While most of my journey has been of the make-it-up-as-you-go-along type, I occasionally end up signing for a one-day or half day tour to attractions that require a lot of hassle or a car to get to.

So here I was again at 8 am boarding a minibus to Halong bay. The day was off to a weird start: the driver could not locate me at the agreed meeting point (even though he had my Vietnamese phone number) and once he did find me he went ahead and vented out some of his frustration in Vietnamese. I don’t know how you say `you motherfucking idiot` in Vietnamese but if I listened more attentively I would probably do by now. After we dropped off a couple that had mistakenly been picked up by our company (angry remarks were given in English this time) we were briefed by our guide (Mr Mit 1) about the schedule for the day before introducing us to the other guide (Mr Mit 2) and the driver (Mr Mit 3). If stereotypes are anything to go by, the contrast between this tour and the one I took to My Son (see previous post) proved the stereotypes about Northern Vietnamese and Southern Vietnamese right. Compared to their freewheeling, smiling countrymen in the South, the Northern Vietnamese are less prone to smiling and can be abrupt (being yelled at by a senior Hanoi citizen in the street for not getting out of the way can feel like being shat on by a dinosaur, based on my experience). Compared to our army general turned Chinese opera actor with his salacious jokes about My Son’s phallic statues (see previous post), our guide to Halong acted like a strict Austrian nanny and spoke with the same enthusiasm of an accountant doing your tax audit. Just like for all stereotypes about people from the North and people from the South of many countries (Italy, the US, France etc.), numerous theories have been formulated about the N vs S Vietnam debate ranging from climatic (colder North) to geographic (north’s proximity with China) to historic (contact and or conflict with foreigners) to political (tighter and more entrenched grip of a certain party).

As I was pondering about these various meaningless theories, we stopped at a rest house for the inevitable pee stop with a drive-through souvenir shopping extension (never seen so much lacquerware in my entire life). Looking at the fellow tourists from our minibus and the six others in the parking lot (all Halong-bound), I also realised that the tourists were also a poorly dressed travelling circus of global stereotypes: the chainsmoking Frenchman, the Sandals&Socks Inc. Vikings, English ladies with skin complexions turned red like ham, hyper-accessorised Singaporian and Hong Kongese men with their handbags etc… Perhaps distancing myself from the stereotype of Italian tourist on the loose (or perhaps not), I was sporting an equally dubious garb of Jesus Christ leather sandals (from Jerusalem, circa 2007) and an electric blue wifebeater and jeans short from my Plastic Fantastic in Hong Kong 2011 summer collection.

After the cathartic rituals of the emptying of the bladder were concluded, off we went towards the promised land of Halong bay, our Vietnamese Shepherd and firm believer in the power of tough love guiding his ill-assorted herd of lost souls of the Lonely Planet towards landscapes of astonishing beauty.

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