Another day, another boat.

Forcing the more reluctant of us out of bed with heavy sweet pancakes we were transferred onto our second boat of the trip which although lacked some of the charm of the good boat had stairs up to a sunbathing level. After a day on the hard deck of the good boat and 30 hours on uncomfortable prison bunks some nights before our eyes widened at the sight of two blue judo mats laid out for our comfort. We traipsed through caves that looked tragically man-made with stuttering attempts at explanations from our guides limited English. All we managed to gather from the seemingly most important story was that there had been a war and some Chinese hid in trees, which was very sad. Escaping we settled down to more lying, swimming, not finishing plates of spring rolls, trying not to smell the bowl of fish sauce and kayaking and began to wonder where we were going to sleep.
With his strangely Italian influenced ‘Excusa Me’ the captain informed us we would be changing boats once more. Reluctant to leave our judo mats we were apprehensive at more change until the posh French boat came into view. With wary looks from the crew, who were obviously used to a more refined class of customer, we were shown to our separate rooms with full double beds and separate bathrooms. For reasons only known to French designers there was a window between the toilet and shower room, with an ineffective curtain between them should you be too prudish for this bourgeoisie set-up.
We spent a delightful night on the best boat and were unceremoniously thrown back on the bad boat in the morning, after a swift breakfast of eggs, to Tim’s absolute delight. We gleefully plonked ourselves back onto the judo mats and leant back for more sun worship. After picking up some kayaks and heading off for further exploration of the bay Tim’s engine ear heard a distinct plunk and we came to a stuttering halt. As minutes crept into hours everyone crawled into the foetal position as flashbacks of the prison train flickered before our eyes. We solemnly ate lunch as we watched the ‘engineer’ try to fix the engine with different tactics and methods of bashing but unfortunately to no avail. We could almost hear the fanfare as the crew accepted defeat and best boat appeared on the horizon. We were rescued and set off at an insipid pace towards our last kayaking of the trip. The dirty waters of the thoroughfare didn’t inspire us but it was still the first time all of us made the effort to the leave the vicinity of the boat and we headed for the much visited cove we were pointed to. A quick cool swim and my undignified clamber back into the canoe later, where I almost broke Tim’s finger and realised I only have direct motor control over my left leg, we were heading back to shore content that we had seen the best that the boats of Ha Long Bay had to offer.