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Liking Luang Prabang

Luang Prabang is one of the most enjoyable larger cities in southeast Asia. Sure, it’s heavily geared for tourism, but in its case it does not detract from its beautiful setting nestled among the hills, a scenic riverfront, quaint city streets, beautiful temples and friendly people. It’s also home of fantastic restaurants and, for those who enjoy traditional handicrafts, a shopper’s paradise.

I only spent a few short hours in the city to overnight on my way to Luang Nam Tha (8 hours more bus, coming up), but enjoyed every minute.

Meet Your New Bedmate

The sleeper bus to Vientiane

Last night I was forced to sleep with a Laotian man.

Wait, let me clarify that: next to a Laotian man.

I had never heard of a sleeper bus. I’ve been on plenty of overnight buses where the intention is to sleep, or on a number of longer bus journeys where your mind is numbed into somnolence. But never an actual sleeper bus.

No seats. Not even reclining seats. Simply a full-length, double-decker bus with beds on either side of the aisle. And, of course, these are double beds, hence the requirement that I share my double with another passenger.

Overall, if you have to spend 12 hours overnight in a bus, it really isn’t a bad way to go. Sure, it’s cramped. The length of the compartment was just a couple inches too short for me to lie down completely with my legs straight. My Laotian bedmate snored. Somebody’s socks smelled. The bus rocked and rolled down the highway.

Honestly, my biggest worry was that my new bed-mate would turn out to be a snuggler. Or, God forbid, that in my pleasant sleepfulness I accidentally mistake him for someone else. Egads!

But he didn’t, and I didn’t. (Mutters prayer of thanks.) So minor discomforts aside, it was a far better 12 hours than if I’d been sitting the entire way, no question. Got into Vientiane (pronounced Vieng Chang—that’s what happens when French colonialists start spelling things), the capital city of Laos, right at the crack of dawn.

Not All Bugs Are Created Equal

Working away in my chilly thatch bungalow

Here’s a story from the owner of the small guesthouse in the remote hill village of Tat Lo.

A while back, an Australian stayed there with a few of his friends. He had been living in southeast Asia for several months, so was bragging and displaying his great knowledge and comfort with the local scenery and customs.

He discussed how eating bugs was no big deal to him now, and to prove his point reached down to a rather large beetle that was on the ground. His intention, to eat it raw in an amazing display of savvy and bravado.

The owner of the guesthouse, who had been half listening, glanced at the beetle and yelled out: “Don’t touch that!”

The startled Australian backed off, and the owner walked over and crushed the large beetle under his shoe. When he removed his foot, three small snakes slithered from the beetle carnage. They live in the beetle’s stomach and are very, very poisonous. Had he chomped down on this beetle, the Australian likely would have died.

The Australian promptly lost his lunch, and remained very discreet the rest of his stay.

As for me, beetles are permanently off the menu.

From the River to the Hills

Tat Lo, a pretty little village in the hills north of the Bolaven Plateau, is a very peaceful place. Curving around a small waterfall, it’s the ideal setting to chill for a few days and enjoy the almost mountainous air.

Unlike the Mekong islands of Don Det and Don Khon, which lull you to sleep, Tat Lo simply exudes peace and harmony.

Of course, this is not something I can handle for long either, but for 24 hours it was a pleasant enough experience. Here are a few images from surrounding villages.

Ode to the Kindle

I have to get this off my chest: I absolutely love my Amazon Kindle electronic book reading device.

Oh, I was skeptical at first. I love the feel of a book in my hands, and reading off a screen sounded both obnoxious and a sure-fire way to generate massive headaches. But I had to face it: there was no way I could carry a year’s worth of reading material with me. Actually, when I left I would have considered it an act of near magic to fit even one paper book in my lone and already overstuffed travel backpack.

Yes, there are bookstores here and there, and book exchanges in some hotels. But my experience has been that these leave a lot to be desired, and if I’m going to be reading I’d rather read something great rather than be forced to read something mediocre simply because it’s the only thing available.

In comes the Amazon Kindle. You can download up to several hundred books on it (at $2 – $10 each). You can hook it up to any computer via a USB cable (which means you can download new books while on the road). In the U.s., books download wirelessly to the device almost instantaneously. It’s portable. And best of all, it’s so easy and fun to read.

Because it’s not backlit, it doesn’t strain the eyes. Kind of like a calculator display. Amazon calls it “electronic paper,” and I suppose it’s as close as you can get. The battery lasts for hours and hours. And when I’m spending those interminable hours on the bus, I can read book after book to my heart’s content.

Yep, I’m a convert. It’s one of the smartest things I purchased for my trip.

Now, got any good book recommendations?

Biking Don Khon

Mekong Mellow on Don Det

My manly island ride

There are some places in the world where time stands still. Watches stop. Clocks pause. Urgency vanishes. Passions and aggressions dissipate.

The peaceful islands of Si Phan Don in southern Laos are one such place As the Mekong stretches out to create over four thousand river islands before contracting back again as it heads into northern Cambodia, time is lulled into breezy, warm complacency.

While the northern tip of the island of Don Det finds home to scores of intrepid young backpackers, walking or biking to the south of the island or crossing the old French bridge to the island of Don Khon takes you to peaceful village huts on the riverbank, mellow oxen grazing in the rice fields, and the almost irresistible urge to simply sprawl yourself out in the nearest hammock to watch the sunset.

I resisted.

At 6:00am, I forced myself out of my little bungalow and found myself a bicycle to rent. As you can see from the picture, it was not the most manly of steeds. More appropriate for a 9-year old girl, both in style and size (I felt like I was pedaling a tricycle.) The little bell on the handlebars didn’t help.

Admittedly, though, the island was gorgeous. Especially Don Khon. Riding through fields and paths and sand and forest and jungle, all the way down to the southern tip. Such lush and beautiful scenery in the early morning sunlight, with Cambodia just across the water on the western side.

But I couldn’t stay. The temptation to mellow and lounge and read a book or three while sipping a cold glass of fresh fruit juice was simply too strong, and could easily lead to days upon days of idleness.

I took the earliest boat ride out, content to have visited but eager to move on, checking my watch along the way to make sure it was still ticking…

Border Crossing

Add four passengers plus luggage--that was our ride

Please proceed to the nearest immigration hut…

From Kratie, Cambodia, I boarded a “minivan” to take me north into Laos. All was well for a while, and then I noticed that the driver started driving really slowly once we passed Stung Treng. Like he was waiting or expecting something.

Having been robbed at gunpoint on such a deserted road once, I regarded this with deep suspicion. Nobody purposefully drives slowly like that without a reason, and I couldn’t think of any good ones.

Then, on a lone stretch of road, he stopped. We must wait, he said. What in the world??

We waited, flies buzzing, no shade anywhere. In the distance, another van appeared coming from the opposite direction. It flashed its lights twice, slowed down, then turned and stopped behind our van. This is it, I thought.

But nothing nefarious. It was a mid-road vehicle swap. Everyone in van A had to move to van B, and vice versa. Normally this was done in Stung Treng, but since the other van we behind schedule our driver drove north to meet it, slowly so as to conserve gas and also since he didn’t know the way. Okay then. So I got into the new van, and we started north again.

Three minutes later, we pulled over again. What now?

The van we had just been on came behind us again, and let one person out. Apparently, he was the Lao driver that would take us from the border north into Laos, and we had somehow forgotten him when we did the vehicle swap.

Fifteen minutes later, we reached the border. And by border I mean a metal pole gate slung across the road with a little wooden hut next to it. Inside, two uniformed Cambodian border guards to carefully inspect and stamp your passport (with, of course, an extra $1 donation).

Once past this hut, we had to switch to our third minivan, the Lao one. Then drive 100 meters to the next hut with a gate, this time with Lao border guards. You know a hut is official when it includes both the flag of Laos and the yellow hammer-and-sickle red communist flag. Still needed to fork over another $1, though.

Our third minivan took us north into Laos for a few miles. We even took a detour on this little dirt road and stopped at the driver’s house, so he could pick up a spare battery for his cell phone. His 2-year old son (unmistakable since he was only wearing a short red t-shirt), threw a tantrum at the door when he left.

Over a bumpy, dusty dirt road we reached the Mekong river again, and offloaded.

I’m not sure what I had expected in terms of “boat” to reach the river island of Don Det, but a tiny sliver of a canoe only barely hip-wide certainly wasn’t it. I can swim, but my camera can’t, and having the water only a couple inches from the side of a narrow little four-person canoe that rocks at every little ripple and flutter of a fish’s gills is by no means confidence-inspiring. I endured the ride and prayed that no one would sneeze, which I was certain would irrevocably tip the canoe and send us all flying into the Mekong, camera and electronics first.

No one sneezed, and I was only too happy to clamber onto the beach. Three minibuses, two huts, and one little canoe later, I had finally arrived in Don Det.

66 Hours

66 hours. This is how long I’ve spent in buses (or other assorted things with wheels that technically serve the same function as buses) over the first 3 weeks of the trip.

Mostly riding the bus is about as devoid of excitement as watching rocks grow, but here are some random highlights:

On one trip I belatedly noticed that the floor was wet, and my backpack was soaking it up. The seat next to me was empty, so I put the backpack there. Then the bus started filling up, and eventually my backpack had to cede its seat to a young woman. When the woman sat down, she froze for a second, and I realized that the cloth seat must have soaked up the water from the bottom of my bag. The poor girl spent the next hour or so sitting leaning on one cheek, trying to avoid getting wet. To no avail. When she got off the bus, she had quite a sizable wet spot on the back of her jeans. I know it’s wrong, but I had to stop myself from cracking up.

Just a few days ago, a little boy was casually walking up the aisle of the bus, bored and exploring as little boys are wont to do. Then the bus driver had to brake suddenly (probably because a random chicken decided that this was the time to cross the road), and the little tyke launched forward down the aisle in hyperdrive. The kid moved like he was on crack in fast forward. This caused a collective gasp among the passengers and thankfully one of those seated near the front was able to scoop the little spaz up before he got in real trouble. Of course the bus driver then started yelling at the mother.

On another trip I sat next to a man with clear sleep deprivation issues. He had the aisle seat. Whenever he would nod off, sometimes the movement of the bus would lean him into the aisle, and he would tip forward and flail about as he woke up to catch his balance. Needless to say, for the passenger on the other side of the aisle, the sight of a man rushing towards him and then suddenly gesticulating wildly really freaked him out. This was so entertaining that I would find myself watching the road and really looking forward to upcoming turns that might send my neighbor flying off on another one of his somnambulant fits…

Meanderings by the Mekong

Sometimes you just need an extra day to pause the constant rush of travel. A day to rest, relax, take it easy, catch your breath, and then move on.

That day for me happened in Kratie (pronounced kra-cheh), north of Phnom Penh on the Mekong river. No reason, really. I just got there, liked the food, and randomly decided to stay a day.

Which also gave me the opportunity to hire a local motorbike driver to take me around to the surrounding villages: