When the Junk arrived at the harbor, it did not motor up to a dock. The procedure in Halong Bay seems to be that the Junks anchor offshore where people and supplies are shuttled to the dock in water taxis of various sorts. The kayaks were lowered into the water and tied up to an oar-powered basket-boat that came up for the purpose. This human powered boat towed the kayaks to shore while the human cargo took a gasoline powered water taxi. The captain, pilot, crew and motor of the kayak tug was a thin Vietnamese woman. She was wearing gloves, long sleeves, a dust mask and a coolie hat. We have seen lots of women in the towns wearing long gloves that cover the arms and facemasks and been told that this is to protect the skin and keep it white. This woman was so well covered up we could barely see the glint of her eyes in the shadow of the hat when she looked up. We called her the Woman Of Mystery. By sculling and rowing the two oars independently you can make one of these boats move forward, backwards sideways or turn in circles. The Woman Of Mystery was a master at this and her two arms wove two different stories independently in the air. Her arms would cross over each other on a strong rowing stroke and often arm would arch up with wrist curved back over gracefully. A beautiful dance of seamanship!
Back in Hanoi, Doug bought a hacksaw (not the right tool, but that was elusive) and cut all three Greenland paddles in half. He also bought a roll of packing tape and strapped them into a neat bundle. On our next flight the guy behind the ticket gate insisted that we have the paddles shrink wrapped before he would let them on board as luggage. Over the next week, that plastic wrapped package acquired an impressive array of travel stickers, like an old fashioned travel trunk. These paddle pieces went to Cambodia with us, back to Vietnam, to Hong Kong and finally made it safely home to Cazadero (by way of San Francisco). I’m going to regret tearing all that history off to get our paddles out of the wrapping.