It was a hard slog in every way. Finally, my luck with the weather ran out and it rained almost the entire trek into the Tibetan village of Yubeng. Between trekkers and donkeys, the trail was often times a soup (with ingredients you don’t want to think about) and a largely uphill one at that. I’d gone with an Austrian couple but they weren’t acclimatized and were feeling pretty pressured to keep up with me so I wound up ahead and on my own. A hot bowl of soup helped restore my water supply and core temperature at the chilly peak and then downwards the rain finally began to abate. There was a big chain of donkeys carrying supplies that I had to endeavour to stay ahead of (it’s painful to pass them or be stuck at their pace even though only slightly slower than mine) but as I got below the cloud the village could be made out amidst the shadows of some imposing mountains.
I found a place to stay in a Tibetan guesthouse (this village really is Tibetan in everything but name) and went back to show the Austrians where I was staying. Our host asked if we were hungry and then brought us to his pantry and kitchen to point out ingredients we wanted. I wanted more than just vegetables and remembered that chow mein is fried noodles, so I managed to get that tacked on to our list of veggies as well as some meat (he couldn’t stop laughing once he figured out why I made a ‘moo-ing’ sound). The end result was a fatty soup of noodles, pork fat, and veggies that was edible but not my favourite dish. But, I suspect, we were eating the way they do.
It’s cold up here in the mountains (current elevation around 3700m) and the three of us sat around the hearth in their living room with the grandmother of the family. She could only speak Tibetan, not Chinese or English but we tried to initiate a conversation with her regardless. I pointed to myself and said, “Dean” and then pointed at her. It turns out that both “di” and “dean” are numbers in Tibetan (1 and 7 respectively) and so that initiated a counting lesson that the Austrians were more than happy to see me struggle with. I then tried to find out her background and found (I think) she’d been born in Lhasa, had moved to Shangri-La and Lijiang when she was younger and then had lived here the rest of her life. We didn’t want to overstay our welcome so we said goodnight, grabbed some tea, and then went to sleep ourselves, praying for better weather tomorrow.
I awoke at 6:30 in the morning to see the sun begin to light the tall mountain out my window. And then I realized that I could actually see that mountain. I hurriedly dressed, ran outside past the cows to the washroom, came back and packed, and bolted out the door. There was hardly a cloud in the sky though they seemed to be forming as the sun warmed things up. Aside from the locals (and let’s face it, there still are not a lot of tourists here anyway) I felt I was alone in the town to observe their morning rituals. A woman milked her yak, a man tended to his mules, and somewhere a small bell was ringing every five seconds or so. This turned out to be a woman turning a prayer wheel (you walk in a circle around a cylinder, pushing it) that hit the bell every revolution. Another woman joined her in an unlikely little temple and I watched quietly for a time before moving.
Knowing how the weather changes in the mountains and fearing rain and cloud, I resolved to make good time while the weather held. After admiring the views from above and then making my way down to the lower village (where I’d observed the prayer), I set out on the path towards the Secret Waterfall. The path ambles through a valley forest along a snow melt stream which is never too far away. On the way, I passed a tree covered in bracelets, cloths, earrings, and other trinkets. I have no idea what this indicates, but it was a departure from the streamer-like prayer flags. Further along and further uphill I went, admiring the mossy forest still wet with morning dew and catching glimpses through the canopy of the Himalayas that surround Yubeng and isolate it from the rest of Tibet. While cloud seemed to move here and there, offering glimpses and then taking them away, it soon became clear that weather was not going to be an issue. It was an absolutely perfect day, and the third of four in a season where one nice day every couple weeks is lucky. I think blessed is the word to describe the weather here this July.
At last, my journey neared its destination. The surrounding mountains, beautiful Miancimu and the Buddha’s Head framed the green foothills below with snowy peaks and wispy clouds, the two mingling only via a river of snow cascading down from the heights. On the right, two massive waterfalls. In the middle, a cloudy landscape of snow and low, jagged peaks with the higher mountains partially peeking through. On the left, green and white and blue. The funny thing is that these massive waterfalls are, when viewed from afar, an almost insignificant part of the mountain itself. I climbed up along a stream and accidentally washed my shoes to the top where, of all things, a pair of rainbows sat at the end of the waterfall illustrating that I had indeed found the pot of gold.
I’m sorry for the flowery prose (or whatever you might call it), but I’m not quite sure how to convey the feeling that goes along with a walk of this sort. And if you’re cringing at the pot of gold remark, well, I made my way off the path down the moraine on a very steep and foolhardy descent and was rewarded with two 100 yuan notes that must have been lost in the winter or were deemed irretrievable. So, that would pay quite nicely for my trip back to Shangri-La not to mention the guesthouse. I played around in the snow, the first time I’ve seen snow since leaving New Zealand almost two years ago and shoe-skied my way down to where the snow ends and the stream collects the run off. Back to Yubeng, a quick lunch that quite resembled last night’s dinner, but with yak meat instead. I was tired, hungry, and probably would’ve grabbed a horse back up but that nobody offered me one.
Just as well, once I had my Snickers (this is not a paid advertisement) I had a bit more energy and I doffed my shirt in the sun and virtually ran up the slope. People stopped me, no word of a lie, to give me thumbs up or say things like “strong”. One Chinese guy was so startled, I merited a heavily accented “Oh my god”. If you know me at all, you’re wondering the same thing as I am – what on earth are they talking about? I think they were surprised I hadn't opted for a horse. Still, I felt good and made the hike back in what I consider a speedy 2.5 hours. The view on the way was spectacular – all the mountains were out in all their resplendence. Back in Fei Lai Si, I thought about waiting a few hours for sunset and passed some time having beer with an English guy but got tired waiting and retreated to Tashi’s for dinner and a warm bed. It had been a big day, a big four days in fact, and I was looking forward to the morrow’s ride southeast to, well, wherever I could reach. But if I haven’t been convincing in my delivery, let me just spell out in plain words what a wonder this area is. If you are coming to Yunnan, I definitely recommend a stop here in Fei Lai Si, even if only for the drive up.
We started at Tashi’s and walked to the Reringkha village proper, taking a path up to a Stupa and then veering off into an ethereal forest. The climb through the forest was at times steep but trees had mossy beards, pine needles were soft and leafy, and soon we were above the tree line. Tashi’s is situated at almost 3500m already, so it is not too far up before the trees yield to meadows. Perhaps the end was a bit premature as we crossed a small farmyard and had lunch at a little logging shed. The cloud that had been hanging in the morning was continually lifting as though we were pushing it with our efforts, the result being an increasingly beautiful backdrop and a sense of our altitude. Although the tops of the Himalayas were well and truly obscured, their bottoms still stood imposingly in the distance.
The forest gave way to indescribably beautiful alpine meadows absolutely covered in wildflowers of all shapes, sizes, and colours. The trail had ended and we bounces our way up the meadow, avoiding flowers as much as possible though it quite simply wasn’t possible. They were everywhere and the smell of honey filled the crisp mountain air. We made our way to the first summit, a green top with strewn rock among the flowers at 4500m, but saw another peak with more prayer flags atop it not too far away. The cloud continued to clear and revealed Dechin far below on our right and the Himalayas far away on our right. We were at the snow line (though there is no snow here for some reason) and scrambled yet further up a rather steep incline where we sat and admired the view at the top of the world. The Mingyong glacier was fully visible and all but the tops of the Himalayas were, too. I really wanted to get up as high as possible so we made our way up the rocky peak of the next highest summit and it was here that we were genuinely terrified.
We got as high as we could without climbing a broken rock face and looking down we knew that the slightest misstep was death. A very real sense of our height was suddenly perceptible and that, we decided, was as far as we were getting that day. Mary took out her altimeter and declared our height to be 4700 metres above sea level – about 14,000 feet! Cloud had started moving in a bit as we all held tightly to the rocks and we began our scramble back down. It took a long time to get down this steepest first part but the going got easier and we practically ran through the meadows once the danger was past, although my knees kept me to a fast lope. I really think we were blessed with our weather. Neither day did we have rain or fog – yes, it’s true we couldn’t see the mountain tops aside from the day of our arrival, but we still had great views – and now the cloud I’d feared was coming in seemed to disperse until we passed below. We returned to Tashi’s and I decided that yes, I will trek to Yebung village and stay a little longer than intended. It’s not everyday you can visit a Tibetan village that has only a solitary path over a 3900m mountain inaccessible by any modern form of transport.
The best thing about staying at Tashi’s Mountain Lodge in Reringkha, about a half-hour walk from Fei Lai Si, is its owner. Richard has trekked the area quite extensively and has all sorts of unique walks in the area not to mention advice and maps. We had just arrived and were treated to a large feast for 30 Yuan (expensive for China, but not for the area) and then I was picking his brain. As I did so, some of our other new arrivals came and listened and soon five of us were pouring over a map trying to decide what we could see in a rather short time. There’s Yubeng, a Tibetan village one day’s walk from the lodge, sitting at the foot of the mountains and offering nearby waterfalls, glacial lakes, and of course staying with a Tibetan family in a place that is a six hour walk from the nearest road. There’s the Mingyong glacier, the foot of which can be reached by car and a 1.5 hour hike. And there’s a mountain summit just behind the lodge that is a trail rather unique to Tashi’s. With three days, what was I to do?
My plan, eventually, was to do a one-day hike down (and then up and then down again) to the glacier, passing an abandoned village, crossing the Mekong into Xigong village, up along a mountain ridge and down into Mingyong town. There, we’d spend the night, hike up to the glacier the next morning, admire it for some time, and then make our way back to the lodge by car. Mary and Alden (two Americans), Michelle (Aussie), and Malak (Moroccan) were also interested, and so the five of us set off the next morning after breakfast making our way down a knee-wrenching descent from Fei Lai Si to the Mekong. The clouds were unfortunately of a height that they obscured the Himalayas towering over the Mekong but it was special to be, once again, on this river that has played so large a part in my journey. I had thought our travels together completed when I made my way down to the delta in Vietnam and now here I was so near its origins, sharing a wooden suspension bridge with cattle.
We crossed into the Tibetan town which appeared deserted until we ventured further in, and up in a valley before turning up a path to give us a nice ridge walk over the Mekong. On our left, the Himalayas, on our right and far below, the Mekong once more. We soon found ourselves in Mingyong, the glacier town, far ahead of schedule. So far, in fact, that rather than taking an extra day we decided to hike up to the top of the glacier now and we set off. Here, the altitude really affected me and I had to walk quite slowly and stop often which was embarrassing. The glacier was impressive and would’ve been more so if only we could see its top through the cloud, but it was great to sit there and watch it in the late afternoon sun. What was all the better was that because we’d arrived so late – about 4:00 – we pretty much had the glacier to ourselves. It was peaceful, sunny, and cool. We were back down in the town by 7:00 and my knees were killing me, but we had done our two day hike in one and caught a cab up to Fei Lai Si to watch the sunset and grab dinner.
When we returned to Tashi’s, everyone knew of our ‘legendary’ trek from some people we’d run into on the glacier. It was pretty funny to be there and have people slapping us on the back and saying that we were machines but we sat around exchanging hiking stories and Alden, Mary, and myself decided that we would take the day we gained and hike to the nearby summit the following morning. I was apprehensive about my knees, but they weren’t too bad and I went anyway. Thank goodness I did! The prior day’s hike may have made us into legends but the scenery did not feel like anything I couldn’t have seen elsewhere, except the glacier, and that was more ‘sightseeing’ than trekking. The scenery on our summit hike was varied, beautiful, dramatic, and terrifying at various stages.
With three hours of sleep and a very good night behind us, the morning held less promise. I was quite tired, though thankfully excited enough to get myself moving, but Eric was downright hungover. We got a quick breakfast from Mama Naxi and grabbed our van to Tiger Leaping Gorge – Eric grabbed the bag I had my sandwich in for the road and we set off. We came across what I assume was some roadwork, the result being a backlog of stopped traffic in the middle of nowhere. After about 15 minutes of waiting the line inched forward and then stopped again. Or at least, most of us did. The woman behind us appeared not to notice this stoppage and relied on the mass of our van and its cargo (us) to bring her own van to a halt. The way people drive in Asia, it was bound to happen sooner or later, and I was happy it was a rather harmless rear-end rather than a serious accident. We picked up our bumper from the asphalt, stowed it in the trunk, and drove off without so much as a word between the two drivers. And without further incident (except a stopoff at some Tibetan-looking temple) we arrived in Qiaotou and specifically at Jane’s Guesthouse, where we stored our packs, grabbed lunch, and began our two day adventure.
Lunch, by the way, was delicious fried goats cheese with sugar, yak meat, and baba, a Tibetan flat bread that is pretty dry but hits the spot when combined with other foods. The start of the trail is 2500m ASL and climbs to 3000m. Eric and I were okay at first but soon found ourselves feeling the effects of the altitude (probably worsened by a lack of sleep and excess of alcohol). Still, we soldiered on and found a more steady rhythm which brought us up to a minority Naxi village where we stopped for tea and a snack. Regular readers may remember how I raved about that cup of tea in Malaysia’s Cameron Highlands, well, this was almost as good but far more simple (I assume). Simple green tea with a fresh mint leaf and perhaps something I couldn’t quite detect, set over a breathtaking (literally) view of the village and gorge with some crisp fried snow peas to munch on.
It was well that we stopped there for a break as the most arduous part of the trail lay ahead. 28 Bends snake their way up the mountain so steeply that whoever named the place couldn’t find the energy to keep track and invariably miscounted. Whatsmore, all subsequent hikers have noted the discrepancy but none have had the fortitude to produce a correct number. Men pass with horses hoping to snag weary and desperate hikers, and one we turned down became quite irate as though we were obligated to take a horse from him. This was more than compensated for as we reached the top and met up with the others we’d shared the van with and a cheery old man who had developed and maintained a path down to a great viewpoint for the gorge. He charged 8 quai to take photos from the vantage point he carved out and it was well worth the money just for his quirky and friendly personality. We were happy to pay it, in contrast with the grouchy horsemen.
We went ahead of the rest of our group – an Australian girl, Dutch woman, and an English mother-son combo – and came upon our home for the night, the Tea Horse Guesthouse. Rooms were basic, food was decent, and the view – unless you paid a lot for it – was non-existent. In short, I’d recommend others try to make it further along to Half Way Guesthouse. I didn’t stay nor eat at the latter, and I object to the misleading name, (Two-Thirds Guesthouse doesn’t have the same ring, I suppose) but the views and rooms did look nicer here. Still, Tea Horse did the job. We ate in what is essentially an open basement and were sound asleep just after 8:00. Breakfast at Tea Horse was decent and then we were back on the path, stopping in the village for a peak at Half-Way.
This peek cost us some time as we, somewhere, took a wrong turn and wound up on a trail to the low path. Both of us knew something was wrong pretty quickly, but we discussed it and neither had seen a branch since the village and after that branch we’d seen a sign pointing out that we were headed in the right direction. So we pressed on until finally I stopped and we both admitted the obvious. But rather than backtrack, we cut cross country. There was no danger or fear of being lost. The low trail – a road – was quite visible below us, and the high trail was somewhere above us. I thought I could see it cutting through the tall grass. So cross country looking for a good way to make our way onwards and upwards. In the end we followed a goat path up the hill and tested our rock-climbing mettle until at last we merged with the upper trail again.
Further along and soon we were at Tina’s for a decent lunch. We thought we’d see the whole gorge and walked along the road about 4 km towards (and past) Walnut Garden then came back to Tina’s and did the final crowning glory of the trek: the walk down a steep path to the Yangtzi River and the stone from which the tiger leaped once upon a time. It was steep alright, and as our weary legs brought us down I did not envy our upwards return. We cleared a ridge and started down the REALLY steep part when I saw someone who, without my glasses, looked familiar and at the very least, good. A little further along and I was shocked to see it was Charlotte standing on the path. I hadn’t expected to run into her again and was happy to see her but she seemed a little perturbed so we exchanged pleasantries and made our way further along. Much further along, in fact, where we came to a tired Gerri sitting in a shelter summoning the energy to climb on. She was a bit more affable and we had a snack and chatted with her before clambering down the rest of the way.
By now it was getting late in the day, our detours off track and to Walnut Garden leaving us behind schedule. So Eric and I both dipped our feet in the Yangtzi, which was roiling and flashing by with a violence and speed I’ve previously only experienced in Stanley Cup semi-finals. And it started to rain. We made our way back up the increasingly slippery rocks and a very vertical ladder to Tina’s in record time. Our venture down and back had cost just over an hour but there was nobody waiting for a van out of the gorge and they wouldn’t cut us a two-person deal. Our collective impatience set us on the road walking and hoping to either flag down a van or grab one at Zhang’s, but no such luck. One van passed us half empty but refused to stop – they get paid 80/van so they have no interest in picking up more passengers. We were coming up on a hairpin bend when a van with four empty spots passed by blatantly ignoring us. Eric sprinted after it and I darted over the ledge and scrambled quickly down to where the road weaved back from the hairpin, just making it in time to jump in front of the van and stop him.
But instead of the customary 15/person, this pirate wanted 50. From each of us. So it turned out that trying to flag down a van was not a bright idea and we let the jerk go on his way. In retrospect, I would’ve liked to blockade him until he agreed on a reasonable price but maybe next time. We eventually stopped someone who gave us a ride for 20 each and made it back to Jane’s where Charlotte and Gerri were recuperating. I half suspect they were waiting for us, though neither will admit to it, but we grabbed dinner and split a van between us to Shangri-La, where we would spend our last days together.
I arrived in Dali with Ori (an Israeli I'd met in Kunming) and Phil (an American we'd met at the bus station, though he had been a roommate) and as usual, the first step was finding a place to stay. After the usual place searching, complicated by balancing our three travel styles, we wound up at a hotel for 15 Yuan per night ($2) each. There was an intermediate bus change at the new Dali but now we were just outside the old city walls which proved a great location. We crossed into the Dali walls and wandered around the town, again compromising on our different dinner options. Traveling with people, it's as important that you like and get along with each other as that you have similar goals in your travels, not to mention similar budgets. We didn't but we made it work for the night. As we were eating on Peoples' Street, Aimee walked by and sat with us, and then we were joined by her Montreal friend, Eric. We had a regular coterie and soon we were sitting in a much more authentic local dive drinking papaya wine (or shine) and talking about all those boring topics like politics, music, and so on. The lack of westerners in China certainly makes it more easy to meet them, which is a funny irony about human nature.
The next morning, Ori, Phil, Eric, and myself were to hike up the mountains that back Dali and have a look around. Unfortunately, Ori's stomach was misbehaving and after a short while returned to town. And then there were three. The walk up was great exercise and more importantly, cheap, though there is a cable car up for 30 Yuan. We were literally giving off steam, though attempts to photograph it were unsuccessful. We also had to pay admission to the park which we managed to get for student prices because Eric and Phil were both students, so that was only 15 Yuan. Eventually, the endless stairs, well, they ended, and we were on the high path. This is when the hike got interesting. The views of the plains below were spectacular and we came across a little waterfall in Zhong Stream and made our way up it. We played around there and taking photos of a small gazebo near the waterfall for probably 45 minutes before continuing. A Chinese company passed us all wearing the exact same clothes - the very epitome of communism. The beautiful scenery, slightly marred by the city below with scores and scores (literally hundreds) of identical Chinese workers walking by was, to my mind, a snapshot of China.
Eventually, we came to our goal for the day, The Highlander Guesthouse. It seemed a charming place in a charming setting and we had some lunch and dessert in the wooden house. It was quite cool and started raining but our efforts to start the wood stove were thwarted by a lack of kindling (or perhaps technique). We met two Belgian girls who arrived just as the rain started and sat with them laughing at the rather raunchy antics of the three pets cavorting around us and had a drink with them, too. Eventually the rain subsided and Phil stayed on the mountain while Eric and I had to forego a very nice looking dinner to get back before dark - and hopefully before the cable car closed. Unfortunately we didn't make the cable car, but we did descend pretty quickly and were in town just as the sun set and the world turned red. Eric and I met up with Ori who still wasn't feeling great, had dinner, and called it an early evening after watching a bit of George Carlin. Dali was a nice old town and the mountains surrounding probably merited another look, but I was off for Lijiang the next day and would see a far more beautiful - and crowded - old town. See you there!
After the three hour bus from Halong Bay back to Hanoi, there was just enough time for me to find some mosquito repellent and dinner before boarding a night train to Lao Cai, a city on the Vietnam-China border. I met a Dutch girl named Laura at the train station and was relieved that I would indeed be with backpackers until we were separated at the train station by the guide. And then I was grouped with a retired Kiwi vet and his wife and their friends. Whom I then was separated from shortly after to take a 'soft sleeper', meaning only four beds instead of the usual six. The rest of my car was Vietnamese but aside from talking loudly they had little bearing on my train ride. It was comfortable, fast, and I was refreshed suitably by the time the train stopped in Sapa that morning. Sapa, my last stop in Vietnam, an old French hill station which, like Dalat - another old French hill station - would prove to be one of the highlights of Vietnam. I was there for three days of trekking through rice paddies, mountains, and minority villages and, unlike the trip to Halong Bay, I was not to be disappointed in any regard.
The first stop was the rather posh (by backpacker standards, especially) Sapa Summit Hotel to drop our bags, have breakfast, and meet our trekking group. The group: Laura, myself, two Belgian girls who had the weekend off from volunteering at a Hanoi orphanage, and an older Montreal couple. We were, in all respects, extremely lucky. Or at least I was. They were a great group and we had a spectacular couple days, but I'm getting ahead of myself. We set off around 9 AM from the hotel, stopping at the market to pick up a snack and some water for the trek. Our group was more than simply those listed above plus Doong, our guide, however. We were also accompanied by several girls and women from the village where we would be lunching, Lau Chai. While this sounds really tacky and fake, and certainly they have ulterior motives in guiding you down, it was actually a great experience to walk down with these sure-footed guides and talk quite easily in English with them about life. In fact, I would go so far as to say that far from being really bad and detracting from the day, their presence made the morning walk all the better. They did not, until the end, ask or even mention us buying anything, they just walked, talked, joked, and helped people less sure-footed than them.
That's twice I've mentioned their sure-footedness and it has to be seen to be believed. While we were covered to our knees (and for some varying patches on butts and arms) in mud their feet were always impeccably clean - and they were wearing sandles! I thought I did pretty well on the track, especially when the locals commented on it, but in comparison to them I was a tripping, clumsy fool. From the market, we walked down the road from Sapa and eventually turned off and plunged headlong into the rice paddies. Sapa is on one side of a valley and mountains framed the opposite side of the valley which were themselves framed and accented in wisps of cloud. It being rainy season, the sky was not blue, but this misty spread set before us was not only refreshingly cool but perfect for adding some mystique to the area. We passed local kids riding water buffalo as they foraged in the mists, villagers making the trek up to the Sapa markets laden with goods or empty, and the endless undulating and weaving path through and above the valley offered heaven-worthy vistas. I had taken over 200 photos by midday (though luckily for you, I have filtered many repetitive views and alternate angles, leaving only what I consider the best).
We made the village in plenty of time and found ourselves sitting around before and after lunch, about the only complaint I could conjure for the trek. It really is set for all types and so I found it neither demanding nor lengthy, finishing as we were quite early in the days. But lunch itself was great as were all our meals, and though I had no use for it, I bought a trinket from Mor, the girl I'd spent the most time talking with. All of us agreed the girls and women (one older one named Sue, I called her 'ba' which means grandma) were worth the price of a few handicrafts and no serious haggling. And then another couple kilometres to the village of Ta Van where we stayed in a village homestay and ate a delicious dinner, chatted around the table, and discussed the extremely large butterflies that are abundant in the hills. We also looked around the town and riverbank a bit until it finally started raining hard and we retreated indoors.
The next day was quite short. We didn't get going until 10:00 or so and were finished by 2:00. This is somewhat impressive as the trails were completely slick and every single person - save for the minority guides - fell at some point in various degrees of severity. Even I had a good slip a couple metres from a high path to a low one, though I managed to surf the mud down in a shaky and low centre-of-gravity surf crouch. It was also raining a lot and my poncho, well, they're really only good for one wear and don't travel well, so let's just say that it was difficult to ascertain which holes were for arms, heads, of due to ripping zippers and stretching backpacks. I enjoyed my shower back in the hotel after a nice lunch and, quite frankly, it's the nicest room I've had to myself since leaving home. I suppose the apartments in Manly would beat it, but I was sharing. The hike had been somewhere between 12-16km and while it wasn't much, the clean up was well overdue and appreciated.
Finally, the third day of the trek. It started a bit randomly as there was no guide around in the morning, but soon Doong was leading Laura, myself, and some Chinese tourists down to Cat Cat (or is it Cat Ba?) village, a tourist trap in comparison to our last two days. It was a nice walk though, in weather that made me want to walk all the way to Fanxipan mountain, the tallest in SE Asia. An almost perfect blue sky, bright sun, and an amiable breeze made it a pleasant though warm walk into the valley. Laura and I also had another chance to chat with the girls we'd walked with a couple days ago before leaving and soon we were at a three-waterfall junction at the bottom of the gorge. Then I wandered off at the guide's suggestion that I "go up and take a look" and it just kept getting better and better so I kept going up. Not to mention I wasn't sure if the group would be coming back this way so I didn't want to backtrack down and then back up again. Eventually I came across three boys sitting under a tree beside a mudhole dug into the mountain and filled to the brim with water buffalo. I took some photos and it was here, at a corner in the path, I decided reluctantly to go and see what had become of my group.
I made it all the way to the waterfall without seeing anyone, which left me with two options. They had either taken my path but turned off on a dirt track I'd noticed running along the rice terraces, or taken another path. I ran into another guide and asked about Doong at which point he let me know that Doong had left a message for me to catch up with them along the dirt path. This may sound worrying, but it was not even lunch, a beautiful day, and I knew exactly where I was and how to get back so it wasn't in the least. I contemplated exploring on my own but then decided I'd better let the group know where I was so I caught up with them just as they were boarding motorcycles to drive back up to Sapa. Doong waited for me and I went back with him, had lunch, and then my Sapa experience was over. I wanted to rent a motorbike and explore until the bus arrived at 5:30 to return to Lao Cai but discovered that I could get an earlier bus and - maybe - make it to the Chinese border with enough time to catch an overnight bus to Kunming. It was 30 days to my flight home on August 5th and I wanted as much time as possible for China, so I chanced the 3:30 bus back, waving bye to Vietnam and some great times in this beautiful country and, I felt, to the end of a saga: my adventures backpacking Southeast Asia. China awaited and it was an adventure all its own. I had no idea just how much of one it would prove to be...
A blinding flash of lightning off to starboard lit all but the furious clouds from which it sprang. They seemed to gather more darkness from the exchange and spilled higher into the sky as, less than a second later, an explosion of thunder drowned even the sound of the struggling motor. What probably saved us was that the rain had not yet broke; it was as though, like us, the storm was battling to get upstream on the Mekong River, perhaps surrounding us completely before unleashing its army of droplets upon us. I sat in the front of a small wooden boat that threatened to capsize if I so much as leaned my head to either side, a boat that seemed unequal to the task of navigating so mighty a river much less in the midst of nature’s fury. I was alone save the driver, whose expression said that even the double fare he had taken to bring me out was not worth it. And then the wind struck from nowhere and our boat teetered precariously as I grabbed my backpack to save it from tumbling overboard. Wind whipping, motor whining, and thunder roaring, we neared the river island of Don Det. Sitting at the front of the boat like a seasoned veteran with no trace of civilization, I was definitely on an adventure. We arrived without incident on Don Det, where there are plenty of traces of travelers come, gone, and presently dining, an island among 4000 in a place where the Mekong River sprawls some 15km wide. I stepped onto land, looked up the muddy slopes broken by fallen logs, and smiled.
It had been a bit of an effort to arrive here, even discounting the boat trip. I left Tadlo and the Bolaven Plateau at about 10:30 in the morning after some backpack zipper difficulties and breakfast with a local who couldn’t speak any English but kept grabbing my arm and smiling. Then, on the public bus down to Pakse, which I shared with some chickens, five other falang (foreigners), and locals, which arrived at noon. I wanted to kayak down the Mekong in three days and then just bring the kayak back, but I found nobody willing to rent me one. I also wanted to get to Si Pha Don (4000 Islands) and specifically Don Det in the south of Laos that afternoon, but there were no busses. I did discover that there was a songtiow (pickup truck with two benches along the back) leaving at 1:00, so I grabbed a quick lunch of Indian food and then went to get myself a tuk tuk. They were asking about 6 times what it was worth and hardly budging at all, so as time ticked I eventually found someone to take me for 20000 and sped there. We were about 6 minutes late and I worried that I would be stranded in Pakse overnight, but it turned out the last trip was at 1:30, so I had no problems.
I shared the truck ride with a pregnant woman, an elderly Cambodian woman who had moved to Laos, about five other locals, some small trees, two bags of fish, fruits (including durian), plants, and a week’s worth of supplies. It turned out to be the way to go; not only did we make good time, but it was cheap, and I had a bit of a conversation with the Cambodian woman in French. I alone was going to the islands at this hour and I took a motorcycle the last few kilometers to shore where I boarded the boat as the storm brewed. Then, finally, Don Det. I hunted quickly for a guesthouse as it was only a matter of time before the relentless rain started, finally settling on one for 20,000 as the rain started to pour. There’s no electricity here, either. They run generators from about 6:00 to 10:30 and that’s pretty much it. The island is a mixture of farmland, villages, and then the tourist village in the northeast corner, which itself is a mixture of guesthouses and restaurants – and two internet cafes. This is where I was and I went for dinner and had a quiet evening.
The next day, I would discover how little there is here. It’s pretty much a relaxation place, though there are hikes and bikes to explore the island and the larger neighbouring island of Don Khon. I just explored the town for a while and then took a walk down the Sunset path. I just wanted to go a short way and see what was there but I found myself just walking and walking until I was in the farmland and then I came across a freshly fallen tree across the path. The villagers were gathered around as a man with a machete cut it to pieces and distributed them among the children. The coconuts I could understand, but the spear-like palm leaves? I watched for a time and pressed on, until a little hello from beside me altered me to a companion. A young boy was walking along with me and I said hello, sa bai dee, back, and then he asked my name. His English was pretty good and we talked a little bit – though I think that he was just repeating what I said more often than not – and I tried to glean the purpose of the palm leaves. We walked along and encountered two of his friends, where we stopped. They had cut open their coconuts and one of the palm leaves, which apparently was food too.
And just then a woman came silently up the path right for us. Silently is not the right word, though. It implies stealth, which I doubt she had the calm to muster; we weer just too preoccupied to hear her. This woman did not sneak, she stormed up the path every bit as furious as the tempest of last evening, and with her tree branch in hand, whipped the young boy who’d followed me up the path along the back. There the silence was broken. She began screaming at him and whipping his with the branch and I sat there feeling helpless and guilty. Perhaps it was for talking to a foreigner, perhaps it was for running off and abandoning duty, perhaps it was for taking two coconuts. I wasn’t sure and could do nothing but watch as this woman with a pulsing red welt below her own eye chased the boy as he ducked under the fence. She would not look at me, but I could see in her face she wanted me and every other foreigner hung from the nearest tree. Not quite sure what my part in this was, but thinking that in some way I was responsible for this poor boy’s punishment, it put a damper on the walk and indeed the whole island. To put it mildly.
A little further on, the river was pooled with garbage, and my growing anger fed upon it. Normally I’m not one to photograph such things, but it seemed to represent all the things that were not good about these places. I’ve heard the excuse that since only a few generations ago, everything they had was from the land and decomposed, they treat plastics the same way. It’s westerners fault for introducing it to them. I think this is pandering nonsense. Any idiot looking at the spectacle of riverborne rubbish ought to be able to put two and two together and recognize that idly discarding things does not make them disappear. Yet, they continue. I had the locals cracking up on the truck here because I placed my empty Coke can under my seat rather than throw it over the side. It boggles my mind. Yet somehow, as I walked on, it helped me forget what was really bothering me, that angry woman and the little boy who’d only been friendly. Back to looking at fields being turned by ox and plough, water buffalo wading in rice paddies, and the perpetual storm always on the horizon here.
I made it around the island in a couple hours on foot and stopped my last stop at a small bakery run by an Aussie and with some pretty delicious fare. I spent a bit of time on the internet and even more time trying to help the proprietor restore the Language Bar on his computers – easy normally but there was something awfully glitchy going on. Then, out for Indian with Shamus and Willy and friends and, after the power died, to their bungalows with a Chilean guy that was hilarious and had a guitar for a bit of a singalong. The next day was much like this. I rented a bike and cycled Don Det up to a waterfall where I ran into some monks and all of us watched some crazy locals braving the raging rapids to fish. One misstep meant certain death with the full weight of the Mekong against the stubborn and unyielding rocks. I got caught in a thunderstorm along with two Korean girls and we had some fruit shakes and a chat while the storm continued and then back home. I booked my ticket to Cambodia. Although much closer to Siem Reap, the roads in Cambodia all go through Phnom Penh, the capital. Which is where I’ll be tomorrow, barring any unforeseen disaster (which did indeed befall us).
As most of these stories start, I stepped aboard some form of transportation; in this case, it was a minibus. The trip du jour was from the Laotian city of Luang Prabang, a world heritage listed city of temples, to the Laotian town of Vang Vieng, a Lonely Planet listed town of tubing. It may not sound like much of a tradeoff, but tubing is consistently one of the things backpackers talk about when they rant on the wonders of southeast Asia. Just a six hour trip and I, too, would be among those floating down the Nam Song river. That should be enough time to make a serious dent on a new book, or so I thought. Instead, my eyes would be glued to the windows the entire trip, which lasted closer to eight hours than six. Stepping on the bus, I was comforted to see that I knew pretty much everyone – in varying degrees – aboard. A Swiss couple that had been on my slow boat from Thailand, three Germans I was supposed to have drinks with last night (they were late and I wound up having drinks with other friends, assuming they weren’t coming). Perhaps my situation would’ve been helped had I had a drink or two with the Germans, instead I was tired, slightly off-balance, and about to do some of the most winding roads in all of Asia.
Nausea, sleep-deprivation, uncomfortable seating, winding and narrow roads, none of that really mattered in the end. It was hard to dwell on anything besides the breathtaking views on all sides once we got out of Luang Prabang. Minibus experiences vary with driver and vehicle. They are usually packed full (even if they must delay extensively to do so) but some may have air conditioning or comfortable seats while others might have a broken seat requiring a volunteer for the floor. Our van was great. Sometimes drivers fill the van with their smoke, are perpetually grumpy, crank the bad music up (and/or sing along), or drive as though in training for a new land-speed record. Our driver was great. His name was Doi, he was very friendly (even making photo stops!), and he played good local music at reasonable levels that we all agreed was very apt to a road trip. So it was a great trip with breathtaking scenery and good company. Aside from photo stops, we did stop at the usual snack points. The first was largely a collection of fruit and sandwich stands, and I bought a bit of each. There were a bunch of local kids around, not begging, but definitely wandering from person to person looking sad and hungry. While I’m not really up for giving out money, I gave each of them some fruit and saw a few others doing the same. The rest of the stops were ordinary, which, if I didn’t mention, was fine, because the scenery was anything but.
Yes, it was a beautiful trip. I’d heard good things about Laos, but never the beauty of the country. So it was a surprise bonus. Maybe now I’ve ruined it, maybe I’ve oversold it, but I don’t think so. Maybe it was one of those days where you just wake in the right frame of mind, where you see miracles everywhere you look: in your life, in your fellow man – family, friend, or perfect stranger – and out every window. Yes, maybe it was just one of those days where you shake your head, put your problems in perspective, and appreciate what is good in the world rather than worry about what’s not. I can’t decide if I’d rather believe this was and would forever be someplace magical that I could always come back to when my perspective needed correction. What I do believe is that this perspective adjustment shouldn’t be necessary in the first place, that there is certainly a way of training ourselves to accept things as they are. I suppose I’ve been hanging around in Buddhist countries too long, but I do wonder if unhappiness is the result of seeking happiness. And following that line, I guess I’ll have to disturb some meditation to ask the difference between seeking happiness and contentment.
Philosophy and scenery (and did I mention perfect skies) behind us, we made it into Vang Vieng and the adventure drive was over. Until we got on a tuk tuk, that is. We’d all agreed we’d pay no more than 5000 each and they wanted 10, so we walked. 20m later, they came after us and had agreed on the already over-priced 5. I’d had Champa Lao guesthouse recommended to me by a neighbour in Pai, and when he asked where we were going, that’s where we asked to be taken. Why he asked is beyond me, as he took us to a completely different guesthouse that was expensive and doubtless paid commission. We insisted that we’d paid to go to Champa Lao, however, and he was pretty good about taking us there without argument. Finally. The guesthouse overlooked the river and was quite reasonable at 35000 per night ($4). It looked very relaxed and was quite well located and I definitely recommend it. They had a room for me and a room for Nicky and Micha (my German friends).
The three of us wandered the town and looked for a place to have dinner that wasn’t playing Friends. Really, you can’t walk around the town centre at all without hearing the guitar riff at various points in the show (commercial breaks, intro, etc). Almost every restaurant is playing it, though a few are trying other shows like Family Guy. You have to be here to experience the all-encompassing spectacle of it. We found it difficult to find decent food places anywhere near or around the town centre, and while walking back to our guesthouse in defeat, I noticed some locals having a very Laos-looking dinner and thought that whatever they were eating, we wouldn’t have found it in any of those restaurants back there, and to me that was a shame. I must have been staring a bit as I tried to figure out exactly what they were eating, for they smiled as only people from Laos or Bali do and bid us a good evening. We returned the greeting and by way of explaining my gaze, I told them their food looked “seb lai” or quite delicious as we kept walking by. They invited us over to try their food, and I wondered if I’d sounded like I was hinting instead of just passing a compliment. We didn’t want to eat their food, but we did take a closer look at it and they insisted that they were finished and wanted us to try it. Instead, we asked where they’d gotten it (mostly from a lady across the street) and went and grabbed some food to join them. BBQ fish, various spicy vegetables, we all shared some food, drink, and conversation.
The next morning, I had breakfast at my guesthouse – sticky rice with mango! They did a great job of it that rivaled Thailand. Yum! And of course, a fruit shake, apple-mint. Micha (I called her Michelle) and I went tubing at around 10:30 that morning and hopped a tuk tuk with a few assorted others… a Canadian, Irish, and three Canberra Aussies. The number written on my hand was 10, which meant that I was only the tenth person on the river that morning. I would later discover that the bulk of the crowds come around 1-2 PM, so we pretty much had the river to ourselves. So there I was, finally, tubing in Vang Vieng, one of the deciding factors in my trip to Asia. And let me tell you, it’s nothing like what I expected. First of all, it is actually anything BUT tubing. Yes, you get on a big tractor inner tube and float, but literally 50m down the river, you’re off and grabbing a drink at the first bar. We actually missed it this morning, but were pulled into the second by staff on hand to help tubers escape the current. There were drinks (by the bucket as needed) and there was, in this case, a flying fox dumping you unceremoniously into the river.
Every bar has its gimmick. The first bar has the highest swing (trapeze style) into the river. Get a good go at it, and you’re looking at a 10-15m drop at the highest point. Of course, if you don’t drop at the highest point you’ll have a good deal of horizontal velocity when you hit the water, so a high drop is usually a good idea. Other bars have volleyball, badminton, free shots of Lao Lao (local moonshine-whiskey), anything they can think of to get you off your tube and off your wagon as well. As we were a small group (which wasn’t so bad, as they were friendly) occasionally joined by other drifters, we didn’t have to wait at all for drinks, swings, jumps, badminton, or anything. It was a quiet, relaxed, journey back into Vang Vieng from where the tuk tuk dropped us and we enjoyed the scenery as we made our way down. The trip itself take two hours floating it, but with stops, we spent about 6 hours floating home. Back at the guesthouse, I had dinner – Massaman curry. It was as good as any I had in Thailand, and perhaps even better! I would have this dish several times more before leaving. Then, in contrast to our quiet day, a night out at the Smile Bar, the big club across the river that closes every night with the “Na na na nas” of Hey Jude. We had ourselves a hut there and, with Nicky back among us, finished a great day.
Nicky and I went rock climbing the next morning with Adam’s. We found a cheaper price at Green Discovery, but we thought we’d get more climbing time with two of us and support a local guy rather than a chain. A mistake, and I suspected as much, but Nicky was fairly adamant and I do like the idea of supporting the locals. In this case, however, the locals brought us to the same place as GD (we knew this in advance) and because we had a joiner in the morning, we had as many climbers per guide as they did. Not that it mattered, both of us were too out of shape to climb straight through the day. Plus, the others had a more fun group and in the end we all hung out together. I made pretty good friends right away with James (English) and chatted with Molly (Sweden) and Grace (English). As for the climbing, it was a beautiful place for it. Not only is the view over the valley quite pretty, but the rock is littered with handholds. That didn’t make it a cakewalk however, not by a long shot. The entire wall is an overhang, which sheltered us from rain but took its toll on our upper bodies. And the handholds were not always where you’d want them to be. So we did a 5C, 5A, 6A, 6A+, and a 6B. I couldn’t do the 6A but finished the 6A+, which was a thrill. But I was too far gone to even attempt the 6B so only four climbs in the end and soon we were all out sitting at a Friends bar. I’d simply meant to meet outside the Green Discovery office with everyone, but the first arrivers decided to sit. Fair enough, I’ll have dinner and drinks at the Friends Bar. Part of the VV experience, I suppose.
It was a good night and people trickled out, leaving James, the German girl I’d been chatting with, and myself at the end. She was a bit of an enigma. I thought her quite unfriendly climbing, talking to nobody except James unless directly queried and then a short answer, but as I was at one end of the table and segregated from conversation by a talkative English-Indian girl on my side and the German girl sitting quietly on the other side, I struck up a conversation as best I could. She turned out quite friendly to my surprise, and even though she had a boyfriend (who was traveling separately for a month?) both James and myself left thinking that their separate trips were perhaps more separate than we had imagined. Nevertheless, the three of us had made a plan to meet in the morning for kayaking if we awoke in time and if not, to meet at 11:30 for tubing.
I was beginning to feel the constriction of my timetable. How I was to do the rest of Laos, Cambodia, Borneo, Philippines, Vietnam, and China in two months was beyond me. I knew I’d have to cut countries from the itinerary, but I still didn’t want to waste a day doing something I’d already done. So I dragged myself out of bed for kayaking, but the other two did not. I tried to go anyway but I was too late in the morning to join their group so my decision was made for me. Then I thought to rent a motorbike and explore, maybe go to the Organic Farm for some mulberry pancakes, but they drain the gas from the bikes before they rent them, leaving only enough to make it to the gas station. And the power was out again that morning. I passed the remaining time in the Friends Bar (without power, it was just a quiet place to have a fruit shake and wait) and met up with James – no sign of the German girl so perhaps we were victims of wishful thinking. The power came back, as did Friends, and breakfast too. Then a bit of internet and we were on the river around 1:30.
What a difference from my first round of tubing! First, we had to wait in line to get a tube and then again for a tuk tuk. Secondly, I was now 178 on the river. Thirdly, I had a drinking buddy instead of a German girl and a loose confederation of tuk tuk crew. We went to the first bar and I ran into – for the third time – Naima, a French girl I’d hung around with in Pai. We sat with her and her friends for a bit but they didn’t seem especially interested in us joining and then we ran into Molly, the Swedish girl from climbing and her friend. They were much more amicable and we finished our Beer Lao together before James and I took the biggest swing on the river; High, scary, and good enough fun to do again. I don’t advise running off the edge though. If you don’t lose your grip as the rope tightens and plummet straight down face-first then you’re in for a LOT of height at the other end. I recall yelling “It’s too high” to the many spectators as the swing hit its peak and begun moving backward. And then deciding I wanted to let go on the first pass and dropping. Not a pleasant landing, though James had a worse one. You can always tell a bad landing by the fact that the jumper swims in with his back to you. Don’t let them see you cry or something to that effect.
We had our next drink at the next bar, I a vodka-watermelon-banana shake, James a rum and coke. Everytime I went to this particular bar they tried to short change me, I should add. We met up with Molly again and then also ran into Grace and Jenny from climbing. As well, two girls we’d seen denied a tube for some misdemeanour the previous go-round (their 6th, apparently) magically appeared, I suspected on their own via tuk tuk. Which meant that there would be a shortage of at least two tubes by the night’s end. Still, we had another round of vodka shakes, which we toasted and chugged while flying down the flying fox, each with one arm on the handle. An Aussie girl and her friends were impressed with our coordinated cheers and we chatted with them for a bit before realizing that the slowly dwindling crowd had turned into noone. We were last left and two tubes short. So floating down was the order of the day, though I hung on to the Aussie girl’s tube. I owe her one and I can’t even remember her name. I actually don’t think I saw her again after the next bar, but we did receive a warm reception for our method of navigation and made some new friends as well as running into old.
It was now James’ turn to buy. He came back holding a bucket of tiger whisky (ugh!) and coke. We resolved to finish this crime against nature quickly so that we could drink something palatable again. And I don’t remember quite which stops we hit after that. I do recall that James, myself, and the Swedish and Norwegian girl visited for quite some time. I’m pretty sure we stopped at the volleyball bar and I lost James and Norway. And I know that I got back after dark because I remember thinking that I didn’t at all care for floating down the river in the blackness. At least that way, nobody could see just how little my stomach liked the Tiger Whisky, and I had the river to wash away the evidence. A baguette and some water and I awoke laying sideways in my bed at 2:30 in the morning, unable to fall asleep as the hours marched their way towards 7:00. Yes, I didn’t feel great, but I was going to go kayaking today and I could pay my penance properly for being an idiot the day prior. I got there at 8, booked my kayak trip for 9, and went to the Organic Café to finally try one of these mulberry pancakes with honey. Good. Really good, I’m sure, though my stomach was indifferent at best, but not so amazing as I’d heard. Clearly, all these people raving about them have yet to try Saskatoon berries.
I made my way to the kayaking place and sat to wait. There were a few others sitting, but I recognized noone so I sat on my own and waited. About 30 seconds later, I recognized Grace and then Jenny as the ones I’d kind of looked right at and then sat down away from. Oops! Explain that one, and now they were in the middle of a conversation with two people I’d passed in the street uttering, “Disgusting!” and the like. Such was my state that I wondered and worried that they were talking about me and regretted not looking more carefully in the mirror that morning. Honestly. Maybe something on my trunks? In my hair? Anyway, we were all on the same trip together and I’d soon put my mind at ease that they were not discussing me at all. Because they spent the entire rest of our trip complaining about food and, well, everything. And they wouldn’t shut up. The guide couldn’t even introduce himself at the beginning of the trip because he didn’t want to interrupt their ‘conversation’ and they didn’t stop to breathe.
No, I’m convinced they had some sort of special lungs that allowed them, by speaking negatively, to convert all that discontent to oxygen. As long as they were whining about something, breathing was not necessary. And now I’m in danger of whining about them, but at the risk of hypocrisy, I am hoping you can understand just how hard they tried to ruin a beautiful day. In addition to food complaints (and the woman was a bit larger, but not large enough to merit food discussion every 30 mins), they allowed no one else to really speak unless through them. I was hoping to chat a bit with Grace and Jenny and apologize both for not recognizing them instantly that morning and also about tubing the night prior, but then SHE’D butt in with her opinion on tubing and then turn to ask her really dumb (well, he’d have to be to marry her) husband his opinion which he would then expound and she would harshly critique. There was no room for entry at this point. They pirated conversations! It was quite ingenious actually; because they’d made themselves a part of your conversation, you felt rude ignoring them and starting or resuming your own, so you were stuck sitting and listening as she somehow turned the conversation back to bad food and sending it back to the kitchen and how her palate was so much more refined. WHAT THE ARE YOU DOING HERE?!
Anyway, there was nobody to rant to, and if a guy can’t rant in his own journal, then where? So the kayaking trip passed with the guide and I exchanging bemused glances at times, a constant source of noise from them (we always kept a good distance), and little chat with or by anyone else. But I wouldn’t let it ruin the trip, it just required effort (a lot) to put aside and focus on what was good. The scenery, for one thing. Sure, it’s the same VV scenery I’d been surrounded by for a couple days, but in the morning the clouds wisp across and there’s something about being in a kayak on the river viewing it that is magical. We also did two hikes into caves, which were just challenging enough to cease conversation. And the caves themselves were pretty cool, we lit candles and swam through and looked around. Lunch was also decent; shish kebab and fried rice. I finished my first spear of vegetables and beef quickly so that I would be ready to spear one of the loudies should the food complaints arise, but instead they remarked in an uncomplimentary way that it was probably the best food they’d had in Laos. And then the food complaining started and evolved into complaining about Laos in general. I secreted apologetic looks to our two guides who were polite enough to sit there and endure all this farcical criticism of their country.
In the afternoon was our second cave, hidden between bars on the tubing circuit. As well, we stopped at the Organic Farm and had a look around. Goats, tropical fruits (especially mulberries), and a mud house greeted us. Then we were done and walked back. I came across a few locals at a stand having some soup that looked quite nice and sat there for forty minutes chatting with the two ladies that ran it while eating my soup. The conversation was about many things, but turned to children and family as the one woman who was mostly listening started feeding her baby. She was bottle feeding and as they brought up the topic of breastfeeding first, I felt it okay to wonder aloud that it must be difficult to do so in a country that lives on spicy foods. And this got the quiet woman talking about just how difficult it was and telling stories of back in the village and also the things she’d have to do to maintain decent nutrition while staying away from spicy foods. And she also talked about others who thought it made the baby stronger and just ate what they ate. This was one among many topics but I think it underscores how the conversation was not just the usual tourist-talk stuff.
I still didn’t feel great that night and it was an early one. I’d meant to pack but couldn’t find the energy. I’d do it in the morning and catch a bus out to Vientiane. Except that I slept in. OK, so the afternoon bus. I packed, showered, and went outside for brunch, a shake, and to sit in the hammock and read, something I’d still not done in this wonderous guesthouse. I ordered breakfast and my shake and grabbed a hammock but wound up chatting with a Dutch girl who looked Spanish and admiring the view rather than reading. I did get the hammock though. Then my breakfast came, I ate, and I returned to the hammock where we talked a bit more. Another fruit shake later and I moved to the triangle mats on the ground then James randomly showed up (he had no idea where I was staying and was just looking at the view from our guesthouse). I decided to just sit and enjoy the day. This was Vang Vieng, relaxation central, and I hadn’t just sat around and done nothing yet. James ordered the Massaman curry for lunch at my suggestion, then I had some chicken and veggies and yet more shakes. We sat and discussed the tubing for some time and then philosophy and travel and were rejoined by Evita, the Dutch-Spanish girl with a name from Argentina. And the day was one of relaxation and eating, and a night of dinner in a quiet restaurant where the family slept in booths and took turns being ‘on watch’ for when customers like us arrived for late dinners. It was a beautiful dinner, a beautiful day, and we said our goodbyes as I wandered back to my room to sleep a last night before continuing my journey south to the Laos capital and the Chinese Embassy.
Dean grabbed his rucksack from the floor of the thatched bungalow and headed for the door. Pai had been so good to him, the small Thailand town had developed an identity and then proceeded to befriend him and almost ensnare him with its wiles. It was a difficult place to leave and many never did, but the door swung closed and he walked one last time across the rickety bamboo bridge to the minibus that would whisk him away to Laos. It would not be a short journey. The trip today would be at least eight hours on the road, finishing on the Thai-Laos border in a town called . The two days after would be spent on a slow boat down the Mekong River, always straddling the border but never returning to Thailand, to a Laos city called Luang Prabang. A three-day tour, if you will. And he was not looking forward to it. Reports had come back that the scenery was beautiful on the boat for a while on the first day, but that it quickly became a bunch of backpackers crammed onto a boat and stuck their for two consecutive eight hour days. The upshot, even the most dire reports admitted, was that this bonded the travelers together in a way that only trauma can, and you left the boat with many new friends on the backpacker circuit. The minibus chugged up the mountain leading out of the valley where Pai is situated as Dean pondered the 1750 baht ($60) fate he had purchased himself.
Pai’s hills and valley faded into plains as the minibus wound its way to Chiang Mai. The travelers were not so unlikely a grouping. Dean, a Canadian, an English couple off to do the Gibbon Experience on the Laos-Thai border, and three Thai off to Chiang Mai for a bit of business. Dean was upset to learn of yet another couple that had no problem corresponding with the gibbon people, and they were delighted to talk with someone even if his contribution to the conversation was mostly half-yawned oh yeahs. It was an early morning and had been a late night for Dean, who had spent a good part of it chatting with his Irish neighbours and then watching a movie. On the halfway stop, he announced to the English couple he was going to try to sleep the second half of the voyage. And indeed, getting in, he closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable. The English couple, having forgotten his decree moments earlier and eager to be friendly, talked to him anyway. This half-awake state made their parting in Chiang Mai all the more confusing; after all, they were going to the same place, but the driver instructed Dean to disembark while the others stayed on. Lunch and a new mostly North American minibus crew awaited and the confusion was forgotten as the new minibus sped its way to the Thai border.
The crew were not especially impressed with their most recent addition. The Canadian that stumbled on was bedraggled and looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Further, the one little bit of empty space in the van was now occupied by his bulk. Still, he seemed friendly enough if not especially talkative and soon was adopted as one of them. There were now five Canadians, two English, and one Aussie. With a group like that, it’s no surprise that when the minibus finally reached the border they all reached for a beer, though the stillness of the town kept them to a low-key chat. They also had to be up early for the border crossing in the morning, which left at 8 AM. For some reason, it costs Canadians more money than any other country in the world to enter Laos, but $45 later, the entire group was in Laos, crammed into a tuk tuk, and herded into the slow boat that would serve as their home for the next two days. That is, after purchasing a pillow for the hard seats and floor and recruiting an Australian girl named Kylie into the fold.
The slow boat is a long contraption with moveable benches that truly define the term half-assed. It was only a matter of time before some benches were shuffled and pillows were put to floor. The trip is a long one, sixteen hours spaced over two days cruising on the Mekong River amongst beautiful hills, misty and veiled lightly in cloud, stopping from time to time in local villages where occasionally locals would jump on or off and more often children would jump along the rail and go up and down offering fresh fruit. There was also a bar on the boat and of course we left equipped with a sandwich for lunch, but the fresh fruit is one of the best parts of traveling the tropics and many of the group picked up green mangos, pineapple, and melon. As the kip is quite weak (8500 kip = 30 baht = $1), locals are all too happy to take money in Thai baht or US dollars, especially at their exchange rate. So, beautiful scenery, small villages, a winding river, and sitting around watching it all go by over a drink or two and some conversation with yet more newfound friends (including a Californian girl named Rachel who is probably secretly related to Julia Roberts) added to the crew, most of whom were American.
The first day ended in a town called Pak Beng, where most of the group roomed (for 300 baht per night) in the ‘recommended’ guest house. Unused to paying so much, Rachel, Erin, and Dean found another room for the three of them where they paid 50 baht each staying with a funny and delightful woman named Mama Shute. After some much-needed showers, the group rejoined for dinner; most tried a Laos dish called Laap/larp, which is essentially minced chicken, pork, fish, or beef, which has been marinated and then barbequed. There is no electricity after 10 PM which led to an early night which, in turn, led to day two of the trip. There is a rumour passed along the backpacker circuit that only the first day has much in terms of scenery, but this is a flagrant lie. The second day holds scenery that is as, if not more beautiful than the first. Hills turn to mountains which occasionally turn into limestone cliffs and karst. Even if this weren’t the case, half the reason for the boat ride is the people to be met along the way. The emphasis on ‘the crew’ is not an accident, nor is the rather awkward third-person narrative. Travellers on the same path meet, make friends, and perhaps depart, but inevitably cross paths again and again. With so many in the same place for two days, this means that a lone wolf will likely find at least one or two to form a pack with along the way. Or at least play a good game of telephone pictionary, where everyone alternates drawing and captioning as interpretation and poor artistic skills morph innocent (and not so innocent) sentences into twisted messes.
Luang Prabang arrived just in time for most, neither too soon nor too late. As the crew disembarked, Dean was surprised to hear his name called out and see Dan, an American he’d met in Singapore, waving at him from shore. The crew split here, in a sense, as everyone went seeking guesthouses; Dan had a second bed in his room and so we shared one of the cheaper guesthouses in the city (Namsok 3, 25000 each per night) and then went out. Dan had business to do and so didn’t join in the crew that night as it reunited at the excellent night markets, but he did leave some good advice on a bar of choice, the Lao Lao Garden. The group met for drinks and Stuart, one of the English fellows, bought bucket after bucket of alcohol with only 20 minutes to curfew. Yes, everything shuts down at 11:30 here and locals are mostly expected to be home by midnight. There are exceptions however, mostly tourists, tuk tuk drivers, and, for some reason, a bowling alley, the last refuge of the drunk.
So it was that the crew crammed into a tuk tuk with two Swedish girls, making the total 12, and they bowled a few rounds. It was a fitting end to the complete unity of the crew, a fun night out with some making plans for tomorrow and others content to do their own thing and run into whoever they might along the way. Dean was in the latter category, especially since many of the others were planning a boat trip back upstream; he had no interest in either the cave they were planning to visit (and its 1000 buddhas) nor in sitting on a boat again. The next day was a rainy one without electricity, which seriously limits options in a small city like Luang Prabang. Dean and Dan drained their laptop batteries working on photos and while Dan went looking into options for procuring a Chinese visa, Dean grabbed lunch and explored the town. Dan had booked an overnight trip to Vientiane that day to get his visa (hopefully) there, and Dean was on his own for the first time in almost a week. A quick wander into the night markets turned up Christian, the quiet Aussie of the crew, and they had a beer before ending a much-needed quiet day.
The next morning, Dean was following Dan’s advice and setting off for the waterfall via tuk tuk in the morning (rather than taking a tour there in the afternoon). Tom and his wife, neighbours in the guesthouse, were doing the same, so the three decided to split a tuk tuk. At breakfast, they overheard four Americans planning to do the same and the seven paid 25,000 each for a big tuk tuk to take them there, wait three (which then became four) hours for them, and return; A new crew for a new day. Kuangsi Waterfall is an hour’s drive from LP and probably one of the most beautiful falls out there. The water is milky blue, crisp, and cascades relentlessly. Many photos and hiking paths later, everyone had converged at the top of the falls looking down at some lovely pools high up in the falls and wondering how to get there. The path was never found (though attempts were made), and descent back to ground level revealed that the swimming places were further downstream. It was some beautiful swimming, the group jumped from waterfalls into the crystalline waters below, off trees, everything that could be safely jumped was jumped. And their early start meant they had it mostly to themselves.
Dean also met a German girl, Michelle, rather randomly by asking her to take a photo of him jumping the falls. All his group was in the water and she was standing and admiring the waterfalls. Through her he met her travel companion, Nicky (a guy) and thought they seemed a nice pair as they wandered off. The Americans likewise agreed and plans were made. They were a really cool foursome, mostly engineers though Megan was an anthropologist. That didn’t stop her from becoming involved in geekly activities and specifically EWB, Engineers Without Borders, of which she was president for their university. They were here to do some volunteer work bringing running water to a Laos village, checking a Thai village they’d helped several years back, and of course travel.
Dean wandered the town, straying from the tourist area when they returned to LP. He found two restaurants filled with locals and decided to join them in dinner, whatever it was. Outside the tourist areas, English speaking isn’t exactly common and the menu is in Laos script, scribbled on a piece of cardboard. But upon sitting down, he was instantly offered a shot of whisky and some food from the neighbouring table. Then he shared his beer with them and later his food and it was a good experience if not a good meal. The meat was tough and, according to the owner’s gesticulating, was horse. More pleasant fare was to be had in the markets, where Dean was reunited for dinner with Michelle and Nicky from the waterfall. More market exploration separated the threesome, but they had agreed to meet for drinks after dropping stuff at their guesthouses. Dean took his time and some photos of the full moon over Luang Prabang and was surprised not to find them. He had been called from a different bar by some people he couldn’t quite recall having met… until it dawned on him they were the Americans he’d spent the day with at the waterfall.
Very embarrassed, he apologized for having asked what now seemed some really stupid questions and joined them for drinks. Hayden, a very soft-spoken Englishman and part of the crew, overheard Dean’s voice and joined the festivities as well. We were allowed to stay and finish our drinks well past curfew and Hayden and Dean wandered back to their neighbouring guesthouses to find a girl panicked about losing her purse. They tried to help as best they could, going to the police and everything, but nothing could be done until morning, which, given that it was 4:30 already, was not far off. Yet another road trip was about to start in a few hours to Vang Vieng, south 6 hours. The cycle was complete as the trip to Luang Prabang both started and ended with an overtired Dean on a bus with people he would come to know and spend some time with.
I crossed the border to Thailand on foot in the baking sun with an Irish couple and a Dutch guy I’d shared a cab with. We had about 15 mins to catch a train at the station 1km away, so all of us hopped on motorbikes and got to the station and jumped on just in time. My destination for the night was to be somewhere in the Tarutao National Park, so I had 4 hours to Hat Yai where I would move from train to bus. During that time the train filled up and I definitely was not in my seat. A local girl, probably around 16, appeared to have the seat beside me, but she just put her bag down and went, ostensibly, to sit with her friends. She didn’t say anything to me, but the Thai sitting across with whom we’d been chatting said that. Still, I’ve lived in western society long enough to be paranoid of unattended baggage, even if I’m aware that it is indeed paranoia. Whatsmore, with it placed beside me I was doubly worried that there may be something in it that I wouldn’t want someone to think was mine. The girl was nowhere to be seen, and the Irish couple was getting quite worried indeed and it was adding to my own concern. At our next stop we were evicted from our spots and all separated to our assigned seats, and the girl still hadn’t collected her bag. I was happy not to have it sitting beside me, and I kept my eye open for her as I worked my way backwards but I probably wouldn’t have recognized her anyway. The Irish girl did, however, and she did get up as I walked past and walk forward. So I made it to Hat Yai with only fear of an incident to show for it. Silly, no?
By the time I got to Hat Yai I decided to just stay there the night. Progress in Asia is slow, you take steps as far as you can and be prepared to make due however far you get. This seemed a lively enough place and it had already been a long day of travel. I ran into a couple while I was looking for a hotel and made a dinner date with them and then found a hotel. Next on the agenda was a phone card and money changing, then figuring out exactly where in this National Park I was to go. Every
