to memorize the stories with details to bring it to life? Did they challenge each other to tell the stories and remember them too?

View of Sunworld on Hạ Long Bay’s coast.

I listened to the engine’s gentle murmuring, water splashing, and the calling of birds I’ll never know. Our boat only took us around the outside of the island group, and the tour guide shared that there was an entire resort in the heart of the emerald teeth. I was surprised, I wondered where people who worked there lived. The ship returned to the harbor and I noticed the cable cars (yes that’s what I’m calling them) that took visitors from the mainland to the nearest island. Next to it was a giant Japanese-inspired temple and nearby ferris wheel. I later learned this was another theme park by Sun World, the same entertainment group who built atop of Bà Nà Hills.

We returned to the hotel to rest for a little bit. It was nicer than our previous hotels, with a large lobby that faced a pool and the ocean. We didn’t encounter any other tourists as we walked to the pool, around the lobby, and finally to our rooms. There were maybe 3 workers, and I wondered if they came in just for us. Were there usually more? The halls smelled a little damp, similar to a car AC that hadn’t been used all winter.

Our view faced the hills and away from the ocean. Next to our hotel was a graveyard and smaller homes and apartment buildings, hidden from the main road. Who lived there and what kind of things did they do for fun? For work? What was it like to have your view of the ocean and bay obstructed by buildings that sat empty, bereft of people who could enjoy the bay’s beauty?

Tam and I took a nap before heading out to dinner. Dinner was at a large restaurant, with 4 private dining rooms, 16 round tables in the main room. Aside from one table of the owner’s family or friends, it was empty. The food was delicious, as usual… Though I wondered what it’s like to manage a large restaurant during a slow season.

After dinner, we drove towards the harbor again. The amusement park perched atop the closest island was illuminated with bright, blaring lights. Colored patterns splashed across the ferris wheel, and I swear there were speakers announcing how amazing this place is. Was the hotel nestled in the emerald teeth as loud? I lamented the stars lost to man-made light, and sea’s song silenced upon the shore. The fluorescent lights erased the presence of moonlight.

In this moment, I appreciated that the US has some dedication to national parks. It’s not perfect, as we constantly fight against drilling on federal, public lands and responsible land stewardship. Yet our national parks contain beautiful mountains, glaciers, volcanoes, plains, deserts, canyons, and so many other biomes and geographic wonders. Few countries have the same variety within their borders. I don’t know what the building process is like in Vietnam, but most public projects in the US go through environmental impact statements, and there are communities interested in preserving the existing, natural beauty.

Development this aggressive caters to what profitable: tourism. It’s the easiest way to funnel richer currencies into poorer countries. The surrounding communities adjust their own ways of life to adapt to it, Hawaii is similar. There’s always the tension of what is necessary to survive, and what is necessary to be profitable. I suppose it’s why I felt the same worries looking at the empty streets and restaurants. Were their pains the same as people in Hawaii? A hotel we stopped near had about 400 rooms facing the ocean, only 20 of them seemed to be lit. How much did it cost to run a 20-floor hotel with 20 active rooms? How are the workers paid?

Every place adapts to a way of life, so I suppose this might be normal for them. I felt the pangs of privilege bought with my American dollars. Privilege to have this experience, privilege to have other choices. Like every day on this trip, I felt immense gratitude for the life that my family had the opportunity to grant me. I also felt a lot of admiration for people who live so differently than I do, who do work that I’ve never done, who choose to persist.

When I first met Tam’s family, Uncle Dad said we would go to Hạ Long Bay. He laughed when I reminded him of that story. I’m glad we finally did.