The trip from Laos to the Cambodian capital of Phnom Penh was a disaster. Oh, it could’ve been worse. Nobody was hurt, arrested, or even in peril. But, for the price we paid, it should’ve been so much better. First of all, let me put into perspective that an overnight trip on a bus with my own bed from Vientiane to Pakse cost about $20. My own bed! The shorter trip from Don Det, on the Laos-Cambodia border to Phnom Penh cost $30, which in Asia is a massive difference. The start of the trip says it all: we were ferried off the island to wait for a minibus on the shore at 8 AM. This start time in spite of the fact that the minibus didn’t arrive until almost 9:30, which meant a one hour and fifteen minute wait. Why not leave at 9? It’s no wonder the trip was (supposed) to take 8 hours. In fact, it would be much longer than that, but by the end we were thankful to have made it at all.
The next stop was the border crossing. The Laos officials wanted a dollar to stamp my passport, which is ludicrous. I already paid over $40 to get my visa and enter the country and these guys are paid to stamp my passport. This $1 was to their beer fund, and while it’s really not much, it’s the principle. And really, I don’t need an exit stamp from them, so I quite unequivocally told them “No”. I was first off the bus to the immigration booth and others likewise refused. We stood there and they had nowhere to be so they held our passports and started blankly. Then the others started cracking and soon we had all paid our bribe to get our passports stamped. Next stop was getting a Cambodian visa, a $30 proposition. Again, these are exorbitant amounts by local standards already. $30 is two days accommodation, food, drink, and transport. In Canadian terms, it would be like paying about $350 to enter the country. And again, after buying my visa, another $1 to have it stamped and actually make it valid. And then to the border crossing, where it was, yup, another $1 to get the stamp to actually enter the country. Bribes, bribes, and bribes. Imagine coming home and the customs official saying that everything seems in order, but you’d better slip him $20 under the table or you weren’t getting anywhere. He’d just hold on to your passport and you’d be stuck in limbo.
On the other side of the border, after a 30 minute wait, we got into another minibus. And we were crammed in. The bus had a double bench and then a fold up third captain’s seat spaced about 20cm from the other two. In these three seats they squeezed four of us. So it was that I sat half on my seat half in the air gap next to an Asian guy (he didn’t pay a cent for the trip, incidentally) who fell asleep on me for the next couple hours. Then a stop, again, in Strung Treng, where we again sat around waiting for another hour. So far we’d spent more time waiting than driving, and it was getting pretty annoying. Finally we left. I tried to sit in the front, thinking that if we were going to suffer because they oversold their seats, then the staff of the company should be the first to get sardined. I had a bit of an argument with the ‘guide?’ that sat there which spilled into the whole van venting their anger at the minivan company. But it was getting us nowhere and we all knew it, so I went to the back and thankfully ended up in the only row with the correct number of people, having traded our extra space for some backpacks.
I don’t remember how many times we stopped, exactly, but one stop around eight at night was at the side of the road in front of a small shop. We all needed a good stretch at this point and piled out while, I presumed, the driver took a leak and his fat copilot some snacks. There was a terrific lightning storm in the distance and I got on the roof to watch it and get some photos. We’d stopped plenty and I definitely didn’t need a snack (though I did sneak off into the bushes). Then I realized the engine hood was up and went to have a look but was soon distracted by the local kids who were wanting photos. So I knew we had a radiator problem, but what exactly they did to fix it, no idea. Apparently, they had no idea either, for we were back at the side of the road with a smoking and smelly engine around 9:30. This time, there were no signs of civilization aside from the road we were on, although the blackness was thick enough to have hidden a city 20m in any direction. The radiator again. We were at the side of the road for almost two hours this time and I was helping as best I could. I managed to diagnose that the radiator was plugged and got a safety pin to clean the pressure valve. And then the driver mashed the end into the radiator block without mercy, then wondered why it didn’t fit. He’d splayed the end horribly. I had just about made it round again when he repeated this gesture. It was completely destroyed and I thought it would be a long night crammed in that minivan. Then someone came by on a bicycle with proper tools and managed to chop the old end and peel back the valve to make a new end. Then, with some saran wrap to improve the seal, some water from the ditch to fill the radiator, we were back on the road again.
It was two minutes to midnight when we arrived, 16 hours after we’d set out on an 8 hour trip. We were grumpy, exhausted, and all settled for the place they dumped us – and never mind the commission they definitely didn’t deserve. One beer to celebrate an end to the journey and we were out like lights. The next morning I discovered just how disgusting my room was. The floor had not been swept in a long time and there were, well, lets just say that evidence of a good time was laying right on the floor by the headboard. As well, the windows didn’t quite lock, and I didn’t feel safe leaving my stuff in there. So I went guesthouse hunting and wound up at the Green Lake guesthouse, which seemed nicer and more social. Certainly the rooms were better, though they were $3/night instead of $2. And if you’re wondering about these prices being in dollars, yes, Cambodia does have a currency (ryet) but it uses it as coins for US currency which is what everyone uses for most transactions. Even the ATMs issue dollars and not ryet. Anyway, both guesthouses were right on a nice lake with the city on the horizon and it seemed like it would be a good place to lay back and read if a person got bored touring around.
I met a fairly nice tuk tuk driver and arranged a trip with two of the girls from the van ride to head out and see the killing fields and S-21, the high school turned detention/interrogation centre for the brutal Khmer Rouge at 2:00 when they reopened. I also arranged with a travel agent to get my Vietnam visa, which meant I would be in Phnom Penh until at least Friday, three days away. Then, off with Mah, our tuk tuk driver, to the killing fields. The Khmer Rouge was something like the Nazis, they imprisoned and killed millions in their efforts to wipe the country of people Cambodians, foreigners, people wearing glassed, and of course so-called ‘enemies of the state’. They were in power from 1975-79 and in that time millions were dead, brought to the countryside and murdered. The lucky ones were shot, but when ammunition became rarer and expensive, they turned to bludgeoning, swords, knives, and anything else that could be lethal. Soon, the executioners were unable to kill enough people per day (300 is a lot of sword swinging) and detention areas were built. The killing fields where they died are now largely exhumed, leaving pits scarring the land and a monument filled with skulls in the middle.
If the Khmer Rouge is the Nazis, then Pol Pot (born Saloth Sar) is their Hitler. The atrocities he committed, especially as his manic paranoia set in should never be forgotten, but I find it sad that even though he lived more recently than Hitler, I had never heard the name until reading up on Cambodia for my trip. What’s more, he didn’t find a quiet bunker and a gun, he fled to Thailand where he lived in exile for almost 20 years. 20 years! Imagine Hitler being alive and well twenty years after World War 2. Unthinkable, but the Cambodians had to endure him living next door. He was finally brought to trial in 1998 but died before anything came of it. Not only that, but when the KR was ousted by the Vietnamese military in 1979, the UN granted the Cambodian seat to KR representatives and the US, Thailand, and China supported the Khmer in their guerilla war against the new government. When people ask me why they need to know about what’s where in the world, why that is so important, I am dumbfounded. First of all, why do you want to be ignorant? And secondly, it’s not so much knowing, say, the capital city as trying to understand the country and where it fits into the world that I think is important. How ANYONE, much less an entire government could back a murderous regime like this, so soon in the wake of Hitler especially, testifies either to unmitigated evil or complete ignorance of the country. Perhaps if something was known of these countries and the people that inhabit them, it would be harder not only to dismiss deaths as casualties of war but maybe, just maybe, the US would back a regime that had the good of its people at heart. Instead of people like Saddam, the Taliban, and so forth.
It is coincidental that I was at the killing fields on World Peace Day and a large ceremony with hundreds of monks was underway. If only peace were so easy as walking around a building three times chanting or clasping hands and praying. But I hope they got through all the same. Our next stop was S-21, Security Area 21, a high school converted into a detention and interrogation centre. It is a building of barbed wire and Spartan rooms, many with a single bed, a stained floor, and a somber black and white photo of a prisoner either dead or beaten and tortured severely. I don’t know why people come to see this, I don’t know why I was there, but I guess it’s a bit of a slap in the face. A reminder to be good because look at the horrible things that we are capable of. There were rooms full of faces, people checked in and never checking out. One woman holding a baby in her arms, looking with sad determination straight at the camera, her eyes shining. And then detention cells by the hundreds, private and public. Yes, I hope those monks pull it off alright.
The next day we got an early start and headed off to first to the Royal Palace. It is the royal residence and understandably large parts are unavailable to the public, but the throne room where coronations take place was visible and impressive, as was the silver pagoda. Here’s a place where the entire floor is solid silver, there is a Baccarat crystal Buddha sitting on a small throne of his own, and a life-sized solid gold Buddha studded with over 2000 diamonds, some weighing up to 25 karats. Our next stop, The National Museum of Antiquities, had a hard act to follow and scarcely tried. The antiquities themselves were nothing to write home about: assorted coins, pottery, clothing, and statues from a long ago age. But the building itself was quite beautiful with its red walls and central courtyard, presumably to escape antiquity overload. No, it wasn’t solid gold or adorned in diamonds, but it was beautiful in its way.
It was midday and hot, shirt-drenchingly hot. Back to the guesthouse for lunch in the shade and the cool breeze off the lake, and then I thought I’d escape the heat and maybe catch the new Indiana Jones movie in a theatre. After a lot of driving around, the joke was on me. There is no English theatre in Phnom Penh, nor even theatres showing Hollywood movies. Those are pirated and watched in the guesthouse. If you want to have a cinema experience, you’d better be fluent in Khmer. It turned out I wasn’t, so I wandered around despite the heat, looking at landmarks, making my way up to a modern (air conditioned) shopping centre, then the central market for a pair of aviators that look so cheesy (gold rims) that my last pair look absolutely classy. Sophisticated even. I can’t wait to show you. I continued my 5 km walk back to the guesthouse and stopped for some street food and sugar cane juice, which didn’t look like much but was surprisingly good – especially the sausage! And finally, home again for dinner, internet, and visiting with others travelers. I had my Vietnamese visa the next day and decided I needed to see a beach before doing Angkor Wat properly, so I slipped my bus ticket to Shianouk Ville in between my Vietnamese and Chinese visas and spent my final night happy that my next two months were now set and tomorrow would be spent on the beaches of Cambodia.
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).
I found myself standing on the streets of Vientiane, the capital of Laos, wondering where I was and where I was going. Generally, a bus trip is ended at a known locale or with everyone else at the bus station. This trip ended with a quick turn from a rather majestic looking building into a small side street. It was hardly dire straits. First of all, I knew that we were close enough to the tourist area. Just before our abrupt side-street park, I had seen several places with signs in English for massage, food, and internet. And that majestic building had to be something important: it would surely be on my map. So with a close investigation, I discovered I was at the foot of the Lao Culture Hall and that there were several guesthouses in the streets ahead. I found a pretty decent one for 50,000 kip, the cheapest I was liable to find in the capital, and wandered around. I found myself on the Mekong river again. The Mekong and I had been on a parallel course from the Golden Triangle of Thailand, Myanmar, and Laos down to where I crossed from Thailand to Laos in Huay Xai, sailing two days together to Luang Prabang, and now here. Unfortunately, none of my friends had washed ashore in the capital with me, so I sat on the river having barbecued pork from a food stand, the two of us reflecting on the setting of the sun.
I’m often asked, especially in Asia where such a thing is unheard of amongst locals, how I can travel alone. Who will take my photo?? It has its ups and downs. Ups include a completely selfish itinerary. Where do I want to go today? OK, done. No conferring, no guessing if the other person is being nice or straight, no compromise with anything but your wallet and timetable. You avoid the occasionally awkward, “I want a day to myself” admissions, you meet new people a lot easier (you HAVE to), and if something really goes awry, you can twist the story however you like to anyone back home or simply never admit to it happening. As I enjoy laughing at myself as much as at others, this latter bit almost never happens. The pitfalls are that there are times when it is just you and you don’t want it to be, that you have nobody back home who will enjoy a travel story as much as you, and that things like rooms and transport are invariably more expensive. Vientiane is a place where it is good to have a travel friend, and I was without. I wandered the streets but found nothing social happening. At all. For the first time since… Chiang Mai, I spent the entire day and night without anything more social than a bit of time on Facebook and with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman creating a Bucket List.
My main plan for Vientiane was to spend as little time in it as possible, so I went to the Chinese Embassy the next day to apply for a visa. First, however, I’d decided to see about changing my flight. As much as I didn’t want to get home in the autumn, I wanted to see the Philippines more, so I spent the morning on the phone with Air Canada and then STA Travel, whom I lovingly consider the most useless travel agents on the planet. Air Canada insisted I had to change flights through the agent, and of course they insisted I had to do it through the airline. I can’t believe I was foolish enough to lump a horrible airline with a semi-sentient travel agency. I managed to get both – after far too much cajoling – to check about changing dated and both reported there was nothing through until September. My own internet check revealed a flight on the 14 of August, but hardly worth the change fee. I am definitely coming home August 5. By now, it was afternoon and I went to the Chinese Embassy, negotiating a return tuk tuk trip for 20000 kip. I was told that even with a ticket out, I would be refused a visa without a ticket in and hotel accommodation booked. What with the Olympics, earthquake, and Tibet, they can’t be too careful this year, I suppose. Luckily, Dan, an American friend from Singapore and Luang Prabang had gone through all this already and had some web links ready for me when I came back from the embassy and started on the flight and hotel bit. It appears my first stop in China is to be Kunming, which should be a good base for exploring Tiger Leaping Gorge and hopefully a good jumping off point.
I came back and had an early dinner at an Indian restaurant that, somewhere, I’d heard was good. There was a German girl sitting alone and I asked to join her and we had a great meal and both took some travel tips with us. More and more people are telling me not to bother with Vietnam, and my new thought is to whirlwind it (unless I like it a lot), get a couple weeks in the Philippines, fly from Manila to Hong Kong and then to Kunming. Borneo is sadly off the list. Maybe. Again, traveling alone, I have nobody to commit this to. We parted ways after dinner and I spent the evening finishing A Darkness at Sethanon, the last book of the Riftwar Trilogy, and doing an awful lot of nothing. I actively looked for a nightlife again, but came home empty once more.
The next morning I was at the Chinese Embassy first thing. To get my visa in one day would require $62! Generally they cost around 20, but whatever, I just wanted it done and I’d heard Vientiane was one of the easier places to do it. Afterwards, dropped off by my 20,000 kip tuk tuk which I had to negotiate rather fiercely even having taken one the day prior, I went to look at the next step. Get out of Vientiane, that much was clear, but then? Pakse was the logical choice. It was where I was originally going to meet up with James for a kayak/canoe trip down the river to the 4000 Islands, again along the Mekong. But it turned out that all the busses there left at night and flights were expensive to say the least. I’m not much of a night bus or sleep en route person, though I’d like to be. But the thought of another day in this town didn’t fill me with excitement. I admit this judgement unfair. I had done no sightseeing; no temple gawking; no excellent food missions; no photography expeditions. But I wanted out all the same and it was just coming up on noon.
I rushed back to the guesthouse and managed a late checkout, went and grabbed lunch, and then the rain began. Deluge is a more accurate word, and I was running late for four o’clock, when I was to pick up my passport. I braved the rain in my poncho and stood getting soaked anyway trying to negotiate the proper price – 20000 – to go to the Chinese Embassy and back again. Standing in the rain and playing this game for the third time only to have him tell me such a thing was impossible and all but call me a liar when I told him this was my third such trip was too much. 20000 – yes or no? I’m getting soaked. No. OK, thanks, bye. Walking away, “OK, OK”. Fine. I walk back the 20m and he waits until I start crawling in before he says 35000. I am too livid to do anything but give him my most evil look and trudge off in the rain after another tuk tuk. Finally, I found someone who would do it for 20000 and we were off.
Getting stamps in passports is always an exciting part of entering a country. But getting a visa in advance – my first ever – is far moreso. A pretty piece of paper granting access to a fairly restricted country not only gives a rather ludicrous sensation of importance, but it also leads to thoughts of future travels: The Great Wall, Three Gorges Dam, Tiger Leaping Gorge, Hong Kong, sometimes thinking about places far away gets the travel bug going again. I’m thinking about the excitement of this and of being on a bus this very night to the south of Laos as I get back to the tuk tuk. Where do I want to go, he asks. I think this very polite as generally they just drop you where they got you, which, this time, was all I wanted anyway. 20000 more, he says. Ah! This old scam. Change the terms after you’ve started your business, but we had definitely agreed on a return trip price. The Chinese Embassy is in the middle of nowhere and why on earth would I book one way?
We argued back and forth for awhile where I not only made clear that we had already agreed on a return price, but that I had only paid 20000 for a return trip the two previous times I’d come. I’d had enough and walked away without giving him a cent. He wants to cheat tourists, he can foot the bill for the trip here or try to find another customer. My certainty in his dishonesty was affirmed all the more by the lack of resistance he gave when I started walking. No trying to get money for the one-way fare or anything, he just drove off. Of course, that could be because he thought I had no idea where I was and would never find a way home or a tuk tuk to take me. He was only half right. Since this was my third trip, and each time the driver had come a different way, I had a pretty good idea of what was where. I walked towards some markets and had a bit of a snack, some sort of rice/fish balls and satay, and walked some more. I ran into another tuk tuk driver that spoke very little English and had his friend negotiate. His English was great, and I explained my three trip story to him and he to the driver but still no budging. I said I didn’t think it was a fair price, thanked the interpreter, and was about to walk when they invited me for beer.
Now that’s a new twist. How much for the beer, I asked with a wry smile, wondering at their game. No, no, I buy the beer. So I sat down with Mr. Air (the interpreter) his girlfriend, and two tuk tuk drivers and between us we had four large Beer Lao and some snacks. Mr. Air was very friendly and chatty, also an engineer, and we got along quite well. He offered me a lift back since he was going that direction anyway, and then ended up giving me a bit of a tour of the city. Walking away from that scamming tuk tuk was the best thing I ever did. Exploring Vientiane more, I began to regret my hasty ticket out that very evening. The city is more like a collection of villages with a commercial centre at its heart, and I feel like with a bike I could’ve seen that side a bit more, not to mention had a good guide in an awesome Russian jeep quite possibly. After looking at Patuxai, the Laos equivalent of the Arc de Triomphe (built out of American cement donated for an airstrip), they dropped me off and I was soon on the bus with a familiar face from tubing, the Aussie girl who’d given me a lift on her tube, Hanna. As well, a Dutch girl named Sacha and a Polish couple.
The bus was beds, not seats, which I thought the greatest thing ever until I learned I’d be sharing it with a stranger. And then, when they boarded, it was two strangers, an older man and his grandson. Luckily they made a big deal about it and I wasn’t especially excited looking, and I got my own bed with probably the most legroom of all. Considering that no Asian trip is without breakdown, we made it uneventfully to Pakse at 7 AM, our only stops were to repair the air conditioner (it got quite hot quite fast in there) and in a couple cities. I wasn’t sure whether to spend the day in town or not, so I just tagged along with the Polish couple to go up the Bolaven Plateau to a town called Tadlo. I was going to go up there anyway, might as well keep on moving and get there today.
Although I had friends this time, it was a quiet place with little to do. We settled in at Tim’s Guesthouse and I wandered up along the river past some waterfalls and into a small village with goats and chickens and pigs running everywhere. I didn’t mean to get here, but as I walked up the riverbank I heard a giggling and some kids were running away at the sight of me. I stopped for a bit and they curiously looked around the corner and when I turned to look at them, off they went again. Then back once more to look and I thought it’d be funny to chase them so I pretended to start and they took off laughing. So it was I ended up in this quiet village with nobody that spoke English, kicking a wicker ball around with the kids, taking their photos and letting them take mine (none turned out) and so on. As I was leaving I noticed that one kid hadn’t run after me, he was still working on pounding rice into flour in a mortar and pestel. I took up the other one and helped him for a bit, mostly making a big show of it for the other kids. I made a sort of game of it and when I left, all were crowded around for their turn grinding.
And this is where, for now, the story grinds to a halt. I enjoyed my evening among the clouds on the plateau, and a nice swim in a waterfall after crossing what has to be one of the scariest bridges I’ve ever crossed. The evening was quiet which suited fine because it had been a long two days. Plus, the next morning I would be heading back down to Pakse, back down to the Mekong, which is starting to feel like an old friend. Maybe James wasn’t around, but I was still interested in a trip down the river to the 4000 Islands, 3 day trip or not. Either way, my fate and that of the Mekong would be the same. We would both flow through Pakse, down to the 4000 Islands, and from there into Cambodia before going out to sea. What lay downstream precisely, one never knows, but adventure is sure to be found.
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.
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.
