Teagle's Travels

Saturday

Traveling w/ David : Thailand

Monday August 1, 2011

Time seems to have slipped past me yet again as I find myself struggling to get to my journal a week since my last entry. This time I provide no valid excuses and instead wish to rest on the laurels of my previous posts, hoping that they have been sufficiently engaging so that my readers will absolve me for my literary absence. But a recap of the events will be provided to the best of my memory; starting with…

…around Tuesday July 26, 2011

I have made my return to the rapturous city of Bangkok. I had planned on arriving on one of Thailand’s trains but I realized it would be the same price and easier if I just took yet another bus. This time VIP actually meant something as our seats were larger and more comfortable and a small box of food was brought to us still early in the night. I venture the difference resides in the fact that this bus was owned and operated by someone in Thailand. It’s funny how little it takes for one to notice that in their transition over the span of a bridge certain standards have changed and the norm of expectance has risen. Nevertheless sleep successfully evaded me yet again as the air conditioning had been set somewhere below absolute zero and the blanket, or towel, that was given to keep me warm covered but half my body. My seat was quite enjoyable though, as I was in 1A on the upper level with a giant windshield as my view. These buses have flat fronts so you really have a front row seat to the action on the road. Our driver was not one to be pestered with a late arrival, as I saw us flying by every vehicle on the road. I must admit when you are seated in front of a giant shield of glass you realize that if you hit anything I would likely set a new long jump record before sliding face first to a halt on the asphalt. I mean, nothing happened but that didn’t stop me from picturing it.

And so I arrived at a prompt 5:15 am at a bus station much too far from the city center to allow me to walk anywhere helpful. I would venture a walk would have taken 2 hours or more, depending on if it began raining. It is with great agitation that the cities in SE Asia that I have thus encountered have been placed at such asinine locations that even the most patient of tourist must feel vengeful. For the small towns that you visit, you will notice that the bus station is placed 2 to 10 km from the city. A city whose greater metropolis area holds 2 thousand residents and has a total of 2 streets in the whole town will have its bus station 5 km outside of the city. For any tourist this poses an obvious obstacle, one that can only be overcome with additional transportation. I must note that even for the most diehard broke backpacker anything over 2 miles with full luggage is usually avoided. But who: man, beast, or machine will help such a problem? Enter the tuk-tuk driver. Upon arriving at any destination in Laos there were heaps of these drivers waiting to take whisk you into the city center, the place 99% of arriving Westerners wish to go. The problem would appear solved except the fare that is charged never seems adequately matched with the service provided. That is tuk tuk’s from a bus station to a city center cover a relatively negligible distance but charge vastly inflated rates. For instance, you can take a bus covering 100km for 50,000 Kip. When you arrive in the middle of nowhere at a bus station outside of town you have to pay a tuk-tuk 15,000 Kip to take you the 4 km into town. I realize it is just another part of traveling that I must endure but it does work to tire the long term traveler. And when even a large city is incapable of linking transit with convenience for people I find it that more disgusting.

Excuse my rant, but sometimes I find it necessary to ease my discontent with things I encounter while traveling by venting through literary expression. Anyway, I made my way back to my usual place of rest in Bangkok, the good ‘ol Riverline Guesthouse. The proprietors are beginning to recognize and remember me; even after shaving my head and letting my beard grow until it resembles a wild bush. I was glad to return to something familiar, a place where I could sleep, eat and live with a sense of normalcy. I was waiting for David to arrive the following night and so I looked at the next 36 hours as an opportunity to avoid the usual rapid pace of a traveler and simply sit and wait. I took all my meals at my favorite open restaurant just a few yards down from my guesthouse. I believe I have already recounted the relationship that had previously formed with the chef and it was with great bravado that I reappeared at her “kitchen”. I was met with a welcoming smile as she happily prepared my favorite dish, mixed pad thai. Yes, I know Thailand has so many good foods to offer that it seems almost ignorant to revert to the most common dish served in America under the guise of Thai food. But honestly I’ve eaten everything on her menu and this is just too damn good to pass up!

So by Wednesday July 27^th …

I retraced the steps I had made when meeting Sarah at Bangkok’s international airport. Umbrella in hand and with my frayed and torn map tucked in my pocket I made the hour walk to the Skytrain to ride to BKK. His flight was early but his arrival not as punctual since he had been delayed at the baggage counter; exchanging broken English with the Delta employee as to why his backpack was not on the carousel. As a token of their regret they gave him a t-shirt and toothbrush and told him to call back tomorrow. I suppose it’s better than a pack of peanuts but really I suppose one should not expect gushing generosity and condolences from the ramshackle American airline industry.

Us both being much too masculine to embrace with arms draped over each other’s backs, I shook his hand and welcomed him to Bangkok. His adventure of SE Asia had commenced while I was already 3 months deep into mine. David had come to travel with me for a month and I decided it would be interesting as I learn to travel with someone after becoming accustomed to the lifestyle of being a solo nomad. So as I had with Sarah a month before we made our way back towards the guesthouse, stopping first on Koh San Road to sample the local Chang and chat amidst the revelry unfolding before us. We hadn’t seen each other for quite some time so there was always a topic to discuss until we found ourselves being ushered from the bar as it was closing time.

The following day I did my best as a walking tour guide and navigated our way around the metropolis, retracing steps I had taken by myself, with Sarah and now with David. Walking a city is a good cheap way to get a feel for the culture and the pace of life of the citizens and best of all to taste all the good food Bangkok has to offer. There’s definitely something pleasurable about being the one to introduce grilled pork skewers, fried bananas and Thai sausages to someone. Not to mention eating them all as well. I beckon someone else to visit just so I have a good excuse for another banana pancake with chocolate sauce. For me Bangkok is as much about the food as it is the temples, especially since your appetite for Pagodas is quickly filled but you are always hungry for grilled meats.

We booked a train ride north to Chang Mai for Friday night and were disappointed to learn that all sleeper bunks were full for the following four days and we would have to take a/c seats instead. The cost being strangely higher than a sleeper we both knew that sleep would be more difficult in just a reclining seat. Time being a foremost concern we purchased anyway hoping that some local Hong Thong whiskey could ease the journey. I found our seats modestly comfortable with satisfaction declining as the hours ticked by and the a/c was again set to Antarctic. My pack being stowed away from me I huddled under my child sized blanket and closed my eyes and plugged in my mp3 only to find it not functioning and forcing me to listen to the cacophonous skidding sounds of the train’s undercarriage.

…Friday July 29^th 2011

Chang Mai is located in the northern part of Thailand and is known for being a relaxed city frequented by backpackers looking for a trek in the jungle and a ride on an elephant. But like most activities that I have considered, it is becoming increasingly clear that the prices are climbing higher and seem more appropriate for the tourist and not the backpacker. Sure $30 really isn’t that much money in the grand scheme but for the long term traveler that could be two days traveling. Not only that but these events seem much more commercialized than advertised, as hordes of people retrace each other’s steps and the treks are much too short and the enjoyment of the trip in question. On the other hand, how often will one have another such opportunity to pet tigers, ride an elephant or hike to local villages? To me having trekked Nepal the modest “hikes” hold little interest for me and as for the elephants I guess we just took a pass on that one.

Instead we saved our cash and took to the streets the first day with city bicycles. It is becoming my routine to enter a city, get a map and find a bike to assist in my city navigation. Although tired from our night train ride we viewed much of the city which has within it an “old city” with is a giant square sized area with a moat and brick wall surrounding it separating it from the rest of the city. Later we found a giant night market and puttered around the various booths as David looked for various items that might be of interest to those back home.

After checking prices for jungle treks and elephant riding and mountain bike tours we used my old traveler fallback; we chose none of them. While the proliferation of companies that offer such services is reminiscent of dandelions the degree of service is consistently dismal from all. If you are there to buy then smiles abound, but if you only want some simple information that won’t yield them a commission then frowns instantly appear and the lying begins. And so when we decided to get mountain bikes on our own and take a ride to Doi Suthep we were searching for places to get the bikes, helmets and direction to the temple. The lady selling mountain bike tours after hearing that we did not want to spend $45 for a group mountain bike package told us that “biking alone is not fun” and “can be very expensive.” She didn’t know where we could get bikes and appeared to be in utter disbelief that anyone would consider what we were doing.

And so we found our mountain bikes later and although we had to settle for motorcycle style helmets we figured that was a better option than leaving our melons to the whims of the Thai drivers. We did a free internet search for the location and took off to Doi Suthep. The ride was absolutely amazing and kicked our ass. It’s roughly 10 miles from Chiang Mai to the temple, a temple that to the casual observer (me) is of no more impressive than the last thousand temples, but the selected method of arriving there was the real adventure. After about 2 miles the road begins to ascend quickly with few descending disruptions, leaving our hamstrings and quads and calves screaming for a rest. As we struggled up the steepest climbs we would see motorbikes of locals and taxis of tourists watching with looks of awe and concern as they drove past. At one point we even had someone taking our photo. I guess it’s not too common for people to ride a bike when you could pay to be driven up! It took us about 2 hours to do the whole climb up, at which point we were treated with...(drum roll)…a temple. Supposedly very sacred and blah blah blah we walked around and decided to come back. We were originally worried about the descent given the grade and potential traffic issues but it was an absolute blast. We likely burned away any remnants of brake pads that we had as we flew down the mountain. To its credit the road was the best I have seen yet in Thailand as the uphill [left] side had a continuous extra lane that could be used by either side of the road. What had taken us 2 hours took 20 minutes to come down as a light rain began to fall and added some real excitement to the rush hour traffic. Needless to say it was yet again a cheap and simple activity selection that yielded a truly satisfying day. No insults if you took a taxi up there but I bet your memories won’t include flying by the same laughing taxis as you descend down the winding rain slicked road from Doi Suthep.

Monday

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.

Tuesday

Laos: The Second Part

Saturday July 9, 2011

Enjoying, or perhaps tolerating each other’s company enough, Rudolph and I departed from the hustle and bustle of Vientiane and headed north up to Vang Vieng. It was a relatively short 5 hour bus ride and had us arriving yesterday in the early afternoon. It wasn’t too many years prior that this destination was sought out for the surrounding natural beauty that can be accessed, with caves and waterfalls being the primary attractions. As of late it has changed into a small rowdy party town full of young backpackers. The Nang Som river flows through the town and some enterprising local has built a fine industry for those who wish to float down on large inner tubes. And so, most visitors here appear to be even younger than myself and are hell bent on floating and consuming massive amounts of alcohol, or typically a combination of both. When they aren’t on the river they can be found in one of many café restaurants watching reruns of Friends and Family Guy. It is a strange place here in Vang Vieng, a sort of surreal pocket of Western culture and quiet Laos life. Although this is not a place I could be for an extended period of time it is a fun experience nonetheless. I believe we will float the river tomorrow or the following day and see if we can survive with the youthful crowds.

Tuesday July 12, 2011

I am sitting on a bus from Vang Vieng headed further north into Laos to the town of Luang Probang. Although they call it VIP there is little surrounding me to indicate that any of the passengers nor my upcoming trip will have anything associated with VIP; except for the those letters semi-painted on the front of the bus. As the bus lacks air conditioning we are dependent on the small windows which do little when we never drive faster than 15 mph as we climb our way along the steep mountain roads. Alas, I have been afforded the opportunity to sit and write about the past few sublime days.

So as it would turn out we never did float the river, in an inner tube at least. Our party of two grew to a party of three as we met up with a British chap that had been staying in our previous guest house in Vientiane. David exists somewhere in his 40’s and seems to be enjoying the life of a worldly ski bum as he travels the world in the off season and snowboards a new location around the globe once the snow flies. Like me he enjoys a cold Beerlao (or two) and we have found ourselves drifting into raucous banter over American politics and our [apparent] problems. Nothing quite brings out the dissatisfaction with another’s country as a round table discussion at a Laos restaurant with bottles of beer providing unspoken input. So it was with David’s addition to our group that our average age increased and the group majority voted against floating the river like young drunken idiots. It is with humorous irony that I found myself blighted by our beloved system of Democracy.

So instead we decided to kayak down the same river, in a sober and still enjoyable fashion. It proved to be an excellent decision as four of us and our guide were driven roughly ten miles upstream to an unmarked starting point. It is now from the safety from my current [dry] location that I can admit that tubing on the Nam Song claims the lives of a handful of youth every year. These deaths are due to the mixture of drugs, alcohol and flowing current. Having become a popular attraction overnight, ambitious locals built zip lines, rave dance bars and water slides along the river bank where less than keen young adults flock. And so lacking the safety of OSHA regulations an average of 10 kids die every year along these banks. This year was the worst yet as a local restaurant owner had told us that last week the body count had surmounted 24, as once again a young Australian man met his fate. Our kayak adventure beheld none of these dangers as we had life jackets and a very informative 90 second demonstration on how to operate our sea kayak. With the river flowing at a decent clip paddling was not always necessary as we drifted along the muddy banks, pausing only a moment when David fell off his kayak. We were granted an unknown bonus when our guide had us stop at one point and we walked a few minutes up a bank to a cave. We jumped in the water and were able to swim 100 feet into the opening before it became too dark to continue. I was convinced Batman was lurking somewhere behind the stalagmites but as our stomachs grumbled we had no choice but to return and make an end to our floating adventure.

On another afternoon we rented some mountain bikes and struck off with a hand drawn map to where we were told should be some other caves. It was a horrendously muddy commute, but with only a little back-tracking we found ourselves to the promised destination. Always a fee to do something we paid to cross a rickety bridge and paid again to enter the cave. It was strange though since cave was not a government maintained site nor did it seem to be on private property but there were locals who were willing to collect money for our entrance. It’s hard to be upset when the tax is being collected from a smiling shirtless boy who hasn’t seen his seventh birthday. From where we parked our bikes it was an exceptionally steep but short hike upward into the mouth of the cave. Having begun our journey with the aid of the blistering sun we had left our headlamps at home, thus limiting our cave experience. It was nothing spectacular; damp, cool and dark. The real enjoyment was back at the bikes where there was a small but ample swimming hole that was of little secret to those who lived close. With a large tree extending over the pool, any who dared was supplied with diving platforms of various heights. My companion Rudolf took to the trees like a monkey as endless jumping and flipping could never fully satisfy him. For being 7 years my senior the smile on his face would have convinced even hardest of sight that Rudolf had teleported back to his youth. I preferred to lounge in the water below and doggy paddle with one hand as I snapped photos of him and the others who braved the natural diving board.

It was later this night that we discovered a real gem of a restaurant. It is a good practice for any traveler to walk the streets during dinner and see where the locals prefer to eat. Vang Vieng is plagued with a plethora of eateries that seem to photocopy each other’s menu and close their eyes while cooking the meals. Granted, many patrons are usually too drunk or stoned to know if the food is good but for our antiquated group of travelers we were looking for good local food. And so it came that “random restaurant #63” was packed full of people…and none of them were Westerners! Some pictures and a bit of English painted on the walls indicated that this location served Korean BBQ. Since none of us had really tried this food before we sat down with haste and viewed our surroundings. The idea is simple; you pick different trays of sliced meats and then cook them yourself in the middle of the table. You are provided a bucket of coals that are set in a hole in the table and a domed pan is set on top. Hot water is poured in the sombrero shaped pan so that while the meat cooks in the middle on top you throw bamboo, cabbage, noodles and eggs into the soup water and watch it boil. As fast as you can cook you eat; sweating like animals we toiled with our beef, chicken, pork, prawns and fish. It was absolutely delicious! Feasting like kings for about $6 a person we decided to return the following night for an encore performance. I walked away that night rubbing my stomach like Thanksgiving and vowing to hold back next time, well, maybe.

Thursday July 14, 2011

The last two days have been spent in the wonderful and quaint town of Luang Probang. Our group of three (Rudolf, David and me) took a bus for 8 hours that crawled its way along the winding hilly road in northern Laos. The scenery was quite good as the sparsely populated hillsides of Laos are dominated by trees that all seem to be competing to be the greenest. Upon arrival to the bus station we were met by guesthouse touts all vying for our attention. As expected the tuk-tuk taxis were also anxiously waiting to cart passengers off to destinations whose close proximity never seemed to fairly match the quoted cost. Our selection for accommodation proved reasonable as it sat within close walking distance to the town center while quietly resting above the Nang Som River.

Luang Probang itself is a beautiful, quiet and simple town with streets reminiscent of something European. Although I can’t quite put my finger on it there is something about this place that I really enjoy. It is here where the Nang Som and Mekong River meet, forming a peninsula of land that is the city center of Luang Probang. Don’t let me convince you this is a city, it is really just an oversized village. One can walk from one end to the other in a casual half hour, even pausing to watch the brown silt-filled Mekong River or enjoy a drink at one of the cafes. There is an indistinguishable air of peace in this town and it is with regret that I will be leaving it so soon. David and I have formed a friendship well enough to continue our travels together. We wish to see more of Laos via river and the next available boat leaves in the morning. Booking such a ride is more costly than bus and requires some patience as most agencies never have sufficient passengers to journey on a daily basis. So we have decided to not waste the opportunity for tomorrow’s departure.

I should mention a bit more about my time, although fleeting, spent in Luang Prabang. Like nearly every other town I have visited, Luang Probang provides a night market, but this one is better than most. The goods offered for sale do not appear cheap Chinese products, despite being a neighbor to the giant manufacturer. And although I have no interest in buying anything it was pleasant to stroll the humming little alleys, stopping only for a moment to smile at the proprietors and glance at the necklaces, chopsticks and handmade hammocks. The market also has a decent food section where one can load up a [vegetarian] plate buffet style for about $1.25. Even lacking meat for this price it is difficult to turn away and buried within the mound of food I came across new flavors and some real winners. Luckily chicken breasts and other meats can be bought for the same price as you sit sipping your Beerlao at a picnic table and watch it sizzle on a BBQ. If it wasn’t for the nightly rain and the lack of adequate cover this food market would have been one of the best places I have eaten in SE Asia.

On another night David and I found ourselves tempting the Luang Probang nightlife with other hapless tourists. The town has a curfew at 11:30 at which all bars close and guests are ushered outside, presumably to their hostels and hotels. But after reaching the street the hushed whispers of the Tuk-Tuk drivers are heard with words of a late night bowling alley floating through the air. Never one to miss an opportunity to risk a night out bowling David and I joined with a couple of others to get a ride out of town to alley. Sure enough a large and rather modern bowling alley stood with bright lights flooding from the interior. And so with the help of a bottle of Lao whiskey split among the four of us we proceeded to bowl to the best of our ability. Perhaps the change of continent or the help of the whiskey I bowled what I believe to be my best yet, at one time throwing four strikes in a row. Ultimately scores were of little importance as we chatted with other travelers hitched a ride back to our guesthouse around 2:00 am. Although great fun our bowling outing lead to a less than productive next day as much of it was spent resting and sipping the free coffee provided by our guesthouse.