Voyaging down the Mekong...slowly!

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Right now I am sitting on the second story porch of my hostel (SpicyLaos Backpackers) in Luang Prabang. It is my first morning here. Last night Dave and I, along with our new friend Phil, pulled our huge backpacks and supplementary bags off the “slow boat.” We had traveled down the Mekong, starting on the morning of August 18th , slept one night at a tiny village called Pakbeng, and traveled ten more hours yesterday on more tightly cramped boat to where we are now. Before this river trip, we traveled from Chiang Mai to Sukhothai (should have reversed the order we realize now), and up to Chaing Rai, straight to Chaing Khong. We spent one night in new Sukhothai, and one night in a lovely hostel in Chiang Khong before boarding the slow boat.
Sadly, due to a computer-camera miscommunication, or conspiratorial moment, there will be no photos of Sukhothai (from August 16th). But I have barely a moment to pause to mourn, because there are SO many beautiful photos from the boat ride.
My guide book informed me that I had two choices - the slow boat (two days, fifteen hours between the two) or the speed boat (six hours and risking death by crash) - and I’m thrilled that Dave and I took the two day option. We met some great people - two girls from London, Kate and Pascal, and Phil - whom we’re still hanging around with here in Luang Prabang. We had time to chat about previous travels with different people on the boat, and the first day, we lounged about comfortably, and moved the awkward wooden benches around so that we could lay on the floor. After staring out of the boat for a few hours, admiring the breath-taking beauty of the Laos countryside, a nap and a game of scrabble, we arrived at Pakbeng, feeling quite refreshed. When we walked up the narrow and steep dirt path up to the village of Pakbeng guesthouse hawkers (representatives?) battled for our attention. At first, I was wooed by the first younger man that offered clean-looking beds (holding up a paper showing pictures of the rooms and buildings, as they all were) for only 100 baht a night (around $3, and a good one-third of the price of the hostels we’ve previously roomed in). Then, I realized how much I would enjoy a good hot shower, and questioned different men, “Hot shower? Yes?” making one pinky swear that his guesthouse did in fact have hot water. Then, Phil, Dave, Pascal, Kate and I, wandered up toward the main road (the only road) of the village. Another crew from our boat had already hopped onto a tuk tuk and took it to our hostel. The man said the tuk tuk would return for us, but we walked maybe five minutes and arrived there before the tuk tuk had time to turn around. No need! We’re hearty travelers! We can walk five minutes up a muddy path to our hostel!
The guesthouse, like nearly all in the neighborhood/road, was simply a building/store/restaurant/Lao home. The beds were clean, the toilets were squatters (porcelain holes on the tile floor, not homeless people as Pascal confused), and the shower was not the heated-type that I’d hoped for. Before we left as a group for dinner, I tried out the shower: EXTREME shower experience - an upcoming Olympic sport. Ahem. Turn on the light in the bathroom. It flickers, but stays steady at first. Then, reach up to the large white box nailed to the wall, and turn the dial to the highest number. A flame inside the white box pops up, thanks to the gas which pumps through the pipes. The water trickles out of the showerhead, and it’s freezing. Then, the flame does its job - and the water is scalding. I fiddle with the dial, and then, the bathroom light goes out, and I’m standing in a very dark room, with scalding water dripping somewhere near my naked body. Ten seconds later, I’m relieved, but once again showering in cold water. I repeated this entire cycle about three times, and then decided against conditioner, thinking this would only increase the chance that I would get burned. Quite exciting.
For dinner, the five of us (two Brits, three Yankees) headed to a nearby restaurant. Actually, we were somewhat pulled to one by our hostel owner’s sister. She had been waiting around for us to finish showering, and then, took us to her empty porch restaurant. Awful, and awfully loud music kept us company as we waited for our Lao food. Curries, well-spiced vegetable soups, each dish came out about ten minutes after the one before it. Dave, Phil and I didn’t mind too much, but our British friends seemed a bit irritated at the “poor service.” Of course, there was absolutely nothing to do in the town, so there was no rush, and we believed that there was only one cook in the restaurant. Since it’s rainy season, there seem to be fewer travelers, and therefore fewer workers? Uneducated guess. I’m sure that I prefer this timing though, despite the slow pace of food, poor quality of showers, and rainy afternoons. The countryside is very lush, and the hostels have skeleton crews of travelers. The fewer people, the more likely it is that you will “connect” to them, it seems.
Day two on the slowboat: we board two hours earlier (9AM) than we did the previous day, and we all realize, while looking down at the pier, that our boat has been exchanged for a smaller one. Not a pleasant realization. Thankfully, when boarding, I convinced the boat crew to let our gang sit up front on the floor area. Otherwise, we’d have been confined to the awful thin wooden benches, which the guidebook warned us of. The floor allowed us a better view, and slightly more comfortable lounging. About halfway through the trip, however, the British girls and the German men they had attracted ended up being shooed away to the back of the boat to make room for a sickly Lao man. He appeared to be our age, but knowing better thanks to previous travels, I’d guess that he was in his thirties. He traveled with another man and two worried-looking women, who surrounded him with pillows and blankets. Dave, Phil and I sat across from him and tried to look concerned for the women, but then ended up reading busily in our guidebooks.
On both days of the boat trip, about once an hour, and sometimes more frequently, the boat would make quick stops on either side of the river. Lao people would hop on and off the boat, arriving and departing. The first day, regardless of the few travelers that boarded during our voyage, the boat stayed fairly open, with several empty benches and a few empty sitting corners. This allowed the younger children on the boat to make the rounds: they would wander up and down the aisle twice an hour carrying a bottle of beer, a few choices of soda, and bags of chips, pushing them near us. “What do you want? Anything to drink? Chips?” They asked, and each time we politely thanked them, and shook our heads “no.”
The second day, this juvenile salesmanship was not possible, due to the cramped quarters. Also, at each stop the boat crew (three men and one seven year old son) helped villagers carry large bags of rice, and cages of live chickens, ducks and ducklings, and turkeys, on and off the boat. Turkeys stuck their long necks uncomfortably out of the holes in the cages and squawked angrily. The ducks did the same, but mostly quacked and chattered their beaks - seeming more terrified than angry. I turned to Dave several times giving pitifully guilty looks, reminding him of our mutual promise to stick to a vegetarian diet for a few days. Of course, our friend Bernard from Holland reminded us that these animals have quite surely led more comfortable lives than our US chickens, which remain in cages from birth to death.
Last night, we arrived in Luang Prabang after two hours of staring eagerly out of the boat hoping that each small village we approached was our destination. Phil, Dave and I wandered down the street near the pier, took our first major left, and passed a night market and a delicious-looking food market. It was the first time I’d ever seen stalls that have an entire fish barbecued on a stick. Phil informed me that he’d tried one before in Indonesia, and he had to be careful about the bones.
We became a bit lost, and tired after only a little bit of walking, since we were carrying all of our belongings. We paused for a minute to reconsider Phil’s map, and then we were shouted at from across the street by three sweet Australian girls. They checked out our map, shrugged and then told us about their guesthouse, which was just down the street where we were. They easily convinced us to check out SpicyLaos Backpackers, which was a great place to stumble into. Although expensive, in comparison to Thailand, it seems worth the nine dollars a night. We get a clean dorm, private bathroom with shower, free breakfast and free wifi (which recently has been off for an hour, but just now came back on!) and computer access. Also, the owner of the hostel, pong, is wonderful.
At this very moment, at 11:40 AM on a rainy Wednesday, Phil, Cat - the Irish desk worker, a British girl whose name I haven’t yet learned, and Pong are sitting on the floor around a table, with our laptops plugged in. Phil and the very friendly British girl are talking about the massages they’ve had, the massage blunders they’ve experience in the past month, and giggling. Before this, Pong was telling us about his hometown and the hysterical gambling practices. He told us that men would go to funerals and play cards, and play the family to keep the body out in the funeral home longer so that they could continue another day of card playing in order to make more money. We all had a great laugh at this one. It feels like some sort of summer-camp-college-for-travelers. Well. I’ve blogged and now I must upload tons of photos. More entries to come!

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Photos

Baanrimtaling Guest House
A beautiful place to stay in Chiang Khong on the Laos-Thailand border.

The view from the dining room porch.
Looking out toward Laos.

Leaving Thailand...
our Japanese friend from the guest house.

Before we left Huay Xia
The border town, Huay Xia, is extremely small and was very muddy. We were happy to board the boat, thought it took nearly 45 minutes after boarding to begin the journey.

Pushing off the land.
Long bamboo sticks were our boosters.

Confusion!
Before we left, this large supply boat gave us quite the performance. The workers attached a rope to the boat and the land and then the driver put his foot on the gas...causing the muddy water and thick mud underneath to bubble up to the surface. Maybe to create a gully?

Sailors travel dangerously.
Moving from one part of the boat to the next, holding the railing for support.

View from my seat.
Sitting on the floor at this point.

Steep hills.
The beauty cannot be captured.

A village stop.
one of many.

Dave's lifelong hobby.
nose in a book.

From one boat to the next.
Huge bags of rice were carried into our boat from this boat.

No roof standing.
unless you're a younger Lao.

Before and after the rain.
The sun dazzles.