Sixty One Degrees
An occassional journal of an Asia-overland adventure
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Ban Kong Lo - Don Det, Laos
I've quite a journey ahead of me. I'd arranged with a few friends to meet up tomorrow in Don Det, at the very southern tip of Laos. There's not much that I planned to see on the way so I don't mind a few long bus trips.
The journey starts with a sawngthaew at 7am from Kong Lo to Ban Na Hin. It's the only one of the day. Two bumpy hours later I switch to another sawngthaew to the highway junction. I take the lead from a fellow traveller and ride outside on the back. Much more comfortable and a great view.
From the junction it's just a short wait to flag down a bus heading to Savannahket. I'd expected to have to stay overnight here but turns out there's a late bus leaving at 4pm for Pakse, the most southerly major town. The bus finally leaves at 5pm but we're only on the road for an hour-and-a-half before we stop outside a small diner in a non-descript town. The usual meal-stop I assume. Not being hungry I stay on the bus as the other passengers file off. I'm kept company by three young women whose english mostly consists of "I love you. Do you love me?". To which I of course reply, "Yes, I love you".
After a couple of hours it becomes apparent that we aren't going anywhere. Soon after though another bus pulls up behind us and our, half-full, bus starts to file on board. After seeing my bag safely stowed somewhere other than in the engine compartment I'm about the last to get on. I discover that the new bus was full when it arrived and, what's more, there's a Honda 125 motorbike in the aisle. As there's nowhere else to sit the three girls in the front seat suggest that I sit on the bike, which is facing backwards. I do and find myself facing a jammed busload of Laotians staring back at me. I smile and give them a wave and they all smile back. A little while later I pull out my camera and hold it up to great amusement before taking a photo.
The bike is surprisingly comfortable and I'm happily bouncing down the highway until we stop again at about 10pm. This time in the middle of nowhere. The driver and his attendant hangers-on (there's always two or three) all get out and walk around to the drivers-side front wheel. In the moonless light they peer intently at the large wheel nut by the light of a cigarette lighter. As someone goes to rummage through the tool-kit I return to the cabin to fetch my torch.
By the light of my torch they now discover that they have no suitable spanner so someone goes to work on the wheel nut with a small chisel and a chunk of metal, knocking the chisel against the flat of the nut. Needless to say this just about destroys the nut but they do get it off. They then start to stare intently at the wheel bearings. If they don't have a wheel spanner in the tool kit then I'm pretty sure they don't have a spare set of bearings. A few more puzzled examinations and some more bashing of various bits of the wheel and they then all congregate on the other side of the road beside the bus. A couple of them collect some rubbish and start a fire. I think we are staying here for the night.
I head off into the nearby field to search for one of the small sheds that are so common. Common everywhere but here it turns out. As I head back to the bus another bus rolls down the road and stops. This is quite incredible as buses hardly ever travel at night in Laos. With a couple of other passengers I quickly jump on. Most stay behind as this bus is from a different company and so another fare must be paid.
On the new bus we finally arrive in Pakse at about 1am. A Laotian guy who speaks french explains that we can just sleep on the bus. Sounds good to me. The next morning we head across to the other bus terminal and I grab a sawngthaew south towards the ruins of Wat Phu Champasak, a pre-Angkor temple complex.
The sawngthaew drops me at the side of a river and I take a small ferry across then pick up a tuk-tuk for the 8km trip to the ruins. The driver waits for me whilst I wander around. It's a pretty good fare for him and worth his time. He then takes me back to the river, another ferry across and a jumbo back to the main road.
After a half-hour wait a bus heading south to Ban Nakasang, the jumping off point for Don Det, turns up. I'm sitting next to a guy who's returning from Pakse with his wife and newborn child. It's an all day trip to his home. I hope the child isn't sick in the future.
As we zip along the good highway I notice that the driver has a tendency to veer to the left, across the centre line. Not too bad until we encounter a truck coming in the other direction with the same predeliction. At the last second, as I brace myself for impact, both swerve back to their own side, but not quick enough to prevent their load from hitting our wing mirror. With a loud crash the mirror is destroyed. Our driver slows down a little and sticks his head out the window to look back and see if there's any more major damage. Apparently satisfied he speeds back up again and we continue on our way.
We finally reach Ban Nakasang late in the afternoon and I walk down to the river to take a boat across to Don Det. The Mekong River at this point spreads out over a wide area and is dotted with hundreds of islands (the region's name of Four Thousand Islands is, I think, a bit of creative hyperbole). Don Det is one of the more low key ones, with no cars and no electricity.
With a couple of other guys from the bus I look around for a suitable bungalow. Most are the same: bamboo hut, hammock on the balcony, overlooking the river. We find one with space and check in, at the princely sum of 10000 kip a night, about US$1. I settle in to my hammock and watch the sun set over the Mekong. After about 36 hours of travel on 13 vehicles it's nice to relax.
Ban Kong Lo, Laos
After a relaxing morning reading and cleaning my camera I head off on foot for the village of Kong Lo. This time I'm going to follow the small track beside the river for the eight or so kilometres.
Turns out to be a very good choice. Whilst I saw very little on the road yesterday, today I pass village after village. Mostly the pattern is the same: a few moments after entering the village one or two children see me, they quickly duck back in to their houses to tell their brothers, sisters, and friends. Before long one has the courage to come a little closer then suddenly I'm leading a whole crowd of them through the village. Even the adults are in the act, picking up their small children to show them the strange visitor. As I leave the village the children stop at the fence but continue to call out "saba di" which I return until I'm finally out of earshot.
After a few hours I reach Kong Lo and head for Mr Khoummy's place. He takes me on a tour of the village, culminating in a proud showing of the school and hospital. "Where is the doctor?", I ask. "No doctor", he says. But at least they have the building.
We return to his house and I head back out by myself. Again I attract the attention of the children and we're soon playing various games much to the amusement of the adults, who I think have never seen such a thing.
Dinner was simple but tasty and was capped off with some Lao Lao whisky (home-brewed of course) shared with some of Mr Khoummy's friends. By 9 o'clock the village was asleep and we were too.
Sala Bin Houn, Laos
I awake in Sala Bin Houn to a delightfully warm and clear day. Destination today is the four kilometre cave through the mountain. I hire a bike for a dollar from the guest house and head off for Ban Kong Lo, down eight kilometres of rough road.
I arrive to find a quite substantial village. I use my usual technique and wander around for a while looking lost until someone comes to help me. Turns out to be Mr Khoummy, a 55 year old french speaker. He directs me to the river and before long I'm off with two boatman heading towards the cave.
The cave itself was not spectacular in terms of formations but the experience of floating through darkness for such a distance in such a large chamber was quite intriguing. After an hour we emerged on the other side and stopped by the river for lunch.
After lunch I visited a nearby village with one of the boatman. No-one, including the boatman, spoke a word of english so interaction was limited but he seemed to know a few people and there were smiles all round.
Then it was back through the cave once more and back to the village, where Mr Khoummy was patiently waiting. Is it possible to stay in the village? I asked. Why yes, he said, at my house (well, actually, "moi maisson"). Some more broken french and it was agreed that I would stay tomorrow night, arriving sometime "apres midi".
With that I cycled back to Sala Bin Houn. The bike was much too small for me, I was wearing my bright Aussie boardshorts and my boots, and was waving frantically at all and sundry. It occured to me that I must look just like Krusty the Clown.
Arriving back at Sala Bin Houn as I head to my candle-lit room I notice that the staff quarters has a satellite dish. We each desire the others world.
Nam Hin Bun, Laos
I've heard tell of another cave. This one is four kilometres long and goes right through a mountain. I've got to see that. It's a little off the beaten track though so it's going to take a bit of effort to get to.
First stage is easy, a bus heading south out of Vientienne. I take this for about four hours until I reach a junction in the road. I'm the only foreigner on the bus and no-one speaks english but I manage to get to my stop okay. Next stage is a sawngthaew (a small truck with two benches in the back) for about an hour to a small village. Part-way along the road the driver stops and comes around the back and motions for me to get out. I dutifully pick up my backpack and start to get off when he indicates that I should leave the pack behind. Ever obedient I do so and realise that he wants me to climb a small hill on the side of the road. I do so and see the most stunning view. A couple of photos later I'm back in the truck and thanking my fellow passengers with a few biscuits for waiting for me.
We reach the village of Ban Na Hin but now I need to get to Ban Na Phuak. It's now after two o'clock so no regular transport will be going down the rough road. There's nothing for it but to charter a jumbo, a sort of small three-wheeled sawngthaew that uses a motorbike engine. I find a driver and we're soon off, stopping to pick up his mate who brings along a machete. Hope that's not a bad sign.
After an hour we reach Ban Na Phuak. The road from here is pretty rough so the driver suggests I take a boat the rest of the way. I had that in mind anyway so we track down a potential captain. The suggested price is 150000k, about $10. Pretty expensive in these parts but the captain explains that it's a four hour trip. Two hours there and two hours back for him I'm thinking. Seems fair enough. We agree and he grabs his outboard motor from his small house and we head down to the river.
His young son is coming with us also and he fetches the boat. Sort of a long canoe. Only room for two or three passengers at most. I'm expecting to get wet so I take off my boots and socks. Sure enough, before too long I'm in the water helping to push the boat through some shallow water. It's getting towards the end of the dry season so all the rivers are low.
The trip was pretty entertaining. Lots of riverside villagers waving as we pass. Plenty of opportunity to get wet as we hit lots of shallow water. We've travelled for about two hours, sunset is approaching, and I'm wondering if we're getting close. The captain speaks no english so there's no chance to ask him.
On we go, the sun sets, the stars begin to appear and the boat captain produces a strong torch that he attaches to his head. His young son has a smaller one for checking shallows at the front of the boat. Okay, this is getting interesting now. At this point the journey alternates between tranquility, as I lie back and look up at the stars above, and frantic activity, as we all jump out to push around various obstacles and shallows. Made much more tricky in the dark.
The thrill of it all is really beginning to wane when a light appears in the distance. Could this be Sala Bin Houn? My destination. Indeed it was, four hours after starting. When the captain said four hours he was talking about one way. I struggle up the steps from the river and across to the guest house restaurant. Do they have a room? I haven't booked and I'm stuffed if they don't because there's nothing else out here. They do, and it's with some relief that I shout the captain and his son a can of coke for their efforts. They can't stay long because they have a four hour journey (at least) back home tonight. My thoughts were with them as I lit a candle in my room and settled in to my warm bed.
Vientienne, Laos
I like Vientienne but I'm about the only person that I've met that does. For most of my travelling companions it was dull and boring but for me it had an attractive sort of decay.
It may be the capital but you can pretty comfortably cross the street in the middle of the city and I'm sure property prices are cheap. There are abandoned, but still servicable, french-colonial buildings right opposite the Presidential Cabinet building and a vacant seven story office building right in the centre of town. Tells you something about the economy.
Vang Vieng, Laos
Heading further south I stopped in at the town of Vang Vieng. Once a small and sleepy town it had become a bit of a travellers destination due to the sensational scenery and large number of caves. Never one to turn my back on a dark and dangerous exploration I headed to the town with enthusiasm.
The next day I headed north a little way with a guide. We started at a small village reached by a rickety bamboo bridge. The bridge is rebuilt every time the river floods. Several times a year. Apparently the village was getting electricity in just a couple of days but the villagers seemed to be containing their excitement over this momentous event.
In light rain my guide Peng led me to the first cave, full of large chambers and some quite good formations. The rain was a strange experience. It was only the second time it had rained on my trip so far (the other being in the jungle in Malaysia).
The next cave was a large, long tunnel. Probably more than a kilometre. We finished at a T junction with a river. The river once flowed through the tunnel but had since made a new path and the tunnel was now dry. We waded up the river a little way then sat in the dark and talked for a while.
The third cave was the exit of the river's new path. Normally it's explored by floating in to the cave on inner-tubes but the inner-tube guy had decided to go home. Not to be defeated we stripped down and swam in instead. We had just one light so it was pretty dim but a lot of fun to explore.
The next day I decided to stay on and explore a different area by myself. The place is riddled with caves so it was no trouble to find a few quiet and undeveloped ones to rat around in. The rain had stopped by there was a heavy low mist which made the steep mountain-sides look very dramatic. I think I went a bit crazy with taking photos.
Heading back to town there's a wide stretch of river to cross. The bridge here has a toll of 1000 kip. About 10 cents. An American girl I met on one side of the river suggested we might take off our shoes and wade across to avoid the toll. I figured I could afford it.
Not yet satiated I stayed yet another day and explored a bit further. The scenery was just magic and it was easy to walk along the quiet road on the other side of the river past a number of small villages. At the first village a bunch of young but street-wise kids came up to see if I'd like to take their photo. I declined but they then started up a chant of "kip, kip, kip, kip", sounding remarkably like small birds. After a little bit of this the six-year old leader would wave his hand and they'd all go quiet. A few more moments of no reaction from me but a smile and one of them would tentatively start the call up again and soon the "kip, kip" cry would be back in full swing. It was so funny to hear that I almost succumbed.
Luang Prabang, Laos
The return to Luang Prabang was an interesting experience. When I first arrived a week ago from Thailand I was struck by the town's slow pace and peaceful atmosphere. It was very relaxing.
Now, after my time in Muang Ngoi it suddenly seemed busy and hectic. I had to look when crossing the street and the sound of motos was everywhere. What a difference a week makes.
Muang Ngoi, Laos
Anita's flying visit finished today and she headed off by plane to Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Forbidden to fly as I am I headed by local bus up to the north. My first stop was the town of Nong Khiaw, four hours journey away. From there it was a one hour boat trip up the Nam Ou (that's a river) to the small village of Muang Ngoi.
Once a quiet fishing and farming village, it's now a quiet backpacker village. They still fish and farm but the majority of the cash these days is from guesthouses. Despite this radical change of direction the village is still marvellous. Nestling on one bank of the river with steep mountainsides rising on all around.
I arrived mid-afternoon. Just enough time to settle in to my hammock and spend a few hours watching the sunset.
The next day I headed off with a couple of others, Michel and Pierre-Hughes, to explore a nearby cave. The entrance was via a stream and we were soon wading up to our waists, then our chests, then our necks. In a larger chamber ahead we could see a couple of candles and soon met up with a trio of French-Canadians, Manu, Raja, and Joëlle, also exploring the cave. They had wisely brought some insurance against failing torches.
As a group we explored for some time. Mostly wading waist deep through the slowly flowing stream. Eventually all streams were explored and we returned, thoroughly soaked, to the entrance.
We then continued for another half hour or so through dry rice fields to a further village. It's only concession to tourism being a couple of bungalows and a small cafe where we had a late lunch before eventually returning to Muong Ngoi.
The next day we trekked much further to a mountain-top village. Whilst there we ran into another Canadian couple, Greg and Marie-Eve, who were trekking further and staying overnight in a remote village. As we discovered later, upon reaching the village a ceremony was in progress. Our friends' guide ushered them in to the village only to discover that such trespass during the ceremony was strictly forbidden. The penalty? 500000 kip and two pigs. Having left all their pigs behind there was no choice but to negotiate. Greg and the guide were summoned to the chief's hut where, amongst much drinking of Lao Lao whiskey, the debate commenced. Forty-five minutes later the penalty is down to 100000 kip. Still too much. "We must ask the gods!", they say. After a brief consultation the gods apparently say 50000 kip. About $5. Done!
The next day we went kayaking up the river. Fairly uneventful except when I lost my bungalow key. I didn't realise until I got back and had to explain to the owners that they needed to break the padlock off the door. Some judicious use of a claw hammer and half-an-hour later a new padlock was in place. "How much for the new lock?", I ask. "5000 kip". About 50 cents. I gave 10000 since the bracket was wrecked also. Ten minutes later the lady of the family brings me back the extra 5000 kip, insisting I take it. That would never happen elsewhere in south-east Asia.
The new group had decided to leave the next day. The owners of our regular restaurant wanted to say thanks for our patronage with a Basli ceremony. We
gathered around a large silver centrepiece covered in flowers and offerings. The elderly members of the family chanted the words of the ceremony before tying a number of strings around our wrists, all the while chanting incantations. They believe that we each have many guardian spirits but that those spirits are usually away from us, doing their own thing. By performing the ceremony they bring the spirits back to us to provide protection as we travel.
Tempting as it was to stay longer we finally left the next day. This time taking a boat all the way to Luang Prabang. An all day journey and an excellent way to finish my time in the north.
Phonsavan, Laos
We headed today for Phonsavan, famous for the Plain of Jars. It's about 120km from Luang Prabang as the crow flies but about seven hours by bus across the twisty mountain passes between the two towns. Things have improved though, before the road was completely sealed the journey took thirteen hours.
The trip was fairly uneventful save for the constant stream of young soldiers getting on and off the bus with their rifles. They weren't checking on the passengers, they were simply travelling from one observation post to the next. Only a few years ago this road was very unsafe. Disaffected hill-tribes would come down and cause havoc. The government countered this with signficantly increased security, and increased funding for the disaffected regions. So I guess they got their point across.
Phonsavan was a pretty non-descript town but with a little haggling we managed to get on to a tour by car of the Plain of Jars and other sites.
The Plain of Jars is exactly that. A plain, full of jars. Hundreds of them. The jars are big. More than a metre high and wide and carved from solid granite (as far as I could tell). No-one really knows what they are for. The chief government archeologist is currently studying for an advanced degree in Australia. Presumably when he gets back he'll have it sussed.
The whole region was also a prime target in America's secret war. Following the Geneva agreement of 1962 the North Vietnamese denied using Laos as part of the Ho Chi Minh supply trail and the Americans denied trying to bomb the bejeezus out of them. Often-times planes returning from unsuccessful sorties in North Vietnam would drop whatever remaining ordinance they were carrying where-ever they crossed the border in to Laos. By 1973 they had dropped an average of one planeload of bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a days, for nine years. 1.9 million tonnes worth in total, or over half-a-tonne for every man, woman, and child in Laos.
The result is clear to see over the whole district. Most obviously in the bomb craters evident everywhere. But more subtly in the fact that there are no buildings more than 30 years old. The whole region was completely destroyed. It's remarkable that the jars survived.
Luang Prabang, Laos
Luang Prabang is a great little city. Probably my favourite on the trip so far. The old city lies nestled between the Mekong and the Nam Khan rivers and is chock full of temples, palm-lined streets, and French colonial architecture.
Anita had picked up a cheap ticket from Australia so she came up to visit. A little strange for me travelling with a companion again after a couple of months alone but she was very tolerant of my crusty ways.
We took a stroll around the town and into a few temples. A novice approached us at one eager to improve his english. For many young Laos the Buddhist temples are a way to get an education. They often "take the robes" at 12 years old or so and stay on through their teenage years. Once they are 18 or so they can elect to become monks, having spent a large amount of time studying Buddhism, meditation, and the languages Bari and Sanscrit. Many would like to return to the outside world though and for them english is a more useful tool. Practicing with tourists is a prime way of improving.
We spoke for some time with Kalm (what a name for a monk) and Anita even convinced him to teach us to meditate. Just a five minute lesson but you could see that he was deeply immersed.
Finally we continued on our way around the rest of the town, before taking my same driver back to the waterfall. This time I'd chance a swim in the cold but clear waters.
The french influence in the town is still very strong, with coffee and baguettes easy to find and a number of french restaurants. We decided to head to the most expensive we could find, a very elegant place just near the river. Aperitifs, wine, and, for me, fillet mignon in a blue cheese sauce came to a whopping $12 for both. Very nice it was too.
Luang Prabang, Laos
I changed some money into the local currency today. 4000 Thai baht (about US$100) got me a little over one million kip. Unfortunately the largest note in common circulation is 5000 kip so I ended up with a pile of money over an inch high. The money situation is so fluid you can pay for anything with kip, baht or dollars. Or often a combination.
It all came back to a local perspective when I chartered a minibus out to some local waterfalls at a price of 90000 kip, about US$9. The driver explained that he used to be a teacher but was paid only 180000 kip / month. Only just enough to feed his family. "When they pay 300000 a month I go back", he said.
On the way back from the falls we stopped in at a small village. They don't sell anything so they don't usually get visitors. I was a bit of a novelty. I strolled through the bamboo and thatch huts with my driver and soon was trailing an entourage of about thirty children. I stopped for a bit and then pulled out my camera. Half immediately starting posing and half ran screaming.
Having not much else to offer I thought I'd make a donation to the school, as suggested by all polically correct guidebooks. "Do they have a school?", I asked and was duly shown a small concrete block building on the edge of the village, with one room, about six small tables and chairs, and a blackboard. I offered to make a small donation and was ushered back to the centre of the village to meet the elders, huddled around a fire in the fading light.
Once my request was explained a great hubbub ensued. It seemed that "The Book" was required to record this illustrious transaction (and make sure it really goes to the school). Someone was dispatched and the book was duly brought forth. The gentleman who seemed to be in charge then started writing in the book. And writing, and writing. As he filled a page with I don't know what my guide drew my attention to an elderly lady heading towards her hut with some barbecued meat on a couple of sticks. "Rats", he said, and I could still see their tails.
The entry in the book was complete but it was not yet official. "The Stamp" was required. Someone else shot off into the dark to find it. Half-an-hour or more had now passed and I was only planning on giving a few dollars. After all, it was just one photo and a short stroll. Nevertheless, The Stamp was produced and with much ceremony the entry was officiated. It just remained for me to scribble in the small space left in the margin the actual amount of the donation. 50000 kip I put in and handed it with two hands to the elder. I left not knowing if they thought that was wonderful or hardly worth the effort of getting the book.
Luang Prabang, Laos
Today I had my first hot water shower in six weeks. It seems I have suddenly left the wet/dry season of the tropics and hit winter.
Mekong River, Laos
I crossed from Thailand into Laos via the northern border of Chiang Khong / Huay Xai. Roads are few and far between in this part of Laos so about the only way of getting to my destination of Luang Prabang was two days by boat down the Mekong.
Apart from the occassional logged hill-sides the country is pretty untouched up here. In fact, the Mekong is one of the last untamed rivers. Until the building of the bridge between Thailand and Laos near Vientienne in 1993 there was not a single span along it's entire South-East Asian length.
The scenery for the most is pleasant rather than spectacular. There's lots of activity on the river-side: villagers fishing, washing clothes and themselves, or taking delivery of large polished teak dinner tables. Lots of water buffalo are to be seen and even a few elephants. Still working in this very tough terrain.
For all it's isolation the latest mod-cons are never too far away though. The cargo boat that chugs upstream might look like it's about to sink but they still have a satellite dish on the roof for the latest in Thai soap operas.