“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing
will ever again be black-and-white.”
Yes, these signs exist ; ) -Mark Jennings
In the beginning of December, yes three months ago, Margit, Camille and I crossed into northern Laos from Chiang Khong, Thailand. Laos, being the final leg of Margit’s journey had been anticipated since our arrival in Thailand in the beginning of August. We had heard whispers in the backpacker community of the enchanted lands and countless rumors arguing it would be the highlight of our trip, and if anything – they underestimated the beauty of Laos.
After crossing into Huay Xai, Laos we booked a bus to Luang Namtha – famed for eco trekking and rural villages. The roads were in superior condition, a detail we learned was not to be taken for granted, and our hearts were eager. The four-hour drive was a journey through the greenest of mountains and aside from Margit nearly wetting her pants, the drive passed smoothly. The same night we arrived in Luang Namtha we booked a trek into a Khmu village. Now, although we avoided treks in Thailand for ethical reasons, the reputation for eco tourism in this part of Laos left us feeling confident our dollars would be used in sustainable ways. We were not disappointed. The three of us woke early the morning of our departure, packed the necessary hiking gear (not forgetting to pick up a couple bottles of liquor for villagers and our selves alike), and hopped in a van with another couple. The five of us stopped at a beautiful market outside of Luang Namtha, made it to the first village (reachable by road) and then began our hike through the stunning (and leach infested) jungle. The hike worked us thoroughly, but more than anything, it embarrassed us. As we each struggled to inhale and found ourselves in need of short rests, a village duo of two women carried our lunch gear: while they trailed behind us trudging through the forest in their flip flops, they chatted in their local dialect, and wove twine baskets. I’m certain the need for air silenced us on many occasions, but these women were seasoned: it was their life, a life I am so thankful I was able to witness and participate in.
Upon arriving in the village, we were shown our hut; a bamboo woven room with no water, no power, no toilet and a view of the schoolhouse. First priority, according to our guide’s instruction was a communal bath with the locals in a diverted river. Bathing in Laos is a public event and even in areas with water & power dusk means men, women and children bearing bars of soap fill the waterways. Next mission was to convince the children to try their hand at Ring Around the Rosie and Duck-Duck, Goose (with pats to the shoulder and not the head – an important alteration in a Buddhist country); after countless rounds of the three of us playing these highly technical games by ourselves (with a bit of exaggeration on the “all fall down” phase) the children slowly trickled forward to participate. We spent our evening drinking Lao-Hi (whiskey in a jar is the direct translation) and well – its whiskey in a jar. Across Laos you will find a very similar rice whiskey, Lao-Lao, drank fervently by locals and cheap back packers; the firewater gets everyone feeling loose and can be purchased for less than potable water. Lao-Hi varies from Lao-Lao in that although still a rice whiskey, it is less potent and is drank out of rubber tubes ascending out of a hand made stone jar. The jar is filled with fermented sticky rice and warm cups of water (local water, that is) are poured over the rice concoction and finished entirely by each boozer. Sitting up all night with a group of 5 local Laotians over many jugs of Lao-Hi made the cold night warm enough to catch some dreams.
We woke the next day to a dozen sets of eyes peering into our hut: the local children, fascinated by our presence, were spending the morning watching our chests rise and fall. Being that our hut was situated across the field from the school, we made for interesting entertainment before they shuffled into the small two-room schoolhouse. Opened to tourists just two years ago, this Khmu village was not a top ranking minority village to visit (not sure what the politically correct alternative is for minority). Having been in SE Asia now for 7 months, I have come to realize that tourists are most inclined to pump their money into “exotic” experiences. This tendency to be captivated by misconceptions about culture has resulted in the exploitation of groups famed for their dress (such as the “long neck Karen” as well as the mistreatment of elephants, often associated with “real” Thailand).
Although frustrating, I’ll avoid too much of a political tangent and just say the village’s lack of popularity made it especially rewarding for us. Foreigners are still a relatively new sight for villagers and as we wandered around the local children trotted behind us but ran every time we turned our heads. A local woman, with the help of a translator, asked if we’d mind leaving our empty liquor bottles behind in preparation for an upcoming wedding (there was virtually no glass, plastic or metal in the village). And finally, we enjoyed most of our meals on large palm leaves hacked down by our guide. Together we would sit on the ground and with our hands we would roll balls of sticky rice and gorge ourselves on the best fare I’ve encountered in all of SE Asia. Hot chili paste, flowering greens, an abundance of fresh mushrooms, and perfect sticky rice
Although I’ve studied questions of ethnic authenticity while at UCSC and have learned to be critical of Western notions of what rural ethnic minorities SHOULD be, I found myself so gratified: the absence of satellite dishes, the presence of bare-bummed smiling children in the schoolhouse, and a morning poop in the hills right along side my beloved Margit, made it feel…well authentic. I have found that this sense of “realness” is not always the case when doing organized treks, and I am so glad that our one and only experience paying to hike and stay in a village left us feeling empowered with new experience. We had spent months avoiding trips like these because they seemed to violate our sense of ethics and listened with disdain as others accounted their cheap “treks” into “villages” where they rode abused elephants and were taken to shopping stalls in the mountains and told this was village life. Again, it is not by any means up to me to determine what a village SHOULD be, but we were all so pleased with our experience in Luang Namtha and thank the Khmu people for being gracious and welcoming hosts.
From Luang Namtha we caught a bus into Udomaxi – a stopover on our way to Nong Khiaw. We stayed in a rather charmless guesthouse near the bus station, had an excellent bowl of noodle soup (with a backdrop of drying handmade noodles) and caught a bus onward towards Nong Khiaw. Situated along the Nam Ou River, Nong Khiaw is a sleepy town with a few guesthouses, one dirt road, and a meager bus station. Sadly, I realized I had forgot my fancy gadget phone in Udomaxi and after a bit of research we learned the town is infamous for Chinese brothels because of its proximity to China. Having said a tearful goodbye to Camille the day before, Margit and I hitchhiked/used public transport 4 hours back to the guesthouse we had stayed in two nights prior. We arrived at the guesthouse only to find that no one there spoke English and the phone’s whereabouts unknown. I felt pretty good about having tried and optimistically reminded myself that traveling becomes easier when valuables find themselves in someone else’s hands.
We headed back to Nong Khiaw for a night and then upriver to Mong Ngoi, a village surrounded by Karst formations and only reachable by boat. Once in Mong Ngoi we settled down for a few days. The small town is within walking distance to a number of tiny rice cultivating villages that you can reach within an hours walk and the travelers in these lands were friendlier than ever. Not a place exploited by tourism, the novice and drunken travelers (or at least the obnoxious ones) are kept at bay. Here you can lounge along the river in a hammock, eat well, visit caves, chat with locals and go on hikes. This was my favorite destination in Laos, and had we not devised plans to work our way down to the southern tip of Laos I could have spent weeks here. The scenery is some of the most stunning I have encountered: the “town” consists of one dirt road (which you can walk from beginning to finish in 10 minutes) and a small handful of walking paths. And as the traveler’s story goes, we made new friends--a mixed bag of young and old, male and female all holding passports owned by different nations.
Going from Mong Ngoi to Luang Prabang, a town known for its temples, monasteries and morning alms processions, involved an interesting ride in the back of a pickup truck jam-packed with Lao peoples, chickens, and rice. After some street side negotiations about price (written down in the dirt with a piece of rock to work through language barriers) we were in a vehicle. Crisp air, a tire change on the side of the road, and witnessing some fellow riders hang their heads off the back of the truck and puke made it memorable. When in Laos bathroom breaks are always pulling off to the side of the road and traipsing into the forest, and unless traveling in a tourist-service bus, you never know what the local bus might entail; butttt, for certainties sake, it will be over booked, people will puke, and an array of animals will join you in the journey!
Luang Prabang was the first “big-city” we visited since our arrival in Laos and marked the end of rugged streets littered with small hut villages (and nearly the end to the alluring and massive bowls of noodle soup, jaoew (a chili paste staple) and Kao Soi (a curry noodle soup also found in northern Thailand). Luang Prabang, like Chaing Mai, is a popular tourist destination because of its accessibility to Buddhist culture. Every morning at sunrise hundreds of monks fill the streets to collect food from anyone with offerings and temples dot the streets like McDonalds do in the U.S. and 711’s do in Thailand. Luang Prabang is a hybrid town; like many other places in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, the French colonial history is evident in the French speaking Laotians, the wine and cheese bars, and the architecture.
The afternoon we were slated to leave Luang Prabang for the coffee plantations in the Bolaven Plateau, some familiar faces from northern Laos came strolling by and sweet-talked us into staying put and visiting a nearby waterfall with them. Ironically, a day’s diversion resulted in Craig and Tom becoming our travel companions for the coming month (months in the case of Tom) and made for some pretty radical company. Together we hiked around the teal waters of Kuang Si falls, a multi-tiered waterfall and spent the evening building a ramshackle (but rather effective) fire along the Mekong River--a life line that flows from the Tibetan Plateau down through Cambodia. The following day we said our goodbyes and spoke of our intentions to reunite.
A final note about Luang Prabang (especially for foodies) was the $1.25 vegetarian buffet hosted in one of the small alleys off the night market. This is where Margit and I ate dinner every night, and with a selection of over twenty random dishes, this was no burden to bear.
An incredibly uncomfortable overnight bus (and believe me, we’re not picky) from Luang Prabang to Vientiane ensued. We had a morning of public-bathroom bathing and getting lost while wandering around the capitol and then caught another overnight bus to Pakse, the gateway into the Bolaven Plateau. From here we rented a motorbike (my first go at a semi-automatic) and toured the Arabica coffee plantations of this famed coffee-growing region. Being two of just a handful of tourists resulted in quite a bit of hangman, girl talk (a lot of that…) and probably at least one joke about being lesbians.
From the Plateau we reunited with our waterfall and riverside fire buddies Craig and Tom. Together the four of us lazed about Don Khong, one of the islands of the Mekong Delta. Here it was our prerogative to bike, build a few more fires, drink a few more jugs of Lao-Lao, devise lofty boat and kite building plans and celebrate Margit’s solstice. With sarongs, a bottle of wine, some candles, and a random fire in a field we welcomed solstice and anticipated the four of us spending Christmas and New Years together. Things were getting pretty serious ;)
From Don Khong we ventured to Don Det, which is another sleepy Mekong island popular amongst backpackers. Here we spent our days in hammocks, eating mediocre food (always a problem when traveling in backpacker hubs where the local cuisines come to mimic the bland dishes of the west), and enjoying the betel root chewing mouths of local women (a signature image in SE Asian photography, betel root leaves an entire mouth stained red and looks a bit vampire like). The highlight of Don Det was undoubtedly the lovely gifts we received from the boys for Christmas (tee shirts with nicknames written on them and QTIPS!).
A lazy week along the river in the company of good friends was the perfect way to end the Laos trip, the month of December, and my traveling life with Margit (this phase of it, that is). After five months together, a tearful goodbye marked the end to some of the best experiences of my life. Having made a new best friend, shared secrets, laughs, a few too many beers, and life & academic philosophies, the departure wasn’t easy, but I am nothing less than blessed. As we often did, quoting Xavier Rudd is quite appropriate. This girl owns a piece of my heart and I am certain that we will blaze new paths together again. Cheers, Choke Dee, all my love and appreciation, my super human, most beautiful friend.
Now its time to remember Cambodia. At the end of December Craig, Tom, and I crossed from southern Laos into northern Cambodia with the intention of working our way south through the country. Because this was my second visit and therefore now my second entry about Cambodia, I will leave some of the details about Cambodia’s history and politics out of this entry (sighs of relief anyone?).
Beginning in the north, we stayed in Ban Lung where we visited waterfalls and a volcanic crater lake. Hot and dry meant the dirt roads left us covered in dust and reminded me of fake tans (of which I am not grateful for, haha). The three of us roomed together like a happy family, and tried to mend each other’s emotional wounds caused by Margit’s departure. After nearly two weeks in southern Laos where the people are not as friendly as they are in the north, it was a relief to be around the northern Khmers (Khmer is the name of the Cambodian people). They were kind, and found endless amusement in us—like the night when Craig, Tom and Sam ordered a hot pot of duck soup (where they bring the ingredients out and you cook it yourself) and the staff could hardly cease laughing at us struggle to scoop noodles into our bowls.
From Ban Lung we ventured south to Kratie where we stayed for just one night but still, a couple mention worthy happenings….we met a fabulous Austrian family whose purpose in traveling was to document the food culture of the Mekong River. Michele, the father, and his two daughters were photographers traveling through Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam taking superior shots of life along the Mekong. They were a rad family, and the idea was fascinating and therefore mention worthy. Also, that night, a bit intoxicated, Craig and I wandered down to the street vendors to pick up a snack for everyone we had coaxed into enjoying whiskey on the deck. We found a vendor selling boiled eggs and bought a little army of them, only to realize that our boiled eggs had small and fully formed ducks inside them. Unable to snack on the duck fetuses, we passed our many eggs along to a Khmer guy who treated them as a delicacy. Although there are obviously weirder foods in Asia, cracking your egg and seeing a beak-and-all fetus was a bit…unappetizing.
Next stop was Cambodia’s capital city of Phnom Penh, a destination for travelers interested in understanding and remembering the Khmer Rouge’s genocidal legacy. We visited the Killing Fields where the Khmer Rouge executed nearly one third of the country’s population and S27, an old schoolhouse that was converted into a torture camp. Another traveler’s guide explained how “…there came to be so many people sent here from Tuol Sleng (torture prison), that they were not able to kill them all in one day. Most were killed with an axe or hoe, or had their throats slit. You will see the skulls later, broken from the impact. You see, they wanted to save the bullets. Bullets cost money.” To make this more real, after heavy rains the staff must come and collect remains that continue to be washed up 30 years after the genocidal leadership. Unbelievably, as of 2005, a Japanese for-profit company is leasing the Killing Fields; the recent and painful history borne by all Cambodians is financially benefiting Japanese elites in one of the world’s poorest nations. Turn your stomach a little?
Other then that…I’ll keep myself from writing a long narrative about the Khmer Rouge and my disgust for western negligence in educating people about this history, but only because I have included it in my last entry about Cambodia.
After spending a day learning and or remembering the recent history of Cambodia, we welcomed in the New Year on the streets of Phnom Penh (literally, dancing in the streets with a handful of travelers and locals). All in all, Phnom Penh was a rad city, and we left stoked on all that we had witnessed. Aside from Craig’s satchel being swiped by some local kids and the ensuing efforts to retrieve the bag, we had a good time.
After about a month and half without seeing a coastline it was time to venture south towards Cambodia’s beaches. We arrived in Serendipity where the tourism scene was distasteful and ultimately, rather dull. The next day we organized an island tour/snorkeling trip with the intention of staying on one of the island we visited. Bamboo Island, home to just one guesthouse, proved itself to be a worthwhile stop. Although not the most impressive beach in Southeast Asia, it was good to be away from the mainland where endless bars dominated the scene.
From Bamboo Island, we headed a bit outside of Serendipity to Otres Beach, which is a destination more popular among backpackers. Here we spent the next week frolicking the warm waters, lounging on the beaches, getting silly, and well…I guess…letting Thomas swoon me.
Finally we headed towards the Cameron Highlands on motorbikes. There were five of us, so with three motorbikes we journeyed towards some of the most minimally explored mountains in Cambodia. Likened to Costa Rica without the research, the Cardamons are supposed to house a vast array of species--some of which remain undescribed (a biology phrase for species not yet studied and documented). Although I landed my motorbike in the gravel more than once getting there, we had a good time on the bikes and it was great to visit a community based eco tourism site!
If you’re interested in eco-tourism the mission statement for the project:
“Community-based ecotourism in Chi Phat and Trapeang Rung communes aims to support protection of the natural and cultural resources of the area and create job and income opportunities for villagers through the development of community-based ecotourism products and activities, providing training and alternative livelihoods to hunters, loggers, and non-timber forest products (NTFP) collectors, as well as improving commune infrastructure and public facilities.”
Finally, back to Otres and then a bus towards Bangkok for me and towards Siem Reap, Cambodia for Craig and Tom. This bus ride proved to be one of the more interesting ones I endured, and despite booking a sleeper bus, I enjoyed my ride in the front of the bus next to the driver on a hard bench seat. Apparently the bus was overbooked and after standing on the side of the road in the middle of the night for a hour, when the bus finally did arrive I was more than happy to get cozy next to the driver. The seat I was prepared to make my home for the next twelve hours was nothing more than a 90 degree angle wooden seat which is sort of fine, aside form the fact that watching someone drive (especially a bus) in SE Asia feels a bit suicidal. Luckily I made it back to Bangkok in one piece, spent a night there enjoying the city I called home for a short time and then traveled up to Chiang Mai to secure housing for my TEFL class.
Laos Pictures:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.369090139771334.104620.100000110547271
&type=3&l=7a67f53713
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.369115213102160.104624.100000110547271&type=3&l=1c0866d7d7
Cambodia Pictures:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.290581194288896.88407.100000110547271&type=3&l=36c9ab121b
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