Sunsets and Sacrifice

I have a lot of ground to cover in this long-delayed post...I'm writing this in drafts but I just need to mention now that I will be wearing a helmet EVERY time I'm on a motobike from now on...I JUST bore witness to what is likely the death of a young Khmer man involved in a motobike collision. Though a big crowd formed for a while, the collective interest wore off quickly. "Happens every day," I was told by my internet cafe proprietor. "Sometimes they live, sometimes they don't. I think today he will not survive." Heavy stuff, but this country's seen worse.



Right. I'm going to tackle this in two installments. First, I need to close out my Lao adventure. By close out, I mean make my best effort to cram in all the experiences and stories between Vientiane--where I left off--and the Cambodian border of Lao. I'll play around with my writing style just because I'll get bored if I don't.

The Pursuit of Healthiness: Vientiane

As I had mentioned previously, I arrived in Vientiane sick as can be and seeking solitary recovery time. As the travel circuit so often allows, I ran into a young Swedish woman I'd met in Luang Prabang weeks earlier. We shared stories (hers more interesting than mine as they featured several weeks alone on a bicycle in the middle of nowhere Lao!) and pizza at the Swedish Bakery before I had to call it a night on account of my roiling guts. By luck alone, I caught her that morning before her departure. She had left John Krakauer's "Into the Wild" at the front desk of my guesthouse. I read it cover to cover the next day while stuck in bed. I forced myself outside and rented a scooter for a day of admin and exploration. I had a foot and tummy massage at the forest monestary sauna (I had tried to request a medicinal foot massage that would help settle a bad stomach, but I think that got lost in translation), squared away my Lao visa extension and Cambodian visa, and moto'd all over to catch a great Mekong sunset. I woke on the Ides of March feeling much better, spent several hours online, ate some great food, and had a night on the town starting with a French arts festival along the banks of the Mekong. It took until the 17th for me to peel myself away from the comforts of Vientiane...

South!

I make my ticket to Thakhek just because someone told me it boasts a big cave. A seven-kilometer cave, to be exact. I like caves a lot so I figure I'll give it a go. A modest bus journey plops me outside of town at about midnight. The only westerners I see at the station indicate that I could walk to town if I wished. "Your pack is not so large, should be no problem," I'm told in a heavy, undetermined accent. I am unable to get an estimate of the distance as they hurridly scramble onto their bus. A pleasant, moonlit three kilometers later, I crash onto a simple dorm bed for about two bucks. I wake to discover, rising from the bed next to mine, Maarten of my northern Lao adventure as he prepares for a two-night jungle trek. Stories are shared around the breakfast table and I am soon convinced to scrap the over-touristed, tour guide-only, not-that-thrilling, seven-kilometer cave and instead focus my time on the Bolaven Plateau. By chance, two Dutch women--one of whom is an airline stewardess who claims Hesse's Siddartha is a reflection of her life's experience--I'd met in Vientiane were headed south to Pakse that day...without hesitation I tag along. I eat roasted shiny green bugs on the bus and arrive in Pakse after nightfall. Quickly learning that the city is ruled by a tuk-tuk mafia (drivers of the simple, noisy taxis ubiquitous in SE Asia) I reluctantly cough up the dollar or so to get from the bus station into town. My frustration with extortionate forced transportation costs mounts as I fall into bed...

Elevation Rider: The Bolaven Plateau

From Pakse I sought to entertain my dream of cruising around Lao's famous Bolaven Plateau, 1500 meters above the Mekong valley. I envisioned myself with wind in my face, surrounded by a wild new land, cruising around the Bolaven each day until sundown then finding a village or house for cultural enrichment and a night's rest. The actual story, as is commonly said in these parts, is "same same, but different."

I chased a few waterfalls (bullheadedly at times), learned that "National Protected Area" translates roughly to "Sneaky Logging Operation," hunted for an elusive cafe at a coffee plantation only to find it closed, fled an ominous thunderstorm, and added a dusty red hue to my (foolishly) clean white shirt. Toward late afternoon, I stopped at Tad Lo, the first of the well-known waterfalls on my ~180 kilometer loop. Finding myself at Mama's Guesthouse, I stayed four nights. I quickly discovered that getting stuck in Tad Lo is more common that most travelers expect.

Most notably in my company was a German-speaking northern Italian couple who'd befriended nearly all of the village childern and whose thatched bungalow was covered in flowers offered by the ever-laughing lot. They had been at Mama's for six days and would stay another three. Several others had fallen into similar situations, drawn to Mama's cheap but massive portions of noodle soup, fried rice, pad thai, or baguette sandwiches (didn't really matter what was ordered, one of those four was inevitably going to end up on the table, costing about a buck). The days were spent playing in the waterfalls and pools with the local children, eating, sunning, and generally "lao-nging" about. The nights, around the table with cheap beer and lively, international conversation.

For me, Mama's at Tad Lo provided the perfect launch point for area exploration. Fully intent on utilizing my $8/day bike (haggled down from $10), I set out the first day toward the Katu village known for its coffee cultivation and placement of full coffins underneath the stilted houses. I found both of these and also gained acquaintance with Hook, the only English-speaker in the village. He asked if I could give him a lift to the Thateng market, some 30 kilometers south. "Why not?" has worked well for me on this trip, as it did with Hook. After hitting the market, where I bought some of his village's coffee, he and I took off into the backcountry of Lao to visit some seriously out-of-the-way villages. I was REALLY tempted to pursue an offer by the villagers to explore some of the surrounding caves that had been occupied by U.S. troops in the 70s. Another time perhaps. I made it back to Mama's for dinner and a social evening.

Other highlights of Tad Lo and surroundings: getting my hand sniffed by an elephant's trunk, jumping from high rocks into big pools, swimming under a waterfall, playing with little kids, meeting the Dutch girls, Wieneke and Paulina and several other travelers whose paths would cross mine later on, attending a really obnoxious concert and gambling with locals in nearby Ban Beng, driving Mama to the market on my moto and loading it up with 15 cabbages and two big bags of assorted produce, stumbling across a massive dried up waterfall, and indulging in lao lao during a village festival.

Reflections on Sacrificial Slaughters:

I woke at 5am on Sunday the 23rd of March following two hours of laolao induced sleep. I did this because I was determined to witness a once-yearly livestock sacrifice. Riding my moto in the pre-dawn darkness, I returned to the location of the previous night's festival. What I found was not what I expected. Where I hoped to see a village united by ancesteral ceremony, I saw a mix of hungover or drunk men, hyper little kids, trash everywhere, and a line of 10 costumed men (most of whom were drunk and/or exhausted) dancing the same slow, rhythmic dance I'd seen them performing five hours earlier. Their dance encircled two calves, three cows, and one water buffalo, tethered to heavy vertical logs covered ornately with flowers and bamboo. The dancing stopped and the scene turned grim...there was little ceremony over the animals, save for the quick prayer and splash of water offered by a middle-aged woman. The tethered beasts no longer struggled, visibly resigned to their fate.

This would have been easier to witness had it not been for the lone, untethered calf. It's pained and desperate call at the side of a soon-to-be-slaughtered calf pierced the relative quiet of the village morning. Indeed, each of the six beasts was clubbed over the head and speared through the heart, the blood collected as an offering to the spirits. Watching the buffalo was the hardest, as it protested its fate the hardest after witnessing the fall of its cousins. I was the only westerner present and I just kept respectfully quiet. On the bright side, I'd never seen the butchery of a cow before, and was able to witness this as EVERY part of each animal was distributed through the village in mere minutes. So I've witnessed a sacrificial slaughter and I don't ever need to do it again. I still love a good steak.

Completing the Loop: Tad Lo-->Sekong-->Paksong-->Pakse

Having started the day off with a livestock sacrifice, my day grew exponentially brighter with the rising sun...I rode with absolute freedom, though my compass pointed south, my speedometer and odometer were broken, and I had no watch. I stopped where I wished, was taunted by an inaccessible cave, chased more waterfalls, and took about 65 photos worthy of keeping. Underestimating my distance traveled, I found myself taking beautiful sunset photos with another 50 kilometers yet to Pakse. The night grew very cold at elevation and I...being the good Eagle Scout I am...utilized ALL of my layers. I arrived safely in Pakse and slept well that night.

Return to Island Life: Si Phon Don (4000 Islands)

I was bored the next morning in Pakse. So I decided to hitch hike south to Si Phon Don. I could buy a ticket for about four bucks but I didn't want to. Nor did I want to pay the damn tuk-tuk drivers to drive me the eight kilometers to the bus station...I mentioned my frustration with them earlier. So I started walking. I picked up a cheap, quick lift from a guy on a motobike, made it to the station and shocked all around by setting out on foot. First I snagged a sawngthaew (converted pickup-taxis with benches in the bed) to a village. Sure it cost a dollar, but it put me in the middle of nowhere! After rides from a guy moving furniture and an off-duty taxi driver, I found myself in the mid-day heat staring down empty blacktop to the northern and southern horizons. I'd had my kicks, waited in the shade of a lonely tree, and flagged down a two dollar ride to Don Det (my desired location). I call it a successful day.

Si Phon Don is as beautiful and amazing as I was told. I arrived in the late afternoon with time to catch the sunset with several friends from Mama's place in Tad Lo. From March 24th to the 31st, I kept residence at the Sunset Peace and Love Resort, a humble, three-bungalow business run by 25-year-old Phoo Si and his family. By the end of my stay, I had eaten with the family several times, accompanied Phoo Si on his daily setting of fishing nets (an experience that was at once mundane and magical for the two 25-year-olds present), brought business to the bungalows through promotion, and made several suggestions for improvement that were immediately carried out. I have a great deal of respect for the Lao people, even in light of unchecked tourist growth and westernization.

I didn't spend all my time at the bungalow, to be sure. In the company of various groups and individuals, I enjoyed countless great experiences. Swimming in the Mekong at sunset, candlelit conversations on the beach, fresh-baked chocolate cake, a healthy 32 kilometer bike ride around Don Khong (the biggest island of them all!), strolls down palm-lined paths, hours of hammock-swinging, and the most amazing curry EVER to name a few.

One of the most notable stories, however, is the underwear incident. I found myself at a great swimming hole without my swim shorts. No worries, all the Lao men bathe and swim in their skivvies, so I was fine doing the same. I just played it cool when I joined company with a good looking bronzed Dutch girl. We pole fished and drank beer for a few hours (catching only one tiny bait fish) before two buddies said there was room in the boat for me to join them on a dolphin watching tour. One of these guys was Younes, an unbelievably charismatic Parisian I'd met twice before completely by chance. The dolphins, by the way, had been something of a pilgrimage for me over the past few weeks. These are the rare freshwater Errawaddy Dolphins, only found in S. Lao and Cambodia. Good company and dreams of dolphin chasing led me to jump on the boat leaving my shorts, sandals, and camera in the care of the Dutch girl, Susan. What followed was an unforgettable experience of watching dolphins play in the sunset (from Cambodian soil after paying a dollar to the "police") while drinking Beer Lao and eating freshly caught fish...all in my underwear without a camera! Our visibly drunk boat guide deftly navigated the rapids of the Mekong in darkness and we returned to find Susan comfortably chatting with locals. It was nice to have pants again.

Si Phon Don was the perfect location to burn out the extra days I'd put on my Lao visa. Finally, on the 31st, I began my new adventure. My next installment will feature my journey south to Cambodia, an adrenaline-fueled motobike experience in Phnom Phen, a wild New Year's celebration in Sihanoukville, and bringing this blog beast up-to-date, my pleasant days whiled away in Kampot.