Laos: The Last Part

Friday July 15, 2011

Today David and I departed from Luang Probang for a new spot higher up, a small town called Nam Kiaew. Forgoing our usual method of transport, the undesirable bus, we opted instead to take a slow boat up the Mekong River. Aptly named this vessel’s passage was slated to take seven full hours, while a minibus requires only two. Although we had the luxury to pay nearly triple the cost of a bus, we were awarded the opportunity to view the beautiful landscape of Laos, making it a worthwhile investment. These boats look similar to the long-tail boats famous in Thailand, as they are very narrow and exceptionally long when considering the lack of passenger space. Although there were only six of us traveling this voyage (we maxed out the seating) we were sequestered to tiny wooden chairs that in any other situation would look to have been stolen from an American daycare. And as if to try and hide the visual deterioration of the boat, it like its neighbors, was once haphazardly painted with a myriad of bright colors with no clear pattern or design. And so, with our blue hull and red chairs and yellow roof we made our way through the chocolate colored river.

Our captain, if I shall call him that, was an older Laotian man. He had a worn face with deep creases in his brow but with a soft expression. He reminded me of the old men you see and instantly remind you of the type of grandpa that likes telling funny stories and eating cookies with his grandkids. His wife rode along in the back, lying on our bags as the seats had all been taken. At first that may sound a bit harsh, but after only a couple of hours hunched in our seats it was clear that her ability to lounge and stretch out was well worth sitting next to the blaring motor. Even for us the sound was quite loud, making it impossible to hold conversation with each other except for our two brief stops. Both of which lasted no more than five minutes as we would suddenly pull over on the river bank and our captain would jump out indicating this was our toilet break. Tough luck to the two girls on the boat, but you quickly realize that in most of these Asian countries “pee breaks” are usually ditch side stops with no Western toilet in sight. Just don’t forget to pack your own toilet paper!

The scenery was amazing, really just absolutely wonderful, particularly the final two hours. Since there has been recent flooding in the surrounding area the river was very high, robbing us of any real riverbank. Instead the water looked to cut right through the trees at times, stretching the width of the waterway significantly. Here the trees would at time rise steeply as giant sheer cliffs jutted out in front of us. It was a curious site to behold as I would stare way up at the trees growing from these stone beasts with apparent ease, as if to prove themselves worthy, developing without soil at a horizontal angle. Heavy mist would at time roll in off these cliffs, darkening the sky and creating an almost eerie sensation. The ride was long for the cramped conditions but an easy recommendation to anyone who has the opportunity. Tonight we sleep in a bungalow overlooking the river and intend to rise early to continue to make our way farther NW into Laos. It is our intention of making a short trek with a guide to a local jungle village and bear witness to some of the indigenous Laos people.

Tuesday July 19, 2011

It continues to surprise me how easily time can slip through my hands while I seemingly have little to display as proof of being occupied. One can easily imagine traveling as having 24 hours a day of free time. It becomes more apparent that this freedom does not quite exist as imagined. Granted, I am no longer shackled to a desk and chair, nor do I schedule my life around the clock’s numbers of 8 and 5. But I do find myself bound to other requirements; those that at home would otherwise be done with as little thought as tying one’s shoes. Relocating myself and my belongings, or what should be known as actually traveling, is not the simplicity of jumping into my car or waiting for the somewhat punctual Portland public transportation. Instead it is a matter or constantly asking yourself if that bus is coming to this station and taking me to which of those cities. And so you stand transfixed at many a bus station as thoughts stammer in your head as to whether that is your destination or these people do work here or if that sign is in English.

Such pretext is intended only to provide some explanation about the pock marked appearances I make with posting to the blog. Even the days you see as a bold heading are likely being written days later as I finally sit down and find a couple of hours to recall and reflect on the previous activities, trying to discern what happened, when it occurred and if it is worth recounting. To my original point, it is the simple tasks of common life that compound with a traveler making it surprisingly difficult to find the free time required to adequately translate the appropriate emotions into words for this journal. The acts of traveling, eating, washing, etc. all require amounts of time I would have otherwise considered a afterthought back in my homeland. Add to that the compromise one must give to his fellow travelers as the lone traveler becomes a group and soon free time is suddenly as scarce as when I was bound by the 8 to 5 and the desk and chair. Well, it’s either that or I have grown lazy and would rather balk to my readers than admit my indolence.

And so I sit in the late dawn of this Tuesday morning, slowly drinking a small Nescafe coffee and staring out from the balcony of our guesthouse in Muang Sing, Laos. The weather is somewhat cool, a welcome change from the otherwise perpetual wall of heat that has plagued my journey through SE Asia (excluding of course crossing the Himalayas). We are nestled in somewhat of a valley in the far NW corner of Laos and I am pleased to have arrived at a location that is removed from the “backpackers route.” Although there are no signs or treasure hunt clues as to which town to select, there appears to be an unwritten route that most backpackers will take when touring any country within or the entire region of SE Asia. As a fellow ‘packer I do not discredit the chosen cities as it is helpful to arrive somewhere that others have established for you and find some necessities easier to navigate. But it is also pleasing to find yourself in a distant land where you see few if any other tourists and instead can mingle awkwardly with the locals. Muang Sing (so far) seems to be one of these places.

(break)

Nearly fifteen hours have passed since I began this entry. I was earlier interrupted by my fellow travelers urging us to begin our day and enjoy a breakfast back in the town center. That is, to walk down the only road in the town and eat at the only restaurant suitable for dining. We had come to Muang Sing in hopes of participating in a guided trek to a nearby village in the mountains where we might spend a night with the locals and interact with them. Sadly after visiting the handful of tour agencies we realized that prices had skyrocketed. There is reason to believe that corruption is partly to blame as only a year ago there existed just the Tourism Center through which you could book such a trek. Now however there are multiple private “agencies” and we suspect that the local police or anyone else with a strong hand wants his cut. In a typical business setting as competition increases the value should improve (i.e. price going down). Yet when you are contending with the likes of avaricious local law enforcement in the midst of a communist country then business theory goes out the window and the tourist is left to suffer.

So instead we have spent the past couple of days making our own tours. Yesterday we mounted some deteriorating metal steeds and pedaled off towards a waterfall with little but a tattering napkin map. With the only option being single speed beach cruisers we were happy to only travel a few miles before turning off onto an impossible uphill gravel road. From here we pushed our bikes 1 km until locking them together at the foot of a monastery whose coloring stones indicated it looked doomed to forever be under construction. Still under the guide of the disposable map (mind you it was given to one guy we met from someone else weeks before) we selected what appeared to be the only trail and began to make our way. The map was really just one curved line that said “walk 2 hours” and so with every fork in the road that we met our brows would furrow and lips would twist until we ultimately would chose to go right. Mind you we did not know we would have to hike to the waterfall (we thought you biked all the way) so we were lacking provisions and proper gear. The second hour that we exerted was fraught with mud that with every step threatened to forcibly remove your foot from your shoe. Alas, after hiking the requisite two hours and crossing two streams that could hardly constitute a waterfall we resolved to return. All was not lost though, as the hike bore a multitude of different butterflies impressing us not only with the varying colors (of which there were many) but also with the enormity of the insects themselves. Bright neon green polka dots on black wings and giant single blue circles on others; these striking creatures mixed with the even more abundant dragonflies that swarmed above. Even without the waterfall it was a worthy trek and for only the cost of the bike rental a very cheap option as well.

Today was then filled with our attempt to visit a local village that was accessible without hiring a guide for a mountain trek. Collaborating with some Japanese tourists, six of us boarded a tuk-tuk to be driven about 5 miles out of town towards a dirt road where we were told contained some local villages. Although it is easy to let your mind drift to the idea that local villages might resemble something seen in National Geographic you should not assume that will quite be the case. Yes, depending on the ethnicity of those in the village they may have more traditional huts and clothing. But at the same time you can still find satellite dishes and modern construction material on the roofs of some buildings. Our first village was one of the more pre-modern era and was of the Akha people. Consisting of old wooden and bamboo huts built on stilts in the dirt these colors were contrasted with the bright green surrounding foliage and the various colors of the t-shirts hung drying in the sun. We were greeted by what could only be every child in the village as they came scampering from all around with a bag in one hand and beads in the other, urging us with their smiles to buy from them. I think we all walked away with beads on our wrists or our necks and would have happily bought more if only to give them a few more dollars. Our next village was of less interest but yielded us a delicious and spontaneous lunch of noodle soup under a tiny hut. We happily slurped our meal and then made our trek back to Muang Sing by walking the few miles back along the bright green rice paddy fields. So having saved considerable money avoiding the jungle trek, I still will leave Muang Sing tomorrow morning having accomplished what I came here for. I mean, you really should have seen the kid’s faces when we bought those beads!

Sunday July 24, 2011

My time in Laos is rapidly approaching its end as I sit in Noy’s Fruit Heaven back in the capital of Vientiane. The past few days have been relatively uneventful as we wrapped up our time in northern Laos and David and I made our way back towards Luang Prabang for a couple of nights. I have had my fill on bus rides as of late, as I have taken no fewer than 7 of them totaling more hours than I care to count. None of the rides have been comfortable as most were taken in mini-buses whose seats were not designed for the average American as my legs would constantly be forced to press the back of the seat in front of me. Swinging my legs into the aisle was nearly impossible as extra stools and plastic chairs are put there and sold as more seats. Truly, you must arrive early to find a good seat as they are more than willing to let the tourist engage in the torture of squatting on a wicker basket for hours on end. At best was last night’s 12 hour bus ride that was in a somewhat normal coach but had a road so twisty that sleep escaped all but the man snoring behind me. I’d say that this was a VIP bus that even included a meal, except that they decided the best time to have dinner was 2 am. Nothing like being awaken from a half sleep and told you can go have a bowl of noodle soup. I am looking forward to returning to Bangkok tomorrow night in the “comfort” of the night train. After squeezing into children’s bus seats the past few weeks it will be a nice change to only complain about the heat. I would not normally back track in my journey but I am returning to Bangkok to meet with a childhood friend. David (different from the British chap who I have parted with) will be joining me for nearly a month as we explore other parts of Thailand, Cambodia and Malaysia. It will be a change for me to be officially traveling with someone and certainly will take some adjusting. It will be enjoyable to share the experiences of SE Asia with someone else and travel with someone who already has a grasp on your dislikes and habits.

I should remark that on my last day with [British] David we attempted to make our way to one of the two waterfalls that are commonly visited by tourists. It was our understanding that of the two waterfalls, the larger one was nearly 35km away but the smaller one had better swimming and was only a distance of 6km. So we attempted to negotiate with the tuk-tuk drivers to drive us to the nearby falls for a reasonable rate, but as is so often the case with them it was impossible to reach a fair price. Mind you the prices that they were quoting were equal to the fare that I paid for my 12 hour bus ticket that I just endured. Surely a short drive only a few miles isn’t worth the same as a bus trip through half of Laos!? Tuk-tuk drivers everywhere always seem keen to charge exorbitant rates, especially for tourist destinations. It was a rainy day and business for them had been visibly augmented due to the weather and still we could never reach an agreement so we resolved to walk there instead.

It was a drizzly afternoon that turned into a downpour and we found ourselves hunching under an awning for nearly an hour, silently questioning our decision to walk. Eventually we continued on, spurned by the notion that the waterfall was not very far off. We continued to walk and walk as our clothes slowly changed weight as the rain absorbed into the fabric and our skin. As often as we could we would ask the locals on the road if we were still going the right direction. Most would answer us with vacant stares or others would just wave further down the road. But after walking about 6 miles we looked up to see some man waving us over to where he was seated around a small table outside of a little hut, in more or less the middle of nowhere. He was joined by an older woman who was cooking around a small coal fire and two young women who could do little else but nervously laugh. This man, who later introduced himself as Mr. Lao, immediately took us in as guests to join him at his afternoon feast. His connection with the women was somewhat ambiguous and fell somewhere within friendship (although they were preparing all his food). Soon bottles of local rice whiskey appeared and within no time we were all imbibing with the burning liquid and engaging in conversation as the young ladies would continuously pour shots and hand them out in a clockwise order. Mr. Lao told us the waterfall was yet another 5 miles and there was no way I had the time (nor ambition) to continue; instead choosing to sit with Mr Lao as other local men would randomly arrive, stay for 30 minutes to have a drink and then continue on their Saturday afternoon. Waterfalls will always be there but our encounter with this man was what travelers really cherish. To get the opportunity to engage with local people in a non-tourist way and sit and talk and laugh with them as if you were old friends. David and I left that afternoon quite happy with our opportunity to meet the mysterious Mr Lao. Either that or we were half-cocked from the rice whiskey he kept serving.