From the South all the way to Vientiane
Laos
Crossing the border was a funny experience. We traveled by boat up the mighty Mekong, the throbbing 1300cc car engine mounted on the back vibrated through the hull of the fall bottomed boat as it skimmed across the waters. It was truly apparent how low the Mekong waters really where, trees that were engulfed by water in the wet season now stand on their own patch of sandy island, held on together by the root system. The trees themselves look as if they are suffering from an unseen, unfelt hurricane. The trunks bend in a curve downstream, the branches and foliage bare on one side, pushed like swept back hair to the downstream side, as if a witch had cast a spell mid-storm, they now stand still, bent, petrified into this strange form.
We slowed and passed into a smaller river of the main Mekong flow, and our driver pointed to his left and said “Laos”, then pointed to his right and said “Cambodia”. In effect we were sitting in a tributary which was I suppose was no man’s land (or water), half belonging to Laos and half to Cambodia (“Hey, that’s our bit of water. Keep off!”).
We sat on the Cambodian side in the makeshift wooden immigration shack up in the middle of nowhere, watching the man behind the desk painstakingly read our letter of passage, so kindly received from the Immigration Chief in return for a few bucks a week earlier. Out of the window across this thin strip of muddy brown water we could see Laos. If there was anybody watching us on the other side we could have waved and had a shouting conversation!
Having had our passports inspected and stamped out of Cambodia, a short boat trip later across the water found us in Laos (Weird), and sitting down at another rickety old wooden shack at the end of a dusty track having ourselves stamped into Laos… $5 US each, pocketed by a young army chap with bulging muscles under a tight off-white t-shirt. He looked serious and a little over zealous…
The Four Thousand Islands is an area just north of the border. The little travelers’ island is called Don Det, it’s full of travelers, and not really like Laos at all. It’s a bunch of islands in the Mekong, where “travelers” go and chill, float in rubber tubes and smoke hash. Not my scene. Nice if you want to relax and chat nonsense all day with other likeminded people, but it’s a young scene… and I’m getting on a bit now.
Whilst wandering the islands, looking at waterfalls, waterfalls, more waterfalls, I never thought I could get tired of waterfalls but I am, and it maybe prompted a change of plans. As we were pondering we decided to put some priorities in place, we were getting bored of S.E. Asia. Not because of the countries, they are great, but it’s been almost a year and it’s all getting same, same but a little bit different. We were also tired of the heat, the dry, the barren. We want cold, we want rainstorms, we want something different!
So here’s what we came up with… Diving is our top priority, Indonesia (Indo) is where we want to do it, so after Laos, we go overland to Indo, to Sulawesi to notch up a couple more dive courses, then to Hong Kong and overland to Tibet, then up to Mongolia, through to Russia and take the Trans-Mongolian or the Trans-Siberian to Moscow. Then a short hop, skip and a jump to Prague where we will buy a clapped out Czech motor (Lada maybe, ho ho) and drive back to see friends and family back home where the car will probably die of exhaustion… Then South America! Peru! Bolivia! Chile!
With this new plan in mind we felt more charged, more elated, more excited than we have felt for months and months. A new direction had been established, a plan (that will probably change in a week). We had to get out of this “travelers” trap, away from these islands where nothing of interest was happening. We were headed up north, three bus rides to Vientiane, with stopovers in Pakse and Savannakhet. On our last night on the islands we were determined to go find somewhere local to sit down and quietly eat something whilst sipping on a beer. So why then did we head down a track to what sounded like a big party?
Music was blaring out from amongst the trees where we could see a cacophony of bright coloured lights. As we wandered down this dark path, torch in hand, we came across a small village where there was obvious excitement growing, kids running around shouting, men and women joining us on our walk to the unknown music source. When we reached the end of the path, in true S.E. Asian style the music was so loud it was almost impossible to communicate with each other. A guy ran up to us as we entered a large compound, greeting us to what he explained was a celebration of life. Who’s life I’m not sure, a group of people? All people in general? Or just one specific person? We couldn’t make our question understood whichever way we tried to put it.
Nevertheless we were cordially invited to join the celebrations, the cost, a donation to a small group of monks with a brimming cash bowl in front of them. We were asked to fill in our names for the record and state our donation (to be recorded for prosperity in the village archives no doubt).
We were taken to a long house where we fed amongst the men of the village, held court by the elders, a meal of fresh vegetables, noodles and a salty fishy broth that was all lukewarm. After politely refusing a second helping of the delicious offering of local cuisine, we were allowed to wander the grounds to take in the festival atmosphere. There were TV sets blaring out karaoke (different music each set), games of throwing balls in baskets, and a gambling game based on roulette with dice. I liked the look of that, not as much as Eddie did though… I now remember why I rarely gamble, after starting reasonably well, things went downhill rapidly, Eddie taking control of choosing where to stick the money on the roughly drawn cloth on the ground. Whatever happened to Lady Luck?
A few thousand Kip lighter in the pocket (quite a few thousand actually), we wandered off to see what else was going on. A few more white faces had appeared, drawn by the promise of a party but were still going through the feeding phase in the long house. An old geezer that had quite a bit of the Lao Lao, a locally brewed rice whiskey that does blow your head off and tastes like it will, normally served with honey and lemon to disguise the taste, and was trying to press the pure drink on us. He was chattering away, oblivious to us not understanding a word he said, following us wherever we went, holding on to Eddie’s arm. We saw this was going to turn into a major piss up as more and more tourists were finding their way across the paddy fields. We left the way they came, having to get up at 05:00 to catch the boat off the island at 05:30 (we hadn’t packed yet…). We could hear the music going on till dawn from our room, and met a drunken traveler bloke, naked, on the beach the next morning looking for his clothes. He’d just been for an early morning swim before going to bed…
Me and my big mouth, no sooner do I open it and moan at the weather… The bus from Pakse to Savannakhet was old and ramshackle, squeaks and rattles emanated from all over. The roads were great, fully sealed and without potholes. For a country that seems to have very little traffic they certainly have got their road building priorities right! (Shame on you, Cambodia) The new Route 13 was smooth as a baby’s bum.
We were trundling along quite happily when a few spots of rain started spattering against the window. Excited, Eddie and I shoved our arms out the open window next to us to feel rain, unfelt by me for months. It was nice to feel the gentle spots on the skin of my forearm. Within minutes it was a full on rainstorm, so heavy that the driver had to stop because he couldn’t see two feet in front of the bus. Being a clapped out bus, the windows were more than a little stiff, probably not having been closed since the last rainy season! Torrential rain poured in the windows while everybody was fighting to close them, rain was starting to drip through the air vents and generally everybody was getting soaked.
Eventually windows were closed, just as the wind got up to hurricane speed that rocked the bus to what felt like near teetering point. Great flashes of lightning seemed only meters away, the loud thunder bolts following almost immediately. Loud sounds like gunshots sounded nearby as corrugated roofs from local abodes were ripped off, the nails one by one being pulled through the metal. Two young monks sitting in front of us were frantically cowering, covering their ears from the thunder, scared witless. The closed windows afforded no protection from the rain, water poured literally through the seals and cracks in the frames. We were getting almost as wet as if we were outside. Everybody was trying to maneuver into the central aisle away from the wet (wimps), but the sunken central aisle was ankle deep with rain as well.
This all lasted for about 15-20 minutes and I thought it was all quite hilarious, I couldn’t stop laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Not three days ago we were discussing how nice it would be to have a spot of rain for a change (it’s all my fault of course), and when it comes we’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere in a sorry excuse for a bus that affords little shelter from the storm raging out side. The locals were all upset by the thunder and were clambering about the bus like panicked pets on fireworks night.
The rain eased off, the thunder and lighting abated, and the driver moved the bus on. Around us was brand new debris, only 15 minutes old. Homes on stilts with roofs half ripped off, dazed inhabitants crouching below their stilted houses. Broken trees and branches, huge pools of water where before there was just dust, a sudden and complete change of the surrounding area in minutes. It was at this moment I remembered that I had hoisted our luggage roof side at the command of the conductor. Cursing under my breath I thought of ruined photos and films, the laundry that was going to have to be done and our not so cheap duck down sleeping bags!!!
The next stop I got out to inspect the damage, hoping that the guy had the forethought to at least cover the luggage with tarpaulin. But no, no tarpaulin, not even any back packs! Someone had replaced the packs with big baskets of chickens for market. They looked a little ruffled and disheveled, soaked through, but where were our packs!!! The conductor guy must have noticed my distraught face, and calmly showed us them neatly packed inside on the rear seat, bone dry. I could have kissed him (but I didn’t, he was a bit hairy, and smelt a lot).
Even the BBQ’d cockroaches on sticks looked good enough to eat, but I forced myself not to buy a stick or two, it would have spoiled my appetite… However, she was the most popular vendor, she pretty much sold out. Apparently you eat the succulent insects accompanied with a bag of sticky rice, roach in one hand delicately held between thumb and forefinger, a ball of sticky rice in the other. In pops the roach (whole), crunch crunch, then in pops the rice, masticate, masticate. Hmmmm, not one of my favorite things.
Following the downpour the air felt fresh and clean, smelling like fresh dug earth. It reminded me of the peaty smell that came from the gem mines in Banlung. The rain just a drizzle now, the occasional lightning and thunder far away, too far to worry the two young monks who looked as if they still hadn’t gotten over the last lot, the water sloshing around in the sunken central aisle like mini surf slapping against a faraway shore. Our bags were dry (we weren’t) and we were on our way again to Savannakhet, where we had the best table top beef BBQ yet!
Vientiane is a city without heart, no life force, uninteresting and without atmosphere. We didn’t like it; we used it as a base for getting together toiletries, doing laundry, getting a new Thai visa and planning our route up north to the hill tribes. Beer’s cheap here though, the place has got to have at least one good point, I suppose… (I much preferred Phnom Penh, yeah; Heart of Darkness!!!)
Amongst the Wats we forced ourselves around was the Wat Sok Pa Luang, a Wat submerged in the undergrowth where you can indulge yourself in a herbal sauna. Some enterprising person has converted their house into a sauna, you get given a “wrap” with which you wrap yourselves after removing your clothes and sit in this small dark room sweating your bits off for a time whilst locals look on smiling (nutty tourists). It all smells very nice but who in their right mind goes to a sauna to pay to sweat when you can just walk around in the midday heat and do the same for free, rub a few herbs in while your at it, heh?
Once you’ve just about had enough and step out side, what do they offer you? A hot cup of herbal tea! Where’s the chilled beer? I need cooling down! But it was all for the experience I keep telling myself. Another Dutch guy (I like the Dutch) was sweating away with us, a larger specimen than us, and boy did he sweat, but he laughed and joked the whole way through, apparently they all go and jump in the Hague once a year at Christmas when the water’s just above freezing, it’s their idea of fun… (I think they are all a bit drunk when they do it, the alcohol acts like thermal underwear or something).
Off tonight for a slap up meal at a pucker French eatery in town tonight. Aottle of wine and fancy cheese to boot as our Easter meal, as it seems we will be up hill tribe country when the real day comes round. Thinking of getting some nice chocolate for Eddie and hiding it in my bag. I wonder if she’ll mind if it’s just a teensy-weensy bit melted?
Tomorrow Vang Vieng by bus, weh-hey, caving, tubing down the river, a bit of hill walking, oh, and a waterfall maybe (boo).
The new mailing address for me if you want send us something is: [email protected].
