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Published: March 3rd 2007
We had two choices to get to Laos: fly directly from Chiang Mia to Luang Phabang or take the slow boat. Although its name doesn't sound so appealing, the slow boat delivers the cultural experience of meandering down the infamous Mekong River...for two whole days. And at the time, it sounded like the perfect idea. So at 10am on Wednesday, our Thai driver picked us up for three days and two nights of harrowing fun.
The rusty blue van was crammed with nine seats in the back and a bucket seat in the front which could fit three if you squeezed. The driver asked if we had our Laos visa. We replied no, because we were told you get them at the border for $30USD. Suddenly, we were being carted to a seedy Chiang Mai tourist office where we were told to pay 1670 Baht ($47USD) for a visa. Meanwhile, the van took off with our bags. I said we didn't have the money. So they walked us down the block to the money exchange. Mark and I noticed another tourist office next door and asked the man's opinion. "Don't do it. You can get it at the border."
So we did exactly that, and when we refused...things got tense. Mark and I didn't know if our bags were coming back, and we felt deceived. But what if they were right? Things change all the time at the borders. "Ok, we'll buy it, but we want a copy." "No, we need to fax it to the border," she said. Just then, the van pulled up with a busload of people and before we knew it, we were sitting in the front seat looking forward to the six hours of driving ahead. Next to us, sat the driver. In his hand were two Visa applications.
The van sped along narrow mountain roads in the smoggy, humid heat. The driver spoke not a word, but continuously shoved things in his mouth. One by one he chewed an entire pack of gum, two oranges, and a pack of fried pork rinds; while littering and overtaking multiple trucks. When the food was out, he started clipping his fingernails while playing chicken with oncoming traffic. When we finally stopped for food, the South African couple who sat behind said, "I don't know how you guys can sit up there. This is terrifying." A
few gray hairs later, we made it.
The visa process the next morning went less than smoothly. And at the small dilapidated Laos station on the bank of the Mekong, there hung a sign, "Visa on arrival $30USD." We boarded the boat for our two-day adventure. Young, tan Europeans hung off the side of the covered wooden boat, cigarettes in hand. The seats, built with one piece of wood about eight inches wide, revealed a hard, unforgiving seat. Pounds of rice were shoved in any open space and locals squished in between the foreigners.
For the next seven hours we puttered down the Mekong, drinking Beer Lao to the hum of the engine. Dense tropical forests gave way to rock formations and sandy beaches. Nothing along this vast river has been developed. Small villages sprinkle the riverside, and occasionally you can see the villagers at work casting their fishing poles and nets to catch their next meal. Sixty percent of the world's opium is exported from Lao's Northern forests: a product that came in nice and handy during the Vietnam war.
Finally, we came to our first night's destination: Pak Beng. This village sits atop a gorge,
nestled among the teak and hardwood forest. From the boat, you could see the small village bustling on the hillside, and the swanky construction of new money. We climbed dozens of steps to reach the dirt road. Besides the roar of old motorcycles, you could hear the hum of generators which power the village. Our accommodation overlooked the vast river, and the full moon shed light on the forest down below, delivering a feeling of complete isolation.
We left early the next morning for another eight hours on the boat. And although the ride was rather uncomfortable, it was well worth the sore lower back, historical scenery, and friends we met along the way.
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Auntie Cyn
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What an amazing trip you'all are on!