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Published: June 12th 2009
Travelling up the Mekong
The beautiful karsts surrounding the river(Mis)Adventures in Northern Laos
Disdaining the usual tourist trail of Luang Prabang - Vang Vieng - Vientienne, I instead decided to catch a boat upriver to the tiny town of Nong Khiaw. The brief glimpse of rural village life I caught while ensconced in the slow boat down the Mekong a few days earlier merely served to whet my appetite for a more behind-the-scenes look at this country. I felt that there was so much more to Laos then the French bakeries of Luang Prabang, convivial party atmosphere of Vang Vieng, and the modern day hubbub of Vientienne. I wanted to delve deeper into the culture, history, and people of this beautiful country, and slurping back happy shakes at the local falang hangout didn’t seem like the way to do it. Joining me on this ambitious adventure was Lee, a 36-year old bohemian artist from Australia with a no-nonsense outlook on life tempered with the unabashedly playful personality of a forever-kid-at-heart. Also joining us was Abu, Lee’s puppet and sidekick. Between my easygoing flexibility, Lee’s sense of the ridiculous, and Abu’s ability to charm even the hardest of heart, we made a formidable team as we journeyed through the wild
Our little boat!
We tackled the tricky currents of the Mekong in this tiny little longboat and wonderful North.
Strapping our bags to our backs we set off in the early morning light to purchase a boat ticket for the 5-hour trip to Nong Khiaw. Walking down the steep muddy slope to the river I pointed to one of the tiny 10-seater longboats and cracked a joke about how that was likely our ride. We stopped laughing when we realized that this was, in fact, true. The narrow and low slung wooden craft may have been shaped like a smile but it was anything but cheerful. Chipped and peeling denim blue paint tried and failed to disguise the well-worn wooden planks which slipped comfortably through the lapping waves of the Mekong. Tiny benches, thankfully adorned with bright Oriental cushions, hung crookedly from the frame of the boat, making you disconcertingly aware of just how close to the water you were. A low ceiling provided blessedly cool shade to the handful of passengers as we scampered awkwardly aboard. The boat pitched and rolled at the slightest of movement, making me calculate the odds of being able to keep my camera and passport dry if we tipped overboard. Finally though, we settled ourselves and our luggage into
Nong Khiaw
The dusty 1-lane street of Nong Khiaw...break out the cowboy hat and spurs... the boat and threw ourselves once more at the mercy of the Mekong.
Transfixed by the dramatic beauty of the surrounding countryside, I wondered why anyone would ever travel any other way. The leisurely pace of our boat allowed me to savor every slow curve, peer down every shady path, and wave to every curious village child. The blindingly bright sun glistened off the horns of water buffalos lounging along the shoreline. Bamboo fields glowed incandescently against the unrelenting backdrop of lush forests and steely limestone karsts. Everything was so vibrantly alive that the very air seemed to hum.
Pulling ashore at a remote beach we gingerly stepped off the boat to stretch our legs and take care of any other pressing bodily concerns. Finding a relatively private section of the beach, the women stood watch and shared toilet paper amongst ourselves as we all took our turn behind the bush. It was the first time I’d used a “natural toilet” since I was a child and I have to confess that this particular activity is NOT like riding a bike! I almost fell over in surprise and embarrassment when a local fisherman cruised into view during my
View from our balcony
Nong Khiaw from across the river turn.
Later, pulling up to the banks of Nong Khiaw we were greeted by the sound of raised voices coming from within a nearby restaurant. Shrill shrieks ripped through the otherwise tranquil sky in what was obviously a domestic dispute. Nervous laughter broke our as we all collected our bags and walked by the infuriated woman. The town beyond the riverfront restaurant had a distinctly Wild Wild West feel. Dusty wooden shacks teetered precariously on their stilts; leaning against each other drunkenly for support. The late afternoon sun threw their dilapidated state of repair into stark relief as we trudged through the lone and lonely street in search of accommodations. Potted cacti completed the image, and I half expected to see a buxom wench lean out of a saloon door and offer us a shot of whiskey (Lao Lao of course). We settled into a small bamboo hut which clung tenaciously to the mountainside and offered a view of the surprisingly modern cement bridge that spanned the Mekong. The sun painted broad brushstrokes of gold and crimson across the deep valley floor. Settling into our hammocks we had nothing to do but listen to the gentle puttering of the
Boys being boys
Trying (successfully) to impress the falangs who came to hang out at the waterhole nearby generators and watch the emerging stars appear above us.
The following day we decided to hike outside the town to check out the nearby caves and infamous “waterfall”. The caves used to shelter the neighbouring villagers during the American bombing from 1964-1973 and were a fascinating collection of hidden niches and gloomy corners. The waterfall ended up being little more then a small handmade dam in a tiny trickling river. When we finally arrived there we found that the watering hole was already in use by a couple of young athletic boys who delighted us with a demonstration of backflips and somersaults. The were obviously eager to pose for the camera, and unlike the younger children who followed us around merely for the possibility of receiving pens or candy, did not appear to want anything from us but a smile.
A few days later we decided to head even further upriver to the tiny town of Muang Ngoi Neua. Amazingly enough, this town managed to be even smaller then Nong Khiaw as it could not even claim a road or basic electricity. Heading down to the customary chaos of the pier, we sat on the steps and
Begging for sweets
These little guys couldn't understand why we didn't have any candy or pens for them... (the only 2 English words that they knew) tried to sort out the confusion of which boats went where. Quickly giving this up, I snagged the attention of a local guy and asked him whether he could tell us which boat was heading to Muang Ngoi Neua. Looking startled at being addressed, he scurried away without saying a word, only to return a few minutes later and direct us to one of the last boats waiting in the queue. Thanking him, Lee and I hauled ourselves and our luggage aboard. Following close behind us was the very same guy who gave us the directions, and it wasn’t until we’d asked some subtle questions before we realized that he was not a local at all, but a fellow tourist from Thailand. Oops. Unsurprisingly I suppose, it turned out that not only were we in the wrong boat, but that we were also there at the wrong time. The only boat that was heading to our destination that morning was the speedboat, which would make the 1 hour trip in a mere 15 minutes - an unnerving prospect in light of the swift current and often hidden rocks and logs submerged in the river. However, despite our misgivings we unloaded
Our bungalow
...tough life from the shaded and (comparatively) large and comfortable longboat into a tiny, skinny, speedboat with an overlarge motor humorously disproportionate in size to the vehicle it was powering. Somehow, Lee and I ended up being in the front row. I suspect it was arranged this way because of our obvious unease with this mode of transportation. The driver took unprecedented delight in completely ignoring our pleas for him to drive slowly, and instead roared upriver…whipping around rocks and islands, and skidding hopelessly along the deceivingly glassy currents. Both Lee and I were laughing hysterically the entire time, all the while maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the sides of the boat. Who said the Mekong couldn't be an adrenaline sport!? After a scant few minutes, we pulled up against a sandy and deserted beach. The driver cheerfully yelled out to us that we’d arrived. Looking confused, Lee and I began clambering out of the boat, until the hysterics of the other passengers warned us that the driver was merely pulling our leg. Silly falangs.
The town of Muang Ngoi Neua consisted of 1 tired looking street that housed a number of shuttered guesthouses and abandoned restaurants. The inhabitants were sleepy,
At last! Civilization!
After a hot 2 hour hike we finally stumbled upon this little village silent, and scarce. It wasn’t until the sun began to set that the streets became alive with women practicing the art of traditional weaving, laughing children kicking stones, shoes, and anything else at their disposal, and chickens running constantly underfoot. Stretching out on the pier that night we enjoyed the cool breeze while watching the millions of twinkling stars that stretched across the horizon. There was nothing else to do but try to pick out constellations and throw wishes at the shooting stars.
To escape the almost depressing silence of the town the following day, we decided to walk to a nearby village. “Nearby” being a questionable term as it ended up being a 2 hour hike through forests, streams, and hills before we finally caught sight of it. Approaching the gate we saw that the village was nothing more then a collection of bamboo huts perched high on skinny stilts. Pulling out Abu, we stepped over the fence, bypassed a pig pen, and made our grand entrance. It didn’t take very long before a trail of children were following at our heels like eager puppies. Local women, seeing our approach, broke out into wide smiles and rolling laughter.
Beautiful bamboo huts
We spent an entire afternoon hanging out with the wonderful villagers and playing with their children Stretching out their hands, they eagerly took hold of Abu and examined her in minute detail. Despite the language barrier, we didn’t have any problem communicating through wild and exaggerated hand gestures and good humoured laughter. We were pulled into a nearby bamboo structure and a menu, written in painstaking English, was produced. After pointing out various items and hearing that each one was not available, we settled on a pancake. While waiting for our food, Lee put on a puppet show for the fascinated children. It didn’t take long for her to run through Abu’s entire repertoire of songs and dance moves. Feeling exceedingly in the spotlight with a roomful of women and children staring at our every move, Lee proposed that I lead them in a rousing performance of the hokey pokey - inciting countless giggles as she got Abu to join in the dance. It was an immediate hit and almost brought the house down with laughter as we shook and shimmied.
One of the girls in the group, speaking in halting English, invited us to stay around for the afternoon and join them in a party later that day.
We couldn’t say yes fast
enough.
The party consisted of about 18 older guys who sat around in one of the bamboo huts smoking cigarettes and drinking lao lao whiskey - demonstrating that men are men, no matter what side of the hemisphere they’re on. We were sent up to join them, and despite the fact that it was a little weird joining what was clearly an old boys club, had a fantastic and fascinating time. The women were consigned to the kitchen below, only making an appearance long enough to bring up bowls of strange and exotic food for their husbands - an expectation which has thankfully been mostly abolished on our side of the world. Lee and I gorged on sticky rice, mint leaves, and a strange and spicy soup. A tarp was thrown on the floor in lieu of a table, and fingers took the place of utensils. Having worn my prescription sunglasses for the outing, I ended up passing them around the group in order to explain why I was wearing sunglasses indoors. Their reaction when looking through them was priceless, and incited many shocked exclamations from the crowd. Abu was also passed around from person to person and much
Cutest. Kid. Ever!
This little guy wouldn't let Abu out of his sight... admired by all. White string was tied around our wrists, and chants delivered in the local dialect, presumably wishing us luck in our travels. We stretched our meager vocabulary of Laos, while they practiced their few words and phrases of English. It was one of the most touching and memorable experiences that I’ve had so far, and we were very sad to say our goodbyes and head back into Muang Ngoi Neua.
After an unbelievable experience in the wilds of Northern Laos, it was time for us to set our sights on the incredibly savaged landscape of the East.
Signing out,
Jen
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