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The decision to take the speed boat from Chang Kong Thailand, to Luang Probang Laos is not one to be taken lightly. The ride is less a mode of transportation than it is an adventure sport. the boat operators take a small canoe, and attach a massive V-8 engine to the back, thus reducing the ride from 2 days to 7 hours. I put on my helmet, strapped myself in, and giggled as I was hurled down the Mekong river at 120 km per hour. As small fishing villages whizzed past, I could hear the desperate screams of past backpackers who had lost their lives taking this journey. The Novelty wore out quickly, and by the time we reached Pack Bang to stop for lunch, I was ready to find a new mode of transportation. Fortunately our driver switched boats, and the engine of the new boat was faulty. After several breakdowns, we stopped at a riverside village where the local Shaman / "Mechanic" placed some chewing gum and gotch strategically about the engine, blessed the boat with some sort of Fertility dance and sent us on our way. The boat worked for a while... But then proceded to break down
just as the last bit of sunlight dipped below the mountains. We would not make it to Luang Probang. the driver took apart one of the seats and handed half to me, indicating that I was to use it as a paddle to make it ashore. We were in the middle of the jungle and night had fallen upon us. The mood among myself and the three other Westerners on board transformed from one of mild annoyance to one of nervous excitement, for we knew that tonight would bring an adventure worth writing about. We followed the boat driver through the dense jungle. As I heard the strange noises coming from the darkness, I envisioned the nocturnal meat eaters waking up for their evening feed. The tight ropes of this precarious existance were beginning to break. After some time we arrived at a village nestled in a small valley between two mountains. The boat driver led us to a small cinderblock hut where he knocked on the door to awaken the rice farmer and his family who lived inside. Soon the entire village was stirring as word spread of our presence. Within minutes of our arrival a feast had appeared
Wat Varadum
Luang Probang, and my bike. before us, and the village children had crowded around the door to get a glimpse of the strange foriegners. After dinner we played with the village children and tried to exchange some songs. The small girls marvelled at my digital camera and stared admiringly at the Irish girl who was in our group. As their courage grew, they touched her skin and played with her hair. It occured to me that these kids had only seen white people on TV.
Then, I remembered Donatello. We hadn't spoken in weeks. I'd had enough of his X-treme views and in your face style. I would offer him up as a gift to these children. We said our good bye's and parted ways. Don will do well in the village. He will have a constant audience, be given regular excercise, and if he's lucky may attract the attention of the village's lone Barbie doll. They will grow old together and have weird, freaky looking babies.
After the kids went to bed, the farmer produced a bottle of Lao Whiskey and forced us to drink shot after shot until the bottle was empty. We slept under mosquito nets on the floor, and
kids in the village
where our boat broke down awoke to the sound of Roosters and the sight of villagers watching us sleep.
Now, I am sitting in the shade of a coconut tree in the monestary of Wat Varadum in Luang Probang, Laos. From an open window on the second story of a nearbye building, I can hear the sound of fingers hitting the keys of an ancient typewriter; another story teller. A group of young monks walk by me, whispering about my strange appearance. One of them approaches me and explains in broken English that I should move, lest the coconuts fall on my head.
Route 13 which runs from Luang Probang to Vientiane is one famed for frequent hi jacking. So when two men armed with AK-47's stopped the bus in the middle of the country and climbed aboard, I was hardly surprised. I was however, scared shitless. My heart began beating faster, and I started thinking how I might hide my back pack. The men smiled and took seats near the front. The fear began to encroach upon me. I was on a hi jacked bus. Might I play the hero? What would Keanu Reeves do? (When I get home I am going
to make that into a bumper sticker.) I am not Keanu Reeves, and the diminuitive Asian man beside me is not Sandra Bullock. I sunk lower into my seat.
The bus pulled into Van Vieng. I said my good byes to my compadres with guns, and walked into the hippy mecca. Past TV bars playing the entire season 3 of friends on 6 different TV's, and past restaurants with happy herb pizza's and magic mushroom milk shakes. I would spend 3 days here watching Harry Potter, drinking cheap beer and floating down the Mekong river in rented inner tubes and jumping into the water from a variety of rope swings.
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Evan
non-member comment
I'm in awe
Kris, it looks like you're having a great time - your narratives are 1 in a million! Chat soon Evan