An Easy Life

I am well aware that I’ve had a “sweet life” this past year of travel, as one good friend repeatedly reminds me. And I try the best I can to step back as often as I can and appreciate everyday that I wake up and don’t have work to go to, or any responsibility beyond feeding and sheltering myself. But of course, I can never appreciate it as much as I should—or as much as I dreamed I would as I sat in my office day after day gazing up at the map on my wall, or as I'm sure I will remember back with longing when I’m sitting in class in just six weeks! Never the less, there are particular stretches of time during my travels that have really brought the word “holiday” to mind, and this past week was one was one of them. After spending quite a few days in the lovely town of Hoi An, Lucy and I took another sleeper bus to Nha Trang, the beach resort town of Vietnam. While it is not a particularly nice town (and certainly does not compare to Hoi An in the charm factor), we ended up spending a great four days here before our next move to the cooler inlands to begin a three day motorbike tour of the countryside.

While the town of Nha Trang suffers from a recent boom in tourism and all that comes with it—too much construction, lots of tourist-focused crime, and haphazard layout, widespread layout. However, the beach is really nice and the water is lovely and clear, so after our early morning arrival at 6am (ugh) we checked into a hotel and then it the beach. The next day we visited some well-known local mud baths and hot springs which was actually very nice and a good cultural experience. First, we had to get our tickets and rent some towels—sounds easy but it’s not. I think I can be quite pushy, but the crowds at the mud baths gave me a run for my money—there’s not much respect for “a line” so to speak. In any case, we finally succeeded and by that time I was in desperate need of a calming bath. With some guidance from some local women who were regulars, we soaked in a tub of warm mud for twenty minutes, pouring it over our backs, and arms. Then we rinsed in the hot showers before soaking in a mineral tub for twenty or so minutes. After that it was time to hit the hot swimming pool and thermal waterfall, along with a cold shower that shot our horizontal jets. There was plenty to occupy us for about three hours.

The following day, I was up early to do a morning scuba trip that included two dives. It was actually really beautiful and I saw lots of colorful coral, fish, and even an octopus and a frog fish. And I’m still a new diver (this was only dive 7 and 8 for me) so just being under water is still exciting. The last day, Lucy and I signed up for a boat trip which turned out to be another cultural experience. Many of the Vietnamese are on holiday at the moment, so our Funky Munkey day boat had about half a dozen or so Westerners and the rest vacationing Vietnamese. After snorkeling around some pretty coral and fish, we had a great seafood lunch on the top deck of the boat and then the makeshift band including the tour operator (know as Funky Munkey, hence the trip name) and a motley crew sporting old electric guitars, a tambourine, and even a set of drums made out of kitchen pots got things started. Soon enough, Lucy was whisked onto the stage (okay, small platform) to perform a love ballad with FM. It was hysterical. She did great. The rest of the trip passed quickly lounging on the boat as well as the hilarious floating bar. One of the band members served as bartender and poured out glasses of sweet wine cocktails to all the passengers floating in tubes. It was good fun all in all.

In addition, Nha Trang had a lively nightlife, in the backpacker sense of the word. As with Hoi An, before we arrived, we had already been briefed by fellow backpackers travelling south to north who told us which are the bars that everyone goes to. Sure enough, we spent plenty of time at Sailing Club, a very chic bar on the beach. In addition we dined well, although perhaps “dined” is not the right word as it was not so refined (think miniture red plastic chairs and tables in a fenced in cement lot) but made up for this in the taste department. The first night we ate a good western meal at a popular expat hangout. We had some unfortunately company (the very drunk husband of the Vietnamese owner) who quite a few more words said Brits were snobs (and probably something under his breath about Americans, but that’s to be expected). I went over afterwards and asked for an apology to which is acquiesced. In any case, we were not eager to return despite the good food, but the little makeshift steak place associated with the restaurant looked so good, and at 17,000 dong ($1)for a steak and chips, it sounded too good not to give it a try. So we did—for the next three nights. And was it delicious! Thin, flavorful steak served with a tomato gravy sauce, greasy chips, and French bread and pickled salad. Insanely good. So we became regulars there, and more than one person came over to apologize for the behavior of the drunk, Wilson. But just when you become regulars, it’s already time to leave—we’re off to Dalat to sign up for an Easy Rider bike tour through the central highlands of Southern Vietnam to balance out our beach time with some history.

(Pics to come shortly courtesy of Lucy's camera)

From Hanoi to Hoi An

After a few more hectic days on the move, I’ve had some time to stay in one place and relax a bit in Hoi An, a beautiful World Heritage Town about halfway down the coast of Vietnam. However, as Hoi An has a flourishing reputation for having nice, cheap(er) clothes tailor-made in just days, and there are around 500 tailor shops alone, it can be more overwhelming than relaxing. These are the times when I am reminded that I am just not a shopper, especially when there are seemingly limitless options. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

After a nice couple of days taking in Hanoi, I booked myself on a two day one night trip to see the famous Halong Bay—at least one of those spots that is famous on the backpack trail that you basically have to go to or will probably hear several times along the way (at least) how you missed out, although the tour packages are inevitably mediocre. Not to mention that I had heard more than one horror story of the solo traveler being stuck on a boat with only couples. Ugh, how very Brigitte Jones. So I splurged on a slightly more expensive but nicer boat through the backpackers place I was staying at and guaranteeing me some young company, including three British chaps I’d met in Hanoi who’d come from China. The trip actually ended up being as nice as it seemed to promise—a relatively luxury boat with nice ensuite bathrooms, a rooftop deck lounge area, and a white linen dining room. The food wasn’t half-bad either—a real triumph in these scenarios—with lots of good seafood (my first crab in a long time, a great treat for a MD gal!). In the afternoon we cruised along the bay taking just one small section of the massive bay that contains thousands of limestone cliff islands that make for spectacular vistas over the water. We took a hike to an enormous cave, and then we took a kayak excursion into a low cave that brought us into a ring of limestone cliffs. A lovely isolated spot (except for the other tourists of course, ha!) and a great chance to test the echo. The weather cleared up nicely in the afternoon and we all went for a refreshing swim and jumps off the boat. That evening, after another multicourse meal, the youth of the boat (everyone excepting one older couple who must have regretted their booking a bit) gathered to drink smuggled vodka in water bottles—yes, we had reached the classy portion of the evening.

The next day, most of the other people departed for Cat Ba Island to say on the tour for another day. I instead opted to head back to Hanoi and catch the sleeper bus down to Hoi An via Hue to play catch-up with my new friend Lucy who had gone there a few days earlier. And let me say, these sleeper buses are nice! It’s hard to think back to those rickety, decrepit buses of my autumn journeys across Africa. These are almost luxury with fully reclining seats, and as I’m quite short, not bad for me in the leg room department. There were horrendous rains and floods as we left Hanoi, slowing us down, so we arrived in Hue, an old royal city, a couple hours late, leaving a couple hours to take in the city. I checked out the old citadel which sadly had been destroyed by bombings during the wars, and enjoyed the small bustling city stretched out along the Perfume River. After another afternoon bus, I arrived to the sheer comfort of Hoi An. Lucy had found us a lovely hotel room complete with AC, bathtub, TV, swimming pool, and free internet and breakfast. I settled in quickly.

I’ve spent the past five days wandering the beautiful old streets of Hoi An and along the river, which is reminiscent of Luang Prabang with its beautiful French influence architecture and tile roofs. I took bike rides to the local beach which is really lovely and feasted on some friend soft shell crab and coconut. And yes, I went shopping. I tried to control myself, but as I will be in Boston in just two months following my tropical year, a new coat was definitely in order. And while quality is always up for debate, the prices just can’t be beat really. There’s also some great (cheap!) dining (a whole three course meal with beer for $1..50—I kid you not!), and local specialties such as Cau Lau, a delicious pork and thick noodle dish with lettuce, mint, and fried croutons. We've also been hitting the town at night and even made it long enough for a stroll through the market at dawn which always brings with it many exciting discoveries--can you believe snozzcumbers (see Roald Dahl's The BFG, only one of the best book of all times) really exist?? They do in the market of Hoi An!!We even took a cooking course this morning from a lovely woman who runs a café across the street from our hotel and learned to make five dishes: cau lau, papaya salad with pork and shrimp, chicken with lemongrass wrapped in banana leaf, fish in spicy ginger sauce, eggplant stuffed with pork and mushrooms, all delicious!

Now it’s time to board the sleeper bus again to continue the travels south to the beach resort town of Nha Trang where I hope to do some diving, etc. With just a few weeks left, reality is setting in! My tickets to Hong Kong are booked, my flight home is booked—it’s only a matter of (just a little) time now. And I received my first “assignment from BU, so it is definitely time to make the most of my dwindling freedom!

The Beginning of the End

I’ve reached it and passed it: the one month mark. I’ll be stateside in less than one month. It’s a strange feeling, but also a really good one. I know the time is going to go fast, so fast in fact that in just a couple weeks it will feel like I only blinked and I’m already down to two weeks, then one, then home! I really can’t wait to come home, but in the meantime, this last month will just be so lovely because I can really just appreciate it for all its worth. The one disadvantage to long-term travel is loosing that crisp appreciation for each moment of freedom from jobs, errands, the gym, etc, and now that I have a looming deadline, that feeling of dread (not much really, as I’ve said I’m burned out) is followed closely by intense happiness for each moment that is still free of those burdens. After a bit of a low with that tough border crossing, I’m feeling like I have reached a point where I can more or less coast to the end, especially as I’ve just booked an amazingly good deal of an open bus ticket from Hanoi to Saigon for a mere $38. Can’t beat that really. Working out the details on my flight to Hong Kong for my trip home, but once that is sorted I’m good to go. And after some unpleasant company, I have found a much more suitable travel buddy, so things are looking up.

I must admit, I was not completely upfront in my last post. First of all, during that altercation in the minivan in Nong Khiew, when the husband was trying to wrench his wife out of the van, I became so angry I hit him in the shoulder. Not hard mind you, I mean please, I hit about as well as I throw a baseball—and my old NYC roomies can attest that it is not well from our numerous catches in Central Park. Nevertheless, I have rarely been so angry in my whole life. The disrespect shown towards women in the many countries I’ve visited has sadly been a common theme in my travels, and another unfortunately common thread has also been the anti-Americanism I’ve encountered just about everywhere. The man didn’t seem to care less that some wimpy foreigner had hit him and continued to attack his wife, but I should not have done that all the same. However, I am not one bit regretful that I stood up for the wife, and intervened with words and helped to free her from his grasp. Overall, the event thoroughly upset me and the other farang girl sitting next to me.

The next day as I was stuck in the tiny town of Muang Khuoa and now phone or internet to keep me company, I instead had that of the two girls on my bus from Udomxai. In the end, to put it gently, we didn’t click, which became quite clear right off the bat. We went to the market to get noodle soup for lunch and somehow I brought up my freakish story from yesterday and explained how much it had upset me. In response, I was met with fairly open hostility. I grew up in DC, so I know difference between a discussion, a debate, and a fight, and how quickly they often digress. I was attacked for “judging” a culture I didn’t know, and I’m quite sure it had to do with the fact that I was American and trying to assert my beliefs and culture on another’s, especially as the Kiwi girl mentioned something quite insulting about “how American’s must feel having bombed Laos and now getting bombed itself” which I simply chose to ignore. I can’t even begin to express all the anti-Americanism I’ve encountered this year, but let’s just say it started in Uganda (not the locals mind you), continued in Oz and NZ, and has followed me here to Southeast Asia. And the other few Americans I meet tell me the same thing. People are not afraid to state the obvious often these days: that they don’t like Americans. I just think back to that golden rule of kindergarten: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. In any case, it may have been the days of travel, the isolation of being stuck in a tiny town with two apparently fresh enemies, my eagerness to go home soon, the horror of the abuse event, but they mixed to create something akin to homesickness and I just lost it. I mean, walking back to the guesthouse through the rain with deep, ugly sobs. Fortunately or unfortunately, the walls were none to thin, and I think the girls realized they had upset me. The Israeli came in to check on me, and reinforce the fact that she had enjoyed our discussion. To be honest, I said, I had not, as I’ve tried to not “take things personally” as she advised, but it’s been a long 9 months (she’s been going for one month—tell me how you feel in 8 more months I told her), and at the end of the day, come on, what could be more personal? I’m American, my family and friends are all American—it’s really some kind of personal if you ask me! In any case, we made amends, mainly because I knew we were stuck together in a small town and it seemed the better of two awkward situations. And as it turned out we would be seeing a lot of each other through the further bus journeys and then Sapa, so that was a wise decision in the end.

But all this background is mainly meant to give you an idea of why I was so grateful for my time in Sapa and the events that transpired there. After sharing the room with one of the girls (hey, might as well get a cheaper room rate out of my still rather unpleasant company), I got breakfast with them, and we started chatting with a British girl sitting alone at a nearby table. She seemed exceedingly normal and perfectly pleasant from so I eagerly asked her to come join us at our table. Then later that day I ran into this same girl, Lucy, (these towns are small!) and we spent the rest of the day waiting out the rain (the rain won) in a lovely little bakery, Baguette & Chocolat (great food and a worthy cause: http://www.hoasuaschool.com/, I love it!), and discovering that we were both jaded backpackers of 9 or so months who had entirely lost our previous motivation. I was just so happy to have friendly company again, and then some other travel friends of her showed up, and I made plans to do a trek with one of them. There was a light at the end of my “unfriendly travel companion” tunnel—things were looking up. Sharon and I booked a two day one night trek for the following day, and Lucy and I made plans to meet the following evening to catch the train back to Hanoi together. I parted ways cordially with my border-crossing companions, and set off on my trek feeling much more optimistic.

It was raining in Sapa, which is perched high in the mountains, but once we drove 15km out of town and down the mountains a bit, the rain lightened and toward the afternoon some blue sky even appeared. Our group of 7 (Canadian Sharon, myself, a couple from Pamplona, Spain, two brothers from Sweden, and a girl form Japan) spent the morning slipping and a sliding down the rice paddies, saved only by the many young H’mong girls in full traditional dress who held our hands (yes, even the boys) and kept us from certain downfall. The rice paddy terraces lacing the mountain edges were stunningly breathtaking and despite the 5 or so hours of hiking through mud, it was a good day. (The best decision of my life may have been to borrow the rubber boots offered by my guesthouse!) We stayed overnight at a homestay, not completely legitimate, but much more authentic than my Chiang Mai homestay, and the food and beds were very lovely.

The next morning we trekked to another small minority village (all the workers were out in the surrounding rice paddies) and then visited a waterfall and some lovely natural warm springs overlooking the river. After a difficult uphill climb, we were driven back to Sapa, just in time to catch my bus for the evening train. Or so I thought—until I received a panicked message from Lucy via Sharon’s roommate that our overnight train was earlier than expected—6:45pm, and my bus had left at 4:30—15 minutes earlier! I collected my bags and ran for my travel agency, where a nice man arranged a rushed pickup and I was off to the train station in Lao Cai. Who should I spot as soon as I stepped out, but my border buddies, who in keeping with form, were none too friendly—good riddance. Despite some casualness on my part (thinking 6:45 was the report time to the train, not the departure time), I miraculously realized my error just in the nick of time and boarded the train, reaching my compartment and Lucy just minutes before the train wheels moved into gear. Lucy and I laughed about the snafus, caught up a bit on the past two days, and then caught some sleep—as much as we and the other four people in our compartment could before the train workers came knocking on our door at 4am. By 4:15am we were standing sleepily and grumpily on the platform seeking a cab. We found one, bargained quite poorly as we were not fully awake, and made our way to Hanoi Backpackers, a lovely western backpacker place I grew tired of in Oz and NZ, but here it’s so refreshing and social and clean. We waited for check-in, showered, and set off to sightsee before we would have time to reconsider and spend the whole day sleeping.

In the (new to me) hot, humid, sticky Hanoi weather, we strolled the lake in the old quarter before setting off to visit Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum, where his preserved body is own display for thousands to walk by, view, and pay respects. It was a bit of an eerie sight, with a reddish glow caste from the glass coffin over his pale clothed sleeping body, but so interesting to see the strict security, and massive crowds pushing along and butting to get in. Next we braved a moto-ride to an excellent local restaurant for some great food ($2 filet mignon dinner—unheard of!) before walking over to visit Highland Coffee (the chain seems to be the Starbucks of Vietnam, if you will) and Hoa Lo Prison—“The Hanoi Hilton” where American POWs were kept during the Vietnam (American) War, and where Vietnamese political and resistance prisoners were kept before that. Two-thirds of it has been knocked down to create a high-rise (something about that seems wrong), but the rest is preserved and holds some interesting, if slightly biased information, photos, and clothing items, etc.

That night we hung out and relaxed (it had been a looong day!) at the hostel and sampled some locally brewed beer at one of the many street corner bars serving drafts for 20 cents to crowds clustered in red plastic chairs on the pavement. Yesterday was recovery/errand day. Lucy and I booked our open bus tickets—she left for Hoi An last night, and I will meet her there in a few days after I come back from my overnight boat trip to Halong Bay, which is supposed to be a magnificent spot. I also took in some excellent local coconut ice cream, coffee, fruit shake (of sorts, many different fruits topped with coconut milk and tapioca, and crushed ice and mashed all together) and an interesting if strange water puppet show. So far Vietnam has been good to me, and Hanoi has proven to be a lovely city, if a bit manic—watch the mopeds!

Good Morning Vietnam?

Have I mentioned I hate border crossing days? I do. In fact, I dread them. Without a doubt, something, at least one thing though likely many more, will inevitably go wrong. It makes sense after all—one country has enough problems, but get two involved and you’re in for a real treat, I ended up crossing the border into Vietnam just yesterday, after two changes of plans and an epic four-day journey.

Last Thursday, a new Australian friend, Jade, and I made plans to leave Luang Prabang. She had marooned herself in LP for almost two weeks as well and I think we were both having separation anxiety about leaving our lovely little home as of late. However, we agreed that if we could secure a boat trip up to the small northern town of Nong Khiew (not as easy feat in low season), we would leave that day. And in fact we lucked out. Despite some earlier signs to the contrary, one of the boat drivers was returning home to Nong Khiew that day and would give us a ride for the standard price. It ended up being the nicest boat ride I’ve taken. We were seated in the small, covered wooden boat with padded cushions and only the captain and his young, shy daughter to keep us company. Watching the steep green cliffs change and merge along the great muddy river through passing rainstorms, we congratulated ourselves on our private boat tour. After arriving in Nong Khiew, we secured a bungalow on the riverside and then grabbed some dinner, where we met another Australian mate and solo traveler, Grant, who was quite an adventurous soul making a journey around northern Laos by motorbike and had just driven over 400km that day from Sam Neau. We hit the local “cinema” for a movie as well.

Next morning, Jade and I did a quick trek through the beautiful countryside to (yet another) cave, before catching a one-hour boat up to the remote town of Muang Ngoi which is only accessible by boat—thus no cars, no motorbikes, not nothing really, quite a nice change. We found a great little bungalow complete with a hammock and spent the rainy afternoon lounging, reading, and eating. But the next morning we were up bright and early to going fishing with some local boys—net fishing that is. Sai and Gai took us out in their very shallow wooden boat and tried to teach us, Jade, Grant, and myself, how to fish. Only problem was, they were not having much luck either catching some big ones. I was about as good at this as I am at bowling, but we all managed to contribute one or two small fish to the pot, or should I say frying pan, in the end. They cooked us up an early afternoon lunch and we feasted on fried fish, sticky rice, pumpkin soup, and the infamous lao-lao, homemade rice whiskey (just one sip thank you!). Then we went for a short hike to see a couple caves and stunning scenery. The next morning it was time to say goodbye to the peaceful mud main street and head back to Nong Khiew.

I decided to abandon my trip out to Sam Neau and Vieng Xai in light of traveler stories indicating this route was lacking some serious transportation on the Vietnamese side. At this point in my travels, I have lost my child-like energy and can’t really be bothered to take on that adventure sadly. So I decided I would head to the national park and do some trekking in northwestern Luang Nam Tha before taking the northernmost border crossing to Vietnam. After a four hour journey by to go 169km, I changed my mind again: no more Luang Nam Tha which would take me farther from VT before I would get closer. Instead it was time to say goodbye to Laos. But still not for two more days of arduous bus rides.

And then another sign that it was time to leave Laos perhaps: while waiting for our full minivan to leave Nong Khiew, I got a look at a not so lovely aspect of the culture. As I was sitting chatting with a Scottish girl, Val, sitting next to me in the back row of seats, a man who someone said was the husband boarded the small van and began to violently tug at a young Lao woman sitting on the inner window seat. He has a look of madness across his face and began to violently rub her inner elbow across the seat corner as she protested and tried to free his grasp. Val and I were stunned as everyone else in the van acted like nothing else was going on, but it was quite literally in my face and I couldn’t just sit back and watch (I blame Holton-Arms Prep School for Girls!). Then he went for her throat. I mean, imagine it—several real, long minutes of this young man lurching over us to get to his equally young wife. It was awful. Finally after much protest, he left the van and we were on our way, but certainly not before her arm was rubbed raw and Val and I were traumatized. I must simply say to this, that my travels have certainly proved that most of the world is not kind to woman, and that is often a huge understatement.
By the time the van arrived in Udomxai (always a longer journey than any farang expects!), there were no more buses to Luang Nam Tha. Time for a new change of plans—I was beginning to doubt the ease of this crisscrossing of northern Laos and decided it was best to just head for the border.

Especially in low season, the frequency of buses can be slim to none in remote parts, which is exactly where you don’t really want to get stuck with no phone, no internet, no money exchange or ATMs, and not too much to do. This was probably a good call in the end as it would be three more days of buses to endure. I caught a bus to the small northern town of Muang Khuoa, which the woman at the bus station (who spoke very good English) assured me would be an easy enough three hour journey to the town where I could most likely catch a one hour bus to the Vietnamese border that day. Misinformation or wishful thinking? I have found that knowledge of important bus information only extends about 10km from the source at times. Upon arrival in Muang Khuoa after a five or six hour journey, we found out that in fact there was only a 7am bus to Vietnam and it departed 3-4 times a week, approximately every other day. There was one leaving the next day which was lucky relatively speaking. So I whiled away the rest of the afternoon with a walk or two through “town” and a game of pool on some really old tables with the Israeli and Kiwi girls I had met on my bus. We had a nice enough guesthouse overlooking the Nam Ou, and I had a large group dinner with some other travelers who were heading for my old destination of Luang Nam Tha.

The next day it was another early walk up call—my third day arising before 7am—to catch a small boat across the river and walk up the steep driveway to board the bus to the border. It took us four or so hours for us to travel the 84km to the border. I was perched on the bags in the back along with three other farang, but to be honest it was quite comfortable as things go, expect when the bullhead in a bag threatened to impale me as we turned a sharp curve. At one point the bus got stuck in the mud, and most of the people had to get out and walk a good kilometer or two—never a dull moment. By the time we reached Dien Bien Phu, the biggest town after the border, once again there were no buses leaving for our final destination, Sapa in the mountains near the China border. We would have to wait until the next morning. We found some rooms at a guesthouse—nice enough with hot water for about $6, yay Vietnam! Then I joined the French couple to check out the Dien Bien Phu war museum, as the town was the place of last resistance during the French-Vietnamese war. It was interesting if filled with its fair share of communist propaganda. The town was pleasant enough and we finished off the evening with a great dinner of venison cooked four ways among a group of eight farang all stuck in town following that gruesome bus ride. We literally walked in, the woman made some twitching finger symbols above her head which we finally understood to mean they only serve deer and sat down to a really unexpectedly delightful dinner.

It turned out to be a very long journey and may locals, especially ethnic women with high black buns wrapped in netting with silver coin decoration, high-necked blouses and long velvet skirts—not what I would call ideal travel outfits. And in fact, they did not travel so well, but the outfits were not the main problem. Apparently motion-sickness is, however. The next supposedly 7 but in reality ten hour journey a half dozen locals proceeded to puke violently (I’m talking some serious gagging, hacking, moaning, etc) until I wasn’t sure how they had anything left. I was particularly lucky to have one woman’s terrifying noises reverberating in my left ear and without me offending you with more detail (although part of me wants to make you all suffer as I did), let’s just say it was a very long journey. But we’re finally here. It’s a very spectacular mountain town with incredible views from our $5 hotel room (yay Vietnam again!). It’s pouring rain today but in all honesty, it’s kind of nice to have a day when you can’t do anything, and most importantly, don’t have to get on a bus! Hopefully the weather will clear, but even if it doesn’t, I think I’ll be attempting a trek to see some of the villages around here before heading for Hanoi. But so far the food, the people, and the scenery have been quite nice--even if the journey was not the most pleasant, this time the destination seems the highlight.

Off to the Middle of Nowhere

I am hesitant to leave Luang Prabang. I have been meaning to for 4 days now, but something always “comes up”—i.e. I don’t want to leave! But I think it’s finally time to hit the road, or actually the river. If all goes well I will be taking a boat (probably equally as uncomfortable as the slow boat into Laos from the Thai border, but also just as spectacular, if not more so. However, it’s low (and rainy!) season, and there’s no way to know for sure that a boat will leave on a given day—there have to be at least 6-8 people or you can pay the extra to charter the boat. Yeah, I don’t think so. However, that’s not the only option: there’s also a shorter, four-hour bus journey up north to the village of Nong Khiew.

This will be a return to truly challenging travel—no internet connection! From Nong Khiew I think I will head an hour north to Muang Ngoi, accessible only by the hour boat ride. That should be some real isolation—except for all the other backpackers doing the same thing of course—ha! From there I hope I can take a bus east towards the Vietnamese border to Sam Xeu and then to see some cave at Vieng Xai before crossing the border into Vietnam and hitching a bus ride to Hanoi. See why I’m hesitant to leave?! I’ve developed quite a comfy life here in LP and will miss it. But I have been here a while, and it’s time for some more exploring.

Not that I’ve been just idling away the days—I took a two day weaving class (so much harder than it looks, and it looks hard!) and made my own silk scarf—well, some of it anyways. I also kept up my volunteering and scrabble-playing at Big Brother Mouse and took another trip to the Hmong village to teach two English classes. And then there was shopping to be done at the night market! There have also been plenty more treats, snacks at food market, even the most glorious herbal steam bath at the Laos Red Cross Center in town. I know I’ve said this before, but I am definitely coming back here one day soon I hope.

Alright, I must be getting a move on. Will be in touch soon!

Laura, the Elephant Mahout

I must say I got myself a very lovely birthday present: the two day Mahout trip turned out to be just a good as its advertising—not an easy feat in tourist-hyperbole Asia, where the treks promised never quite live up to their billing. But here was the exception—when they said picked up at 9:30am, they were actually waiting for me at 9:20, dinner was promptly at 6:30pm as promised, and we did in fact get to bath the elephants, not just once, but twice!

Overall, it really turned out to be a unique experience that you can’t do just any old time, which is one of my criteria for splurging. Not that it really was such a splurge though. For full disclosure’s sake (as always), the cost of the two day trip including accommodation (a rustic luxury sort reminiscent of the safari lodges in Africa that was a step above my usual, i.e. there were decorative all hangings not just the necessities), meals, transport, lots of elephant time, as well as time on the river tubing and kayaking, set me back $65. Not bad, I’d say.

I had been thinking about booking the two day trip all week, and on Friday I finally committed and paid for my spot, upon hearing that there were four other people signed up—dum dum dum—consisting of two couples. Hello, Bridget Jones’s moment! Ha, I kid, but it was only made worse by the fact that I asked about the aforementioned lovely accommodation, and the young man working at the travel agency replied, “Yes, it’s very nice—good for couples.” I laughed that off and said that that didn’t matter much to me, to which he said something along the lines of “you should go find a boyfriend.” No, I’m not kidding. Ahh, the life of a solo female traveler. Thick skin, I tell you, thick skin! But in reality, it no longer phases me a bit, I mean, if it did, it would really start to get on one’s nerves so it’s best to just get over it. (The older boys at BBM asked me one day, “You’re here alone?—Yes—Really? Yes—Just you? Just me!) That being said, I haven’t done one of these trip that feels more couple-y (the trek in Chiang Mai was much more summer camp roughing it group comraderie), but I decided, hell, even if it’s just me, I deserve treat myself once in a while! And I’m so glad I did, because otherwise I really would have missed out…

After being transported by minivan to a small All Lao Elephant camp bus (due to its UNESCO World Heritage status, no tour buses are allowed in the city center—very refreshing!), we were driven to the Elephant camp about 25 minutes outside of Luang Prabang, and brought promptly to our first elephant ride. It turned out that there were actually only 3 of us signed up for the two-day mahout course (I guess the other couple never existed or dropped out), and it turned out to be a lovely, energetic retired couple from New South Wales, Australia—Sue and John. They were a lot of fun and definitely great company which made the experience even better. First, however, I shared my elephant ride atop a bench (would seem very tame later!) with a nice German fellow, as myself, Sue, and John, along with day-trippers tramped through the jungle for an hour our so, high atop the backs of elephants. Then we emerged from the jungle out onto the muddy banks of the river (there was some intermittent rain, but so what), and after trudging down into the waters the elephants forged across the river and brought us to our lodge for the night—well, the three of us that were lucky enough to be staying there! It really was a lovely spot on a bend in the (albeit muddy) Nam Khan river with the steep Elephant Mountain shrouded in low misty clouds. During a lunch of fried rice, our guide, Vong (pronounced Wong) gave us a running list of elephant (“Xang”) language, that was as follows, spelled phonetically of course, as I have no idea of the correct Lao spelling:

Sabaidee Xang: Hello Elephant!
How: Stop!
B/Pai: Go!
B/Pai Sigh: Go left
B/Pai Quah: Go right
Mabp Loong: Lie down
Look Kuhn: Get up
Toi: Go backwards/Turn around

After lunch and lesson time, Sue and John, and myself moved into our respective bungalows (ah, king-size bed all to myself—take that, travel agent!) and congratulated ourselves on the lovely porch views over the river and the neat outdoor bathroom and shower. We also changed into our nifty dark blue Mahout outfits reminiscent of a leisure suit (I was very excited about these as it meant less laundry upon our return to LP!). Then it was time for out second encounter with the elephants. We returned to the elephant feeding area and saddled up quite promptly. Mabp Loong! Like a huge dog, my elephant, Kampawn (one again, strictly phonetic spelling!) knelt down with one knee positioned for me to climb up on his neck in front of the (true) mahout. I steadied myself by leaning forward with my two palms pressed firmly on the elephant’s forehead, and the mahout holding on at times of a particular muddy hill or elephant wander, and we carried on through the jungle for the second time that day, down to the river. This time we went straight in and gave those elephants a bath, although we were bathing too though I can’t say it was cleansing (some large elephant poo floated right by a few times!). After a good time frolicking and splashing in the water, we said good night to the elephants, were given some rubber tubes (much tamer than my last tubing session!) and brought up river to float gently down as the weather was finally clearing. Then it was time to visit the tomb of Henri Maohut (coincidence in the name—the “discoverer of Angkor,” i.e. the first European discoverer) before returning to our lodge for a much-needed shower. After some porch-reading time, it was already time for dinner—an impressive meal of celery soup, spring rolls, chicken curry, bamboo salad, and pineapple—before a quite night on the river’s edge reading—I think I lasted about 10 minutes before dozing off just before 9pm—I am getting O-L-D. Happy belated birthday to me!

But it was a good thing I did because we had to be up a 6:15 to go fetch the elephants from their jungle slumber, ride them back to the river and do the whole bathing session again! So fun—I tell you, it did not get old the second time, especially when Kampawn smacked his trunk in the water numerous times to give me a good bath! Then it was time to wish our elephants farewell before another much-needed shower, packing up and moving out, and a warm breakfast of fried eggs and baguette, before we set out on a couple hours of kayaking from upstream, stopping along the way for lunch at a papaya farm for some fresh fruit as well.

Overall, I’d say it was a very excellent weekend. Of course the only problem with coming back to my beloved LP is the need to start making plans which I was of course putting off until “post-Mahout camp” time. But I think I may have a plan, though it could change again by tomorrow. Skip southern Laos (oh, the guilt of places unseen!) and head north for a few days for more fantastic mountainous scenery before heading east towards the Vietnamese border and Hanoi (as my Vietnam visa started today!). I’ll keep you posted…