On March 29 I awoke early to steady rain and cold conditions in Luang Prabang. This was not the ideal day to make a seven hour riverboat ride, but that is what I had planned and I was not about to change my mind.
I caught a tuktuk down to the boat ramp on the Mekong and boarded a small longtail boat, taking the last available seat near the motor. As I got "comfortable" in my makeshift wooden stool of a seat, I watched as a British girl and her boyfriend approached another boat in our group of three and inquired in disgust whether she indeed had to sit in "that" for seven hours. She went on to declare how she hated "these people" and continued to complain loudly. I wondered to myself whether some people come here truly expecting the comforts of home, such as padded seats and boats with enclosed cabins (which this one certainly had not).
This girl represents only one type of stereotypical annoying travelers, the one which I label, "Spoiled Girl whose boyfriend convinced her to come to SE Asia, and it is just not working out." I will make a more exhaustive list of 'the archetypes of travelers whom I disdain' at some later time.
Returning from my tangent, we departed the boat ramp shortly after 9:00am and proceeded to motor up the Mekong at a decent if not swift pace. Immediately I, and my fellow passengers, realized just how miserably cold and wet this trip would be. I, wearing my polypropolene long sleeve, added another layer with my thin but colorful sweater and warm wool paperboy's cap. The wind kept blowing right through me though, and I soon added the only remaining piece of warmth I had, a thin silk scarf that I wrapped around my neck and face. When even that failed to retain an adequate amount of body heat, I resigned myself to the fact that I would be cold for the next seven hours.
The boat contained an awning that protected us from rain of the vertical persuasion, but when the rain and spray from the water come from a more horizontal angle, it does not much good. What the boat lacked in warmth and protection from the weather however, it made up for in the views of the terrain that it offered. Although my ability to appreciate beauty was compromised with my dropping body temperature, I was able to admire the Karst formations (jagged limestone mountains covered in green), sublime landscapes, and scenes of river village life as we motored up the Mekong than turned off to the North up the Nam Ou river.
For the entire seven hours, as I reckoned with the cold and my failing mental capacities, we stopped only one time, on a remote river bank, to relieve ourselves. I had neglected to eat before leaving, and needless to say there were no restaurants or bodegas along the way. The river kept on and on and I pleaded incessantly with the universe to allow the village of Nong Khiaw to be around the next bend, but it was not, until about 4:30 pm, when we finally motored around a oxbow in the river and there was the town with a bridge spanning the river.
I disembarked in a daze and walked, shivering and jaw clacking, up the hill and across the bridge to the nearest guesthouse, which offered palm and rattan bungalows by the river. I checked in and wrapped myself in every blanket I could find. Once the jitters stopped, I wrapped myself up again and walked across the only road in this village to a small restaurant and got myself some food and coffee. I went to bed early that night.
The next day (yesterday) I was ready to leave for Oudomxay to get onward transport to the Chinese border, but after a breakfast of eggs and sticky rice, I noticed that the clouds were breaking a bit and it was getting downright warm. I decided to stay for another night and enjoy the village and surrounding countryside.
I walked 2.5km to a cave where the villagers hid out during the 5 year carpet bombing of Northeastern Laos during 'Nam. There was a crude concrete stairway built up to the mouth of the U-shaped cave, crude displays detailing where different sectors of the town had set up shop (literally, the town moved into the caves to avoid the bombs), and a rickety if not downright dangerous bamboo ladder to reach the last part of the cave.
After exploring this, I moved on to another cave that was truly cavelike, where you could walk back into total darkness. A little lad saw me coming and insisted on being my guide for 20,000 kip (not nearly as much as it sounds). This was all good and well, because my flashlight was about to die and his was a bit stronger. He showed me in broken English and gestures where people would eat, sleep, and otherwise carry out their lives in the cave, and where the mouth of it had been damaged by bombs, with some of the stalactites having broken off and fallen to the floor.
Happy that I had accomplished something today, I walked back to town and wasted the rest of the afternoon and evening eating, reading, and drinking. I spoke with a Lao tour guide from Vientiane for a while who was hosting a group of French around the country. His sister lives in San Francisco, and he told me there are a whopping 50,000 Lao people living in the US.
This morning I awoke, had some breakfast, and caught a minibus out of the village to Oudomxay, where I now reside for the night. I am only 3 hours from the Chinese border and evidence of that fact is in abundance. This town is unattractive and has nothing to offer the traveler-tourist, but I will be catching a bus to Jinghong, China first thing in the morning.
Good bye Laos! You have been wonderful and my favorite country thus far. Your people are mild-mannered, and if not always cheerful, they are definitely kind and not obsessed with the almighty dollar (or Euro). I will miss thee and hope I can return one day.
my hello kitty party cup of iced coffee in Oudomxay
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