Luxury express bus line (Vietnam style).
Express meaning instead of stopping every 1km, we would stop only every 5 km at the side of the road to pick up an extra passenger or some more packages.
Fortunately they have extra stools for the center row when all the seats were taken.
First mistake was sitting in the front row so I wouldn't feel too claustrophobic.
Though I had wide open spaces to look out on, I also had no buffer from the horn. How could I forget the horn? Honking when passing, honking when thinking of passing, honking while passing, honking when he thought it had just been too long since the last honk, honking because I think he just needed to let others know he was special and wasn't so sure they would notice. Add to that the radio station they chose to play. Imagine the speaker droning on in a condescending, patronizing, monotone, self help, attempt to soothe kind of voice. I don't know if understanding the words would of helped, but I doubt it. An hour straight, no commercials and barely breathe pauses. Maybe it was meant to lull us to sleep...... Perhaps?? If it wasn't for the honking.
And sadly, a woman had to pee soooooo bad, she kept asking how much longer, only to have them pull over on the side of the highway in rush hour..... The men were fine, but she remained tortured for another hour or more.
So, the fun of honking....
A honk for the motor bikes to get even farther off the road,
A honk fort he semi he is passing, on the inside,
And a honk for the truck ahead... I'm coming, please be ready to move for me because I don't want to slow down.
From bus to packed high speed boat to the lovely island of Cat Ba..... Only to have 34 of us white people climb on to a bus that was already full of Vietnamese people returning to their village for the local festival we did not know about.
Cattle car comes to mind. The locals were in fine humor as they graciously squeezed us in, offering to share seats (4 for the regular 2) and the aisle.
It was adventurous to say the least. I wish I had the guts to stand up in the crowded chaos of that bus and take a photo, but it took a lot of effort just to stay balanced on my edge of the seat or make room for the conductor to navigate through us all and collect money from the locals. My selfy from my
seat didn't do it justice.
A local made a map from moss outside their street side restaurant.
Cat Ba Island - means Women's Island - legend says that three women were killed in the Tran
Dynasty and their bodies floated all the way to Cat Ba Island with each body washing up on a different shore and found by local fisherman. A temple was built for each one and the Island was given its name.
Woman's Island - I like it!
Arriving in Cat Ba was delightful.
This harbour town is like the Vietnamese version of Cinque Terra in Italy.
A beautiful board walk, restaurants lining the street, people walking along and the locals setting up for their festival.
We had the fun of bumping in to another couple that we have shared time and experiences with along our way, met some other travellers, and we crowded under an umbrella in the misty rain to share beers, dinner and stories.
The small town would have been a restful sleepy place if it wasn't for the festival. But even with that,
it was quieter and easier to take than the big city. Maybe I'm just not a city girl!?!?!
Our room view.
A gorgeous boardwalk.
The view back into the harbour from along the boardwalk.
Women calling out and waiting to take tourists to the floating seafood restaurants in the bay.
The festival is an annual event to commemorate that Ho Chi Minh came to visit Cat Ba on April 1, 1951. The festival has been going since 1959 and is a street lined, waterfront event that goes from political speeches, to parades to the Buddhist temple, boat races, dances on stage and partying on the streets.
I didn't quite understand this procession to the temple. It went on and on as the young men spun manically around with people running up to almost get hit or waiting for them to come close so they could petition a prayer and blessing and then burn piles of paper with some writing on it.
Another more sedate procession with women bribing offerings of food to the temple, or hospital... Again, things get lost in translation.
Amazing fireworks and below, a different type of pole dancing.
Two poles were held on either hand and with a fast paced beat the dancers would try to stay in the rhythm of the poles or else their ankles got snapped. Drunks, children, old and young all joined in and as the poles were joined by other poles, it just got harder.
You might need your imagination for this one.
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