Lazing in Laos - Wednesday, Dec-2

My head was pounding all night long, made worse by a case of indigestion. I felt awful, and hoped this was only a temporary discomfort and not a prelude of worse things to come. My headache was making me nauseous; my upset stomach was aggravating my head. Sometimes the best medicine is to force whatever’s making you sick out of one’s system, and that’s exactly what I had to do. After the initial unpleasantness had passed, I felt much better. I slept fitfully until the roosters woke me. I have no idea whether it was the food or not, but I won’t be eating at that restaurant again.

It was cold in the early hours of the morning, and the massive limestone karsts were completely veiled in fog. I am reminded of that Zen koan made popular in that song by Donovan, “First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.” I snuggled under my blankets, and while the Sunset Bungalows will never be the Four Seasons, my large bed could not have been more inviting under its diaphanous mosquito net, like really swanky camping.

The shower was hot, but not hot enough to ward off the morning chill. I dressed in layers and headed to the main house verandah, my empty stomach growling for food. Breakfast was thick Lao coffee with condensed milk and banana-honey pancakes, eaten out of doors on the large deck overlooking the river and the village of Nong Khiaw on the other side. I was actually quite hungry. Whatever ailed my stomach last night has passed. When I returned to the bungalow Peps, my next door neighbor, was already gone. I hung out on my hammock and simply enjoyed the spectacular scenery.

Peps returned in a short while, and we set out on a trek to the Pathok caves, a short 2.5 km walk east of Ban Sop Houn. It’s a pleasant walk along teakwood forests on Rte 13, the same road that leads to Vietnam. We passed tractors with farm workers, and occasional bicycles parked by the side of the road, the handlebars and seat kept cool under a camouflage of leaves. The fog slowly burned off by 11 am, and we are down to our t-shirts, slathering sunscreen on our faces. We passed children on their way to or from school, offering a greeting of sabaidee to anyone who looked our way. Soon we were surrounded by limestone karsts and found a sign that pointed toward the cave, a short walk off the road and across a bamboo monkey bridge.

The caves known as Tham Pathok were used as a hideout and headquarters by Pathet Lao in the Second Indochina War. To reach the caves, Peps and I scrambled up a few dozen wooden steps, and finally up a set of rickety bamboo ladders. There was enough natural light inside the cave that our flashlights were unnecessary. A few chambers inside the cave were marked with rudimentary signs as the General’s office, the armory, and to our surprise, an arts hall. With no guide to inform us, we moved along until we reached a interior precipice accessible by a flimsy ladder. Neither one of us felt brave—or foolish—enough to scamper down and see where the cave might lead. Retracing our steps, we ventured back outside and met a Canadian couple, Steve and Shirlene, who had been on the road for four months. Together, the four of us followed a secondary trail along the face of the mountain to another cave, but this time our flashlights were absolutely essential. The passages were dank and narrow and when our lights were turned off, there was nothing but pitch blackness. Neither Peps nor Shirlene wanted to press on. My flashlight was not up to the task, either. It barely illuminated 2 feet in front on me. If I had rope, a headlamp, and a backpack instead of a shoulder bag, I would have jumped at the adventure, and I’m certain Steve would have loved to venture further into the deep cave. Instead, we all doubled back, relieved to feel the fresh air on our faces once we exited the stifling cave.

On the trail back we met three young Lao men, one of whom spoke excellent English and told us about yet another cave, but we were unprepared to explore it. Peps and I bid goodbye to our Canadian companions and made our way back across the monkey bridge. I spotted three young girls and a boy playing near the river, using rocks and pieces of wood and pretending they were talking on cellphones. They would run behind trees, hollering “a-lo!” into their flip-phone rocks. They are trilled to have their photo taken, and I taught them how to sing “Twinkle, twinkle, little star.”

“Now your turn,“ I motioned to the girls. “You teach me a song.” Even though they spoke no English at all, they understood right away and proceeded to do a song and dance for me, making sure their male friend did not steal their moment in the spotlight while I videorecorded their performance.

Back in Ban Sop Houn, and after a lunch of laap and BeerLao, it was time to get cozy with my hammock. I notice Peps attending to his ankle.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“No, but I found the inside of my pant leg covered in blood.”

Leeches! The leech had already dropped off, but the tiny puncture wound, injected with anticoagulants, was bleeding profusely. After treating it with iodine and applying pressure to the dressing, we both snoozed out in our respective hammocks.

In the early evening, we took a walk around the dusty back streets of Nong Khiaw and changed money at the local hardware store (there’s no bank in town,) heading to Merkala’s Restaurant for dinner and shots of laolao, the local firewater, with our spelunking Canadian friends. This is Nong Khiaw—it may be slow-paced, rugged, and full of unexpected blood-sucking surprises, but it will be one of the most enjoyable stops of my journey.

Tags: Laos, Nong Khiaw