In honor of our last week in Laos and the Christmas holiday, we took what we are considering to be a little vacation to the very southern tip of Laos. Si Pan Don literally translates to Si Pan Don (all three words we have learned and you should have seen Kyle's face light up when she put that together; 'Four' 'Thousand' 'Islands'!!) is basically a delta where the Mekong creates several tiny islands . . . perhaps 4,000 of them?
We rented a little bungalow on the sunset side of the island with two hammocks and thatched walls/roof.
This vacation was really meant to be time to slow down before hitting Cambodia full speed and we took the concept of Slow very seriously. Our major activities were waking early to the roosters, reading aloud from a borrowed copy of The Fellowship of the Ring (550 pages completed in 4 days) and taking walks and/or bikes around the island. This island is sort of a hippy spot full of tiny restaurants/guest houses and then just some farms. All the electricity is on generators and the food/drinks are kept in coolers on ice that is hand delivered on a little boat once a day. Water buffalo is king (as is their excrement) and hammock-perching alternated with cruiser bike riding are the major activities in town.
To celebrate Christmas, I surprise Kyle with a Christmas tree of a branch of bamboo decorated with cold pills (all red and green still wrapped in their hermetically sealed silver bubbles), all my jewelry, some dyed silk thread from my weaving class a few weeks ago and a few other odds and ends. Kyle had secretly picked up some presents at a western store in Vientien - granola bars and good chocolate!! - and I had stashed a single packet, peel-off face mask in my bag before we left home (just in case). For Christmas eve dinner we went to a pig roast (very fresh pig, in fact it may have been the one I waved at so often on my way into town) with a large group of travelers. I had a long conversation with a very patriotic young Polish couple who informed me that both Chopin and (albeit arguably) Copernicus were both originally Polish. Though this polish couple lived in Australia for two years, they still say that Poland has some really great beaches(?). Guess we all have a soft spot for our homeland - especially when we're so far away!!
The week was wonderful and relaxing but we were ready to get moving again by then end. Our last day was somewhat marred by my infliction by some horrible sickness that kept me in bed for about 36 hours with fever and plenty of dashes to the rather unpleasant bathroom. I should like to thank the ubiquitous Lao National toilet paper brand called, I kid you not, Sweet Sentiments . . . and it's pink.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Hello, Cambodia!
Yesterday, we left the sleepy little island of Don Det to head to Cambodia - which included the always interesting proposition of land border visa purchasing. At 8am, we dutifully carted our bags to the boat landing beach (which was being occupied by an array of other travelers and a complacent water buffalo) to catch a boat for the mainland. Among the many other travelers was a woman I will only refer to as Crazy. Crazy was a fifty footer in terms of insanity, which means that from fifty feet you could tell you didn't want to share a restaurant with her, much less a crammed longtail boat and then minivan. Crazy had shockingly dyed blond, stringy hair and appeared to be about 50 years old, dressed in cutoff jean shorts (with purple underwear visibly sticking out), a halloween Angkor Wat shirt, and plaid hightop converse, which upon closer inspection included embroidered tazmanian devil cartoons. Kate thinks her black eye liner was tattooed on, which may be the explanation for its prevalence at 8 in the morning. The most salient characteristic of Crazy's crazy (apart from appearance of course) was her 4 large and falling apart rolling suitcases. Who brings one rolling suitcase, let alone 4, to the dirt roads and sand of Don Det?
Now, I don't mean to sound judgemental. Perhaps she is a very nice lady with clothes for starving street children in her bags - appearances can be deceiving. We'll see...
So we load into the boats and head across the water with about 30 other people. On the other side of the Mekong, we depart the boats and wait for the minibuses to the border. As you can imagine, Crazy has a tough time negotiating the trash-strewn beach with her rolling bags, and has to make multiple trips. At one point, she approaches me, grabs my arm, and says hysterically, "I've lost one of my cases!" Oh, jesus, now I'm that girl who crazy has decided to talk to. I mumble something like "Umm...did you check the beach?" and duck away to buy some oranges. All 30 travelers are torn between staring at Crazy and actively avoiding her gaze. Finally we pile into three very tightly packed minivans and head to the border.
We disembark at the border to pay the obligatory leaving fee and have our visas stamped "Used" and then walk about 10 minutes down a dirt road, where we learn we have to go back to the vans and drive to a different border crossing. Confusing, but ok, its Laos, and border crossings are always a laughable combination of incompetence and bureaucracy. Now we all have to pile back into the vans - except there are a different number of vans and more people now and everyone's saying different things. Luggage is moving to and fro and people are generally anxious. Crazy is yelling at the guy standing on top of the van that her suitcases must be put vertically on the roof, saying, "Not that way! Why would you do it that way? Are you listening to me? What don't you understand?" Well, he doesn't speak English, ma'am, particularly your shrill Texas twang (of course this woman is American - an ambassador of hillbilly hospitality). Then there's the group of Russians stomping about, the leader of whom (clad in a man tank and ridiculous sunhat) is also yelling at the driver in heavily accented English, "Quickly, Quickly! We go now! I have plane to catch!" To which the Lao man on top of the van wisely replied, "You hire minibus, you cannot go quickly!" The Italians are calmly smoking in the corner. A Finish girl changed her pants. This could be a long day.
Finally we all get to the land border, where there is one man issuing visas to the 30 or so of us, at a table in a little house. No line forms, but just a teaming mob handing over passports and money. The Cambodian visa master (who had a chunk of hair not less than 5 inches long growing out of a mole on his face) dutifully filled in by hand the visas, using his massively long thumbnail to peel back the sticky backing and stamping each one with 5 different little stamps. The finish people got the wrong change - he took their passports back, banged them on the table, got all mad, and ended up profiting ten bucks with his botched math. The Russians are freaking out and twice commandeer Kate's pen ("Give me pen now!") and everything is hot and ridiculous. One of the Russians has an exchange with Crazy that clearly makes the Russian girl uncomfortable and everyone feels bad. Eventually, Kate and I get our visas and move to the shack where you actually get your entry stamp. We are three people behind crazy, and we are the only other Americans.
Crazy steps up to the counter and insists she needs a working visa. We're all standing around on the platform, and see what's coming. The guy in the booth says, "Ok, one month visa." She insists on a working visa (which, as many people may now, you do not get at the shack on the land border between Laos and Cambodia, where there isn't even electricity) and the guys tell her to get it in Phnom Penh. One of the Finish girls tries to help to explain to her that you can't get it here. She insists she needs a working visa. No, they say. No, we all say, you have to get it in Phnom Pehn. She needs the border guys names and badge numbers and identifying information, she insists, so that she can tell the people in the capital that they wouldn't give her a visa. The man in the booth freaks out. "Closed! Everyone out! No no no! One by One! Out out! One by One!" he shouts. We all shuffle off the platform and stand in a line next to the shack. He still has the passport of the french guy, whose wife is standing on the other side of the shack, ostensibly safely in Cambodia. What will happen? Crazy storms back to the visa master and the guy in the shack fumes. "One by one! One by One! One by One!" he shouts. We are only too happy to comply. Curiously, the one by one rule does not apply to Lao or Cambodian people, who just go up to the side window and shake the guys and hand and banter for a couple of minutes while he happily stamps away.
So things get moving again, the French guy joins his wife, the Finns get through, the Italians in front of me, and then I step up to the booth with a smile and handover my American passport. Just the site of the blue pamphlet enrages the border man. He waves it frantically at me and says no working visa. No, no, I insist, I am but a simple well meaning tourist. I'm not with Crazy! You must believe me! "She's so crazy!" I say, and his compatriot (who as a serious gold grill and appears to be there just to take the money and nod) agrees, saying, "Oh, she crazy." Crazy, we all agree, but that is her and not me and please can I have my lovely American passport back? The border man is fuming. He hates all holders of blue passports now, and takes his time with the pretty little stamp, mumbling about Crazy. Occasionally he yells out "One by one!" And then I am allowed to enter Cambodia, and so is Kate, and we embark once again on the rearranging and packing of the minivans.
Eventually we get into a seat with our bags and head down the road into Cambodia (without Crazy, who may still be at that border arguing for her work visa). The greatest part of the Minivan Shuffle is that, though we are all going to different places in Cambodia, they don't sort that out until we stop for lunch in Stung Treng (great town name) at the driver's friend's restaurant and wait for a while and reshuffle. Finally and eventually we get into a minivan bound for Kratie, while the driver honks at everything that passes with a horn that beeps an elaborate symphany of honks at least 10 seconds long. We arrive at our destination after about 8 hours of travel. Kratie is 250 kilometers from Dot Det. Welcome to Cambodia!
Now, I don't mean to sound judgemental. Perhaps she is a very nice lady with clothes for starving street children in her bags - appearances can be deceiving. We'll see...
So we load into the boats and head across the water with about 30 other people. On the other side of the Mekong, we depart the boats and wait for the minibuses to the border. As you can imagine, Crazy has a tough time negotiating the trash-strewn beach with her rolling bags, and has to make multiple trips. At one point, she approaches me, grabs my arm, and says hysterically, "I've lost one of my cases!" Oh, jesus, now I'm that girl who crazy has decided to talk to. I mumble something like "Umm...did you check the beach?" and duck away to buy some oranges. All 30 travelers are torn between staring at Crazy and actively avoiding her gaze. Finally we pile into three very tightly packed minivans and head to the border.
We disembark at the border to pay the obligatory leaving fee and have our visas stamped "Used" and then walk about 10 minutes down a dirt road, where we learn we have to go back to the vans and drive to a different border crossing. Confusing, but ok, its Laos, and border crossings are always a laughable combination of incompetence and bureaucracy. Now we all have to pile back into the vans - except there are a different number of vans and more people now and everyone's saying different things. Luggage is moving to and fro and people are generally anxious. Crazy is yelling at the guy standing on top of the van that her suitcases must be put vertically on the roof, saying, "Not that way! Why would you do it that way? Are you listening to me? What don't you understand?" Well, he doesn't speak English, ma'am, particularly your shrill Texas twang (of course this woman is American - an ambassador of hillbilly hospitality). Then there's the group of Russians stomping about, the leader of whom (clad in a man tank and ridiculous sunhat) is also yelling at the driver in heavily accented English, "Quickly, Quickly! We go now! I have plane to catch!" To which the Lao man on top of the van wisely replied, "You hire minibus, you cannot go quickly!" The Italians are calmly smoking in the corner. A Finish girl changed her pants. This could be a long day.
Finally we all get to the land border, where there is one man issuing visas to the 30 or so of us, at a table in a little house. No line forms, but just a teaming mob handing over passports and money. The Cambodian visa master (who had a chunk of hair not less than 5 inches long growing out of a mole on his face) dutifully filled in by hand the visas, using his massively long thumbnail to peel back the sticky backing and stamping each one with 5 different little stamps. The finish people got the wrong change - he took their passports back, banged them on the table, got all mad, and ended up profiting ten bucks with his botched math. The Russians are freaking out and twice commandeer Kate's pen ("Give me pen now!") and everything is hot and ridiculous. One of the Russians has an exchange with Crazy that clearly makes the Russian girl uncomfortable and everyone feels bad. Eventually, Kate and I get our visas and move to the shack where you actually get your entry stamp. We are three people behind crazy, and we are the only other Americans.
Crazy steps up to the counter and insists she needs a working visa. We're all standing around on the platform, and see what's coming. The guy in the booth says, "Ok, one month visa." She insists on a working visa (which, as many people may now, you do not get at the shack on the land border between Laos and Cambodia, where there isn't even electricity) and the guys tell her to get it in Phnom Penh. One of the Finish girls tries to help to explain to her that you can't get it here. She insists she needs a working visa. No, they say. No, we all say, you have to get it in Phnom Pehn. She needs the border guys names and badge numbers and identifying information, she insists, so that she can tell the people in the capital that they wouldn't give her a visa. The man in the booth freaks out. "Closed! Everyone out! No no no! One by One! Out out! One by One!" he shouts. We all shuffle off the platform and stand in a line next to the shack. He still has the passport of the french guy, whose wife is standing on the other side of the shack, ostensibly safely in Cambodia. What will happen? Crazy storms back to the visa master and the guy in the shack fumes. "One by one! One by One! One by One!" he shouts. We are only too happy to comply. Curiously, the one by one rule does not apply to Lao or Cambodian people, who just go up to the side window and shake the guys and hand and banter for a couple of minutes while he happily stamps away.
So things get moving again, the French guy joins his wife, the Finns get through, the Italians in front of me, and then I step up to the booth with a smile and handover my American passport. Just the site of the blue pamphlet enrages the border man. He waves it frantically at me and says no working visa. No, no, I insist, I am but a simple well meaning tourist. I'm not with Crazy! You must believe me! "She's so crazy!" I say, and his compatriot (who as a serious gold grill and appears to be there just to take the money and nod) agrees, saying, "Oh, she crazy." Crazy, we all agree, but that is her and not me and please can I have my lovely American passport back? The border man is fuming. He hates all holders of blue passports now, and takes his time with the pretty little stamp, mumbling about Crazy. Occasionally he yells out "One by one!" And then I am allowed to enter Cambodia, and so is Kate, and we embark once again on the rearranging and packing of the minivans.
Eventually we get into a seat with our bags and head down the road into Cambodia (without Crazy, who may still be at that border arguing for her work visa). The greatest part of the Minivan Shuffle is that, though we are all going to different places in Cambodia, they don't sort that out until we stop for lunch in Stung Treng (great town name) at the driver's friend's restaurant and wait for a while and reshuffle. Finally and eventually we get into a minivan bound for Kratie, while the driver honks at everything that passes with a horn that beeps an elaborate symphany of honks at least 10 seconds long. We arrive at our destination after about 8 hours of travel. Kratie is 250 kilometers from Dot Det. Welcome to Cambodia!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Odyssey
I would like to preface this entry with the acknowledgement that nothing everything to follow is true - yes true. This is how today went:
An early wake up in a slightly too nice guest house in Pakse. An espresso and fruit/yogurt (got bless fresh things) before figuring out 'How should we get ourselves to the town of Champasake to then get ourselves to the nearby but not-in-town UNESCO site of Wat Phu (pronounces like the less polite term for feces)?' This site is said to be the most important and popular site in southern Laos - perhaps all of Laos.
We take a tuk-tuk (easy to find as steamed rice) to the bus station which is really a market with some buses but we are looking for the pick-up truck/buses calls 'something-kyle-has-learned-to-pronounce-but-I-haven't-starts-with-an-S'. We ended up, after much inquiring, finding a pick-up bound for Wat Phu.
Within 20 minutes our truck is full of 23 people. Yes, I counted - 23. You can imagine that there are some awkward, uncomfortable and possibly socially unacceptable sitting positions going on. Kyle and I, not to brag, but Kyle and I have very good attitudes towards this kind of thing. In my head I have the same conversation I always have in this type of uncomfortable situations 'Kate - at least no one is throwing up'. It seems to always give me peace in knowing that it could be worse.
We ride along, all the other Laos women tucking their market goods like watermelons, lettuces, white beets/radishes and of course rice under the benches.
Suddenly we stop - a police officer talks to our driver, we wait, they talk more, we wait. No one else seems to even notice we've stopped. The ladies talk and Kyle and I look at each other and decide to keep reading our books.
The bus turns around and heads back to town. We park at another bus terminal. Nothing is explained but no one leaves or seems concerned. I decide it's time to be proactive. I figure out when another bus leaves - not for an hour. We are so smug because we have a plan. Well, that is if we can figure out when our current bus leaves this stop, or if the guy who explained the other bus understood my question. Now we are stuck with - wait out the tight-squeeze but probably correct bus or risk a new but new bus-of-questionable-destination. We decide to stay. We've grown attached I guess.
Finally the familiar bus leaves - hurray! Squashed in but in good spirits, we rumble off with no explanation for the change in schedule.
We chug along, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Kyle and I each straddling a woman on a bench in front of us as we have no choice given the seating arrangements. My straddelee, maybe 11-14 year old girl, begins to vomit. There goes that theory. Someone offers a bag but not much else happens.
After an hour, we arrive at Champaseke town. Hurray - here at last. Very late but here. Maybe 45 minutes later, all the ladies are dropped at their respective homes or villages. It is now 1:30 pm. The last bus for Pakse leaves at 3:30 - according to our book.
Things are still pretty up for this pair but I am getting very hungry and know that if I don't eat something, I will not enjoy anything. It's a theme of traveling.
We finally arrive at wat phu and I demand of Kyle that I get a snack. Kyle hesitantly agrees and we stop at a restaurant and I point at a baguette for a cheap, mobile, fast snack. About 20 argumentative minutes later, I am chomping on baguette to avoid speaking to kyle who is fuming at me while I fume at her. Admittedly, we are not doing as well as 25 minutes earlier.
We buy tickets, we begin to walk. We see the historical and even archaeological site. It is lovely and mysterious with the most beautiful trees I think I've ever seen. Trees with no leaves or even the tiny end but full of perfect white blossoms.
Now we must leave to catch the bus back to Pakse. We've had just enough time to absorb this beautiful place and the grandeur of a stone monument site that has lasted centuries and several different dynasties and empires. We have made up from our huffiness of hunger and frustration and are pleased with our visit to beautiful wat phu.
Now back to find a quick ride to town (10 km) for our bus that leaves (maybe) in an hour.
No tuk-tuk can be found. We go into every restaurant and guest house, no tuk tuks buses, or anything headed to Champasake. We have walked close to a mile when we stop at a barber shop. We are desperate. A young man, probably no more than 20 somehow gets roped into putting us on his motorbike and driving us. Let's just say that it is painfully awkward but SO appreciated we can barely contain ourselves. It is very clearly prearranged that we will pay him but that is ok - we just need to get to town, we'll do the rest from there. He is very nice and even tells us that we are beautiful (I think they learn that phrase right after "what is your name" in English class) but after his roadside man-pit-stop, drops us off in the middle of no where again because, he explains, he is running out of gas which I can see that he really is. We thank and pay him and he turns back.
Now back to walking.
We flag down a farmer in his Laos-style tracker with his wife, three kids and chicken in the back. Without flinching, when we say "champasake" motions us to the back. Chugging along for a comical ride, we go to town and find the ferry to the other side of the river. Ha - we have made it!
Nope - not yet. We are far from the rive crossing and have likely missed the last bus. We are getting pretty desperate and realize money may be a problem to stay here or take a tuk-tuk all the way to Pakes.
We flag over anyone.
A few no's and then one truck full of people says yes - 'Pakse'!
We've made it!!!
Onto the ferry (a wooden raft full of trucks) and to the other side. The people are very sweet to us and no English is spoken.
On we go after the ferry and the realization that they are probably a family all together and we are just the two odd ones out. At this point - we just want to get home any way we can.
Half way home, BANG!, flat tire. No joke. We had even made a bet earlier in the day that Kyle owed me a Beerlao if we had mechanical trouble in the day.
Changed the tire, hit a market and got home by 6 pm.
It was quite an Odyssey and we are home and heading for a second dinner quite soon before heading south again tomorrow.
Whew.
An early wake up in a slightly too nice guest house in Pakse. An espresso and fruit/yogurt (got bless fresh things) before figuring out 'How should we get ourselves to the town of Champasake to then get ourselves to the nearby but not-in-town UNESCO site of Wat Phu (pronounces like the less polite term for feces)?' This site is said to be the most important and popular site in southern Laos - perhaps all of Laos.
We take a tuk-tuk (easy to find as steamed rice) to the bus station which is really a market with some buses but we are looking for the pick-up truck/buses calls 'something-kyle-has-learned-to-pronounce-but-I-haven't-starts-with-an-S'. We ended up, after much inquiring, finding a pick-up bound for Wat Phu.
Within 20 minutes our truck is full of 23 people. Yes, I counted - 23. You can imagine that there are some awkward, uncomfortable and possibly socially unacceptable sitting positions going on. Kyle and I, not to brag, but Kyle and I have very good attitudes towards this kind of thing. In my head I have the same conversation I always have in this type of uncomfortable situations 'Kate - at least no one is throwing up'. It seems to always give me peace in knowing that it could be worse.
We ride along, all the other Laos women tucking their market goods like watermelons, lettuces, white beets/radishes and of course rice under the benches.
Suddenly we stop - a police officer talks to our driver, we wait, they talk more, we wait. No one else seems to even notice we've stopped. The ladies talk and Kyle and I look at each other and decide to keep reading our books.
The bus turns around and heads back to town. We park at another bus terminal. Nothing is explained but no one leaves or seems concerned. I decide it's time to be proactive. I figure out when another bus leaves - not for an hour. We are so smug because we have a plan. Well, that is if we can figure out when our current bus leaves this stop, or if the guy who explained the other bus understood my question. Now we are stuck with - wait out the tight-squeeze but probably correct bus or risk a new but new bus-of-questionable-destination. We decide to stay. We've grown attached I guess.
Finally the familiar bus leaves - hurray! Squashed in but in good spirits, we rumble off with no explanation for the change in schedule.
We chug along, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Kyle and I each straddling a woman on a bench in front of us as we have no choice given the seating arrangements. My straddelee, maybe 11-14 year old girl, begins to vomit. There goes that theory. Someone offers a bag but not much else happens.
After an hour, we arrive at Champaseke town. Hurray - here at last. Very late but here. Maybe 45 minutes later, all the ladies are dropped at their respective homes or villages. It is now 1:30 pm. The last bus for Pakse leaves at 3:30 - according to our book.
Things are still pretty up for this pair but I am getting very hungry and know that if I don't eat something, I will not enjoy anything. It's a theme of traveling.
We finally arrive at wat phu and I demand of Kyle that I get a snack. Kyle hesitantly agrees and we stop at a restaurant and I point at a baguette for a cheap, mobile, fast snack. About 20 argumentative minutes later, I am chomping on baguette to avoid speaking to kyle who is fuming at me while I fume at her. Admittedly, we are not doing as well as 25 minutes earlier.
We buy tickets, we begin to walk. We see the historical and even archaeological site. It is lovely and mysterious with the most beautiful trees I think I've ever seen. Trees with no leaves or even the tiny end but full of perfect white blossoms.
Now we must leave to catch the bus back to Pakse. We've had just enough time to absorb this beautiful place and the grandeur of a stone monument site that has lasted centuries and several different dynasties and empires. We have made up from our huffiness of hunger and frustration and are pleased with our visit to beautiful wat phu.
Now back to find a quick ride to town (10 km) for our bus that leaves (maybe) in an hour.
No tuk-tuk can be found. We go into every restaurant and guest house, no tuk tuks buses, or anything headed to Champasake. We have walked close to a mile when we stop at a barber shop. We are desperate. A young man, probably no more than 20 somehow gets roped into putting us on his motorbike and driving us. Let's just say that it is painfully awkward but SO appreciated we can barely contain ourselves. It is very clearly prearranged that we will pay him but that is ok - we just need to get to town, we'll do the rest from there. He is very nice and even tells us that we are beautiful (I think they learn that phrase right after "what is your name" in English class) but after his roadside man-pit-stop, drops us off in the middle of no where again because, he explains, he is running out of gas which I can see that he really is. We thank and pay him and he turns back.
Now back to walking.
We flag down a farmer in his Laos-style tracker with his wife, three kids and chicken in the back. Without flinching, when we say "champasake" motions us to the back. Chugging along for a comical ride, we go to town and find the ferry to the other side of the river. Ha - we have made it!
Nope - not yet. We are far from the rive crossing and have likely missed the last bus. We are getting pretty desperate and realize money may be a problem to stay here or take a tuk-tuk all the way to Pakes.
We flag over anyone.
A few no's and then one truck full of people says yes - 'Pakse'!
We've made it!!!
Onto the ferry (a wooden raft full of trucks) and to the other side. The people are very sweet to us and no English is spoken.
On we go after the ferry and the realization that they are probably a family all together and we are just the two odd ones out. At this point - we just want to get home any way we can.
Half way home, BANG!, flat tire. No joke. We had even made a bet earlier in the day that Kyle owed me a Beerlao if we had mechanical trouble in the day.
Changed the tire, hit a market and got home by 6 pm.
It was quite an Odyssey and we are home and heading for a second dinner quite soon before heading south again tomorrow.
Whew.
Motorin'! (What's your price for flight?)
2 girls, 2 bikes, 3 days, 6 waterfalls, and 1 serious Bolevan Plateau.
We rented the motorbikes in Pakse, stashed our large bags in some converted shower that is now a storage room, and hit the road. Did we know how to ride manual transmission motorbikes? No. Did we know where we were going? Not really. Did we have any gas? Absolutely not. But with the wind in our dorky and questionably protective helmets, we took off headed east on Rte. 13 out of Pakse with the aim of getting to Tad Lo for the night.
We rode about 30 kilometers to the turn off to route 20, negotiating some seriously hazardous traffic circles and livestock on the way. We passed through a number of villages, including one where all the young men were blacksmiths pounding the hell out of some dangerous looking cutting instruments, and one with a heck of a lot of pigs. Turning off down a side road in the jungle, we found this perfect ecolodge that straddles a waterfall and was totally empty of people. Crossing the perilous-looking bamboo bridge, we ordered our food and wondered how such a place remained in operation - and then the 3 busloads of thai tourists arrived and we understood. It was beautiful and the sun was shining, and we rode on through the afternoon, eventually ending up in tad Lo (after overshooting, asking for "directions", and finally finding the little town) for the evening. We strolled up to the waterfall, Kate went for a swim, we had some drinks as the sunset, and some dinner at our hostel, and found ourselves in bed well before 10 pm, with the sounds of the local cattle and roosters making us giggle.
Next morning, we got up early and biked it on up to the next waterfall up the road, a detour that led is down a dusty dirt track to a dusty dirt walking path. The path ended at the top of an extremely steep waterfall - beware the local drunk who fancies a lovely walk in this village. We were the only ones there, and got to climb all over the top of the falls, which fell off into an incredible view of the valley and villages bellow. Back on our bikes, we got gas from a little roadside stand and the proprietors laughed at our ignorance of everything (which is a regular ritual these days). We went back to Tad Lo and continued up route 20, turning on a dirt road that took us 30 km up to Tha Thaeng, through native villages and crazy amounts of dust. We passed hordes of children, who would wave and shout at us as they carried their tools either to the fields or back from them, we couldn't really tell which.
Up in Tha Thaeng, we stopped for lunch at a tiny roadside spot, covered in road dust and our own general filth. We tried to order some food, but the waitress just looked at us funny, so we pointed to what other folks were eating and got some noodle soup. When we were almost finished with our meal, a group of local businessmen came in and sat down nearby. One of them, the one that could speak some English, sat with us and talked with us for a while. Then his boss sat down and bought us some beers and invited us to sit with all of them, toasting us every two minutes with cheers of "My boss say you beautiful!" and "100%!" (which may mean either "drink the whole thing" or "We are totally cheersing right now" or anything else). They tried to get us to put our motorbikes in the car so they could drive us back to Pakse and we could all see the countryside together. It was hard for them to understand that the riding was part of the experience. Eventually, we left, but not before they asked Kate if she was married and why not and whether she wanted to be.
We went on to Paksong, a little nothing town on top of the plateau with a market and a soccer field and a guest house. We poked through the market. We watched the boys play soccer. We went to bed well before 10 pm. The next morning we got up early and went for a walk, much to the astonishment of everyone around us. Each passing motorbike and truck and tractor stared incredulously and offered us a ride. Why on earth would you ever walk down this road?? they seemed to be asking.
From Paksong we rode about 10 kilometers to Tad chuamp falls, an unbelievable waterfall with a path that wound from the top down the 50 or so meters to the crazy bottom. 2 kids tailed us the whole way and it was steep and slippery and spectacular. Next we went to Tad Fan waterfall, where 2 streams come out of the side of a cliff to fall 120 meters into a pool bellow. We had lunch at a lodge there and climbed around before heading to the third waterfall of the day down a ridiculously winding dirt road bordered by poinsettia trees. The water fall was lovely, but the best part was a bamboo raft that you could pull yourself out into the pool of the waterfall, watching it crash down around you. Thoroughly waterfalled out by this point, we got back on the bikes and headed back to Pakse, passing through village after village with the same smiling kids and bamboo houses and satelite dishes. Getting back to Pakse, we returned our bikes and dropped off our laundry and showered, taking beers on the roof top of the Pakse hotel as the sun set on the Mekong and we toasted our 3 day adventure.
We rented the motorbikes in Pakse, stashed our large bags in some converted shower that is now a storage room, and hit the road. Did we know how to ride manual transmission motorbikes? No. Did we know where we were going? Not really. Did we have any gas? Absolutely not. But with the wind in our dorky and questionably protective helmets, we took off headed east on Rte. 13 out of Pakse with the aim of getting to Tad Lo for the night.
We rode about 30 kilometers to the turn off to route 20, negotiating some seriously hazardous traffic circles and livestock on the way. We passed through a number of villages, including one where all the young men were blacksmiths pounding the hell out of some dangerous looking cutting instruments, and one with a heck of a lot of pigs. Turning off down a side road in the jungle, we found this perfect ecolodge that straddles a waterfall and was totally empty of people. Crossing the perilous-looking bamboo bridge, we ordered our food and wondered how such a place remained in operation - and then the 3 busloads of thai tourists arrived and we understood. It was beautiful and the sun was shining, and we rode on through the afternoon, eventually ending up in tad Lo (after overshooting, asking for "directions", and finally finding the little town) for the evening. We strolled up to the waterfall, Kate went for a swim, we had some drinks as the sunset, and some dinner at our hostel, and found ourselves in bed well before 10 pm, with the sounds of the local cattle and roosters making us giggle.
Next morning, we got up early and biked it on up to the next waterfall up the road, a detour that led is down a dusty dirt track to a dusty dirt walking path. The path ended at the top of an extremely steep waterfall - beware the local drunk who fancies a lovely walk in this village. We were the only ones there, and got to climb all over the top of the falls, which fell off into an incredible view of the valley and villages bellow. Back on our bikes, we got gas from a little roadside stand and the proprietors laughed at our ignorance of everything (which is a regular ritual these days). We went back to Tad Lo and continued up route 20, turning on a dirt road that took us 30 km up to Tha Thaeng, through native villages and crazy amounts of dust. We passed hordes of children, who would wave and shout at us as they carried their tools either to the fields or back from them, we couldn't really tell which.
Up in Tha Thaeng, we stopped for lunch at a tiny roadside spot, covered in road dust and our own general filth. We tried to order some food, but the waitress just looked at us funny, so we pointed to what other folks were eating and got some noodle soup. When we were almost finished with our meal, a group of local businessmen came in and sat down nearby. One of them, the one that could speak some English, sat with us and talked with us for a while. Then his boss sat down and bought us some beers and invited us to sit with all of them, toasting us every two minutes with cheers of "My boss say you beautiful!" and "100%!" (which may mean either "drink the whole thing" or "We are totally cheersing right now" or anything else). They tried to get us to put our motorbikes in the car so they could drive us back to Pakse and we could all see the countryside together. It was hard for them to understand that the riding was part of the experience. Eventually, we left, but not before they asked Kate if she was married and why not and whether she wanted to be.
We went on to Paksong, a little nothing town on top of the plateau with a market and a soccer field and a guest house. We poked through the market. We watched the boys play soccer. We went to bed well before 10 pm. The next morning we got up early and went for a walk, much to the astonishment of everyone around us. Each passing motorbike and truck and tractor stared incredulously and offered us a ride. Why on earth would you ever walk down this road?? they seemed to be asking.
From Paksong we rode about 10 kilometers to Tad chuamp falls, an unbelievable waterfall with a path that wound from the top down the 50 or so meters to the crazy bottom. 2 kids tailed us the whole way and it was steep and slippery and spectacular. Next we went to Tad Fan waterfall, where 2 streams come out of the side of a cliff to fall 120 meters into a pool bellow. We had lunch at a lodge there and climbed around before heading to the third waterfall of the day down a ridiculously winding dirt road bordered by poinsettia trees. The water fall was lovely, but the best part was a bamboo raft that you could pull yourself out into the pool of the waterfall, watching it crash down around you. Thoroughly waterfalled out by this point, we got back on the bikes and headed back to Pakse, passing through village after village with the same smiling kids and bamboo houses and satelite dishes. Getting back to Pakse, we returned our bikes and dropped off our laundry and showered, taking beers on the roof top of the Pakse hotel as the sun set on the Mekong and we toasted our 3 day adventure.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Pakse, Laos
After a well Tylenol-PMed 10 hour overnight bus ride, we arrived in Pakse in the south of Laos. I had never taken a sleeper bus but it was actually sort of a great way to travel; the pink satin curtains, pink teddy bear blankets and pink and white gingham pillowcase in our little upper level bunk was a really nice touch. I'm afraid the solo french traveler in the bunk across from ours didn't feel the same way when his loud/slightly creepy Laotian male/bunkmate arrived.
Pakse is a small town on the Mekong that is currently hosting, somewhat to our surprise, the Lao National Games. It is like a really charming version of the Olympics complete with bowling, badminton and a Lao game called kataw which is like soccer on a volleyball court with a small wicker ball. After a little difficulty finding a room at 6:30am (no seriously, a lot of people are here for the games!), we found something a bit out of our budget and passed out to sleep off the rest of our little blue sleepinapills.
Tomorrow begins 3 days of motorbike travel around the Bolevan Plateau which is a beautiful farming area that has several waterfalls.
Pakse is a small town on the Mekong that is currently hosting, somewhat to our surprise, the Lao National Games. It is like a really charming version of the Olympics complete with bowling, badminton and a Lao game called kataw which is like soccer on a volleyball court with a small wicker ball. After a little difficulty finding a room at 6:30am (no seriously, a lot of people are here for the games!), we found something a bit out of our budget and passed out to sleep off the rest of our little blue sleepinapills.
Tomorrow begins 3 days of motorbike travel around the Bolevan Plateau which is a beautiful farming area that has several waterfalls.
Monday, December 15, 2008
The Hash
Fear not, friends and family, we have not gotten ourselves into some "Brokedown Palace" (or "Midnight Express," for those of you born before 1975) situation with drugs and cops and dogs and prison. The Hash (or Hashing) is this crazy running club thing that we stumbled upon in the states and heard people do all over Asia. These runs tend to be full of old expat men who are at turns hilarious, intoxicated, and lecheruos, much to our amusement. When we got to Vientiane, we saw notices all over town for a Monday night run, the 1500th of the Vientiane Hash, so we thought we'd check it out.
The run itself is almost always interesting, because you weave through the back streets following a trail, and you see areas you would certainly never see on your own. This course took us to narrow alleys and across a stream, through a temple yard and past a night market, all to the delight of the local Lao people, who came out of their houses to gawk at the 50 or so mostly white falang (foreigners) running around. One literal girl taking a bath in a tiny tub outside her house apparently yelled to us (translated by a helpful runner), "Falang! Come swimming with me!" It was great fun made that much more difficult by all of the delicious food we've been eating in far too large quantities.
After the run, we went to the house of a British expat for the beer and food and sillyness portion of the evening. We met a lot of random people doing bizarre things all over SE Asia (from hotel workers to airline pilots to some guy talking about a haliburton contract), and some old guys with funny accents and stories of Lao before it was opened up to foreign visitors. Most amazingly, we met the American Ambassador to Lao, who is from Oregon! Since I had just been to the embassy that day to get new passport pages, we praised his well-run outpost and got filled in on some random pieces of news. Then we ate lots of delicious Lao food. Then we hopped in the back of a pickup truck and returned to our hotel, and now we are sore from the running and have sworn off exercising while on vacation. At least until the next hash comes up.
The run itself is almost always interesting, because you weave through the back streets following a trail, and you see areas you would certainly never see on your own. This course took us to narrow alleys and across a stream, through a temple yard and past a night market, all to the delight of the local Lao people, who came out of their houses to gawk at the 50 or so mostly white falang (foreigners) running around. One literal girl taking a bath in a tiny tub outside her house apparently yelled to us (translated by a helpful runner), "Falang! Come swimming with me!" It was great fun made that much more difficult by all of the delicious food we've been eating in far too large quantities.
After the run, we went to the house of a British expat for the beer and food and sillyness portion of the evening. We met a lot of random people doing bizarre things all over SE Asia (from hotel workers to airline pilots to some guy talking about a haliburton contract), and some old guys with funny accents and stories of Lao before it was opened up to foreign visitors. Most amazingly, we met the American Ambassador to Lao, who is from Oregon! Since I had just been to the embassy that day to get new passport pages, we praised his well-run outpost and got filled in on some random pieces of news. Then we ate lots of delicious Lao food. Then we hopped in the back of a pickup truck and returned to our hotel, and now we are sore from the running and have sworn off exercising while on vacation. At least until the next hash comes up.
Buddhas in the park and public displays of aerobics
We took some time out of city life to visit Buddha Park on the outskirts of Vientien. It is basically a sculpture garden full of amazing, strange and beautiful Buddhist/Hindu sculptures on the edge of the river. The first sculpture is a huge dome that you can climb into to see the whole park. An amazing place to sit and enjoy the day . . . that is unless you are swarmed, literally swarmed by 5-10 year olds who just want to stare at you, yell things, belch and then say 'money'. A rather odd experience because these kids were not street kids or trying to talk to us - just purely annoy. Anyway, we escaped them and continued to enjoy our morning in the park.
Later that evening, we attended the public aerobics session on the waterfront. Aerobics in Laos is a funny thing. The music is techno versions of bootlegged songs including Madonna, Rod Stewart and 'Yellow Polka dot Bikini'. Mostly attended by women and young girls. The outfit of choice was spandex leggings and long sleeved shirts with long athletic jerseys over the whole getup. I'm fairly certain the young woman leading the aerobics was making the moves up as she went, most originating from the aerobics of the mid to late 1980s. It was amazingly enjoyable.
Later that evening at a rooftop bar, we made some fellow traveling friends who were a bit of a disasterous troupe of guys. Let's just say that one of them called himself 'Big Al' and wore a pink hat. Another attempted a back flip off the bar; there was no blood but a bruised ego and forehead.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Vientiane
So, we left the hedonistic pleasures of Vang Vieng behind (after spending a debaucherous day on the river tubing, sipping buckets, and swinging off of rope swings and zip lines) and took a local 7 am bus to Vientiane, the capital of Lao PDR, arriving in town around 11am yesterday. We walked from the bus station to the hostel, a great little place down a side street that is spitting distance to the Mekong and the fountain in the center of town. It also has a great communal balcony where you can look down at the townsfolk going about their business and make up stories about what they are saying to each other.
Vientiane, though the capital, is a very small city, with most of the sights concentrated in one area along a curve in the Mekong river. Yesterday we wandered around, ate lunch at a Scandanvian bakery (who knew?), and went to the national museum, which was a hilarious representation of a museum. Handmade diaramas depicting ancient towns should be in every museum, as should nonsensical renderings of provincial maps. We did learn a lot about what the imperialist western governments, mostly French and U.S., did to the fledgling communist state and their earnest and hardscrabble leaders. May I remind you all yet again that we suck. I also learned that everyone looked the same in the 1960s, regardless of where you lived, because apparently only one type of glasses were available world wide, and they had thick plastic frames.
Later we continued to stroll around, ending up on the river for sunset, lounging in a little bungalow thing and drinking beer lao. We ventured to the night market for dinner, which was disappointing in its scale but we got some new things to try. Only one of them really tasted like feet, which is pretty successful.
Today we got up early, rented some bikes, and rode out to the local wats. It being Saturday, they were full of Lao and Thai people in matching shirts on little tours, which was cute. Kate got a haircut at a funny little salon. We rode out of town to a wat that gives special meditation classes on Saturdays in Vipassana meditation, including sitting and walking meditations with a few monks and buddhist nun (who you pretty much never see). It was an excellent afternoon activity, and biking back at rush hour was also an experience!
Vientiane, though the capital, is a very small city, with most of the sights concentrated in one area along a curve in the Mekong river. Yesterday we wandered around, ate lunch at a Scandanvian bakery (who knew?), and went to the national museum, which was a hilarious representation of a museum. Handmade diaramas depicting ancient towns should be in every museum, as should nonsensical renderings of provincial maps. We did learn a lot about what the imperialist western governments, mostly French and U.S., did to the fledgling communist state and their earnest and hardscrabble leaders. May I remind you all yet again that we suck. I also learned that everyone looked the same in the 1960s, regardless of where you lived, because apparently only one type of glasses were available world wide, and they had thick plastic frames.
Later we continued to stroll around, ending up on the river for sunset, lounging in a little bungalow thing and drinking beer lao. We ventured to the night market for dinner, which was disappointing in its scale but we got some new things to try. Only one of them really tasted like feet, which is pretty successful.
Today we got up early, rented some bikes, and rode out to the local wats. It being Saturday, they were full of Lao and Thai people in matching shirts on little tours, which was cute. Kate got a haircut at a funny little salon. We rode out of town to a wat that gives special meditation classes on Saturdays in Vipassana meditation, including sitting and walking meditations with a few monks and buddhist nun (who you pretty much never see). It was an excellent afternoon activity, and biking back at rush hour was also an experience!
The Basics
It occurs to me (me being Kyle) that many people reading this blog will have no idea about the basic ins and outs of life on the road in SE Asia. This blog entry will therefore fill all of you in and serve as a reminder to me that, although sometimes it seems like all we do is eat and look at things and figure out which places look good to eat at, there is in fact a whole lot more going on.
MONEY: In Thailand, money was the Thai Baht, with about 35 Baht to the dollar. Thus, if something cost 100 Baht, it was about 3 bucks and that was reasonable. If something cost 1000 Baht, it was about 30 bucks and ridiculously expensive. In Lao (which is what people say, not because they are pretentious but because this is the Lao People's Democratic Republic, or Lao PDR, and the S is one of those colonial holdovers, like expatriates and Laughing Cow cheese), the currency is the Kip, with about 8,600 Kip to the dollar. Thus you can readily throw down a 10,000 kip bet on things and sound like a high roller, when in fact you're only investing a buck fifteen. For some reason, in Lao you can use Thai Baht pretty much as much as Kip, and in some towns they quote you prices in baht (which can be confusing).
TRANSPORTATION: Between cities, we have pretty much only taken buses, which are cheap and everywhere if not always comfortable or on time. You go to the city bus station and a bunch of guys ask you where you are going and try to steer you towards their bus, eventhough the prices are all pretty much the same and buses have a schedule and we always buy our tickets at the ticket window (or on the actual bus). You never know what you're going to get or how many stops its going to make. Around town, people take tuk-tuks, which are little three wheeled motorcyles with a tiny little covered truck bed in the back that has benches. They are moderately fast but exceedingly good at weaving in out of traffic, and rarely pay full attention to traffic signals. They are also ubiquitous, and the calls of "tuk tuk" whenever you are walking anywhere can begin to get on your nerves. Bargaining with the drivers is a whole experience in and of itself. The other way to get around is samthaw or jumbo, which are trucks with the covered back converted into two long benches of varying degrees of comfort. You can pack a whole lot of people into these things, and they do.
BATHROOMS: Always an adventure in any foreign country, SE Asia is no exception, but it does keep you on your toes. There are regular western toilets but without plumbing (a bucket filled with water that you empty into the toilet to flush) and squat toilets that are pretty much a platform and a hole in the ground, again with a bucket to flush. Sometimes there's a hose to spray yourself down; ocassionally there's toilet paper. In the fancy joints its just like home and people whisper excitedly about the W.C. Not infrequently, the bathroom at the resaurant or where ever is also the family bathroom, so there's somebody's toothbrush and soap and underwear hanging to dry. At bus stations and similar places you pay about 20 cents to use the bathroom, and the conditions are exceedingly variable. Good luck figuring out exactly where one washes ones hands.
STREET FOOD: Like other hot places, SE Asia has a lot of night markets, where you can get regular stuff but also delicious dinner for super cheap. You run around to the various stalls and point at things that may or may not be delicious, and when your hands are full of food you wonder how you're going to eat it and beg a spoon off of some kind-hearted vendor. The curries are usually good and some of the barbeque has been excellent, but other stuff tastes like feet and its hard to figure that out ahead of time. Thai street food was consistently better than Lao food, with better flavor combinations and spice, but Lao makes up for it with baguettes and baguette sandwiches. The BEST thing in the world is this crepe like thing with egg and banana, grilled up on a little griddle and covered with sugar and sweetened condensed milk. Holy crap. You can also buy fruit and stuff, but why would you??
OTHER STUFF: Beer is relatively cheap and everywhere, but there is no wine to speak of. Lao coffee is horrible, horrible stuff and no matter how many times you try it, it just doesn't get better. You can buy insects and other interesting foods, but we haven't been compelled to do so yet. There are monks everywhere and though they seem like pious enough fellows, you occasionally catch one in a bright orange yankees hat and wonder what the hell is going on. Its cold up north in these countries and we did not pack right, to say the least. I can't believe I forgot to say this:
THE ROOSTERS: Are everywhere and are incredibly loud - I don't know how they manage to survive in every corner of the city, but the certainly do make their presence known. Its much quieter at 8am than it is at 6am. The goddam roosters...seriously. And they are perhaps the only animal that sounds exactly the same in every language. They actually do say Cockadoodledoo, with infuriating predictability.
MONEY: In Thailand, money was the Thai Baht, with about 35 Baht to the dollar. Thus, if something cost 100 Baht, it was about 3 bucks and that was reasonable. If something cost 1000 Baht, it was about 30 bucks and ridiculously expensive. In Lao (which is what people say, not because they are pretentious but because this is the Lao People's Democratic Republic, or Lao PDR, and the S is one of those colonial holdovers, like expatriates and Laughing Cow cheese), the currency is the Kip, with about 8,600 Kip to the dollar. Thus you can readily throw down a 10,000 kip bet on things and sound like a high roller, when in fact you're only investing a buck fifteen. For some reason, in Lao you can use Thai Baht pretty much as much as Kip, and in some towns they quote you prices in baht (which can be confusing).
TRANSPORTATION: Between cities, we have pretty much only taken buses, which are cheap and everywhere if not always comfortable or on time. You go to the city bus station and a bunch of guys ask you where you are going and try to steer you towards their bus, eventhough the prices are all pretty much the same and buses have a schedule and we always buy our tickets at the ticket window (or on the actual bus). You never know what you're going to get or how many stops its going to make. Around town, people take tuk-tuks, which are little three wheeled motorcyles with a tiny little covered truck bed in the back that has benches. They are moderately fast but exceedingly good at weaving in out of traffic, and rarely pay full attention to traffic signals. They are also ubiquitous, and the calls of "tuk tuk" whenever you are walking anywhere can begin to get on your nerves. Bargaining with the drivers is a whole experience in and of itself. The other way to get around is samthaw or jumbo, which are trucks with the covered back converted into two long benches of varying degrees of comfort. You can pack a whole lot of people into these things, and they do.
BATHROOMS: Always an adventure in any foreign country, SE Asia is no exception, but it does keep you on your toes. There are regular western toilets but without plumbing (a bucket filled with water that you empty into the toilet to flush) and squat toilets that are pretty much a platform and a hole in the ground, again with a bucket to flush. Sometimes there's a hose to spray yourself down; ocassionally there's toilet paper. In the fancy joints its just like home and people whisper excitedly about the W.C. Not infrequently, the bathroom at the resaurant or where ever is also the family bathroom, so there's somebody's toothbrush and soap and underwear hanging to dry. At bus stations and similar places you pay about 20 cents to use the bathroom, and the conditions are exceedingly variable. Good luck figuring out exactly where one washes ones hands.
STREET FOOD: Like other hot places, SE Asia has a lot of night markets, where you can get regular stuff but also delicious dinner for super cheap. You run around to the various stalls and point at things that may or may not be delicious, and when your hands are full of food you wonder how you're going to eat it and beg a spoon off of some kind-hearted vendor. The curries are usually good and some of the barbeque has been excellent, but other stuff tastes like feet and its hard to figure that out ahead of time. Thai street food was consistently better than Lao food, with better flavor combinations and spice, but Lao makes up for it with baguettes and baguette sandwiches. The BEST thing in the world is this crepe like thing with egg and banana, grilled up on a little griddle and covered with sugar and sweetened condensed milk. Holy crap. You can also buy fruit and stuff, but why would you??
OTHER STUFF: Beer is relatively cheap and everywhere, but there is no wine to speak of. Lao coffee is horrible, horrible stuff and no matter how many times you try it, it just doesn't get better. You can buy insects and other interesting foods, but we haven't been compelled to do so yet. There are monks everywhere and though they seem like pious enough fellows, you occasionally catch one in a bright orange yankees hat and wonder what the hell is going on. Its cold up north in these countries and we did not pack right, to say the least. I can't believe I forgot to say this:
THE ROOSTERS: Are everywhere and are incredibly loud - I don't know how they manage to survive in every corner of the city, but the certainly do make their presence known. Its much quieter at 8am than it is at 6am. The goddam roosters...seriously. And they are perhaps the only animal that sounds exactly the same in every language. They actually do say Cockadoodledoo, with infuriating predictability.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Vang Vieng
So we departed from lovely Luang Prabang on a crowded bus bound for Vang Vieng. A windy road, a crowded bus (people literally sitting on plastic stools in the bus aisle) and then, the addition of EXTREMELY loud Lao music. It was a bit of a rough ride but we made it to Vang Vieng by late afternoon and got a room at the first hostel we found.
VV is bizarre to say the least. It is like a miniature, rustic Cancun on a river with amazing sharp jagged mountains surrounding it. The main road through town is full of tourist restaurants all with the same menu more or less. Each restaurant/bars on the main road has a few televisions which all continuously play Friends or Family Guy. Yes, you could pick from one of a dozen restaurants to lie at a short-legged table from 8am to 11pm and watch one of these two shows. Very odd scene at first. There are also lots of loud bars with Christmas lights and very loud advertising for pizza and burgers. The streets also have many many carts selling sandwiches and fruit shakes.
The river is low (it is the dry season) but that doesn't stop the main activity in town; tubing/bar hopping. You rent a tire inner tube and get taken to a point several hours float from town and jump in. From there, you float from bar to bar, drinking "buckets" - essentially beach toy pails filled with booze and mixers -jump off rope swings. The funniest part is that its about 45 minutes back to town from the last bar, and drunken tubers forget this fact, wait until the sun goes down, and shiver their way home, strolling through the streets in bikinis around dinner time looking disoriented. Kyle and I have not yet participated in this rite of passage but intend to be initiated tomorrow.
We have, however, been rock climbing, biking, caving and swimming. We spent our first day rock climbing outside (my first time outside!!) on the clifts surrounding town, which was great fun. The guides were doing some amazing lead climbing routes including crazy overhangs. I think we both improved and plan on doing more throughout our trip. We also ate some snake soup, which was pretty much as appetizing as it sounds.
Today, we moved guest houses to one with a lot more charm a little farther out of 'the scene' and got mountain bikes for the day. We rode about an hour on a dirt road to this incredible cave and lagoon. We parked our bikes and began to make our way up this steep hike/climb over massive rocks to the mouth of the cave. About half way up our climb we were joined by a young local girl who we assumed was a kind of "guide." We didn't much want a guide but there seemed to be no way to loose her so we just let her join. We got into the cave which was incredible and VERY dark. My tiny key chain flashlight and Kyle's dying pack-headlamp were clearly not sufficient for serious caving, especially since there were three of us. Our 'guide', it turned out, spoke no English, didn't have a flashlight and promptly took the headlamp for herself so Kyle and I took turns walking in the total darkness. There were some faint signs painted on a few rocks saying "cave" and an arrow but other than that, there was really no off-limits or railings or lights or anything. It was just a huge beautiful cave to discover on your own. We tromped around, got a little lost but finally scampered our way out. The girl gave back the flashlight eventually and we parted ways but we never really figured out why she came along. She was certainly not an expert spelunker, as she was no help in finding the way out and frequently grabbed one or both of us in fear or imbalance or both.
Post caving, it was time for some cards in a cabana after a dip (or swing and jump) in the lagoon. There were probably only half a dozen other people there and one small hut to buy food and drinks. It was such a pleasant way to escape the crazy crowds of town.
VV is bizarre to say the least. It is like a miniature, rustic Cancun on a river with amazing sharp jagged mountains surrounding it. The main road through town is full of tourist restaurants all with the same menu more or less. Each restaurant/bars on the main road has a few televisions which all continuously play Friends or Family Guy. Yes, you could pick from one of a dozen restaurants to lie at a short-legged table from 8am to 11pm and watch one of these two shows. Very odd scene at first. There are also lots of loud bars with Christmas lights and very loud advertising for pizza and burgers. The streets also have many many carts selling sandwiches and fruit shakes.
The river is low (it is the dry season) but that doesn't stop the main activity in town; tubing/bar hopping. You rent a tire inner tube and get taken to a point several hours float from town and jump in. From there, you float from bar to bar, drinking "buckets" - essentially beach toy pails filled with booze and mixers -jump off rope swings. The funniest part is that its about 45 minutes back to town from the last bar, and drunken tubers forget this fact, wait until the sun goes down, and shiver their way home, strolling through the streets in bikinis around dinner time looking disoriented. Kyle and I have not yet participated in this rite of passage but intend to be initiated tomorrow.
We have, however, been rock climbing, biking, caving and swimming. We spent our first day rock climbing outside (my first time outside!!) on the clifts surrounding town, which was great fun. The guides were doing some amazing lead climbing routes including crazy overhangs. I think we both improved and plan on doing more throughout our trip. We also ate some snake soup, which was pretty much as appetizing as it sounds.
Today, we moved guest houses to one with a lot more charm a little farther out of 'the scene' and got mountain bikes for the day. We rode about an hour on a dirt road to this incredible cave and lagoon. We parked our bikes and began to make our way up this steep hike/climb over massive rocks to the mouth of the cave. About half way up our climb we were joined by a young local girl who we assumed was a kind of "guide." We didn't much want a guide but there seemed to be no way to loose her so we just let her join. We got into the cave which was incredible and VERY dark. My tiny key chain flashlight and Kyle's dying pack-headlamp were clearly not sufficient for serious caving, especially since there were three of us. Our 'guide', it turned out, spoke no English, didn't have a flashlight and promptly took the headlamp for herself so Kyle and I took turns walking in the total darkness. There were some faint signs painted on a few rocks saying "cave" and an arrow but other than that, there was really no off-limits or railings or lights or anything. It was just a huge beautiful cave to discover on your own. We tromped around, got a little lost but finally scampered our way out. The girl gave back the flashlight eventually and we parted ways but we never really figured out why she came along. She was certainly not an expert spelunker, as she was no help in finding the way out and frequently grabbed one or both of us in fear or imbalance or both.
Post caving, it was time for some cards in a cabana after a dip (or swing and jump) in the lagoon. There were probably only half a dozen other people there and one small hut to buy food and drinks. It was such a pleasant way to escape the crazy crowds of town.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Luang Prabang
So here we are in Luang Prabang, a UNESCO World Heritage Site (the whole city) and it's absolutely beautiful. The city is charming with lots to do adventure-wise outside the city but also many beautiful restaurants and shops. The prices are a bit steep as it's quite touristy but not unmanageable and the markets have cheap eats and we've just decided that this a place to spend some dough.
We went on a mountain biking, hiking, waterfall swimming, hill tribe visit day trip which was very fun and a good way to see the towns and mountains. Our guide was a really nice guy from a neighboring village. The waterfall was amazing and perfect for swimming which, after our hike and bike, was a really welcome treat . . . as was the Beer Lao we enjoyed after our dip!
Yesterday, I took a weaving class which was about the coolest thing I've done on the trip so far. There were two of us in the class (me and one other girl Jiada, 21 from NYC and a graphic designer - we became good friends and continued to hang out after class) and we arrived at a beautiful weaving center on the river with open air buildings, one for their dyeing, one for the weavers working there, one for weaving lessons and one main building with weavings for sale, information about how silk is made and dyed and a lunch table overlooking the Mekong.
First we had tea and were guided through the silk worm to silk process as well as the dyeing. Then to the dyeing house where we picked three colors to dye with the natural ingredients. I chopped turmeric finely and mashed it with a mortar and pestle and boiled it to make a brilliant yellow and used nettle seeds to make an orange.
It was then time to pick our colors for weaving and spool the silk. The spooling involved sitting on a tiny stool in front of two wheels made of bamboo and rope. The silk skein was wrapped around one and then hang cranked onto small spools by hand.
Then lunch - delicious laap (minced pork salad with mint, basil and garlic - very popular in Laos), sticky rice and vegetables. For dessert, a fruit that looks vaguely like a nut which you peel and is like a peeled grape with a pit on the inside. Sort of like leechees I guess.
Then some down time. Laotians seem to love their rest time. Then we hit the looms. The looms are large wooden and bamboo contraptions that you sit in. I couldn't begin to explain the complexity of the machine but basically there are peddles and about a billion threads going every-which-way and you pass a wooden spool holder called a shuttle through them all. VERY complicated and clearly takes a master to do the weavings I've been seeing. We each had one woman, no English, showing us how to weave. Once I got the hang of it, I really really enjoyed the process but I don't think I'll quit my day job; it's pretty exhausting.
The class was great and we ended the day by both crashing Kyle's cooking class to help eat with everyone at the class. Really fun and great food!
A couple o' drinks around town with Jiada and Kyle and to bed for one more day of adventuring in Luang Prabang before heading south.
We went on a mountain biking, hiking, waterfall swimming, hill tribe visit day trip which was very fun and a good way to see the towns and mountains. Our guide was a really nice guy from a neighboring village. The waterfall was amazing and perfect for swimming which, after our hike and bike, was a really welcome treat . . . as was the Beer Lao we enjoyed after our dip!
Yesterday, I took a weaving class which was about the coolest thing I've done on the trip so far. There were two of us in the class (me and one other girl Jiada, 21 from NYC and a graphic designer - we became good friends and continued to hang out after class) and we arrived at a beautiful weaving center on the river with open air buildings, one for their dyeing, one for the weavers working there, one for weaving lessons and one main building with weavings for sale, information about how silk is made and dyed and a lunch table overlooking the Mekong.
First we had tea and were guided through the silk worm to silk process as well as the dyeing. Then to the dyeing house where we picked three colors to dye with the natural ingredients. I chopped turmeric finely and mashed it with a mortar and pestle and boiled it to make a brilliant yellow and used nettle seeds to make an orange.
It was then time to pick our colors for weaving and spool the silk. The spooling involved sitting on a tiny stool in front of two wheels made of bamboo and rope. The silk skein was wrapped around one and then hang cranked onto small spools by hand.
Then lunch - delicious laap (minced pork salad with mint, basil and garlic - very popular in Laos), sticky rice and vegetables. For dessert, a fruit that looks vaguely like a nut which you peel and is like a peeled grape with a pit on the inside. Sort of like leechees I guess.
Then some down time. Laotians seem to love their rest time. Then we hit the looms. The looms are large wooden and bamboo contraptions that you sit in. I couldn't begin to explain the complexity of the machine but basically there are peddles and about a billion threads going every-which-way and you pass a wooden spool holder called a shuttle through them all. VERY complicated and clearly takes a master to do the weavings I've been seeing. We each had one woman, no English, showing us how to weave. Once I got the hang of it, I really really enjoyed the process but I don't think I'll quit my day job; it's pretty exhausting.
The class was great and we ended the day by both crashing Kyle's cooking class to help eat with everyone at the class. Really fun and great food!
A couple o' drinks around town with Jiada and Kyle and to bed for one more day of adventuring in Luang Prabang before heading south.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Mekong Slow Boat
Lets say you get a ticket for a boat, and that ticket says to be at the office at 9 am. When would you think the boat would leave? Lets say you show up and show your passport to some "police" officer and provision yourself for 8 hours on the water and watch some old men play petank and meet some Israeli guy and wander about and then are told the boat will leave at 11. So lets say you get on said boat and stow your backpack and see how comfortable you can get and play a few rounds of cards and read a couple of chapters of your book and wonder when an acceptable time to start eating your snacks is, and you look at your watch and its 11:30, so you say to your traveling companion, "When do you think the boat leaves?"
Lets say you then hear the murmerings of some frenchies that the boat, she leave at noon. So you play some cards with some strangers and try to pretend you're not yet hungry and reposition yourself on the wooden benches and chat idley with the people next to you until you realize it is now past noon. And then you see a thunderous hoard of travelers coming down toward the boat, dwarfing the number of people who have been patiently waiting on the deck for the past two or so hours. They leap aboard, baggage flying. "Where will we sit?" they say in a variety of languages, the most prevalent being the official language of the former Soviet block. They thunder toward the stern. They thunder toward the bow. Finally, a frenchman in his 50s (who I refer to as No Immigration Before Cafe, given his border stance the previous day) insists they ask for another boat. Another Boat! Yes, we all nod, having read the same paragraph in the Lonely Planet. Demand another boat! Russians yell from the stern to those on shore: "My luggage is now on the roof of this boat!" "Well, get it off, you idiot, because we must demand a second boat, and I'm not demanding it alone!" "But the provisions look superior on this boat!" "Well we will demand a boat with plush seats that have been removed from some Chrysler minivan!" (or so I imagine they said. It could have been another discussion altogether that simply coincided with this moment of boat swapping).
So they thundered to a second boat, which was in fact decked out in double seats from someone's old Chrysler Town and Country. Where once we had hated them for making our boat wait around and then making us smoosh together on the tiny wooden benches, now we hated them for that and the fact that their boat was more comfortable. Plus it looked like all the drunks got on the back of that boat and were starting the fun well before happy hour. We collectively shook our fists as we finally pulled away, just 3 and half hours after we had initially thought. Thank god for a vast supply of Beer Lao. By the way, the entire time this was going on, the british couple across from us intensely read John Grisham novels. They did not look up once. Not even when the drunk englishmen at the back of the boat unexpectedly rushed in and took a picture with the reading man while high fiving.
About 7 hours later, the first half of our boat trip concluded on the banks of Pak Be township. The Russians had managed to beat us to town, and as the sun had already set, the guesthouse hawkers assailed us from the steep sandy banks unseen, but certainly heard. Everyone unloaded onto the bank, then reloaded to get the bags which were stowed under the deck. Kate climbed the hill in search of an affordable guest house, while I dove into the unlit boat to grapple with everyone for the bags, including the town's 8-11 year olds, who would try to cop some kip out of you by basically stealing your bag and carrying it to the top of the hill. After securing a thrifty little hovel on the main drag, we went in search of food, which came in the shape of a little indian restaurant. At the door, we said hello to some folks from our boat and they were promptly seated at our table, which was great because the woman turned out to be a hilarious brit and the guy had grown up in Wellesley. As the next day promised more of the same boating and jostling, we went to bed early - but not before the power went out all over town and we were plunged into darkness. Hilarious!
The next morning found us wondering what time the boat should leave - 9? Sounds like a strong possibility. This time we came well provisioned, and being our parent's children, eschewed the pricey and carb-laden beers for brown-bagged vodka and fruit juice. This time, we climbed aboard the minivan-seated vessel (same same! the boat driver assured us - oh, no sir. They are not same same) and wondered when we'd push off. After an initial scare that the monks would kick us out of the plush seats (the canadians in front of us had a serious evil eye for those monks), we got on the river a little before ten and floated for 8 hours towards Luang Prabang, through some unbelievabley beautiful scenery dotted with small fishing villages and a few sheer stone cliffs that fell into the water.
Arriving in Luang Prabang (or L'a 'Bang, as I like to call it), we searched out a hostel and marveled at the adorableness of this town. Two-story colonial-type wood trimmed villas along bricklined back alleys, flowers and trees and flowering trees, and a number of beautiful wats (temples) make the city incredibly attractive. Its also the first place I've been (outside of Bangkok) where I feel like having a whole lot of money would make this place infinitely pleasant, with its boutique hotels and spas and fancy little restaurants. It is still infinitely pleasant, and we went to dinner and strolled around the night market. This morning we got up early, saw some wats and the royal palace museum, ate some food and strolled along the two river banks. I love the french for their colonialist spread of the baguette, which is a lovely change from rice and noodles. The boat trip was well worth it, not just because of its eventful slowness but also because this town is so obviously enjoyable and enchanting.
On a side note, uploading pictures is hell. I highly recommend people do it every day that they are traveling, and not, say, when you have filled up your memory card.
Lets say you then hear the murmerings of some frenchies that the boat, she leave at noon. So you play some cards with some strangers and try to pretend you're not yet hungry and reposition yourself on the wooden benches and chat idley with the people next to you until you realize it is now past noon. And then you see a thunderous hoard of travelers coming down toward the boat, dwarfing the number of people who have been patiently waiting on the deck for the past two or so hours. They leap aboard, baggage flying. "Where will we sit?" they say in a variety of languages, the most prevalent being the official language of the former Soviet block. They thunder toward the stern. They thunder toward the bow. Finally, a frenchman in his 50s (who I refer to as No Immigration Before Cafe, given his border stance the previous day) insists they ask for another boat. Another Boat! Yes, we all nod, having read the same paragraph in the Lonely Planet. Demand another boat! Russians yell from the stern to those on shore: "My luggage is now on the roof of this boat!" "Well, get it off, you idiot, because we must demand a second boat, and I'm not demanding it alone!" "But the provisions look superior on this boat!" "Well we will demand a boat with plush seats that have been removed from some Chrysler minivan!" (or so I imagine they said. It could have been another discussion altogether that simply coincided with this moment of boat swapping).
So they thundered to a second boat, which was in fact decked out in double seats from someone's old Chrysler Town and Country. Where once we had hated them for making our boat wait around and then making us smoosh together on the tiny wooden benches, now we hated them for that and the fact that their boat was more comfortable. Plus it looked like all the drunks got on the back of that boat and were starting the fun well before happy hour. We collectively shook our fists as we finally pulled away, just 3 and half hours after we had initially thought. Thank god for a vast supply of Beer Lao. By the way, the entire time this was going on, the british couple across from us intensely read John Grisham novels. They did not look up once. Not even when the drunk englishmen at the back of the boat unexpectedly rushed in and took a picture with the reading man while high fiving.
About 7 hours later, the first half of our boat trip concluded on the banks of Pak Be township. The Russians had managed to beat us to town, and as the sun had already set, the guesthouse hawkers assailed us from the steep sandy banks unseen, but certainly heard. Everyone unloaded onto the bank, then reloaded to get the bags which were stowed under the deck. Kate climbed the hill in search of an affordable guest house, while I dove into the unlit boat to grapple with everyone for the bags, including the town's 8-11 year olds, who would try to cop some kip out of you by basically stealing your bag and carrying it to the top of the hill. After securing a thrifty little hovel on the main drag, we went in search of food, which came in the shape of a little indian restaurant. At the door, we said hello to some folks from our boat and they were promptly seated at our table, which was great because the woman turned out to be a hilarious brit and the guy had grown up in Wellesley. As the next day promised more of the same boating and jostling, we went to bed early - but not before the power went out all over town and we were plunged into darkness. Hilarious!
The next morning found us wondering what time the boat should leave - 9? Sounds like a strong possibility. This time we came well provisioned, and being our parent's children, eschewed the pricey and carb-laden beers for brown-bagged vodka and fruit juice. This time, we climbed aboard the minivan-seated vessel (same same! the boat driver assured us - oh, no sir. They are not same same) and wondered when we'd push off. After an initial scare that the monks would kick us out of the plush seats (the canadians in front of us had a serious evil eye for those monks), we got on the river a little before ten and floated for 8 hours towards Luang Prabang, through some unbelievabley beautiful scenery dotted with small fishing villages and a few sheer stone cliffs that fell into the water.
Arriving in Luang Prabang (or L'a 'Bang, as I like to call it), we searched out a hostel and marveled at the adorableness of this town. Two-story colonial-type wood trimmed villas along bricklined back alleys, flowers and trees and flowering trees, and a number of beautiful wats (temples) make the city incredibly attractive. Its also the first place I've been (outside of Bangkok) where I feel like having a whole lot of money would make this place infinitely pleasant, with its boutique hotels and spas and fancy little restaurants. It is still infinitely pleasant, and we went to dinner and strolled around the night market. This morning we got up early, saw some wats and the royal palace museum, ate some food and strolled along the two river banks. I love the french for their colonialist spread of the baguette, which is a lovely change from rice and noodles. The boat trip was well worth it, not just because of its eventful slowness but also because this town is so obviously enjoyable and enchanting.
On a side note, uploading pictures is hell. I highly recommend people do it every day that they are traveling, and not, say, when you have filled up your memory card.
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