Cat Ba Island

Cat Ba Island

Noisy, everbusy Hanoi. Our hotel balcony above the labyrinthine alleyways offers seclusion but Peter wants more peace, the countryside, mountains. Catba island is a three hour bus and boat-ride away.

At sunset we row out beyond the promontory. Ahead the low huge red sun floats above a small jagged floating island in a startling Max Ernst composition. The mountains are grey, the sea indigo and lilac. Hooplike large silver fishes jump in formation. Is it a bat or a large butterfly which passes my face in the twilight?

The sea swishes and laps. It lifts gently, recedes and breaks beneath us as we sleep and as we wake in our bamboo house. I examine my body. My skin is ageing. Hitherto flat expanses of skin are like the surface of the sand after the water has left; there are mysteriously random, almost imperceptible levels and gently ruffled canals rather than a smooth surface.

The next day guards appear on the beach. ‘no one in water. All ou’ We wait in the heavy sun. A massive echoing travelling crash relays around the islands’ inlets. It is the detonation of a bomb, a relic of the war.

Our second hotel on CatBa is 2 pounds a night each; a Vietnamese hotel par excellence. In the bar is a 3ft wide tv screen. Our 3rd floor room has sweeping views on three sides of the bay, old turquoise, green and blue fishing boats, mountains. There are marble floors, a large fridge at the bottom of the bed, a non functioning fan with many exposed wires, a heavily polyurethaned bedroom suite with faux marquetry birdseye maple inlays and large rococo claw feet, taselled nylon curtains, ensuite wetroom, 2 double beds. The stainless steel tubed balustrade of the balcony is strengthened with nylon cord. On it there are two large dead Christmas trees and a lot of ballast and old sand.The pedestal wastebin has a picture of mini mouse wielding a broom with the message –happiness to everyone on its four sides. The pillowcases have cartoon animals –on mine a droopy white dog holding a flower, next to it a small dog sitting upright yapping ‘XIAO BAA seeting you smiling makes me happy. I am happy, despite not being particularly keen to have barking dogs adorning my pillow. I like this hotel. We work away at completing our discussions and submissions for the forthcoming volunteers’ meeting. The hoteliers are charming. After the power cut and resumption of electricity Peter’s non cut out kettle has cut in, melted and cut out a very large burnt hole in the magnificent bedroom suite. For some hours the room is dense with acrid smoke. We call up the hotelier to apologise and try and explain. He is interested in Peter’s travelling guitar, not, apparently, the fact that his hotel narrowly missed being burnt down.