No plasma screen can stand up to comparison, exclaims Pham Hoang Van, a professor at the Hanoi Open University, standing on the deck of Indochina Sails, turning his camera around, unable to decide what to focus on.

The artist has been traveling everywhere; It’s not until he sails through Ha Long Bay, a World Heritage Site, that he realizes all the beauty of his country.

In the middle of the sea, the typical reddish-brown sails appeared. Thousands of mountains, silent and still as in a silent movie, slide by. In the east, the Bai Chay Bridge contracts into a single lock of white hair that hangs over the Cua Luc Strait; the wires form a delicate web. It is one of the five largest single-cable cable-stayed bridges in the world, completed in late 2006. To the west is the pearly strip of Tuan Chau Beach. Under the golden sun, the balloons float in the air, offering passengers a panoramic view of Ha Long Bay. Converted into a resort five years ago, the two-kilometre beach is the realm of water sports: jet-skiing, water skiing, parasailing, canoeing, climbing and camping.

A falcon hovers over the mountains, wings spread and motionless, like a plane.

Admired from inside the four-star junk, Ha Long Bay is a field. For nearly 300 million years, stone fungi have been growing there, withstanding all the destruction from typhoons and salt water; the tides have polished their feet.

The mountains, say the legends, are the gems spit out by magical dragons to help the Vietnamese prevent the advance of enemy ships. Today, after 4,000 years of the nation’s history, the gems are still here, but only to attract millions upon millions of tourists. According to the figure released by the Quang Ninh Department of Commerce and Tourism, in the first six months of this year, the province has received more than 2 million tourists, twice the local population. Obviously, Ha Long Bay, twice recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site, is the main attraction.

One thousand nine hundred and sixty-nine islands represent life in 1969 in different ways. In the immense smoothness of the sea, the rooster and the hen of the island of Trong Mai still caress each other; the two peaks still in contact. The human head on the island of Dau Nguoi looks towards the city of Ha Long, like an exile who misses the land of his father. A dragon flutters in the shape of Rong Island. And from the island of Canh Buon a sail is unfurled.

There was a rumor that pollution from coal mines, destruction of mangrove forests for aquaculture, tourism and domestic sewage would deprive Ha Long of its UNESCO World Heritage title, but this it hasn’t happened.

Ha Long features a bay without condoms, butts and candy wrappers nailed to the rocks. If anyone reports to the bay management board that any of our cruise passengers litter the bay, we will be fired, says Truong, the cook for Indochina Sails. “One advantage of working on board is free cruises and clean air. No traffic jams, no dust,” the 23-year-old adds with a smile.

The Indochina Sails drags the anchor on the seabed. The jungles on the slopes of the mountains are also moving. Some approach while others recede.

The Indochina Sails drags the anchor on the seabed. The jungles on the slopes of the mountains are also moving. Some approach while others recede.

The fishing village of Cua Van is a complex of some 200 green boathouses hidden in a wind-tight gulf. On the floating patios, a baby has washed up on the water’s edge; two teenagers crouch down, scooping worms out of nets, preparing for the next fishing session when night falls; men are mending the bamboo frame of a squid trap. An old woman sits to graze in the sea… These people are the human values, adding to the image of the sky, mountains and water of Ha Long Bay. They are descendants and continuation of the ancient Vietnamese of the Ha Long Culture, from more than 4,500 years ago.

Two floating schools are the great revolution brought to the villagers who for thousands of generations have been illiterate.

Inside the cultural center, young people play cards and laugh out loud. Recruited to work in tourism, they have lost the swarthy complexion of their fishing buddies. Completed in 2006 as an effort to promote tourism, the fishing cultural center offers almost nothing more than artisan products produced on the mainland.

Around the floating village, mountains rise. Reflected against the sky, the churning peaks look like great waves rushing from the horizon. At the foot of the mountains, juvenile needlefish, blooming tails, long pointed mouths, float merrily, nibbling at the surface.

In the strait, something moves. A villager in a conical hat appears in the small wooden boat, smiling. Ivory teeth flourish between the dark brown wrinkled cheeks of a fisherwoman.

Stone steps lead up to the wonder of La Grotte des Surprises. Stalactites fall from the ceiling, abundant and magnificent. On the ground, stalagmites grow, undaunted and glowing. Before creating the world, perhaps God had made a model here, in this cave. From a round base, a long piece of rock shoots out. The tour guide tells the tourists, “Does it look like an index finger?” And then, with a wink, he turns to the person next to him and whispers, “I’m sorry, but people say it looks like a penis.” In a sanctuary, a mother embracing a child tells the legend of Napoleon. A tortoise walks heavily with its head raised; a lion rests on a stone base. As if to follow the world of stone life, thousands of bats attached to the ceiling also remain motionless.

When the tourists return from Soy Sim Beach, the buffet on deck is ready. On the grill, chicken wings, pork ribs, beef are dripping with drops of fat, emitting a fat aroma and a wilting sound. The oysters are opening their shells, showing the white and delicious meat; bits of corn and tomato are turning brown, attractive.

Twilight gathers the last remnants of light. At one point, the bay turns into a mysterious jungle with numerous stone creatures appearing from nearly 2,000 rocky islands.

Then the first stars appear, piercing the stillness of the evening sky, twinkling like a million diamond points of light. From the ocean, the wind rises, blowing the clouds towards the mainland.

The traditional music session is the last course of the dinner on deck. Tourists go to bed lulled to sleep by the whistling of the sea wind and the swaying of the waves.

Nature has regained its sovereignty. The stars get brighter; the clouds drift over the masts like thousands of huge jellyfish. Some shooting stars rush from the west to the east, falling behind the mountains.

Even the mountains have gone to sleep with the lullaby of the sea. Since that endless night, some fishing boats run. Its engines rattle for a moment before falling into deathly silence. Its yellow lamps flicker, like fireflies on the surface.

In addition, at the mouths of the sea, squid fishing boats are lit. The squids, attracted by the light, gather around the nimbus to be trapped by an electrical net. If the squids from Nha Trang Bay are preferred for their large size, those from Ha Long Bay are preferred for their flavor.

There is a long howl as if a monkey on Monkey Island is calling for its mate.

The breeze grows stronger.

From the edge of the dark mountains, a thin golden crescent rises, shimmering. And the clouds are like a huge herd of animals gliding across the waning quarter of the moon. At one point it’s a full-sized bear, at another time it’s a five-legged dog.

Huddled around the junk, the mountains remain silent, sacred as fossilized souls from Ha Long’s Neolithic culture 50 centuries ago.