After exploring more than 900 floating villages across Southeast Asia over two decades, I thought I’d seen every variation of water-based civilization. Then a local fisherman in Halong Bay mentioned a name that wasn’t on any tour itinerary: Cua Van. What we discovered there wasn’t just another picturesque floating village—it was a 733-person community preserving seven centuries of traditions on water, largely invisible to the cruise ships gliding past limestone karsts just kilometers away.
While luxury Halong Bay cruises charge upward of $200 per night for sanitized “floating village experiences” with staged photo opportunities, Cua Van operates on an entirely different rhythm. Here, 176 households live entirely on boats, maintaining fishing techniques their ancestors perfected before the Ming Dynasty ruled China. The morning I arrived by local guide boat—a $45 day trip from Halong City’s wharf, 20 kilometers north—mist hung between the karsts so thick you could barely see the wooden houses until you were among them.
This wasn’t tourism infrastructure. This was sống nổi—the floating life—in its most authentic form, unchanged for generations.
Why we almost missed Southeast Asia’s last authentic floating civilization
The commercialization problem hiding Cua Van’s existence
Most Halong Bay tour operators deliberately skip Cua Van in favor of Ba Hang Floating Village near Dau Go Island, where tourist-focused activities and souvenir vendors align with cruise schedules. Like Brazil’s Bragança fishing communities that fear tourism boats, Cua Van’s residents carefully control access to preserve what matters most: their 700-year-old fishing culture in waters containing more than 700,000 marine organisms per cubic meter.
How traditional knowledge survives in 2025
The village maintains a floating school where children learn both modern curriculum and ancestral fishing techniques—net-making, squid fishing under moonlight, and reading weather patterns from karst shadows. One elderly resident told me his family has lived on these waters for 20 generations, tracing lineage back to when Halong Bay served as a strategic naval position. This isn’t folklore preservation for tourists; it’s active cultural transmission ensuring young families choose floating life over mainland migration.
What 733 people living entirely on water actually looks like
The surreal architecture that defines floating existence
Cua Van’s approximately 200 wooden boats serve simultaneously as homes, workshops, and fishing vessels, arranged in loose clusters between limestone karsts that create natural wind protection. Each floating house features ingenious engineering: counterweights maintaining stability, rainwater collection systems, and garden boxes growing herbs despite constant motion. The aesthetic effect—traditional boats against UNESCO World Heritage karsts—creates scenes travel magazines describe as “art-like,” but residents simply call it làng chài nổi, the floating fishing village.
Daily rhythms outsiders never witness
Tourism boats arrive midmorning after families have completed their primary fishing. What visitors see is staged tranquility; what we experienced arriving at dawn was nets being hauled, children rowing to the floating school, and the floating market where families trade fresh catch and supplies boat-to-boat. Like Fulhadhoo’s 270 Maldivians protecting authentic island life, Cua Van’s population guards these morning hours from disruption, understanding that once tourism penetrates daily rhythms, traditional culture collapses.
The preservation choice few floating villages still make
Why modernization threatens what Cua Van protects
Across Southeast Asia, traditional floating villages face identical pressures: young people seeking urban employment, declining fish stocks from overfishing, and tourism’s seductive economics promising easier income than net fishing. Vung Vieng Floating Village in Bai Tu Long Bay, just 30 kilometers north, has adapted to overnight cruise tourism with guest houses and restaurants. Cua Van deliberately rejected this path, accepting lower tourist revenue to preserve sống nổi as a living culture rather than a museum exhibit.
Community-led tourism that protects rather than exploits
Local guides strictly limit daily visitor numbers and require advance booking through Hung Thang Commune authorities, ensuring tourism income flows to fishing families while maintaining their primary livelihood. Similar to how Carriacou’s 733 residents preserve Caribbean Shakespeare traditions, Cua Van demonstrates that small populations can resist cultural erosion through collective choice and controlled access.
What responsible visitors need to understand
Access reality and cultural preparation
Reaching Cua Van requires guided day cruises from Halong City ($40-$60) or Cat Ba Island tours, typically departing before 8am during optimal April-July dry season months. Vietnamese phrases like “xin chào” (hello) and “cảm ơn” (thank you) demonstrate respect, while photography always requires permission—these are private homes, not tourist attractions. Supporting local businesses means purchasing fresh seafood directly from fishing families rather than bringing outside food.
The environmental responsibility non-negotiable
Community initiatives maintaining water cleanliness around the village depend entirely on plastic-free visits. Families here understand their floating existence requires pristine marine ecosystems—the same waters providing their livelihood for centuries. Tourism that degrades these waters threatens everything, making every visitor’s environmental choices directly consequential to Cua Van’s survival.
Frequently asked questions about visiting Cua Van
How do I book a responsible tour to Cua Van Floating Village?
Contact guides through Hung Thang Commune tourism offices or Cat Ba Island eco-tour operators specializing in cultural immersion rather than luxury cruise companies. Expect $40-$60 for day trips with small groups, departing early morning for authentic fishing activity observation.
What makes Cua Van different from other Halong Bay floating villages?
Cua Van maintains the largest population still living primarily from traditional fishing rather than tourism services, with 733 residents across 176 households preserving seven centuries of continuous water-based civilization. Ba Hang and other villages have transitioned to tourism-focused economies, while Cua Van protects fishing as primary livelihood.
Is visiting Cua Van ethical given overtourism concerns?
The community has chosen controlled cultural tourism as one income stream supporting traditional lifestyle preservation. Responsible visits respecting photography guidelines, supporting local businesses, and maintaining environmental standards contribute positively rather than exploiting. The alternative—zero tourism—would eliminate this economic support entirely.
Standing on a local guide boat as sunrise burned through the mist, watching fishing families begin their day exactly as ancestors did seven centuries ago, I realized we’d been searching for this authenticity across 900 villages for 20 years. Cua Van exists because 733 people actively choose sống nổi daily, resisting pressures that have erased similar traditions throughout Southeast Asia. Visit now, with profound respect, while these families still make that choice—or understand that choosing not to visit is equally respectful of their protected cultural space.