Written in Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Posted from Negombo, Sri Lanka
Lizzi's already mentioned why we wanted to go to Laos, but you don't get to meet Hmong villagers in the city. No, they still live in the hills and mountains as they have for many, many years. So the only way to really meet them is to go to them, which is exactly what we did. Shortly after arriving in Luang Prabang, we booked ourselves on a two-day trek through the hills east of Luang Prabang. We ate lunch in a Hmong village, stayed overnight with the Khmu, and played with all of the kids along the way.
We went with Lizzy and Tom, who we met on the drive from Chiang Mai to the Laos border. That night in the Khmu village, we met a couple from London on their honeymoon, Tom and Jan. Although they had biked to the village earlier in the day, they were taking the same route back to town, so we joined our trekking parties and sallied forth.
We visited three Khmu villages along the way. These villages are small, less than 100 households each. For the most part, they are subsistence farmers, but they also make whisky, which is distilled and then poured into a bottle containing a snake or scorpion. These bottles of nasty-looking yellow liquid are sold all around Laos. We even spotted a bunch in Luang Prabang. Our guide told us that men will drink the snake-infused whisky to be more potent, and old folks will drink the scorpion-infused stuff to gain energy and strength.
Our trekking company, Tiger Trails, participates in "Fair Treks". Proceeds from our tourist dollars go directly to each village. In fact, in the first village we stopped in, we visited a primary school that was paid for entirely by funds from these "Fair Treks". Fair treks also ensure a level of sustainable tourism for these villages. Tourists only visit a few villages among the "Fair Trek" network to ensure that the villages don't become dependent on tourists and ruin a traditional way of life. That said, it means that trekking parties are kept very small, less than 7 people per group.
In the Hmong villages, we only met women and yound children. School-age kids live in the city, near the school, Monday through Friday. Men were hunting, working with the livestock, or tending to the fields.
The trek itself started gently, but just over an hour into it, the going got tough. In fact, the going went vertical. Simple footpaths used for generations meander through the steep hills. We found ourselves drenched in sweat in the heat, fighting to catch our breath as we ascended the muddy, boulder-strewn paths of the hills. There are shortcuts, our guide tells us, but they are much more grueling. By the end of the day, we were exhausted, ready to wash the trail dust off and relax for the evening.
Our guide prepared us dinner, while we wandered the village. Just before we set off to explore the small hamlet, the guide walked past us with a live duck. A real live duck with wings and feathers and it quacked. We didn't actually watch him kill it, but we did watch him boil it. While it was still twitching. Needless to say, none of us were terribly hungry that night. Even less so, when our guide interrupts the meal to fish the boiled duck head out of Jan's bowl of soup.
After dinner, we drank. Our guides supplied the lao-lao (Lao whiskey) and some of the local crop. Lizzy and Tom had a tiny bottle of Scotch that we worked through as well. The results of this episode have already been explained.
The next day proved to be much easier going. Mostly downhill with a few bumps along the way. We reached another village, where we played with the kids and Tom (of Tom and Jan) tried to impress a few with his juggling abilities. One little boy carried a chicken under his arm, the way Linus would carry his security blanket; both he and the chicken seemed quite content with this situation. By early afternoon, we reached the river and took a long-tail boat to a spectacular waterfall, where the water was deep blue and crystal clear. We splashed around and swam in the frigid water for a while, thankful to have something vaguely resembling a bath. Then our guide rounded us up and we headed back to Luang Prabang.
The trek was excellent. Afterwards, I felt less slothful than I'd been feeling before hand. Somehow it also made our trip feel less like a vacation and more like we had actually learned and experienced something. I was also deeply impressed with the children we met along the way. Some of them were going to school, and some were probably working to help their families and the village. But most of the kids were just being kids. They laughed and smiled and generally appeared to be happy. With no television, no X-Box, no Gap. These kids were happy with a simple wooden top or even just a bunch of sticks. Even an empty water bottle provided hours of amusement. But they laughed and giggled and smiled. At the end of the trek, this was the single most important point that I kept coming back to. Despite the oppressive poverty and the abundant discrimination against the hill tribes, kids can still be kids.
Showing posts with label laos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label laos. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Some Helpful Phrases
Written on the bus from Hue to Hoi An, Vietnam
Posted from Phnom Penh, Cambodia
When you're traveling the way we're traveling, you occasionally have the good fortune of meeting other people who are traveling the way you're traveling. If you're lucky, these people are funny and interesting, and they are happy to engage you in hours of meaningless conversation. If you're SUPER lucky, they're not from America, and they have idioms and mannerisms that you've never heard before, but you find endlessly amusing. And if you're luckier still, they don't mind it, even a little bit, when you ask them to repeat these idioms so that you can write them on your blog. Here are some of our favorites, for those of you following along, who want some backpacker flavor.
Courtesy of Anna and Caleb, of New Zealand:Feral -- used to describe something TRULY disgusting. Example: "Eating a fried cat is feral!" When pronouncing the word, be sure to draw out the "e" so that it sounds like "feee-ral." Be emphatic.
Shit as -- used to describe how you're doing, when things are kind of crappy. Example: "I'm shit as, that's how I am. We just spent the last hour trying to confirm our flight and no one would help us." When pronouncing this phrase, the "as" part is sort of dropped off at the end. So it sounds a lot more like "shit-aaaahhhs."
Courtesy of Tom and Lizzy, of the UK:Posh -- now of course, I've heard this word before. Who DOESN'T remember Posh Spice? But there's something about the way Brits say the word that makes you want to curl up inside of it. It's used to describe something nice, fancy, or high-end. Example: "This restaurant is really quite posh. I hope we can afford it." Matt and I have taken to dropping the word into conversation whenever we can. Which, given our budget, is not often.
Courtesy of Tom and Jan, of the UK:This one is less of a phrase and more of a story, and if any of you have been to London, you will, no doubt appreciate it. Tom was talking about the night bus in London, and all of the insanity that goes along with it. Neither Matt nor I have really spent any time in London, so we turned to Tom and told him that every time he said night bus, we thought "KNIGHT Bus" of Harry Potter and Stan Shunkpike fame. "It's exactly like the Knight Bus!" Tom cried. "Except that everyone's drunk and no one can do any magic." And something about that sent Matt and I overboard. Everyone's drunk and no one can do magic! Brilliant!
Also courtesy of Tom, a phrase just for Geoff, "the wank bank." This one needs no explanation if you're Geoff, and if you're not Geoff, and you're curious, you're just going to have to email me to find out what it is. Because it's not appropriate to write about on a blog, especially when its speaker was a pretty high-powered attorney.
As we still have another 2 months of our journey left, I'm hoping to add additional phrases in, here and there. So far, these are our very favorite. For the few days after we left the company of Anna, Caleb, Tom, Lizzy, Tom, and Jan, Matt and I talked as though we were immitating someone who was British. Trust me, it was even annoying to us. But until we get it out of our system, we'll be the Americans in Hoi An, trying to find a posh restaurant that serves food that isn't even a little bit feral.
Posted from Phnom Penh, Cambodia
When you're traveling the way we're traveling, you occasionally have the good fortune of meeting other people who are traveling the way you're traveling. If you're lucky, these people are funny and interesting, and they are happy to engage you in hours of meaningless conversation. If you're SUPER lucky, they're not from America, and they have idioms and mannerisms that you've never heard before, but you find endlessly amusing. And if you're luckier still, they don't mind it, even a little bit, when you ask them to repeat these idioms so that you can write them on your blog. Here are some of our favorites, for those of you following along, who want some backpacker flavor.
Courtesy of Anna and Caleb, of New Zealand:Feral -- used to describe something TRULY disgusting. Example: "Eating a fried cat is feral!" When pronouncing the word, be sure to draw out the "e" so that it sounds like "feee-ral." Be emphatic.
Shit as -- used to describe how you're doing, when things are kind of crappy. Example: "I'm shit as, that's how I am. We just spent the last hour trying to confirm our flight and no one would help us." When pronouncing this phrase, the "as" part is sort of dropped off at the end. So it sounds a lot more like "shit-aaaahhhs."
Courtesy of Tom and Lizzy, of the UK:Posh -- now of course, I've heard this word before. Who DOESN'T remember Posh Spice? But there's something about the way Brits say the word that makes you want to curl up inside of it. It's used to describe something nice, fancy, or high-end. Example: "This restaurant is really quite posh. I hope we can afford it." Matt and I have taken to dropping the word into conversation whenever we can. Which, given our budget, is not often.
Courtesy of Tom and Jan, of the UK:This one is less of a phrase and more of a story, and if any of you have been to London, you will, no doubt appreciate it. Tom was talking about the night bus in London, and all of the insanity that goes along with it. Neither Matt nor I have really spent any time in London, so we turned to Tom and told him that every time he said night bus, we thought "KNIGHT Bus" of Harry Potter and Stan Shunkpike fame. "It's exactly like the Knight Bus!" Tom cried. "Except that everyone's drunk and no one can do any magic." And something about that sent Matt and I overboard. Everyone's drunk and no one can do magic! Brilliant!
Also courtesy of Tom, a phrase just for Geoff, "the wank bank." This one needs no explanation if you're Geoff, and if you're not Geoff, and you're curious, you're just going to have to email me to find out what it is. Because it's not appropriate to write about on a blog, especially when its speaker was a pretty high-powered attorney.
As we still have another 2 months of our journey left, I'm hoping to add additional phrases in, here and there. So far, these are our very favorite. For the few days after we left the company of Anna, Caleb, Tom, Lizzy, Tom, and Jan, Matt and I talked as though we were immitating someone who was British. Trust me, it was even annoying to us. But until we get it out of our system, we'll be the Americans in Hoi An, trying to find a posh restaurant that serves food that isn't even a little bit feral.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
I Caught the Bug
Posted from Hoi An, Vietnam
Sadly, it's not the traveling bug. Nope. On the second morning of our trek through the hills east of Luang Prabang, our group sat down to a quick breakfast in the Khmu village we stayed in overnight. Our guides had prepared a plate of fried eggs and a baguette for each of us. Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling quite up to snuff. The night before we'd all sat around the table, drinking some sweet, semi-fermented rice liquor the villagers down by the gallon. Being a gracious guest, I accepted what our guides put before us, again and again and again. Although I went to bed with a mostly clear head, I simply could not fall asleep. Not one wink. So when the guides set our breakfast plates in front of us, I was only too eager to dig in. But there was something about those eggs. I don't know if it was the slightly bitter, smoky flavor from the cooking fire or the fact that the eggs tasted a bit like our dinner from the night before, but something about those eggs did not sit well.
When we arrived back in Luang Prabang, I figured that a little Western food would be just what the doctor ordered. The others were having pizzas and curries, and I decided to take a stab at an American classic: the cheeseburger. But even that didn't make it down. The meat was too salty, and the cheese was a creamy, French cheese. Yech! So Western food was out. I tried Lao food, but that was a non-starter. It seemed like no matter what my eyes wanted to eat, my stomach had a vicious and violent difference of opinion.
Still eating very little, we left Lao and arrived in Hanoi. At least that night, I was able to try a Vietnamese dish of grilled, marinated pork and noodles, and I managed to enjoy most of it. The next morning, however, our guesthouse served us each a baguette with a plate of fried eggs. I tried. I really tried, but the eggs were too much. Instantly, the smell and the taste of the eggs from the village filled my senses, and I couldn't do it. I munched on my baguette, trying to forget that smell.
Over the course of the past day or so, my stomach has slowly returned to normal. Except that now I have an almost allergic reaction to the taste or smell of eggs in my food. Be that as it may, I'm still taking it easy on the food adventures, and maybe, just maybe, I'll be a little wiser when accepting drinks from strangers.
Sadly, it's not the traveling bug. Nope. On the second morning of our trek through the hills east of Luang Prabang, our group sat down to a quick breakfast in the Khmu village we stayed in overnight. Our guides had prepared a plate of fried eggs and a baguette for each of us. Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling quite up to snuff. The night before we'd all sat around the table, drinking some sweet, semi-fermented rice liquor the villagers down by the gallon. Being a gracious guest, I accepted what our guides put before us, again and again and again. Although I went to bed with a mostly clear head, I simply could not fall asleep. Not one wink. So when the guides set our breakfast plates in front of us, I was only too eager to dig in. But there was something about those eggs. I don't know if it was the slightly bitter, smoky flavor from the cooking fire or the fact that the eggs tasted a bit like our dinner from the night before, but something about those eggs did not sit well.
When we arrived back in Luang Prabang, I figured that a little Western food would be just what the doctor ordered. The others were having pizzas and curries, and I decided to take a stab at an American classic: the cheeseburger. But even that didn't make it down. The meat was too salty, and the cheese was a creamy, French cheese. Yech! So Western food was out. I tried Lao food, but that was a non-starter. It seemed like no matter what my eyes wanted to eat, my stomach had a vicious and violent difference of opinion.
Still eating very little, we left Lao and arrived in Hanoi. At least that night, I was able to try a Vietnamese dish of grilled, marinated pork and noodles, and I managed to enjoy most of it. The next morning, however, our guesthouse served us each a baguette with a plate of fried eggs. I tried. I really tried, but the eggs were too much. Instantly, the smell and the taste of the eggs from the village filled my senses, and I couldn't do it. I munched on my baguette, trying to forget that smell.
Over the course of the past day or so, my stomach has slowly returned to normal. Except that now I have an almost allergic reaction to the taste or smell of eggs in my food. Be that as it may, I'm still taking it easy on the food adventures, and maybe, just maybe, I'll be a little wiser when accepting drinks from strangers.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
And Another One!
Written from Luang Prabang, Laos
Today is Steph's birthday. She's not turning 30 because she's a youngin', but that doesn't mean that she doesn't deserve her very own birthday post.
Matt and I met Steph a little over two years ago and from the moment she walked into our house, put oven mitts on her hands and gave us a puppet show, all without even a bit of reservation, we knew she'd be a part of our lives forever. She is the kind of friend whose loyalty knows no bounds, who would do anything for you, even if anything includes making fun of people who she doesn't really know, just to make you feel better.
We know that she's missing us a lot these days, and we're going on record to say that we miss her too. If we were in Maine with her, we'd be freezing our butts off and eating sushi, and we'd probably make her get drunk on something a little too sweet and then go ahead and order another bottle of wine, because that's one of the things we do best. We'd probably also have a loud conversation in a restaurant about something you're only supposed to talk about in your living room, and we'd be laughing so hard we'd be crying. Is it any wonder that we can't wait to live closer to her next year, so that we can celebrate her birthday in the same city? Laughing so hard that you cry is the reason you have friends.
So today on her birthday we had massages and ate ice cream (sorry Steffers, it was the real deal, but if we'd been in the States we would have eaten tofuti for you) because that's exactly what she would have done if she'd been here (minus the real dairy).
Happy Birthday, Steph! We hope you have a wonderful year, filled with lovely and beautiful days, occasions to celebrate, and homecomings to look forward to.
Today is Steph's birthday. She's not turning 30 because she's a youngin', but that doesn't mean that she doesn't deserve her very own birthday post.
Matt and I met Steph a little over two years ago and from the moment she walked into our house, put oven mitts on her hands and gave us a puppet show, all without even a bit of reservation, we knew she'd be a part of our lives forever. She is the kind of friend whose loyalty knows no bounds, who would do anything for you, even if anything includes making fun of people who she doesn't really know, just to make you feel better.
We know that she's missing us a lot these days, and we're going on record to say that we miss her too. If we were in Maine with her, we'd be freezing our butts off and eating sushi, and we'd probably make her get drunk on something a little too sweet and then go ahead and order another bottle of wine, because that's one of the things we do best. We'd probably also have a loud conversation in a restaurant about something you're only supposed to talk about in your living room, and we'd be laughing so hard we'd be crying. Is it any wonder that we can't wait to live closer to her next year, so that we can celebrate her birthday in the same city? Laughing so hard that you cry is the reason you have friends.
So today on her birthday we had massages and ate ice cream (sorry Steffers, it was the real deal, but if we'd been in the States we would have eaten tofuti for you) because that's exactly what she would have done if she'd been here (minus the real dairy).
Happy Birthday, Steph! We hope you have a wonderful year, filled with lovely and beautiful days, occasions to celebrate, and homecomings to look forward to.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
The Devil's In the Details
A Post About All the Little Things
Written from Luang Prabang, Laos
I gathered my shower things -- shoes, towel, soap, shampoo, conditioner, flip-flops, razor, bottle of water -- and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. Once there, I locked the door, hung up my towel and turned around to contemplate the room. Sink, check. Toilet, check. Shower head, check. All seemed to be available and in working order. After brushing my teeth and carefully ensuring that not a drop of water from the sink comes even a millimeter too close to my toothbrush, I set about determining how to use the shower. There was the telltale external hot water heater, which was a good sign that I would, in fact, have a hot shower. But after turning on the water from the shower head, being careful to avoid the bucket of water next to the toilet that's used to scoop-flush the toilet, I found that the external hot water heater was not cooperating. I walked over to the wall of switches, flipped the breaker, and went back to test the water. Eureka! A hot shower! A hot HAND-HELD shower, to be more exact. But here I am, ten minutes later, showered, dressed, shaved, writing to you about the experience.
There were so many things about traveling to Asia that all the Lonely Planet books and blogs in the world couldn't have prepared me for. I didn't know, for example, that when you use toilet paper here, you throw it in a waste bin next to the toilet, rather than IN the toilet. And that in order to flush the toilet, you use the aforementioned pot of water next to the toilet to wash down whatever you've done. Squat toilets I'd heard of, and I knew that I'd have to travel with plenty of Purell, but I was totally unprepared to throw my dirty toilet paper into a trashcan. I was also unprepared to encounter what looked like a spray faucet next to the trashcan. Most people here don't use toilet paper at all and instead use the spray faucet to wash themselves after they've done their business. An overheard conversation in a youth hostel the other day revealed that most travelers use the faucet to wash...their dirty feet.
Now that we're in Laos, everything is touched by a lingering French influence. This didn't disturb me in the least when we were able to eat decent chocolate from a street vendor last night. But this morning, contemplating the fact that I have one hand in which to hold the shower head, and another to, um, clean myself, I was cursing that French influence and all of its requisite charm.
Today at around 3pm, we'll come back to our guesthouse to pick up our clean, folded, slightly warm laundry. It costs less than a dollar per kilo to do laundry, which, for those of you not well-versed in the kilo, means that it's quite cheap. We allow ourselves to get down to one or two pairs of underwear, put all of our dirty stuff in one big bag, then drop it off somewhere to be perfectly laundered. And thanks to my dad's warnings of all of these years, we know to request that it be washed AND dried. So far, we haven't had any problems, and the only remaining question is if we'd prefer that they iron our socks. True story.
Every single day I find myself wondering what my friends and family members would think if they were here. Would they walk out? Would they use the squat toilet? Would they get used to carrying around a roll of toilet paper with them wherever they went? Granted, if we were staying in places that catered to Western tourists, or were slightly above Lonely Planet's "budget" category of accommodations, we wouldn't be met with some of these Asian charms. But we're slowly but surely getting used to them, and now that we're getting used to them, they feel like part of this whole thing. Like, I'll get to look back on this experience and think, "not only was I in Laos, but I also braved a hand-held shower and scoop-flushed my own toilet!" This, people, THIS is why you travel.
Written from Luang Prabang, Laos
I gathered my shower things -- shoes, towel, soap, shampoo, conditioner, flip-flops, razor, bottle of water -- and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. Once there, I locked the door, hung up my towel and turned around to contemplate the room. Sink, check. Toilet, check. Shower head, check. All seemed to be available and in working order. After brushing my teeth and carefully ensuring that not a drop of water from the sink comes even a millimeter too close to my toothbrush, I set about determining how to use the shower. There was the telltale external hot water heater, which was a good sign that I would, in fact, have a hot shower. But after turning on the water from the shower head, being careful to avoid the bucket of water next to the toilet that's used to scoop-flush the toilet, I found that the external hot water heater was not cooperating. I walked over to the wall of switches, flipped the breaker, and went back to test the water. Eureka! A hot shower! A hot HAND-HELD shower, to be more exact. But here I am, ten minutes later, showered, dressed, shaved, writing to you about the experience.
There were so many things about traveling to Asia that all the Lonely Planet books and blogs in the world couldn't have prepared me for. I didn't know, for example, that when you use toilet paper here, you throw it in a waste bin next to the toilet, rather than IN the toilet. And that in order to flush the toilet, you use the aforementioned pot of water next to the toilet to wash down whatever you've done. Squat toilets I'd heard of, and I knew that I'd have to travel with plenty of Purell, but I was totally unprepared to throw my dirty toilet paper into a trashcan. I was also unprepared to encounter what looked like a spray faucet next to the trashcan. Most people here don't use toilet paper at all and instead use the spray faucet to wash themselves after they've done their business. An overheard conversation in a youth hostel the other day revealed that most travelers use the faucet to wash...their dirty feet.
Now that we're in Laos, everything is touched by a lingering French influence. This didn't disturb me in the least when we were able to eat decent chocolate from a street vendor last night. But this morning, contemplating the fact that I have one hand in which to hold the shower head, and another to, um, clean myself, I was cursing that French influence and all of its requisite charm.
Today at around 3pm, we'll come back to our guesthouse to pick up our clean, folded, slightly warm laundry. It costs less than a dollar per kilo to do laundry, which, for those of you not well-versed in the kilo, means that it's quite cheap. We allow ourselves to get down to one or two pairs of underwear, put all of our dirty stuff in one big bag, then drop it off somewhere to be perfectly laundered. And thanks to my dad's warnings of all of these years, we know to request that it be washed AND dried. So far, we haven't had any problems, and the only remaining question is if we'd prefer that they iron our socks. True story.
Every single day I find myself wondering what my friends and family members would think if they were here. Would they walk out? Would they use the squat toilet? Would they get used to carrying around a roll of toilet paper with them wherever they went? Granted, if we were staying in places that catered to Western tourists, or were slightly above Lonely Planet's "budget" category of accommodations, we wouldn't be met with some of these Asian charms. But we're slowly but surely getting used to them, and now that we're getting used to them, they feel like part of this whole thing. Like, I'll get to look back on this experience and think, "not only was I in Laos, but I also braved a hand-held shower and scoop-flushed my own toilet!" This, people, THIS is why you travel.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
A Couple of Sore Bums
Posted on our first night in Luang Prabang, Lao PDR
The idea seemed simple enough: take a bus to the river and catch a boat from Thailand to Laos. But it's sooo much more than that. Getting from Chiang Mai to Luang Prabang underscored for us that getting from point A to point B is actually part of the adventure. First, we took a six-hour minibus ride from Chiang Mai to Chiang Khong, a sleepy town separated from Laos by the mighty Mekong River. The overnight accommodations in Chiang Khong left much to be desired. In fact, they were far worse than what we experienced in Bangkok, but at least it had a hot shower. From Chiang Khong, we crossed the river by long-tail boat and processed through immigration. As unceremoniously as that, we entered Laos. Then we waited. And waited. And waited until our ferry boat finally pulled out of the dock. The long-distance ferry, which would carry us to Luang Prabang, was crowded, noisy, and slow. Slow. This word has a new definition for me, as does the phrase "a slow boat to China" because we took a slow boat down the Mekong River. So slow. After seven hours, we reached the midway point, Pak Beng, where we stopped for the night.
Pak Beng is an interesting town, because it only has electricity from 6PM to 10PM each night. That's appropriate, because the ferry pulls in around 6:30PM, and the locals have to get up early. So there's no nightlife. In fact, the bar we stopped at shooed us out the door at 10:30. However, the lack of street lights, TVs, and lamps meant that the night sky and its stars shone brilliantly. I haven't seen stars like that in years.
The next morning, this morning in fact, we woke up and hopped back on the boat for another bum-numbing 7 hours. We arrived in Luang Prabang around 5:30PM, got settled in a guesthouse, and here we are. Our butts are sore, but we're ready to explore Laos for the next few days before we head off to Vietnam. Luckily, there are no long boat rides anywhere in our near future.
Traveling slowly offers an opportunity that hopping on an airplane for an hour just can't; you get to meet other travelers. On our first day in the minibus, we ended up meeting not one, but four people, two couples who were making their way through Southeast Asia. Both couples are about our age; one couple (Lizzy and Tom) are from England, and the other (Anna and Caleb) from New Zealand. We hit it off right away and stuck together through the crappy accommodations at Chiang Khong and the butt-numbing boat ride to Pak Beng. In Pak Beng, we banded together to bargain a better rate at a guesthouse and closed down the bar that night. This morning we found seats together on the boat and kept the conversation going. We couldn't have dreamed of meeting better people along the way. Good luck to you, Anna and Caleb, Lizzy and Tom in the rest of your travels and in finding your ways home!
The idea seemed simple enough: take a bus to the river and catch a boat from Thailand to Laos. But it's sooo much more than that. Getting from Chiang Mai to Luang Prabang underscored for us that getting from point A to point B is actually part of the adventure. First, we took a six-hour minibus ride from Chiang Mai to Chiang Khong, a sleepy town separated from Laos by the mighty Mekong River. The overnight accommodations in Chiang Khong left much to be desired. In fact, they were far worse than what we experienced in Bangkok, but at least it had a hot shower. From Chiang Khong, we crossed the river by long-tail boat and processed through immigration. As unceremoniously as that, we entered Laos. Then we waited. And waited. And waited until our ferry boat finally pulled out of the dock. The long-distance ferry, which would carry us to Luang Prabang, was crowded, noisy, and slow. Slow. This word has a new definition for me, as does the phrase "a slow boat to China" because we took a slow boat down the Mekong River. So slow. After seven hours, we reached the midway point, Pak Beng, where we stopped for the night.
Pak Beng is an interesting town, because it only has electricity from 6PM to 10PM each night. That's appropriate, because the ferry pulls in around 6:30PM, and the locals have to get up early. So there's no nightlife. In fact, the bar we stopped at shooed us out the door at 10:30. However, the lack of street lights, TVs, and lamps meant that the night sky and its stars shone brilliantly. I haven't seen stars like that in years.
The next morning, this morning in fact, we woke up and hopped back on the boat for another bum-numbing 7 hours. We arrived in Luang Prabang around 5:30PM, got settled in a guesthouse, and here we are. Our butts are sore, but we're ready to explore Laos for the next few days before we head off to Vietnam. Luckily, there are no long boat rides anywhere in our near future.
Traveling slowly offers an opportunity that hopping on an airplane for an hour just can't; you get to meet other travelers. On our first day in the minibus, we ended up meeting not one, but four people, two couples who were making their way through Southeast Asia. Both couples are about our age; one couple (Lizzy and Tom) are from England, and the other (Anna and Caleb) from New Zealand. We hit it off right away and stuck together through the crappy accommodations at Chiang Khong and the butt-numbing boat ride to Pak Beng. In Pak Beng, we banded together to bargain a better rate at a guesthouse and closed down the bar that night. This morning we found seats together on the boat and kept the conversation going. We couldn't have dreamed of meeting better people along the way. Good luck to you, Anna and Caleb, Lizzy and Tom in the rest of your travels and in finding your ways home!
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