Lazing in Laos - Sunday, Nov-22

Tim, the owner of Baan Bua Guesthouse, arrives promptly at 7 o’clock in the morning to drive me to Chiang Khong on the Thai/Lao border. Tim, should there be any mistake, is a woman, elegant in her crisp black trousers and blouse, pale pink cardigan, and string of pearls. I couldn’t be more delighted to be in her company for the next two hours, driving through the beautiful northern countryside, past rice fields and wats and holiday homes for wealthy Thais.

I learn Tim had been married to an Englishman who passed away recently. He was an avid tennis player. She has a daughter named Emily. They lived for a time in Dallas, and traveled all over the US. She loved San Francisco, and I know that when people say that, they really mean it.

Adisak, the man who operates the boat tours that run from Huay Xai to Luang Prabang, calls her to check on our whereabouts, and I let him know we are passing the golden temple and very near to the border crossing. I describe what I look like and what I’m wearing so that the riverboat guide can find me. When we arrive, Tim shows me where to go get my Thai exit stamp on my passport, and where to board the small, swift motorboat to take me across the Mekong to Huay Xai on the Laos side of the river. I can’t get a Lao visa without an exit stamp, and hasty travelers have had to turn back and do so before they are allowed into the country. I thank Tim for all her assistance, and most of all for her company.

“Til next year, Tim,” I say, and we hug before waving goodbye.

Upon arrival I am greeted by Phet, who will be our guide on the boat for the next two days. He takes my bags and leaves them in an open-air eatery where other travelers are also waiting, and walks me to the visa office.

Getting a Lao visa is a bit chaotic. You simply hand over your passport in one window, wait for what seems like an hour among dozens of other travelers until a Lao official holds up your passport and a helpful traveler near the window calls out your name, which is repeated by other travelers so those in the back can hear. Then, pay your $36 USD, more or less depending on your nationality, stand in another queue with passport in hand, get it stamped, and finally walk up the hill past a checkpoint. Phet wrangles a handful of us, presumably all traveling together, and a waiting songthaew takes us and our gear to a waiting boat.

The boat is a colorful wooden craft with a bright polished deck and fours rows of reclining coach seats. Behind the rows of seats is a long dining table with chairs all around, a little bar with refreshments, and best of all, a lavatory with a clean Western toilet. In the rearmost section of the boat are the living quarters for the captain, his wife, and their young daughter. This will be our transport for the next two days, but it is also their home. We push away from the shore, and Phet informs us that a speedboat is coming to join us with three more passengers, for a total of eight.

This is not the usual boat to Luang Prabang. The alternative is the public boat, which is just like this one but stripped of coach seats and with bare wooden benches, if you can get on the boat early and snag a seat. The boats are packed with at least ten times as many passengers, and often as many as a hundred, plus their luggage, too. To me, paying the extra $100 USD was worth it, and though I don’t know it yet, it will be one of the highlights of my entire trip.

Our group of eight consists mostly of retirees. I soon introduce myself to everyone, and meet Tom and Bob from Minnesota who recently were in Chiang Mai volunteering with Habitat for Humanity. They are pretty excited to have met Rosalynn Carter and had their photo taken with her. I meet a Dutch couple, Anna Lucia and Jake, who have planned to cycle from Luang Prabang to Vientiane, and Agneta and Fredy from Stockholm. And lastly is Mattias from Germany, who is traveling alone like me.

I couldn’t be more pleased with this boat trip. The coach seats are comfy and there’s plenty of room to move about and stretch. In the front, behind the captain’s seat, is a raised platform with a roof that slides open and seats that face each other, a great place to chat with my shipmates and enjoy the sun. But not now. This morning it is quite cool and foggy with a slight wind. I put my windbreaker over my fleece and wrap the pashmina around me. Phet asks us if we want coffee or tea, and we all huddle around the dining table, warming our hands around our hot mugs.

A little after the noon hour we are served lunch. The captain’s wife has prepared a tasty lunch of fried catfish, savory omelets with bean sprouts, stir-fried vegetables, and steamed rice, plus all the tea, coffee and fruit we can help ourselves to.

The Mekong is swift and rocky and full of dangerous eddies and strong currents. Our captain navigates the river with unsurpassed ease, even though this is the start of the dry season and the Mekong runs shallower now. The risk of running aground or scraping on some rocks is always a danger, but our captain maneuvers his boat without any effort on his part, coming so close to some rocks we can practically touch them. At times we sail down the middle of the river, and at other times we hug one bank or the other. The river is flanked by green mountains choked with jungle, and an occasional bamboo hut dots the hillside, yet without a road in sight to indicate how one is supposed to reach it. Not even a Jeep could bushwhack its way through all that undergrowth; a person on foot could, or an elephant surely, but the jungle is thick and unyielding. Each bend in the river reveals a landscape more stunning than what we leave behind in our wake, with mountains growing taller and disappearing into the mists. Other than the river and the mountains and the bamboo huts few and far between, there is nothing but the natural world all around us.

Mattias is a photographer, too, and we point out good shots to each other. He is shooting film, so he doesn’t have the instant gratification of seeing the results so he asks if he can browse my photos. He is particularly taken by a picture of Avalokiteshvara that I shot in a temple in Yaowarat in Bangkok, and asks if he might obtain a copy. I give him my card and tell him to email me any time.

In about five hours we arrive in Pak Beng, our halfway point. We will be spending the night here before embarking again and continuing to Luang Prabang, where we will arrive tomorrow. The boat pulls up to the shore, but there’s not really a boat landing or anything, just some loose and scrabbly shale and some concrete steps far above that. But first, we must maneuver up the bank with our gear, which makes me wish I had only a backpack, instead of a large daypack and a wheeled carry-on case. There are boys eager to carry our gear for us, but Phet warns us that they will demand $4 USD. As I disembark, I feel little hands grabbing for my case, but I hold on to it and instead carry it up myself, which is going to be a challenge. A small slip on the loose rock could be disastrous, and I wonder how many travelers have fallen on the dangerous riverbank and gotten hurt.

Once we pass the loose rock and reach the steps, it’s still a bit of a climb until we all reach the top. Phet rounds up our group and we walk a short distance to Villa Salika, the guesthouse that is included in the cost of our boat trip. The passengers on the public slowboats must wrangle their own accommodations upon arrival.

Pak Beng is little more than a dusty frontier outpost with a few guesthouses and places to eat. It grew out of a need to provided food and lodging to travelers on their way to Luang Prabang. Other than being an overnight stop, there not much else to do here. There is no electricity in town, except after sundown when the village fires up a few noisy generators until 11 pm. Then it’s lights out. A flashlight is essential, if only to pick your way along the dark, rutted unpaved main street.

After we settle our bags in our respective rooms, Mattias and I invite Phet to dine with us, and agree on a time to meet in the lobby of the guesthouse. Until then, Mattias and I go for a walk eastward on the main street until it gets too dark to take photos, then return to Villa Salika, where we find Tom and Bob enjoying a tall Beerlao on the veranda overlooking the river. I invite them to join us for dinner, too. Eventually, we meet the rest of our group and we all dine together at the bakery, which serves tasty Lao and western food. We ask Phet a lot of questions, and I get him to teach us a few Lao phrases, like sabaidee (hello) and khob jai (thank you.)

Mattias asks me what brings me to Laos, and I tell him that I love Southeast Asia and had always to visit this country. “But really,” I added, “I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to come. I booked my trip so impulsively, but now I’m glad I did.”

“I think you’re here for healing.”

It makes me highly uncomfortable when someone peers too deeply into my soul, but he is right. I didn’t know it at the time I booked my trip, but there is something I need to take care of when I am here. I lean closer to him so only he can hear, and I tell him my story:

Exactly one week before I left on this trip, I was standing inside my garage with my partner Richard when we heard a huge, loud thump. When you live in a city, you get accustomed to loud noises, so you tend to tune most of them out lest your senses get overloaded with so many stimuli.

When we looked outside, there was someone lying in the street not 12 feet away from us. Now this scene in itself is not cause for immediate alarm. Regrettably, it’s not uncommon to see a misfortunate drunk who has passed out on the sidewalk and conked themselves on the head, requiring a call to 911 so the paramedics can take him to the emergency room for treatment. But this wasn’t a street drunk; it was my neighbor. He had jumped from the roof of our four-story apartment building. It was a horrible thing to witness, to see someone die in such a violent way and know that here is nothing we could have done to help him. For days I was very much tormented by the endless loop playing in my head: the sight of his last breath, the blur of policemen and paramedics, the growing pool of thick blood that left a stain on the asphalt. Could we have saved him?

“Go to a temple and make him an offering,” Mattias suggested. “Ask him if he will accept it first, and then he can go on his way.”

We all retire soon after dinner, though it isn’t even 10 o’clock at night. In any case, the generators will get turned off at 11 pm, and unless you’ve got a flashlight, your day is pretty much over.

Villa Salika is decent but basic. My room has two twin beds and a thermos full of hot water that I can use for tea or for bathing in the morning, depending on which urge is most pressing. I choose the bed away from the window, and peer under the mattress to scan for bed bugs. The room doesn’t look dirty but it is pretty no-frills. I want to ensure that I’m not sharing my bed with any unwanted guests. Under the thin, hard mattress are many leaves, quite possibly an insect repellent because my little bed is clean and bug-free. I take a cold shower, saving the hot water for the morning, put on my earplugs to muffle the noisy generators, and crawl into bed.

Tags: Chiang Khong, Huay Xai, Laos, Pak Beng, slow boat, Thailand