The Durian Apocalypse

[Written Wednesday, February The 8th, Night]

Oh shit, I love this city. A World Heritage site, it’s a hold-over from the French occupation. It means way cool European architecture, narrow tree-lined streets, winding brick alleyways, more bicycles than motor-cars. And right on the banks of the mighty Mekong, surrounded by mountains.

It does sort of feel that its Heritage status is in some sense a celebration of Colonialism. But, really, despite all the pretty buildings and charming streets, it’s the Lao people and culture that give the city its oomph. A marriage of convenience, maybe; the result is lovely.

Need to add the perennial Lao caveat of poor air quality. I’d say it’s about on par with L.A.; though I’ve heard tell that later in the dry season it can be essentially zero visibility for the entire day! I’m lucky to have arrived when I have. The other problem is that the fruit — while plentiful enough — is fairly expensive, and decidedly mediocre.

Oh, Laos, why must you torment me? You fill my soul with wonders to beggar this poor sucka’s comprehension; and yet you won’t allow this poor sucka to breathe, nor will you allow this poor sucka to eat.

I moved to a different guest house this morning, ‘cause the one last night was really loud with partiers (not so bad, thanks to ear plugs), and the bed was tiny and the mattress warped. This new one is a few dollars more, and the Internet connection sucks, but at least I’ll get a good night’s sleep. It’s too bad about the first place, ‘cause I really like the community of travelers it’s attracting with its great prices – but those beds and mattresses are just too much to take.

Thought I’d start out visiting the Chinese Market and Phosy Market. The former ‘cause…Chinese Market! The latter ‘cause it’s supposed to be the best market in the city. Both were a waste of time, though the Phosy did have some decent veggies.

The couple of hours schlepping out to the markets and back was made totally worth it when I passed by the Badminton Stadium (!):

Do the Laotians love their chickens, or do the Laotians love their chickens? Don’t know if that cup lights up like the damned Olympics Flame when there’s a Badminton tournament in effect – but I sure hope it do!

In addition, passed by a temple with a very long Naga regurgitating a multi-headed Naga. Had not seen that before.

Took luncheon at the river, and was amazed to see the number and variety of butterflies around-abouts. Beautiful, too. Have been seeing them all over Laos, in point of fact. After lunch, I put up the god damned weather vane, and it told me to go exploring the Old Quarter.

Which, I decided to first trace the route of the river, which heads North, then makes confluence with the Nam Khan, which heads east and bends back down south; peninsulating (guessing) about fifty square blocks’ worth of land, thereby defining the contours of the Old part of the city. Near the confluence, I became involved in a very long conversation with a Schooling Monk, name of “Bick”.

He’s from Nam Bak, same as Misai (c.f. Udomxai post), and wants to eventually be an English teacher. He’s been studying English for only five months, but it seems to mine ears as though he’s better at it than the other Laotian students with whom I’ve conversed – and they’ve all been studying for a few years. He may be a prodigy (although his accent is a little on the thick side).

He asked me which religion I “respect”; and I went on this big long philosophical rant about not respecting any hierarchical institution, and not respecting the preying-on of people’s fears for acquisition of power and money, and so forth.

Turns out, however, that he meant by “respect”, simply, “follow”. He said that Laotians only “respect” Buddhism. I was somewhat incredulous that there aren’t any Laotian Hindus or Muslims; but he insisted it’s true.

During the conversation, he kept complaining about his lumbago. Eventually, though, having noticed my headphones, he asked me if he could listen to some music. So I spun up some Florence + The Machine for him.

If somebody would ever tell you that Buddhist monks know not how to rock it to Russia, you’ve my permission to poop on them. Just look at him loving the groove! By the way, that’s a schoolmate of his in the background, engaging another foreigner in a similarly lengthy conversation. Practice makes perfect!

His initial reaction: “Oh, this is in French…no, English!” He then explained that he’s only got Western music on his phone, before pausing for several seconds with a look of deep concentration, and then bursting forth with, “Oh, this music is very fun!”

I agreed, and he continued, “Female singer, you know? Female singers. Female singer; this is very fun.” He wanted me to send him the song via bluetooth, but I’ve not the slightest idea how to work it (not to mention my device isn’t equipped). Imagine that: a Laotian Buddhist novice making me look like a utter techno-nube. Generation gap knows no bounds, I guess.

Finally, he needed to return to the temple, south of Phosy Market; but urged me to walk with him so that he could show me his school. Once there, he requested that I take a picture of it, while he departed. Don’t know why the request, but here ‘tis.

Continuing on my tour of the old quarter, I noticed the Hammer-And-Sickle flying all over the place.

Makes sense, of course, if the Commies are still in the saddle. But I’d not noticed it anywheres else in Laos.

As far as the famous architecture is concerned, yes, it is very gorgeous. The guidebook says the city is “a dream location for any travel photographer.” Couldn’t disagree. But (as the man said), “When I got the pictures back, none of them came out.” See here.

Just looks stupid, or at best, “Whatever.” But when you’re standing in front of it, it’s superb. So, I stuck to photographing the old tried and true: temples, and Laotians going about their daily lives.

Not that I can do Laotian temples any better justice than I can Thai; but that don’t stop me from trying. This is one of my faves on the outside…

…and on the inside, proving that the Thais don’t have the corner on the drop-the-tourist’s-jaw-to-the-floor-and-shatter-it-into-four-billion-shards-to-be-eaten-up-by-all-the-crows market. It looked like the inside was going to be maybe my most favourite of all. Except…

…no Buddha! What gives? Not sure. But the cart in the front is used to transport a Buddha (in point of fact, the Prabang Buddha, after which the city is named)  during some or other annual festival, which process requires the labours of sixteen strapping young gentlemen. But, really, this temple was lights out. See more evidence at the Flickr page.

Who gets to go up there? My vote would be for the ghost of John Lennon; but I never seen a ballot-box. Here’s a view from the outside.

It’s interesting to note the different iconography from the Thai temples. In addition to the chicken mania, here they’ve got this Cheshire-Cat-with-elephants’-hooves thing-a-ma-deal guarding many of the temples.

And for my money, the Laotians have it all over the Thais in the Naga Artistry deptartment.

Telling you, this god damned Templemania is as insidious as.

As far as Laotians going about their business, again, see much more evidence at the Flickr page (when I finally get some Laos pictures uploaded, that is). They’re much friendlier/cooler even than they look!

Laos is crazy with kick-assed trees; and in “LPB”, they’re everywhere you turn. This one on the bank of the river is maybe the kick-assed-est of them all. I know, it looks from this image like little more than turd salad. But if you see it in person, you’ll agree with me!

Later became involved in yet another conversation with an student in English needing fresh meat on whom to practice, this one name of “Jin”. That’s him on the bike. I didn’t know, at the time of shooting, that I was going to be a subject of his. I just liked the composition.

He’s from Vientiane, and has only been here since Saturday, and thus needed to ask me directions to the Night Market. I suspect he may have used this pretext simply as an entrée into the discussion, as he was a bit shy at first.

He says that I’m the first foreigner on whom he’s practiced, even though he’s been studying for two years. Found it a bit difficult to believe, but it’s what he said. I think he said that if I had a bicycle, he’d invite me to his house.

All these long conversations with the local English students – they’re usually quite fun and interesting at first, but can get a bit boring after some time. It’s okay, though, if they’re happy to be helped, I’m more than happy to help. Karmically, I suppose it’s an obligation; but even if it weren’t, it’s cool to be able to interact.

Getting towards evening, the riverside was lit up real pretty-like.

And passing this place…

…my ears were flooded with the sounds of a too-right band just throwing the fuck down. Couldn’t resist having a look-see.

Turned out to be a birthday party (or similar), I think. There was a ceremony underway, in which the Guest Of Honour received this flower arrangement.

After that, they eventually all gathered to eat at that big long buffet table in the background there. But not before the band cut loose some more, and the ladies remaining sitting down on the rugs busted into some impromptu singing and hand-clapping.

Listen along with me, won’t you? Luang Prabang Party.

Walking through the Night Market, The Coconut Kid here tried to make me purchase from him some beads in exchange for him having let me snap a photo; but I was able to get away scot-free.

Walking down any market’s Food Alley is always money in the bank for inneresting sights.

That bag-on-stick is how they de-fly the meat here in Laos. They’ve got a buffet set-up here for the night market: one plate, piled as high as you dare, 10,000 Kip (about a dollar-and-a-quarter). There are probably six or eight different tables this size.

Around the corner, wonderful décor at this outdoor restaurant.

Who knew the Communists could be so fashionable?

Moon made an appearance (I guess the other night wasn’t the Full Meal Deal after all…).

And then, a visit to maybe the best-kept secret in all of Luang Prabang: night-time badminton! Similarly to the Chiang Mai foot-volleyball scene, these kids take no prisoners. This is real sports right here: no fucking commercialised stop-and-go crap; just full-on killing that god damned shuttlecock until it’s dead and buried.

The Aussie next to whom I’d bungalow-ed in Nong Khiaw showed up to watch as well. He’s off to Vientiane tomorrow, then flies home out of Bangkok next week. Talked to him for a while, wracking my brain trying to remember from where I’d known him. Only figured it out a while later. Felt like a schmuck, but I don’t think he even noticed…

[Written Thursday, February The 9th, Night]

I did get a good night’s sleep last night; but I need a decent Internet connection to get some pix uploaded! So went off in search of better lodging. There’s an old wooden bridge across the Nam Khan (called “Old Bridge”), open only to pedestrians, bicycles, and motorcycles. Here’s the view of the morn from the middle of the bridge.

The motorcycles are only allowed to go in one direction at a time, and during the morning rush hour the lineup of those waiting their turn is almost Bangkok-esque.

Returning to the city side of the bridge, I received one hell of a jolt, after having written last night about the Olympics torch and all.

Wow! Didn’t purchase, ‘cause I always get light-coloured shirts so damned dirty. Still might do anyways.

Also found a new hostel, with dorm rooms for 30,000 Kip (just under $4) per night. Looks like kind of a party-property as well, rocking the Jetsons barstools and all…

…but it’s a half-way decent Internet connection, so maybe I’ll actually stay here more that one night… Got me name on the Big Board, and everything. The more to whom I speak what’ve been there (including two Americans staying in the dorm tonight), the more convinced I become that a visit to Southern China need be added to my itinerary. Will have to have a look into it. It’s about a 24-hour bus-ride from here.

After checking in, it was off to the Morning Market (different from Phosy Market; which, you’ll recall, is located south of the Old Quarter). On the way there, I tried a little experiment; to wit, walking out into the middle of the street to see if any motorists would respect the sidewalk, and then making a big show of pointing it out to them if they didn’t. Conclusion: motorists didn’t give a flying fuck about my “big show”, not a one of them slowed down even a whit.

Markets are always great photographic subjects.

The live-fish tank, however — while likely not at all unusual – seems awfully cruel.

The dead fish look quite beautiful – though I’d wager they’d rather be alive.

Much like at the Udomxai market, one may purchase live ducks – but here one may purchase dead ducks too. Hooray for carnivory!

Frog kebabs, too, were available.

I was able to find some pretty good Watermelon, so hopefully this will bode well for my stay here. Lunched along the river again, overlooking a little gully where half a dozen cocks were pecking around for food, and more than occasionally fighting with one another. So very entertaining! Every day in Laos is a day in which the tourist loves chickens just a little bit more than he or she had done the day before.

Decided to continue my exploration of the Old Quarter by taking in many alleyways. It’s great, ‘cause the structures fronting the streets are all the guest houses, and restaurants, and travel services, and cetera; but down the charming brick alleys are all local dwellings (when they’ve not been converted into ad hoc markets).

Became entranced by some children playing a type of bowling game. They’d each ante up a note of currency, which was piled onto the street. Then they’d lag flip-flops to determine order of play; then skid their flip-flops along the ground, attempting to hit the pile o’ cash. Anybody who did so got to pocket one of the notes.

When all the money’d been claimed, they lathered/rinsed/repeated. Once in a while, the kind-of chubby kid tried to hit the pile with a rubber band, but I never witnessed him succeeding in doing so.

Didn’t actually finish the exploration of the Old Quarter, but decided to head up to Mt. Phousi, a hill located right in the middle of the peninsula. It’s 20,000 Kip to go up the four hundred or so steps.

Before I arrived to the bottom step, I was again flummoxed by the beauty of Luang Prabang’s trees.

Passed a barefoot European, pointed at said bare feet, and smiled; he pointed back at mine and, in a French accent, declared, “Same same!” Cracked me up no end. I almost bought me a “Same Same” t-shirt in Bangkok. Maybe someday I still shall. From the Urban Dictionary:

Used a lot in Thailand, especially in an attempts to sell something; but can mean just about anything depending on what the user is trying to achieve.

Q “Is this a real rolex?”
A ” Yes Sir, same same, but different.”

Approaching from the western steps, about a third of the way up the hill, one arrives to Wat Pahouak.

The “picture” is actual a mural covering all four walls. And “wonderful” is one helluva understatement. It’s practically the Great Asian Novel, told pictorially. Here’re a few of my favourite scenarious; I’ve uploaded a to the Flickr page a set dedicated to Luang Prabang temples, that one may easily view a slideshow of all the pics.

Moving on up to the top of the hill, the temple, Wat Phusi, is quite unremarkable. A commanding view of the city, however. Here’s the Old Bridge.

Coming down the steps on the eastern side, one reaches this Big Bad Garden Of Buddhas.

A little further along, is a Big-Fat-Buddha Garden.

Thence to a cave, at the back of which this Geriatric Buddha (or what) holds court. Not even one hundred percent for-sure that that’s The Buddha – but I think it probably must be, given the posture.

Then you get to see a very, very long Naga. Nagarrific, baby!

The so-called “Saturday Buddha”…

…totally looks like he’s baked. Huhn, maybe Saturday was “J-Day” for Buddha? Buddhas gotta have fun, too, right?

Finally is a small cave with The Buddha’s foot-imprint. I dunno, I guess it’s in there somewhere?

Near here, I was having a rest, listening to the cicada symphonics repeatedly rise to crescendo then fall again, all whilst watching the distant coconut palms swaying in the breeze.

Then, natch, I was joined for conversation by an eighteen-year-old novice, name of “Saen”.

There’s a place in the Old Quarter, called “Big Brother House”, where tourists can drop in and let the locals practice their English on them. The Russian-Visa-process-hating Englishman had been there a few times, and found it to be a great experience. I’ve been thinking to go there meself; but am finding that it’s not necessary: just sit and have a rest for a bit (or even slow your walking pace somewhat), and the learners will find you.

The conversations cover more less the same ground: family, travels, religion, food, and the like. Saen did ask a few out of left field.

For example! After having asked whether I’d attended pre-school, he asked what subjects I’d studied while there. I was fairly speechless for a bit, attempting to formulate some sort of sensible response.

For another example! Noticing my headphones and asking if I liked music (and declining my offer to let him listen to some), he asked if I liked Justin Bieber. Bick had asked the same. I shamedly confessed I’d not heard him. But, uhm, is there something I’m missing here? Isn’t Justin Bieber just, like, bubblegum boy-pop, or its like? Why are all the Laotian novices asking me about him???

He asked about my hobbies, and didn’t have any idea what I’d meant by naming off juggling. Happened to have the ol’ bean-bags in my pack, so took them out to show him what it was all about. He was pretty astonished, but too shy to give it a try.

A friend of his happened to come running up the steps while I was demonstrating; and he wasn’t too shy to give it a try. He even took the balls up to a covered area where a bunch of novices were hanging out, and showed them what’s what. He’s only using two balls, but he has a nice looking follow-through, there.

Saen asked me to spell out the name of the hobby; and once I’d done, excitedly looked it up in his English/Lao dictionary – but it was not to be found.

He took me to his school, and let me hang out in the classroom for a bit.

After this, I headed back up the hill to gawk the sunset. It was already a bit of a madhouse when I did arrive; and they just kept a-comin’ even after that – it was akin to the crowds gradually building in anticipation of an Old Faithful eruption.

Something of a horror-show, as most all the gawkers were these god damned Europeans smoking their god damned cigarettes to the last of them. That’s one fucked thing about Laos, is all the cigarette-smoking Europeans.

In Bangkok, they’ve got the scourge pretty much fully eradicated, from what I could smell. Much more so that in the US of A, that’s for sure.

Another Laos bummer is in a lot of places there’s a fuckload of litter on the ground. It’s ironical, too: in Thailand, you can’t find a public garbage can to save your life, but there’s no litter anywhere; while in Laos, there’re public garbage bins everywhere, but nobody wants to use them (least of all the fucking smokers).

Sunset was quite gawk-able, all right.

Nevertheless, having read so many books about the Vietnam war, it does feel odd to have now set foot in Indochina.

On one hand, I feel as though I ought to be here, spending money, doing my very small part in paying reparations. On the other, I feel somewhat shameful having the audacity to visit these lands which my country did everything it could to wipe off the map (a greater tonnage of bombs was dropped on Vietnam, for example, than was dropped by all sides in all of World War II; while the Plain Of Jars in Laos was the victim of history’s most intense bombing campaign).

Having said all that, here I am in Udomxai…and I can’t wait to get out – just as I couldn’t wait, last night, to get out of Luang Namtha.

The morning of Friday the 3rd, I wanted to get to “Passport Control” bright and early, so as to avoid the lines. I was the fifth person in line, and, sure enough, when they opened up at 8:00 in the AM, we were ushered through lickety-split, and quickly shuttled across the river.

At the other side, we filled out our Visa On Arrival forms, and handed them in; to then be told that they couldn’t be processed yet, as the person in charge of doing so had gone to breakfast. By the time she’d returned, the place was a fucking zoo of new arrivals waiting to get stamped through.

Happily, they processed the requests in the order received; so, after exchanging two million kips’ worth of greenbacks, I was soon on my way. Missed the “9:30” bus anyhow, despite arriving to the bus depot at 9:15. So, purchased a ticket for the “12:30” departure, which ended up leaving at Noon.

Used the extra time to bone up on the guidebook’s Laos (the “s” is silent, so I’ve now learnt) introduction. Did you know that there’s a sect of Christians here who believe that in his second coming, “Jesus Christ will arrive in a jeep, dressed in combat fatigues”? Nor did I!

A Japanesian name of “Tomo”, with whom I’d shared a dorm the previous night in Chiang Khong, showed up as well, headed for the same destination. I’d had a fun conversation the night before, with hisself and a black Frenchman who’s been at the guest house in which we were staying for now two months’ time (I think he’s on to something!).

The latter — name of “Taylor”, although the Thais call him “Telo” – had been slagging off the guidebooks, saying they impel everyone to go to the same places, which doing causes these places to lose any unique personality they may once have had, turning every place into a carbon copy of the last. I’d found them both to be quite nice and interesting gentlemen.

The topic of “Air Asia” had come up, both of them beaming with delight at this carrier which apparently offers outrageously low fares if booked several weeks in advance – Tomo had flow from Kuala Lumpur to Chiang Mai for $40! – while lamenting the fact of charges for checked baggage.

I’d asked if knives could be carried on, and Taylor’d kind of shrugged, of what size? I’d pulled out my coconut-cleaver, and they’d both busted up laughing. “It’s for opening coconuts!” I’d kept protesting over and over. But they just couldn’t stop laughing, the fucks.

Finally, Taylor had sobered up a bit, and allowed that, “Yeah, maybe in Southeast Asia, that would be an acceptable explanation.”

The bus ride was some wacky fun. No sooner had the bus been put into gear that the driver started blaring a steady stream of Lao (or Thai?) pop music. En route, more people boarded the bus, so that it was standing room only. We stopped at, like, a farmhouse, and picked up some plastic blue chairs, which were deployed down the aisle for the new-comers to sit in. Later, after the bus had emptied out a bit, the conductor stacked them all up and sat in them like he was King O’ The Bus.

The ride took us up and over and down and through and around and around and around the beautiful mountains of Northern Laos. Most dwellings were raised huts with thatched roofs. Animals seen in and near the road: chickens, dogs, goats, cows, buffalo, hogs.

People called out their stops as needed, and the driver acknowledged the request, stopped, and sent them on their ways – sometimes seemingly out in the middle of nowhere.

No shitter-refund; but we got something even more better: at the top of a mountain pass, the driver stopped the bus, got out, and went across the road to take a leak. Everybody else who wanted to (women included) did the same. There were a good ten or fifteen of us lined up — right there on Route 3, in front of The Buddha and everybody – doing our business. O, but those were the days!, weren’t they?

Later, we stopped in a village to deliver some tiles. When the conductor couldn’t find a string or cord to keep the door of his compartment open, the driver ran across the street, broke a stick with his knee, and, cackling, used it to prop the door open. They stacked the tiles all up right there on the side of the road, and off we drove! I think the driver thought it was kind of a bullshit job; and maybe figured they were going to do the absolute minimum work required to complete the task.

Finally, the end of a most enjoyable journey, we arrived in Luang Namtha. Exited the bus, and: disaster. Could not believe my nose. Everybody, in both cities and villages, burns wood (and I think coal) for heating and cooking. See all the firewood stacked up here.

In addition to which, there’re all manner of mining/trucking operations, as well as road construction everywhere (Laos is in the process of improving its roads, so that it can serve as a transport link between China and Thailand). Motor-car emissions regulations appear to be non-existent. Pretty sure everyone burns their trash as well.

Luang Namtha’s air is a toxic soup; to my nose (and eyes and throat) unfit for consumption by human, beast, or fowl. Yet everyone acts as though there’s nothing strange going on! It’s like a scene from a sci-fi movie, with all these fires burning.

But I was walking around, trying not to choke to death, and crossed path with Tomo, the Japanesian. “What do you make of this place?” I asked him. He said he quite liked it, and I spluttered, “But what about all the smoke?!?!”

“What did you expect? This is a developing country! You’re not in Thailand any more!”

Okay, so I guess I was naïve. But that doesn’t mean one has got to like it. We went to the night market, and sat down for dinner. Tomo asked about the fruit. I said that I’d had some kinda-okay Longans, and was going to try some bananas on for size. “What about coconuts?” he wondered.

“Didn’t see any.”

“But you have…a very good knife!” There’s one in every crowd, I guess…

We were joined by two Latvian guys who’d also been at our same guest house in Chiang Khong. They didn’t seem to mind the air quality so much either. Having arrived a day ahead of us, they’d already spent the day exploring the area via bicycle, and were planning to spend a few more.

Tomo wanted to do the same, then head northeast to Phongsali via southern China (his Japanese citizenship allows him to enter China without a visa).

Me, I justed wanted out. My vision of an idyllic back-to-nature getaway in the mountains of Northern Laos had vanished in a morbid haze of toxic smoke.

The Hell of it is, the town is actually very nice! In a beautiful setting, ringed by mountains; with some cool architecture and friendly people, music bumping out of every street corner, and lots of nice little outdoor cafes. And it’s, ironically, the main jumping-off point for “eco-trekking” tours into the nearby protected wilderness area.

But if I can’t breathe, it’s kind of a deal-breaker. So, another fun bus ride, through even more beautiful scenery, landed me in Udomxai. And…I could more less breathe. And there was actually some visibility.

It’s more of a stop-over place than anything, at a junction of three different through-roads. But I wandered around a bit, and found it an interesting little burgh. Doesn’t have the hippie cred of Luang Namtha; but the setting is probably even more gorgeous, and the locals are incredibly friendly. Plus which, at the market, one can buy both dead rats and live ducks. Top that, Luang Namtha!

There are public address speakers set up all over town – Communist propaganda outlets, I’m guessing. They play music, which is interspersed with monologues. The weird, and fun thing is, though, that they’re not all playing the same recordings – and you can hear multiple different recordings while standing in one place. I don’t think anybody really pays attention to them.

Walked up to this temple at the top of a hill – kind of like the Lao version of Our Lady Of The Rockies, you might say.

The monks were walking around with big smiles on their faces, and cellphones in their hands. Huhn, you may recall I made a joke before about there being a “Headphones Buddha”; but I’ve seen so many monks carrying cellphones, it seems to me a “Cellphone Buddha” would actually be rather appropriate!

The monks-in-training were doing some kind of arts and crafts project. Maybe for an upcoming festival?

While up there, a bit of a breeze kicked up, and I think I was able actually to take in two or three gulps of real live fresh air.

Got into a lengthy conversation with a very nice local, name of “Misai”. He’s from Nam Bak, where his parents are rice farmers; arrived here in Udmoxai two years ago to live with his Uncle and complete his schooling. His Uncle’s an English teacher, so he gets special tutoring in English for an hour each evening.

Only two years speaking the language, but he’s (in my estimation) far, far ahead of where I was after three years of French classes. Later got into another conversation with a local, name of “Thonganh”. He, too, was very nice; though he battered me with questions at such a furious pace that I never got a chance to learn anything about his own life and times, as I had Misai’s.

As it got on toward evening, the people down in the valley began to light their cooking fires, and the air quality began to deteriorate. While waiting for the sunset, I bumped into a German with whom I’d shared a dorm in Chiang Mai (the same guy I told about before, to whom I’d given a Sapodilla – although I at the time mistakenly categorised him as a Swissman). Asked him if the smoke was harshing his mellow as much as it was mine; and he said that he’d only just arrived, so hadn’t had a chance to notice.

Uh, dude, just look down there (I didn’t vocalise)!

The air quality continued its southward march, until it was almost comparable to Luang Namtha’s horrific haze of death. As I write these words, Saturday night (Internetless since arriving in Laos), I’m so disheartened by this dichotomy: the friendliest of people, the most beautiful of countryside, but the most unbreatheable  of air. (Also, the quality of the fruit is quite poor.) It’s so strange that there’s not a peep from the guidebook about this problem – although, granted that nobody else, tourists included, seems to have noticed.

So much I’d like to see and do here, but I don’t know how much more I can take. Will give Nong Khiaw a try, and then Luang Prabang. If no improvement, I think I shall have to get out of Dodge. Which I hate to do. But, dammit man, I like to breathe!

 

Sunday, the morning after having written the above, I hopped a minivan for Nong Khiaw. It’d been overbooked, so two young Laotians were cajoled into taking the minivan to Pak Mong, where, I suspect, they were to catch a sangthaew to Nong Khiaw. They didn’t seem terribly happy about the situation, but they did go get on the van to Pak Mong.

That left me, the driver, and nine French speakers. One couple were from France itself, while the rest, a group, were from Switzerland. The lady seated next to me, name of “Celia”, was actually an English expat now living in Switzerland. “But you don’t have an English accent,” I protested.

“I know I don’t,” she confidently agreed, then related that she’d lived all over the place, including Canada.

The pall over Udomxai was even more disgusting than had been Luang Namtha’s the previous morning. It was like a thick fog had rolled in overnight – only it weren’t fog, of course. As we got underway, we traded smoke for dust.

The bus rides, when we’ve got away from the cities and villages, have been the best time to get some fresh air. But on this one, we were traveling on a lot of unimproved roads, and the improved roads were riddled with huge potholes. So it was a dusty, windy, bumpy ride. And the best scenery was out the other side of the van to mine.

Moreover, as there wasn’t any pop music playing, and there weren’t any Laotians carrying on, it was less of a party atmosphere than had been the previous two days’ riding. Everybody was speaking in French, except for Celia and myself did converse in English. We talked of organic farming, and the bee die-off, and whatnot.

Long story short, this bus journey was not as much fun as the others; although we did get to stop and piss at the side of the road again – so it wasn’t a total loss.

Arrived in Nong Khiaw, and walked the length of the village, a dirt road with rocks piled up on the side. I guess they’re getting ready to pave it, or put in sidewalks, or something? Very nice breathing here!

Checked into a bungalow with an outrageous view overlooking the Nam Ou river. Paid $7.50, which is the most I’ve paid for lodging so far; but damn, what a view!

The is the first place in which I’ve stayed that’s been equipped with a mosquito-net over the bed. As I write this, on Sunday evening, it doesn’t appear as though it’ll be necessary. Was able to sit on the veranda and watch the sunset, making witness to only one, which was easily shooed away.

The Australian in the bungalow next to mine had taken the slow boat from Houay Xai to Luang Prabang, and said that the first day had been great; but that the second day, riding on barely-cushioned wooden benches, had been a bit much. That’s kinda what I’d feared, so I’m glad I didn’t partake. Hoping, if I can afford it, to catch a boat from here to Luang Prabang, which is just one six-hour trip.

Here’s the view from a bit further upstream. Please believe me when I tell you that these pictures do not do this place justice, nor even close.

After checking in, I bought some un-inspiring bananas and oranges. Not horrible, but certainly not delicious. After lunching on the bananas, I set out to visit a historical cave near here, where the Pathet Lao had hidden away from the American bombs.

Was soon joined by a Vancouverite, name of “Nicole”. She’d rented a bicycle, and had initially passed me by. But as the trail got steeper, she got off to push the bike. Told her that I loved her city, and she told me that she loved mine. She began waxing a little too enthusiastically about Woodland Park Zoo; and for some reason seemed to think I’d not have known about it.

I assured her that, yes, I’d taken many a field-trip to the zoo as a young schoolboy; and had even, a few years back, seen a Josh Ritter concert there.

A Marine Biology student on four-month holiday, her proposed path through Southeast Asia is similar to mine. After leaving off with a friend in Thailand, she fell in — somewhere near the frontier, I think — with a group of Brits and Belgians whom, she says, do nothing but complain all the time. So she’d rented the bike to go exploring by herself and get away from them.

After walking for a couple of miles, we reached the ticket booth to visit the caves, staffed by two quite friendly Laotian gentlemen. Paid the 10,000 Kip (about $1.25), and hit the trail. Little did I know that we still had quite some way to go to reach the caves. But this was in point of fact the most interesting part of the hike – even moreso that the cave itself.

We passed through a small settlement where this young gentleman was hard at work.

You see this going on everywhere. The Laotians harvest this grass, beat the hell out of it on the side of the road (or, as here, the side of a tree), and then lay it out to dry. I had thought, having seen these goings on from the bus for three days, that they were going to use the grass to fortify their roofs for the rainy season.

But Nicole explained to me that they sell them to the Chinese, at 60,000 Kip to the Kilo, to make brooms with. (She’d taken a three-day guided trek out of Luang Namtha, and had learned a bunch of cool shit about life in Laos.)

We also passed through rice growing areas, and a bit of jungle, before arriving at, like, an ante-chamber to the real cave.

From here, it was up many steps (yes, I’m well and truly out of hiking shape) carved out of the hill and reinforced with bamboo, before arriving to the cave. There was a family up there, just hanging out. The father warned us of snakes and spiders, but we gave it a try. An immense structure it was, which forked off into two different main areas. A bit creepy down there, but also serene.

The Pathet Lao were fucking hard-core living in this place for four years, able to go out only at night in search of food. But it appears to have kept them safe.

On the way back, we passed by many more locals; including this lady, who was sweating like no tomorrow (hard at work, surely)…

…this youngster, whose name I can’t recall…

…and these two, returning with their grass harvest looking like a couple of young Sasquatch (or what).

As we arrived back at the village, near sundown, the air was still of pretty damned good quality. There are fires burning…

…so it’s not exactly gonna be a walk in the park. But this place is so beautiful, and so peaceful, and the locals so friendly that I may try to stay awhile. The big problem will be getting enough quality fruit in me. Perhaps I will resort to eating some “sticky rice” which, I’m told, is prepared without any salt or seasonings – only soaked, then steamed.

Hi! Internet access, where it can be found in Laos, is very slow indeed. So updates may be few and far between.

Decided to take a rest day to-day, and head in to Lao tomorrow.

I did hike down to the frontier for a bit of recon, and bumped into Mary Kelly and sister Sophia. Turns out they’d decided the same. They’ll be taking the two-day boat ride to Luang Prabang. On the advice of one of my Chiang Mai dormmates (the same one what had supped on dog kebab in Vietnam) I’ll be taking the bus to Luang Namtha, and visiting the area around-abouts.

Got some great news to-day, when I discovered that Lao now offers thirty-day visa on arrival (it had been fifteen, which was causing me some consternation). So, no need to rush through Lao.

Also got some bullshit news, as it looks like I’ve got dust on my camera’s sensor, causing two unsightly brownish spots on the images (see below). Apparently camera shops can fix this easily enough — but I don’t know when next I’ll be near a camera shop. Well, will try to work around it.

Picked up some lunch at the market, and went down to the river-side to eat it, while watching the nearby fisherwomen and cows.

After lunching, took a very nice stroll along the river, followed by a visit to the bicycle museum. I figured this would feature an assortment of old-timey bicycles. Mostly, though, it was Tour De France memorabilia. Also, there were some cool black-and-white photos of people with their bikes; as well as some great old-timey bikes featured on stamps — including these too-cool numbers from Mongolia.

Then took a walk around the town, down the back-streets and up the alleys. What a great little place. The fruit selection is not, perhaps, the best (though the veggies selection seems quite good). But the people are very nice, the scenery is awesome, the traffic is not so much, the mosquitoes are more less tolerable. Would like to return!

Chanced upon a lost or discarded schoolbook which had amongst its pages what looks to be a Thai version of Goofus and Gallant.

There’s a Giant Catfish Museum on the map. But Don, the Alabaman expat, related that this is now defunct. The catfish apparently grow to about 600 pounds. When one is caught (used to be a couple per year, but now it’s more like one every three years), it is tied up and held in the water for four days. A story appears in the Bangkok Post, and people drive up from Bangkok (presumably other points as well) to see it. When it is finally butchered, its meat sells for big bucks in the market.

He says there’s also a giant earthworm here which measures in at two metres. I daresay, that’s a big worm.

Up early to-day to hike it out to the Arcade Bus Terminal, and thence to ride to Chiang Khong. Have not been an early riser in Thailand — for some reason, I can’t get to sleep until midnight or so…and then I sleep like a rock.

So I did get to see something new. In the early morning, the monks walk around carrying these little metal pots, which people will drop food into and kneel down as the monks recite some blessings for them.

We got started about a half-hour later that the scheduled time, as a lady in a blue shirt had to come on and refund everbody 61 Baht, owing to the absence of a shitter in the coach. Hey, no complaints from me waiting an extra half-hour to receive a 20% discount!

The bus-ride was assigned seating; and being that I’d reserved early, had me a front-row seat. A capital view available out either side window, as well as the windshield. Also, I was close to the singing driver, and the conductor seated in her weird little jumper right by the door.

She was fascinating to watch, in fact; as in one moment she looked as though she held every one and every thing in the utmost contempt, but in the next looked like the happiest camper in all the wilderness. Here’s a typical moment or three.

Two Filipina sisters across the aisle were keeping me entertained with their running trip commentary. They’ve lived in L.A. for thirty-seven years. Mary Kelly, the instigator of the two, has not eaten Durian in thirty years; but I think I’ve convinced her that it’s time for her to take up its cause once more.

The scenery was pretty wonderful, in through the mountains and rice paddies; as well as small towns. A particular highlight was an old lady riding her bicycle down the middle of the road doing about three miles per hour, refusing to even budge at the driver’s honking. It was almost as though she were trying to re-create Tiananmen Square. Too funny!

We stopped off for lunch in Phayao, and I took a walk down to the lakeside park where the fishermen were doing their business.

Pretty nice park, though this pier has seen better days.

The hay-farmers were out doing their business as well.

Arriving in town, there was supposed to have been a green sign at the 7-Eleven, giving directions to the guest house. The sign was nowhere to be found, and asking locals (some of whom spoke excellent English) once again elicited contradicting opinions concerning its whereabouts. Finally, I just gave up and flagged down a tuk-tuk.

The guest house is a lovely little establishment run by a Thai woman and an Alabaman gentleman (with the accent to prove it). Overlooking the Mekong, it’s a serene and welcoming environment.

The system is, one pays as one leaves at the conclusion of his or her stay. During the stay, you’re to keep track of your own expenses in the provided ledger book. So, mark down your room fee. If you order an item from the restaurant’s menu, write that down. Ditto when you grab a beverage from the stocked cooler. Then when you leave, tot it all up, and pay the bill.

After checking in, I went over to the market and purchased a watermelon — my first eats of the day — to take down to the park and eat up while watching the sunset.

During my dinner, a gentleman came up and introduced himself as a police officer. For a bit, I thought I was gonna get busted for spitting my watermelon seeds onto the brick walking path. But instead he just asked me a bunch of questions about my travels, and my home and occupation and whatnot.

He then introduced me to some kids garbed up in boy-scout uniforms, telling me that he was their running coach. Also, he’s going to at some point be working at the airport in Bangkok. Don’t know whether he really was a cop, and was just trying to make sure everything was on the up and up with the gringo in the park; or if I misunderstood him on that point.

In the end, he told me to enjoy my stay in Thailand, and I thanked him muchly.

After a walk up and down the town’s main drag, I stopped in at a produce vendor’s. German dude who’s also staying at the guest house offered to give me a ride back on his motorcycle. I told him I preferred to walk, and he scoffed, “Without shoes? You can’t walk without shoes!” Then he roared away.

Arriving back to the guest house, all the upstairs seating was filled with diners, so I went downstairs to enjoy some bananas at a little patio table. The German dude was down there drinking beer. I asked him how the mosquitoes are here at night-time, and he showed me his “barbecue”, explaining that it was a trick he’d been taught in the jungle in India — “You know, in Indiana” — and that it would keep the mosquitoes away.

He’d just got it lit, and the coals weren’t hot enough, so, “Right now, it is schtinking,” but soon enough it would be all good, and no mosquitoes. He offered to let me barbecue my bananas: “Up to you,” said he.

After a bit, the proprietress walked by and said Hello; prompting the German to warily inform her that “the black” (i.e., charcoal) had not yet heated up properly, but that in five minutes, the barbecue would no longer be schtinking.

After it had ceased schtinking, he asked me if I could feel the “energy” of the fire? I said that yes, I could. “This is no joke,” said he. “There is energy in this fire…and now you are safe from the mosquitoes.”

“Dankeschön!” I exalted, and he disappeared upstairs. No idea whether the jungle barbecue trick spiel was a crock of scheiße made up on the spot. But I do know this: I didn’t get bit by any mosquitoes down there!