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…

LP “Living In” and Loving LP

I love Luang Prabang, I really do. I just think it’s so beautiful and peaceful—a pleasant place that I could stroll or bicycle for hours. And, the one downside, how very touristy it felt last time due to the many familiar faces strolling the main street from my slow boat trip is no longer as noticeable now that all those faces have left town. Of course there are new shipments everyday, but whether I just don’t know them and am therefore more oblivious, or if it’s really hitting low season, I don’t know, but the town is really low-key these days and I’m just resting up and enjoying some downtime after a lot of moving around. I’m trying against my natural tendencies to just chill out and take in the scenery and stop and smell the bourgainviller.

I have been doing a bit of volunteer work, just a few hours a day. And although it’s really not very much, it’s nice to be back hanging out with some kids and feeling like I’m contributing in some small way. I splurged on a nicer guesthouse at the urging of my lovely mother—i.e. shelling out $5 a night for my own room with nice white sheets, wood floors, a clean bathroom of my own with hot shower—as opposed to one with ants that would possibly shave a good $1 off the price. I suppose it is worth it! And it was probably a good idea anyway since I’ve spent the week be quite blessedly anti-social and quite a bit of time reading and sleeping in my room or on the lovely balcony of my guesthouse drinking the free green tea. After a while (and Vang Vieng was the epitome of social just like being back at college), it can get a little tiring playing the “where you from, how long you here, where you been, etc?” story, and even with my self-proclaimed fear of boredom, I’ve actually really enjoyed time to myself to recuperate from my crazy tubing week.

I wake up everyday and head to Big Brother Mouse to practice English with older Laos student (around ages 17-22) from 9-11am, which has mainly entailed playing scrabble. It is sad to see how much my English, especially spelling, has suffered from my year abroad (or perhaps you’ve noticed the typos in my blog, forgive me please), but luckily I’m still an asset to the kids here who seem quite happy to have a native speaker with which to converse. They are incredibly polite and kind, and I’m not sure I can say the same for the younger kids—more 8-10 year olds, who are beyond rambunctious (or perhaps I have just forgotten what 10 year olds are like already?!). But I come back in the evenings, from 5-7pm to play with them and mainly draw pictures, which translated to me making replicas of action figure playing cards for each of the boys—FUN! Midweek, I went to a local paper store (they make the most beautiful handmade paper here, and that was easier to find than some basic large reel paper) and bought a large 2 meter by 1meter piece to make a big mural for the front wall of the new office. By Friday we were gluing leaves, flowers, and animals of all kinds on to the paper in a jungle theme—and of course fighting the common children’s urge to use a whole jar of glue to paste on one piece!

Other than that I’ve been enjoying the beauty of the town, the shuttered French-style houses, the brick-lined alley ways overflowing with bourgainviller and other bright flowers, the cafes lining the river, and the daily thunderstorms. On Monday, I went to the spectacular local waterfall, Kung Si with some Danish girls I had met in Vang Vieng. On Tuesday I checked out the other side of the river with a New Zealand couple who was also volunteering at BBM. So there, I haven’t been THAT anti-social. On Wednesday, I rented a bicycle and looped the town, also checking out a lovely weaving center down river from Luang Prabang on the banks of the Mekong. Thursday, I treated myself to a Lao cooking course which was a real, all-day treat. The group of nine of us plus our two instructors from the Three Elephants Café in town visited the market to see local ingredients. Then we went back to the kitchen and our work stations to prepare no less than six dishes—two which we had for lunch (Luang Prabang salad with a delicious egg yolk dressing, and fried noodles with chicken and vegetables—healthy I know, but so good!), and four others that we had for dinner (pork and egg casserole, fried eggplant and pork, chicken and eggplant curry, minced chicken and herb salad called “larp”) all with sticky rice no less. I had to roll myself home! Then today, Friday, I checked out the national museum which was the king’s old residence from the time that Luang Prabang was the capital of Laos. Then I also had the opportunity to join one of my BMM students, who himself goes back to him home Hmong (an ethnic group here) village to teach the local children English, as a guest lecturer of sorts! Not sure how much I helped, but I definitely think I was a surprise for the children. I also saw some local cultural dancing that night at the children's cultural center complete with a fashion show by the youngsters of the various traditional ethnic dress found throughout Laos. And of course I’ve also been scouring the markets and indulging in fresh fruit shakes, spring rolls, and noodle soups galore!

Next it’s time for another treat, a belated birthday present to myself: I’m going to Elephant Mahout Camp! A two day, one night trip to the local Elephant Camp and Conservation Center to ride and bath elephants..can’t do that at home!

Laos: A Sloooooooow Hello to an Ideal Birthday Destination

The past week has gone very slowly, though of course looking back on it, it really has flown by. I’d say that’s quite typical of, well, life first off, but more so travel, and even more so, backpacker travel. I think it’s because you spend long stretches of time on various modes of transportation covering long distances (and most often with varying degrees of comfort) filled with fits of restless sleep (okay, I really sleep well!) and staring out the window or boat (scenery in Laos has proved quite spectacular. Then, as was the case with my time in Sihanoukville, if you meet a group of people, it’s quite easy to get “stuck” for a few more days than originally anticipated!

The slow hello began with what was really quite an epic slow boat journey. My departure from Thailand consisted of me travelling a winding 6 hours to the northern border, staying overnight in a guesthouse there, and waking up early the next day (along with many another backpackers who had also taken the easy way out and opted for a lazy package deal—yes, sue me, I got lazy!) and took a long boat taxi across the river border to the Laos immigration post. Then by 10am we were loading on to the long slow boat—or should I say cramming? Though it was nothing compared to the sardine can that would take place the following morning. The rest of the day passed without too much commotion or excitement, but was quite enjoyable chatting with other travelers, playing some card games, drinking Beer Lao, and taking in the stunning deep green mountains towering over the brown river. That night we stopped in the little town of Pak Beng, which in essence seems to have come to life because of the slow boat business with a dozen guesthouses and not much else save a small market and a handful of restaurants. The power goes out each night at 10:30pm and there’s not a phone or internet connection in sight. I grabbed a room at a guesthouse and dinner with some new friends, but without power it wasn’t much of a late night. Next morning, we were up early again and piling back onto the boat—only this time the boat was much smaller, perhaps a mere 3/4 of the previous one. Not good. I being my mother’s daughter was not going to stand for this. So there I was arguing with the boat people in front of all the other 70 passengers or so for them to grant us a larger boat (the one from yesterday) for the journey to Luang Prabang. Everyone else on board very helpfully looked on and then asked what had happened when I re-boarded the boat. Not a group of activists I guess. The operators basically won because, well, what other choice did we have, although one other girl (a helpful Brazilian) did join me in my cause. We set out on the six hour journey with not so much room to pay cards and clearly everyone a bit grumpier, more tired and squashed than the previous day.

But when Luang Prabang finally came into sight, relief was audible and everyone scrambled of the boat (with their many bags mind you). We found a cheap guesthouse, grabbed some dinner (I tried larp, a traditional minced meat salad which was very good) and wandered the town. Then it was time to hit the bar scene which closes at curfew—11pm town-wide. Kind of a drag, but not to fear, other options were waiting--either a disco that some of the guys tried out open until 1am, or, drum roll: bowling! That’s right: the town boasts an eight lane bowling alley complete with Beer Lao service open until an impressive 3am. I bowled one (horrendous, shameful really) game and hung around until about 2. It had been a long couple of days after all. The next day I strolled around the beautiful town, first checking out some of the day markets (more temptation), and then walking along the riverfront and check out the wat on Phousi Hill with my new Belgian friend, Tina. From the top of the 300 some steps (huffing and puffing all the way) you could see up and down the two rivers that bisect the town and the carpet of green hills that frame the town. Luang Prabang is a UNESCO World Heritage sight so the French colonial architecture and manicured gardens make for a truly lovely sight. That night I met up with some friends I had met on my trek in Chiang Mai who were also in Luang Prabang and made plans to meet them in a couple days in Vang Vieng for my birthday celebration. Although planning to stay the next day and see some famous local waterfalls, the rainy season had other plans for me. So instead, I made plans to head to Vang Vieng that day and return to Luang Prabang at the end of the week to do a volunteer stint with a nice Laos organization called Big Brother Mouse (http://www.bigbrothermouse.com/). That morning I also woke up very early, dragging myself out of bed at 6am, to partake in the local tradition of donating food to the monks at dawn. I went out to the main road, purchased a couple dollars worth of sticky rice and bananas, and waited for the procession of monks in their bright orange robes. As they walked past with small cauldrons slung low across their sides and lifted the lids, I pressed in a small clump of rice until I ran out.

Another girl from the infamous slowboat, Tanya, whose birthday was the day before mine, joined me on the frantic, winding, hilly 6 hour night bus to Vang Vieng where we arrived just after midnight in time to get a room and a drink with some other people from our slow boat who had arrived there earlier that day. And here’s where the going got fun—very fun—because if there’s any place I could have picked that could comfort a lone traveler on her first birthday not celebrating with my dear old friends and family, I think Vang Vieng was a good choice. This place screams fun, perhaps too loudly at times. Tuesday morning,(okay, early afternoon) Tanya, Tina, and a bunch of Irish and English lads headed to the tubing shop along with 200 other fun-seekers and spent the rest of the day floating down the river, stopping at creaky bamboo bars for drinks and towering rope-swings and zip lines over the river, and even several people waiting on the ladder up to the bar to reel tubers in with bamboo fishing rods. Brilliant! This is no James River Tubing, my dear Wahoos—and I say we try to bring this concept to Virginia, though I’m sure with the liability issues it would never happen in the US. But what a good time it was!

We toasted to Tanya’s birthday all day. And then at night, like lemmings, everyone heads first to a laid-back bungalow bar with frat music until curfew at midnight, then on to the infamously named Bucket Bar for late night. The next day it was time to do it all over again, and with the sun shinning and more rope swings to be had it was another great day. That night I had a surprise—my first unplanned spotting of a friend from home, Neil from NYC! I was literally just standing in Smile Bar and got a tap on my shoulder and a “Laura?” I’m quite sure I turned away at first because I didn’t believe it, but there he was—on a two week holiday with some friends! I hadn’t seen him in almost two years, so crazy.

However, post-birthday-day I was definitely ready for some time off from tubing. Instead, Tine and I rented bicycles and rode the 7 or so kilometers to the Poukham Cave outside of town. There was a swimming hole with more swings and jumps (seems to be a theme around here!) and a steep ascent to a huge cave housing a reclining Buddha shrine and apparently another large dark cave, though our flip-flop clad feet and the slippery rocks stopped us from reaching the final destination. On the ride home too we passed through tiny villages with women weaving by the roadside, stretches of farmland, and more striking mountain vistas.

However, the following day, Friday, the group was back out on the river for final hooray, although my still aching arms were not as intent on rope-swing ambitions. Once again, the pleasant, relaxed atmosphere got the better of myself and others, and against previous plans, both Tina and I decided to stay an extra day to take a tour to explore a couple other days and have a more leisurely day (read: sober) kayaking down the river—choosing to float past the bars this time! And oh yes, we ended the day with a much needed traditional Lao massage to sooth those aching back and neck muscles that had been doing far too much swinging.

Now it’s time to pack my bags yet again and head back up north for a week in Luang Prabang and, if all goes as planned, some volunteer work which I’m really looking forward too. After a week of self-indulgence--in Beer Lao, baguette sandwiches (so good here, thanks to the lingering French influence) and late night pancakes, pillow-filled outdoor cafes, and fruit shakes, and of course lazy river days--I’m looking forward to getting back to giving a little back, especially to a country that’s already shown me such a good time.

Art and Adventure in Chiang Mai

Chiang Mai was definitely worthy of a trip up to the north, and I packed in quite a variety of activities into my six days there. My first day after sneakily getting dropped in town, I proceeded to drive myself crazy wandering about the city looking for a guesthouse and a trekking trip. Just like scuba course options in Koh Tao, this proved totally overwhelming, and per usual I handled in the most illogical manner—spending lots of time looking and then impulsively walking by one sign on a random street and signing up on the spot for a 3-day trek. Truth be told I think I got the best deal of anyone on my trek. It’s really just so hard to know because the Thai network of tourism consists of all of these little agencies feeding into other small ones, then bigger ones which are quite unclear to the unsuspecting tourist. However, the next day on the trek, when the sticky question of how much one paid for the trek came up, I kept mum because it turned out to my 1400 baht (just under $50) some girls had booked in Bangkok for just the two day trek paying 1900, and so on. I guess you just have to take your turn getting screwed over every few weeks in Southeast Asia, and sometimes you get cut a break. It ended up being even more of an unlikely wise decision on my part because due to the fact that it is now low season and I was this woman’s first customer of the day, I was pronounced “lucky” and when asking her about the best way to visit some markets outside of town, she volunteered her husband to act as my guide for the afternoon!

So I headed back to my original guesthouse, which at 100 baht a night (yes $3 for my own room with hot water, etc, so quite a deal if not the prettiest box in the world), showered, and was whisked of by air-conditioned car no less to see the arts of Chiang Mai in the small town of Bo Sang, which is famous for its paper umbrella among other numerous crafts. In light of my mentioning a love for ceramics, my guide (who spoke excellent English too) took me to the Baan Celadon factory that translates to “house of ceramics” in Thai. It was truly magnificent actually. These are some of the moments also when I’m grateful to be travelling alone because I’m not sure how many travel buddies would be eager to wander the ceramics store for an hour, no matter how exquisite. The shop attendant offered me some lovely iced green tea, and I wandered the large shop ogling the many intricately carved and painted vases, elephant motifs, bowls, etc. In the back of the shop there was the large factory room where one could observe men hard at work throwing bowls and women hunched over their piece with supreme focus. After this delightful excursion, I was shown the silk factory, lacquer workshop, gemstone factory, paper crafts and umbrellas, and the carpet and weaving factory. So many fine works and of course so many shopping temptations along the way (for better or worse my backpack provides a strict limitation on this matter). After a real treat of an afternoon, I spent the evening organizing for my trek the following morning and enjoying a night’s sleep not on a train.

Next day I was up and out early to meet the rest of my trekking group, which on the first day consisted of 11 people—one Swede, two Canadians, two Australians, two Swiss, one Korean, one Brit, one Russian living in Brooklyn, and myself. The first day we started off at a butterfly and orchid garden (they have these in every country I swear), before driving out in the back of a pickup truck to our first adventure: elephant riding! I ended up sharing an elephant with the Brit, a girl named Sarah, whom I literally met at we teetered on top of the elephant, and I ended up rooming with her for my last three days in Chiang Mai after the trek. Our elephant was one of the smaller ones and very cute aside from when he snotted on us after we fed him bananas, and when he splashed us heartily at the water station. I sat on the neck for part of the way, but retreated to the seat after sensing some instability. Altogether it was a lot of fun and (I hope) the elephants seemed to be treated pretty well. Then we were sent across the river in small groups in a hanging wire cage—very Indiana Jones. After some friend rice, it was time for what turned out to be a grueling three hour hike, and one again I was shamed into realizing my true fitness level: not great. The trek was mostly uphill to the village where we would be staying for the night perched off in the distance. We ventured across rocky streams and up long stretches of hills huffing and puffing. I was not alone in my agony, but as usual everyone was trying to put on a tough exterior until we arrived for the evening and the truth came out.

Now I’ll be honest, the hill tribe we visited were quite disappointing. Perhaps I should have known better but I was expecting some authenticity. Wrong—the closest we got was some children selling their bracelets and many woman harassing us to get a traditional Lahu massage. Somehow I managed to avoid both. We had a good dinner of chicken curry and pineapple for dessert, then had a traditional Lahu evening—sitting around the guitar man singing American ballads—oh, Thailand! The best part was that we could hear another group engaging in the same traditional village activities, only their guy knew how to sing Mr. Jones. At last, at the time of 9pm (and I stayed up the latest—not so much to do there after dark) we hit our mosquito-net enveloped mats and slept until the cows, pigs, and roosters awakened the world. I guess that was pretty authentic. Although according to my mother the hill tribes weren’t so authentic 30 years ago either, and to be honest, having all these damn tourist wandering through every day clearly does not help the situation. I just wanted my little traditional dance, to snap some pictures and go, so I was just part of the problem I suppose.

The second day we hiked a couple hours through a few more villages before stopping at one for a swim in a lovely waterfall and a noodle soup lunch. Another bit of trekking later and we had reached another impressive waterfall and then we were off to our secluded jungle camp for the night, another nice large thatched-roof hut perched by a stream. After dinner we sat around a campfire and listened to some more guitar, including one very popular Thai song which will forever be stuck in my head—do do do do da dum, blah blah blah blah blahhhhhhhhhhh. The next day we set off for our final adventures: white-water rafting and bamboo rafting. The white-water proved quite adventurous after all when our raft was flipped and our guides lack of skill and English speaking abilities were brought to the forefront, poor guy. The four in our boat were all rescued from our respective rocky perches and given another guide who took us down the rest of the river with only a few more hiccups. Another river survived! It was a bit scarier than the Nile because although the rapids were not nearly as big, the “river” was very narrow and had lots of rocks popping up everywhere and we seemed to have a knack for hitting every one of them. After this slightly harrowing experience, we had a mellower ride on a long bamboo raft before it was time for pad thai lunch and our ride back to civilization.

Continuing the Thai adventures, I signed up for a cooking class the next day which included a trip to the market to learn about rice, curry pastes, etc, before heading up to the instructor’s house in the hills outside of Chiang Mai where we learned to make six dishes: tom yam soup, mixed vegetables, spring rolls, pad thai, green/penang/ or massaman curry, and mango and sticky rice, as well as numerous variations on these dishes. We each had our own cooking station and got to season to the dishes to our desired spice level (three chilies for me!), and even do adventure cooking—creating a huge flame when frying out mixed vegetables—only to be tried in this open air kitchen, not a NYC one I’d imagine. That evening a cooking class friend and I took a moto up the windy mountain rode to see the spectacular view from Doi Suthep temple.

The following day I treated myself to one more class: a Thai batik class. Batik is all over Asia, but it consists of a method of using hot wax to create a design and then paint colors within and around it before washing of the wax and exposing the design. Apparently Thai batik is traditionally much more colorful than Indonesian and Malaysian batik. I had just the loveliest time that day. First of all, even though there is usually a minimum for two people for the course, the woman, Ann, agreed to take just me. She picked me up in the morning and drove me to a nice big house she shares with her husband and 7 year old daughter outside Chiang Mai. After treating me to tea and breakfast cake, she taught me the basics of Thai batik, the canting tools, the wax, etc. and then I chose a fish and lotus blossom pattern for the first cloth, traced it, and outlined it with hot wax with varying success and much help from Ann. After that I was given free range to paint and blend with the watercolors until I was satisfied with my efforts, and then shown how to use salt and sugar to create different bubbling effect on the painted material. Then it was time for a home-cooked lunch of pork with hot basil, fried egg, steamed rive, and vegetable soup (all delicious), during which her daughter joined us (it was her last day of summer vacation!) and we chatted about university life in Thailand among other things.

Next I was given a thicker cloth pillowcase to paint and I chose a flower pattern, painted on the wax again, blended and experimented with the paints, and then learned another technique of creating a crackling technique using paraffin wax over the paint. Then I learned to finish and seal in the colors before removing the wax and seeing the final product! After a long but good day of art, I was sad to leave this happy little home of suburban bliss, but headed back into Chiang Mai to make my next set of plans: border crossing into Laos. Now this should be interesting…