After a reasonable night’s sleep, and prior to a breakfast of dodgy looking noodles, the downstairs room of our ‘guesthouse’ was already full to overflowing with girls and women trying to sell their embroidered scarves. As I had been the one to broker the deal that they leave us alone until the morning, I made a great display of thoroughly inspecting all their wares before buying the best one at a knockdown price of $3.50. Fittingly it was made by the most wizened and toothless old lady there…and I felt I’d successfully negotiated a tricky situation by showing respect to this elder. The others, grumbling, packed away there wares and left us to ‘enjoy’ our breakfast in peace.
As we walked down to the boat, there was a noticeable chill in the air and the sky had a flat, dull grey appearance. I’d pulled an extra top and my beanie out of my bag to combat this early-morning nip and we all confidently expected another day of pleasant sunshine once the river mist and low clouds had been burnt off. In this, unfortunately, we were sadly mistaken. The whole day was spent huddled in the bottom of the boat, trying to avoid a stiff breeze funnelled down the river valley with hands jammed in pockets and knees pulled up to chest to conserve heat. Once again, as had happened the previous evening, we were handicapped by our inability to move about to keep warm. For the first time on my travels I was genuinely cold and, for once there was nothing I could do about it. In Canada, I’d simply had to step into a centrally-heated house or warm café; in the Korean mountains, brewing up some noodles with tuna on my stove had been the order of the day; and even on that first day’s motorbiking in Vietnam, just stepping off the bike and losing the headwind was enough to lose the chill. Thankfully, our day’s travelling was considerably shorter but still, by the time we arrived at the boat jetty in Luang Nam Tha, I was very definitely not feeling too well and immediately needed to eat hot food and find a hot shower. Our guesthouse was a beautiful wooden building carved in fine Lao style and the provision of food was certainly no problem. Within 10 minutes of arrival, I’d wolfed down some veg fried rice, garlic bread and dessert in the hopes of restoring my body to fitness. However, given the overcast aspect of the sky and the reliance on solar power for heating water, the chances of a hot shower were nil…and it wasn’t long before I felt my glands swelling and noticed my nose running and sinuses beginning to pound. I went out with Jason and Till for second dinner a little later and consumed more garlic bread in a further attempt to boost my ailing immune system but, eventually, I had to admit defeat and slope off home to bed.
We’d had vague plans of trekking for a couple of days in the vicinity but when the following morning dawned, grey and miserable, I knew there was little point in venturing out and making myself any worse. I spent virtually the entire day snuggled inside my sleeping bag under two duvets, occasionally venturing out to blow my nose and once heading downstairs to eat as much garlic as possible. Jason and Till spent the day touring the locality on rented mopeds and had, by all accounts, an excellent time – including being invited to join the festivities at a village wedding. I felt frustrated by my inactivity and was even more irritated when I discovered that the weather was looking set to hang around as cold fronts had dumped massive amounts of snow over southern China, less than 300 miles to our north.
Fully wrapped up, but feeling far better than when I’d woken up, I accompanied Till and Jason for dinner (yet more garlic bread!). We were all agreed that the weather wasn’t exactly conducive to trekking and the two of them had decided to head south to a similar destination, Muang Gnoi Neua, about 150 miles away. Lying in bed, feeling crappy and homesick, I’d decided on a more radical plan. I was going to keep heading south until I’d refound blue skies and warm weather. Despite my ability to leak like a rusty radiator at the slightest hint of sunshine, I guess my body had gotten used to being warm as opposed to freezing. I certainly didn’t want to be ill any longer than necessary…and I certainly didn’t want to be hampered from seeing this beautiful little country by something as unpredictable as the weather. I knew if I went south far enough, the warm winds blowing in off the gulf of Thailand would eventually overcome the cold pressing from the north. Jason and Till had opted for the early morning bus and I had decided to take the afternoon offering to give myself a little longer to recover. It seemed a shame to be splitting up so soon after our first meeting. Till’s fascinating tales of world travel spanning four decades and a dry, observant wit had been pleasant company. Jason’s open nature and tales of his South American adventures had made him an easy companion too…and I was sorry to be parting ways after barely getting to know them both. Still, we were all independent travellers and following our own motives so there was no reason to be sad…after all, a far greater shame would have been if we’d never met at all.
On the way home from dinner, I called in at the herbal sauna for a massage and steam. Partly I wanted to pamper myself after spending most of the day feeling like shit, partly I reasoned that the herb-infused steam was likely to help clear my sinuses and aid my recovery. I went to bed feeling like I was over the worst and looked forward to the adventures of a new day.
January 15, 2005
January 13, 2005
Slow Boat to Luang Nam Tha
Early the following morning, after a hearty breakfast of delicious pork baguettes and a frustrating half-hour trying to pay our bill (caused by the fact that our ‘Old Dear’ was incapable of delegating the smallest task and, every time something cropped up, instead of settling with us she would scurry around trying to sort it out), we eventually made it down to the boat landing. Here we loaded our bags up onto a long slender boat with bamboo matting on the floor and a makeshift awning to protect our pates from the harsh afternoon sun. Accompanying us were the skipper, his wife and the boat boy and, as we cruised down lazy stretches of the Mekong waiting for the sun to burn off the morning mist, it was hard to see what all the manpower was for. At first we were relatively comfortable - certainly the addition of my inflatable Thermarest to the boat floor was a great bonus in the comfort stakes! – however, in retrospect unsurprisingly, we soon began to acquire further passengers, despite our Old Dear’s insistence that for our outlay we would be chartering the boat privately. There didn’t seem much point complaining about the situation as we came to the conclusion that our boat captain had probably been ripped off as much as anyone else in the deal. So we merely shuffled up a bit closer and settled down to enjoying the scenery. About an hour into our trip with the mist still stubbornly refusing to move, we began to encounter strangely-shaped limestone karsts looming out of the mist. The waters here ran a little more rapidly and the varying depths of the waters surrounding the rocky outcroppings gave our crew some work to do for a short time. At one point there was a steadily growing, syncopated whining coming from behind us in the mist. After a few seconds a dark, aggressive shape began to materialise quickly out of the mist and soon we were being overtaken by a garishly painted arrowhead containing six helmeted aliens and a nonchalant looking local, manning an unfeasibly large engine. As quickly as it had come into view, it disappeared and we surmised that we had caught a glimpse of one of the infamous Mekong speedboats that make the two-day slow boat journey to Luang Prabang disappear inside 6 hours. They rocket along at 30-40 knots, paying little heed to the dangers of submerged rocks and unexpected shallows. Every year at least one of the boats is heard to have crashed causing severe injuries and even death to the foolhardy passengers. The idea of compressing the journey into 6 hours must be appealing to travellers on a tight schedule but, even so, I can think of better ways to travel than holding on for dear life, deafened by the roar of the engine and ass-numbed from the force of the hull smacking down on the water every second or so. Till, Jason and I smiled smugly as our craft chugged serenely through the maze of rocks and sandbars and, eventually, we found our turning for the Nam Tha and powered through the confluence and away from the silted waters of the Mekong.
Not long after the turning, the sun began to win its battle with the mist and we were soon enjoying the beautiful scenery in dappled sunlight. The water of the Nam Tha was far clearer than the Mekong and we could see fronds of river moss drifting in the current and fish darting in the shallows. It didn’t take a genius to see that the water in this tributary was extremely low and we soon realised the importance of our boat boy and the captain’s wife as they punted and paddled the prow of the boat through a series of ever-shallowing rapids. The river valley became narrow and we were soon surrounded by verdant hills with occasional rocky peaks reaching up to the brilliant blue sky, punctuated by lazy clouds. The views were some of the most beautiful, unspoilt countryside I’d seen anywhere on my travels and I was in little doubt as to why so many of my fellow travellers had recommended this country of rivers and mountains. This idyllic river-life was suddenly rudely shattered by an ominous clunking which reverberated through the length of the boat. Suddenly we were drifting back downstream on the current with a lifeless engine and our crew had to work hard to put us in to the sandy shore before we were sucked back into the rapids we’d just negotiated. We clambered out to lessen the load over the stern and found to our consternation that, not only had we shattered a propeller, but we had also severely bent our prop shaft. At first, I had visions of us being stranded for a day while new parts were sought out and brought. The smug, happy traveller smiles disappeared at the thought of not making it to our stopover accommodation. However, I was soon reminded of the nonchalance affected by my pick-up driver in Cambodia on the occasion of my first blow-out. With practised ease the propeller was knocked off the shaft, the shaft removed from its housing and beaten steadily back into a straight line using a large hammer and a stone for an anvil. A new propeller was procured from bowels of the boat and, within half-an-hour, we were back on our merry way up the river.
The miles passed slowly, broken by the ascent of rapids and the occasional toilet-break. In the mid-afternoon, we stopped while our crew sat for a hasty lunch. The three of us wandered up into the village and soon acquired an entourage of young scallywags and demure girls. The boys happily shouting, ‘Sabaidee!’ and running in our wake, the girls hiding behind stilts and in the shadows under their houses, peering curiously at the big strange men. Our crew wasted no time over lunch, anxious to get underway and make up for the time lost on repairing the propeller. The scenery continued to impress and was all the more pleasant for the fact that we were sharing it only amongst ourselves and the occasional local boat. Several long stretches of the river, between steep, towering cliffs had obviously been subterranean at some point in history. The fierce flood waters of the river in the rainy season (witnessed by some incredible log-jams on some of the sandbars we passed) would have needed only time to complete there erosion and destruction of the soft limestone rock. I kept looking at my surroundings and realising that, but for seasonal changes, the view had probably changed very little in thousands of years. This far from civilisation there were still few signs of its encroachment: no polythene bags clinging to trailing branches; no pylons scarring the skyline and no fumes or chimneys darkening the air. One thing that was disappointing was the almost complete lack of wildlife. It seemed that the riverside dwellers of these parts had long-since hunted local bird and mammal populations into extinction. Certainly, in Britain, this far from significant conurbations, the air would have been alive with the chatter of birds and the treetops rustling with the scurrying of squirrels. Of course, most rural inhabitants in Britain are not subsistence farmers or fishermen…and education and unlimited food resources mean that blowing up fish and netting birds are unnecessary when it comes to feeding the kids.
Every bend in the river brought some new and visually pleasing perspective and the fiery heat of the midday sun had soon diminished to a pleasant lounging temperature. We had long since parted with our extra passengers and the three of us were able to stretch out and bask as we wended our way upstream. Later, as the sun began to dip behind the encircling mountains, the air took on a bit of a chill and we all scrabbled for extra clothing as our enforced inactivity ensured that we were all losing heat pretty quickly. Long after the sun had set – and stiff with cold – we eventually arrived at our day’s destination. The riverside village was the home of our captain and we were to sleep at his house. There was no chance of anything as refined as a hot shower to warm our chilled bones and, to add insult to injury, we were surrounded by a crowd of textile hawkers before we were able to chow down on our curry and sticky rice. I’m sure the opportunity to make a little extra money from passing tourists must be appealing to these poor villagers but it should never get in the way of hospitality. Till, Jason and I refused to even consider any of their textile offerings until the morning. All we wanted was some hot food and a place to lay our weary heads.
Not long after the turning, the sun began to win its battle with the mist and we were soon enjoying the beautiful scenery in dappled sunlight. The water of the Nam Tha was far clearer than the Mekong and we could see fronds of river moss drifting in the current and fish darting in the shallows. It didn’t take a genius to see that the water in this tributary was extremely low and we soon realised the importance of our boat boy and the captain’s wife as they punted and paddled the prow of the boat through a series of ever-shallowing rapids. The river valley became narrow and we were soon surrounded by verdant hills with occasional rocky peaks reaching up to the brilliant blue sky, punctuated by lazy clouds. The views were some of the most beautiful, unspoilt countryside I’d seen anywhere on my travels and I was in little doubt as to why so many of my fellow travellers had recommended this country of rivers and mountains. This idyllic river-life was suddenly rudely shattered by an ominous clunking which reverberated through the length of the boat. Suddenly we were drifting back downstream on the current with a lifeless engine and our crew had to work hard to put us in to the sandy shore before we were sucked back into the rapids we’d just negotiated. We clambered out to lessen the load over the stern and found to our consternation that, not only had we shattered a propeller, but we had also severely bent our prop shaft. At first, I had visions of us being stranded for a day while new parts were sought out and brought. The smug, happy traveller smiles disappeared at the thought of not making it to our stopover accommodation. However, I was soon reminded of the nonchalance affected by my pick-up driver in Cambodia on the occasion of my first blow-out. With practised ease the propeller was knocked off the shaft, the shaft removed from its housing and beaten steadily back into a straight line using a large hammer and a stone for an anvil. A new propeller was procured from bowels of the boat and, within half-an-hour, we were back on our merry way up the river.
The miles passed slowly, broken by the ascent of rapids and the occasional toilet-break. In the mid-afternoon, we stopped while our crew sat for a hasty lunch. The three of us wandered up into the village and soon acquired an entourage of young scallywags and demure girls. The boys happily shouting, ‘Sabaidee!’ and running in our wake, the girls hiding behind stilts and in the shadows under their houses, peering curiously at the big strange men. Our crew wasted no time over lunch, anxious to get underway and make up for the time lost on repairing the propeller. The scenery continued to impress and was all the more pleasant for the fact that we were sharing it only amongst ourselves and the occasional local boat. Several long stretches of the river, between steep, towering cliffs had obviously been subterranean at some point in history. The fierce flood waters of the river in the rainy season (witnessed by some incredible log-jams on some of the sandbars we passed) would have needed only time to complete there erosion and destruction of the soft limestone rock. I kept looking at my surroundings and realising that, but for seasonal changes, the view had probably changed very little in thousands of years. This far from civilisation there were still few signs of its encroachment: no polythene bags clinging to trailing branches; no pylons scarring the skyline and no fumes or chimneys darkening the air. One thing that was disappointing was the almost complete lack of wildlife. It seemed that the riverside dwellers of these parts had long-since hunted local bird and mammal populations into extinction. Certainly, in Britain, this far from significant conurbations, the air would have been alive with the chatter of birds and the treetops rustling with the scurrying of squirrels. Of course, most rural inhabitants in Britain are not subsistence farmers or fishermen…and education and unlimited food resources mean that blowing up fish and netting birds are unnecessary when it comes to feeding the kids.
Every bend in the river brought some new and visually pleasing perspective and the fiery heat of the midday sun had soon diminished to a pleasant lounging temperature. We had long since parted with our extra passengers and the three of us were able to stretch out and bask as we wended our way upstream. Later, as the sun began to dip behind the encircling mountains, the air took on a bit of a chill and we all scrabbled for extra clothing as our enforced inactivity ensured that we were all losing heat pretty quickly. Long after the sun had set – and stiff with cold – we eventually arrived at our day’s destination. The riverside village was the home of our captain and we were to sleep at his house. There was no chance of anything as refined as a hot shower to warm our chilled bones and, to add insult to injury, we were surrounded by a crowd of textile hawkers before we were able to chow down on our curry and sticky rice. I’m sure the opportunity to make a little extra money from passing tourists must be appealing to these poor villagers but it should never get in the way of hospitality. Till, Jason and I refused to even consider any of their textile offerings until the morning. All we wanted was some hot food and a place to lay our weary heads.
January 12, 2005
Beautiful Laos
The border crossing into Laos from Chiang Kong was one of the most pleasant and simple brushes I’ve had with officialdom in all my travels. A cursory glance and stamping of the passport to leave Thailand, followed by a leisurely 5 minute trip across the slow-moving Mekong in a long-tail boat (powered by a Toyota car engine!). Disembarking on the Laos bank of the river, I found myself wandering up the high street of Huay Xai barely seconds later, passport and visa checks duly completed in desultory fashion. For a communist state, there was a startling lack of red-tape and a total dearth of customs or security measures. I’d soon found myself a cheap hotel room and had bought a ticket for the slow boat to Luang Prabang. All the people I’d spoken to about Laos had recommended this trip to me and I was pretty keen to see what all the fuss was about. However, during my negotiations for the ticket, I’d ascertained that there would be as many as 40-50 people on the boat and I didn’t find the idea overly appealing. Not too long after this I acquired myself a roommate: Jason from San Diego was looking for a cheaper room than my place was offering but he looked normal enough and I offered him to take the second bed in my room – thereby cutting costs for both of us. He took me up on the offer…and the wheels of fate took another turn for the better. We sat down for a ‘get-to-know’ beer and discussed our plans and also got on to the subject of where else we’d been on our travels. Amazingly, Jason had been in a long-tail boat off the shore of Koh Phi Phi when the tsunami had struck. Needless to say, this had been a pretty hair-raising experience for him and his girlfriend, Lisa. Their boat had been quite happily pootling along towards the island when, strangely, they began to see several other boats speeding past them at full throttle. When Jason had turned round to follow the gesticulations of the passengers of one of these boats, he was horrified to see a towering wall of water rushing towards the back of the boat at break-neck speed. The skipper of their vessel – needing no further urging after spotting the impending disaster himself – immediately opened the engine up and, for something like a minute, they raced the inexorable wave to shore. There was no time for any niceties as the beach came up to meet them and the boat didn’t slow down at all before burying its nose into the sand and people scrambled for the relative safety of the beach. Scant seconds later, the wave struck and Jason (of similar build to me, if a little shorter) was picked up like a doll on a wall of foaming brown water and carried for several hundred feet inland. The wave bore him clear of a wooden picket fence, over several large bushes and small trees and unceremoniously dumped him, uninvited, into the hallway of the holiday home of the Crown Princess of Indonesia. Totally unscathed – if a little shaken – he quickly set about trying to find Lisa. I can only imagine how distressing and painful this must have been – particularly given that this wave was the smaller precursor of three or four bigger and more destructive deluges. When we were talking about it, he did not make such a big deal out of this but I could see that it had been a very traumatic experience. Unspoken clues to the psychological impact included his reluctance to talk about the wider devastation of the tsunami. Most telling was his decision to leave Lisa in Thailand as he came to Laos. Quite apart from their strong relationship and their willingness to follow their own independent desires, it was easy to see that Jason had wanted to get away from Thailand and the black memories it had held. Lisa would be joining him again in Luang Prabang or Vientiane in 3 weeks or so and, for the time being, he was an independent traveller. Naturally, I asked him which way he was headed and he told me how he was trying to get a group together to charter a boat north to Luang Nam Tha. This isolated town, close to the Chinese border, had recently started to become popular as a trekking centre and was, apparently, far more untouched than similar trekking destinations in Thailand. The tribes in the surrounding hills had been far less affected by tourism and it sounded like an excellent place to see village life played out in a traditional manner. So far, Jason had enlisted European traveller as a definite for the trip and had a couple of maybes from two Israelis who, it turned out, had been on my bus from Chiang Rai to the border. Jason’s intended travelmate turned out to be a softly-spoken, intelligent retiree from Munich. I immediately warmed to Till and his wry sense of humour and I found myself wishing that I hadn’t been so hasty in booking my ticket to Luang Prabang. I could see myself happily spending some time with these two and began to wonder about the possibility of changing my plans. I’ve said it countless times on my travels (and maybe once or twice in this blog…) that, for me at least, travelling is as much about the companions along the way as the route and destinations reached. Given a choice between a boat crammed with 40 others (heading exactly the same way as everybody else) or a more peaceful journey with these two affable individuals, it didn’t take me long to make up my mind. After a hurried conversation with the old dear in the guesthouse, I had ascertained that I would be able to get a refund for my ticket to Luang Prabang and, suddenly, I was heading off in the opposite direction with two guys I’d just met to a place I’d only just heard of. Excellent! Just as Bangkok had drained me and found me tiring of South East Asia, suddenly Laos was revitalising my energy and rejuvenating my enthusiasm. Our two potential companions from Israel eventually dropped out as they didn’t want to spend the money for the boat trip when the (12hr!!) bus journey was so much cheaper. In the end, Jason, Till and I paid about $50 each for our boat passage up the Nam Tha (Nam means river). I had no hesitation in paying 10 times as much as the bus journey – mainly as I knew 12 hours on a Lao bus was likely to be unmitigated hell for someone my size…but also because I knew our ‘exclusive’ boat trip would be an experience to remember and an all-together more pleasant way of seeing the country go by.
Later that evening we wondered down the high street in search of food. A beautiful sun was setting over the Mekong and we ate a good meal at a restaurant perched over the smooth silent waters as they made their patient way down towards Cambodia, then Vietnam and, finally, the South China Sea.
Later that evening we wondered down the high street in search of food. A beautiful sun was setting over the Mekong and we ate a good meal at a restaurant perched over the smooth silent waters as they made their patient way down towards Cambodia, then Vietnam and, finally, the South China Sea.
January 11, 2005
Getting the hell out of Dodge
Regular readers will be aware of my distaste for big cities and every day I spent in Bangkok after Dave’s departure really began to grate on my nerves. For one more night I had the pleasure of Charlie’s company and Carl, Mark and Rachael were there a further day until Rachael’s flight home to Liverpool. Their company was pleasurable and I spent the days constructively dealing with my online application for teacher-training and trying my damnedest to get some sort of response from the aid agencies about heading south. Charlie disappeared back to Cambodia, loaded up with presents for the beach-kids and, between us, we’d managed to persuade Mark and Carl (and a random Dutch girl, Elles) that Cambodia was the place they should be heading for next.
With everyone else leaving, I was getting impatient to get the hell out of this dirty, sprawling city and, as luck would have it, while I was drinking with Carl and Mark at our hotel’s streetside bar, Darryl (from Ko Pha Ngan) wandered past. It was extremely fortuitous as we’d managed to forget to exchange e-mails when we’d last seen each other but he also had some conclusive (if not entirely positive) news regarding the volunteer situation. It seemed all the agencies he’d contacted were insisting on full vetting and home-country interviews before taking anyone on. This tallied with the only response I’d had so far and I figured if they were unwilling to employ Darryl’s practical (house-building) skills, they’d be highly unlikely to take me on. Within 30 seconds, I had decided to return to my original plan to go to Laos for the remaining time before my flight to Nepal. Including a day to get my visa, this left me with a maximum of 18 days to make a whirlwind tour of her various delights. Without further ado, I set to planning my trip and began to look forward to escaping from Bangkok. 36 hours later, I was on board a coach heading to Chiang Rai – 1½ hours from the Mekong border crossing into Laos. It was by far the longest journey I’d undertaken whilst conscious but the aid of two good books and a cd-case full of trance made easy work of the 12 hour journey. To be honest, I didn’t spend long enough in Chiang Rai to get a sense of what she had to offer and I wasn’t really paying an awful lot of attention with my mind focused entirely on getting over the border. Thailand had produced some great memories but I feel most of these were due to the people I’d been with. For all intents and purposes, Thailand feels like a Western nation – with a far more respectful culture, strong religious influences and far warmer hospitality of course! I’d come to Asia to see the other side of life – not to see children growing fat on a diet of McDonalds and Pizza Hut. There’s enough of all that back at home and I was keen to get back to basics in Laos.
With everyone else leaving, I was getting impatient to get the hell out of this dirty, sprawling city and, as luck would have it, while I was drinking with Carl and Mark at our hotel’s streetside bar, Darryl (from Ko Pha Ngan) wandered past. It was extremely fortuitous as we’d managed to forget to exchange e-mails when we’d last seen each other but he also had some conclusive (if not entirely positive) news regarding the volunteer situation. It seemed all the agencies he’d contacted were insisting on full vetting and home-country interviews before taking anyone on. This tallied with the only response I’d had so far and I figured if they were unwilling to employ Darryl’s practical (house-building) skills, they’d be highly unlikely to take me on. Within 30 seconds, I had decided to return to my original plan to go to Laos for the remaining time before my flight to Nepal. Including a day to get my visa, this left me with a maximum of 18 days to make a whirlwind tour of her various delights. Without further ado, I set to planning my trip and began to look forward to escaping from Bangkok. 36 hours later, I was on board a coach heading to Chiang Rai – 1½ hours from the Mekong border crossing into Laos. It was by far the longest journey I’d undertaken whilst conscious but the aid of two good books and a cd-case full of trance made easy work of the 12 hour journey. To be honest, I didn’t spend long enough in Chiang Rai to get a sense of what she had to offer and I wasn’t really paying an awful lot of attention with my mind focused entirely on getting over the border. Thailand had produced some great memories but I feel most of these were due to the people I’d been with. For all intents and purposes, Thailand feels like a Western nation – with a far more respectful culture, strong religious influences and far warmer hospitality of course! I’d come to Asia to see the other side of life – not to see children growing fat on a diet of McDonalds and Pizza Hut. There’s enough of all that back at home and I was keen to get back to basics in Laos.
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