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Published: August 19th 2013
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Everything touristy you read about Laos will almost certainly start with a sentence commenting on the level of “laid-backness” in the country. I suppose I would be remiss if I did not do that as well - yes, it’s laid back…and I mean really laid back…like ultra laid back…like grab a drink, get in a hammock, spark up a spliff and watch-the-days-pass-by-like-the-rolling-waters-of-a-river laid back…
It’s a peculiar place, no less so because it’s illegal for Laotians to have sexual relations with foreigners, but mostly made so by the throngs of backpackers everywhere you go. And I cannot seem to be able to grasp the appeal of ordering something - basically anything, from shakes, to cake, to mashed potatoes - “happy”, that is, with a healthy helping of marijuana, and sitting around watching reruns of “Friends”. I hate that show. I could be self-administered whip-its till my head explodes and I wouldn’t laugh at a single joke; in fact, Joey and that dim-witted blonde with her guitar make me want to violently throw beer bottles at the television, which would be quite the scene when juxtaposed against the generally tranquil atmosphere of Laos. Luckily, Klaudia and I travel a
bit differently and prefer to sightsee rather than sit on a couch for weeks – a common fried backpacker theme on Don Det and Don Khon.
We finally made it to the island of Don Det following our terrible tourist van fiasco in Cambodia; and, gratefully, had an inescapably serene couple days. Located in the middle of the Mekong River in the 4000 Islands region of Southern Laos, Don Det is a small, undeveloped island of walking and bike paths lined with palm trees, on-and-off electricity, mainly smiling locals, and grass-roofed bungalows. After settling in at a bungalow, we walked the island over a couple hours then sat down in a restaurant to eat, when the electricity suddenly shut off. Unable to eat dinner, we instead had a couple beers with a pleasant Englishman (yet one more individual we’d met who quit his job to travel for a few months) and a garrulous Dutch 20-something-year-old who voiced way too many opinions for my liking, but who did serendipitously tell us about a birthday party for a local that would include free food. A few beers later, we headed to the party and did indeed enjoy a buffet
of free food: fried, as well as sticky rice; fried noodles; an excellent chicken curry; morning glory; and other dishes. Encountering our first free meal in Asia, I ate like pig; and I slept well that night.
We rented bikes the next day and headed across an old French railway bridge to Don Khon, another island of the same sort, just slightly larger, to visit the Tat Samphamit waterfall. From our guidebook, I knew there would be a troll waiting for us at the bridge to collect tolls from tourists, so I sped up as we entered it, catching the bridge troll by surprise. Before she realized what was occurring, I zipped right passed her chuckling like a mischievous child. Unfortunately, I’d failed to inform Klaudia about the troll: she stopped in the middle of the bridge to take some pictures while the troll now stood on the bridge. Klaudia put her camera away and rode her bike towards the end of the bridge. The troll silently stood in her way; Klaudia tried to pass her in various directions, but to no avail as the troll would step in front of the bike, finally grabbing the handle
bars. I saw a look of surprise on Klaudia’s face, almost falling off my bike as I laughed. I could not hear what was said, but did see the troll saying something.
“She won’t let me pass until I pay the toll!” Klaudia called to me.
I rode back and paid the lady the scam toll, which I would have done sooner or later anyway since the toll also serves as the entrance ticket to the waterfall. As we walked to the waterfall along a short path, we noticed a crowd looking down at the water. As we’d suspected, a fisherman, who had decided to go it alone that morning, had fallen in and drowned.
“Did you know him?” I asked the woman relating the story.
“He was my uncle,” she responded calmly.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok. That’s life,” she said, fundamentally summing up the Asian attitude on life I’d come to know.
We walked further along the path to different views of the pretty falls. The water ferociously roared as it passed over and around hundreds of jagged
karst stones peaking through the mist. At the end of the path was a small beach where I took a dip in the river. We then lied around in some hammocks hung near the path before getting back on our bikes. We rode to the other end of the island and deliberated taking a boat tour to see some other waterfalls, but there was not a soul in sight, so we headed back to Don Det to have dinner and watch a movie with some hippies. We spent the rest of the day looking out over the river.
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