The Boatman on Ngo Dong

Our boat cruise on Ngo Dong river in the picturesque Tam Coc region of Ninh Binh, Vietnam had just begun when spouse said, ‘Let’s go back.’ A little startled, I asked, ‘Are you unwell?’

The two-hour cruise had several attractions; a spectacular view of the lofty, verdant green mountains, a leisurely ride for each couple on a traditional sampan boat with the boatmen and women using their signature leg-rowing technique, and passing through the three fascinating caves bored by the river through limestone mountains over millions of years.

Our large group had driven about a hundred kilometres from Hanoi to enjoy the cruise. The peak rainy season was long behind, the river looked like a rivulet flowing gently with no waves but for the little ripples created by the manually-rowed boats.

Originating in the Tam Diep mountain range, Ngo Dong is rather small with a length of only 14 kms, but a boon for the two abundant rice crops a year which the fertile valley grows. Vietnam is the world’s fifth largest producer and the third largest exporter of rice.

‘The driver is drunk. We’re at serious risk. Didn’t the tour guide mention that the caves are dark?’

‘I don’t think he is drunk.’

‘How can you tell? Why don’t you stop gawking at the scenery and focus on the boatman’s strange behaviour?’

She was right. I had paid little attention to the boatman who sat behind us at the far end of the boat. It is a little unsettling when you can’t see the driver of your vehicle or vessel. She had good reason to worry.

I discretely craned my neck a little pretending to appreciate the passing mountain cliff to my right. Behind us he sat on a wooden plank at the stern, his torso leaning backwards while he pushed with his muscular legs the two oars secured with rope-knots on both sides of the boat. At every push, he heaved, grunted, and squealed.

‘That’s strange, I conceded. Other boatmen and women are rowing quietly and effortlessly. But I don’t think our man is drunk. We’ve hired a reputed local tour operator, and they won’t engage a drunk driver for foreign tourists.’

‘Why, then, is he behaving strangely?’

It was difficult for me to figure out. He was seated behind us, and I had managed only a brief, furtive glance. He had noted that I was checking him out, was amused, and squealed louder.

Don’t pay him any attention, I counselled spouse.

What if he crashes the boat? This river must be infested with crocodiles and snakes, she persisted, one worry fuelling other fears.

But the river is shallow, an unlikely habitat for crocs which need to eat a lot of fish. Snakes are very shy reptiles, and particularly afraid of the Vietnamese whose traditional cuisine includes snake meat. Anyway, we’ve put on the life jackets. Impossible to drown.

Spouse was annoyed. How about delivering your erudite lecture on the preferred habitat of crocodiles, and the culinary preferences of the Vietnamese, after the cruise? Why don’t you be pragmatic for a change and attend to the grave problem at hand? What if he demands money when we’re inside the dark tunnel?

The first and the longest cave was visible at a little distance. Her apprehension would soon be tested. As we entered the cave, our man squealed louder than before and poked my back with his right toe, not to demand my wallet but to handover a little plastic bag which had two small, squarish, battery-operated torch lights. I passed one to spouse and switched on the other.

The stalactite hangings were spectacular though irregular, the river having patiently carved the tunnel with little fancy for sculpture, but a few hung so low that we ducked well before time. What if the boatman had not given us the torchlights?

He purposely rowed the boat, it seemed, under the low-hanging outcrops, for were we not tourists in search of adventure? He squealed in sheer delight after rowing the boat out of the tunnel, and repeated the drill for the second cave, and the third cave which had a very low ceiling.

Once or twice, he let his boat gently nudge a passing boat, as though shaking hands with a friend. The boatman or woman who received this unusual greeting acknowledged with a courtesy and a smile. He was an elder, it appeared, and well-respected. During our entire cruise, he made it a point to demonstrate his superior strength and navigating skill by racing all other boats for our group and leaving them far behind.

Give me your phone, I’ll click you, he signalled.

Don’t, warned spouse. What if he drops the phone into the river?

A tad disappointed with his dull, timid, and uncooperative tourists, he picked up his jacket from the floor with his left big toe and the middle finger, pulled out a cigarette, clicked on the lighter and began smoking. The wind direction brought the smoke to us, and irritated, I signalled him to put it out. Though unhappy, he at once dropped the cigarette into the river.

Then he picked up his transistor and tuned into the local station which was probably playing a folk song. Was it to entertain us, his fellow boatmen and women, or was he capable of hearing but had a congenital speech impairment? I wish I had checked with the local guide.

But there was no need. He was entirely harmless and well-meaning, just wishing to tell his customers that he was no less capable than the other boatmen and women, and his speech impairment was no handicap for entertaining the tourists.

At the end of the cruise, he asked for a tip. Nothing unusual. So did all the other boatmen and women. Our local tour manger told them in Vietnamese that the group had paid for the tickets and a tip for the cruise, too. Our man grunted in unconcealed disapproval. A tip involved the exchange of currency, as far as he knew, and the tactile pleasure was an inseparable part of the transaction. His fellow boatmen and women were also unhappy.

Maybe, the operator would shortchange them or deduct his commission. All they had asked for was 100000 Vietnamese Dongs (about 350 INR) per boat. Not a princely amount, especially since this was off-season, and each one could be earning a modest daily wage of four hundred rupees or less.

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