Up the River

After a day of sailing across the seemingly flat sea (it’s not), which results in me walking around like a drunk, the ship comes to a halt in the early hours of the morning. Perhaps we have already reached Vietnamese waters. Our Captain, Carl, had told us last night that as the Azamara ships are smaller and can sail in shallower water, and unlike the typical humungous cruise ships, we would be travelling up the Long Tau and Saigon Rivers to a position as close to Ho Chi Minh City as possible. This will be done with the assistance of a skilled pilot.

We pass lines of tankers and container ships waiting in turn to unload or reload at their designated ports before turning into the river. With mangroves on both sides of the ship, we sail amongst local fishermen, barges carrying loads of goods destined for other parts of Vietnam. No large ships here – only us. It’s tranquil and it’s green. From our balcony I not only witness the river wilderness, but the hive of activity that lies beyond the banks. I think we will traverse the peaceful river for fifty-five kilometres before reaching our destination.

Clusters of boats anchored to large sandbags appear periodically, and I wonder whether these are tiny family fishing villages. As we approach a village or rather a small town, we pass tiny islands filled with lush vegetation; palms, banana plants, and other tropical plants, and possibly fruits, add to the mangroves with their leggy aerial roots. We quickly pass the village; a school on the shores is filled with children probably wondering who is in that big boat passing them by. I am sure it is not a sight they would see every day. The land is flat, paddy fields lie behind the mangroves, and I can see Ho Chi Minh City on the horizon.

As we seem to sail away from the city, I check my location app to see that we have many twists and turns to negotiate before reaching our port. So far, our cruise has been quite ordinary, but it’s experiences like floating up a Vietnamese river that makes Azamara stand out from the rest of the cruise lines, and what was ordinary up until this moment, has become quite extraordinary.

Along the river banks are buildings, many of which are the tall, skinny buildings that are typically of Vietnam. There are no windows in most of these, so I assume they are storage sheds. There are new sea walls being built along the banks, perhaps necessary to keep the high tides from flooding the homes along the river, after all, Vietnam receives a lot of rain each year.

We pass a large building that looks like a resort with its new paintwork, brown wooden shutters, and many outbuildings. It would definitely be peaceful and tranquil here. I wonder what it looks like inside.

Beyond the sound of water lapping at the side of the ship, the chugging of the odd outboard motor, and the groan of an oil tanker, are sounds of mysterious creatures that live on the waterfront that chirp and whistle. Sometimes we travel so slowly that there is barely a mechanical sound from outside, and when that happens, the animal chirping grows louder. Ibis, or bin chickens, as they are referred to in Australia, lurk along the muddy shores, and occasionally plunge their curved beaks into the water in which they are wading. I see an ibis hitching a ride on a clump of morning glory and follow it up until our ship almost catches up with it. It’s not stupid, and makes it escape languidly and without undue panic. It has done this before!

Like the Yarra, the water of the Long Tau River is brownish. Mud churned up by the ship swirls and settles, swirls and settles. I am most surprised that, despite the colour of the water, it is clean. There is no rubbish, and it does not smell; well, not from where I am observing from our balcony.

We approach a bridge, which is apparently just a metre higher than our ship. Slowly, slowly we pass beneath it, a collective sigh as the ship clears the bridge and continues on its way. At precisely 12:00 PM, we arrive at our next obstacle; huge electric cables that span the river, and like the bridge, we could clear them with just a metre to spare, but in this case, and perhaps for safety reasons, the power is cut for the minute or so it takes for us to pass under. I suppose the Vietnamese government does not want to be responsible for a mass electrocution should there be a mishap.

Before we realise it, we arrive at the port. Our captain has done a fancy U-turn on the river with this large ship, so we are now facing in the right direction ready to sail out in two days.

We have arrived. Welcome to Ho Chi Minh City.