Slow Boat To Luang Prabang (#2 in series)

Loading up to head downriver.

"Sah-bah-dee" as they say here (greetings), once again.

Lao at last.  On the 7th of Oct. I crossed the Mekong at Huay Xay, cleared the international border and picked up a traditional longboat heading downriver -- along with about 30-40 others.  Most of them were felongs or white foreigners, along with a dozen or so Lao people who sat in the enclosed back of the boat, apart from rest of us.

Mekong River longboat.

It was a daily 1100 departure carrying passengers and cargo.  The itinerary?  Two days down the Mekong...past pyramid-shaped peaks coated with green, past Matterhorn-type protrusions somehow supporting timber drooping with vines...though, for some reason, practically devoid of wildlife...to the old imperial city of Luang Prabang, in northcentral Lao.

To my disappointment, almost every animal along the way was domesticated:  a few gaggles of pot-bellied pigs; lots of water buffalo; a group or two of elephants with handlers; a few white birds of some type...Otherwise it was like a chapter out of Silent Spring.

Lots of buffalo, but where's the wildlife?

As it turned out, the most wildlife on this excursion was on the boat itself.  Most passengers were more interested in the alcohol service in the rear than anything else.

After four or five hours underway, the "partying" was reaching critical mass, and it was truly an international cast -- alcoholic Australians, inebriated Eurotrash, carousing Koreans, chortling Chinamen -- all roaring it up like pirates after a good plunder.

As the journey went on, some were hanging over the side, heaving or barfing; some dropped 640 ml BeerLaos onto the deck to dull thunks of shattered glass and suds...

And this bunch was not about to be shut-off:  With the party animals stomping their feet and banging the hull with their empties, at least four times the boat pulled over to shore.  The Lao lady who minded the bar troddled a path up from the riverbank, disappeared within a wall of green vegetation, and returned a few minutes later with a yellow case of BeerLao on her shoulder.  Party on, as they say.

(Just what was up there those times, beyond the vegetation, I don't know.)

Overnight here.  The only way in or out is by water. 

Local woman, near Pak Beng.

Street in Pak Beng.  Note Communist flag at top-left.

The boozers didn't have to skip a beat when we disembarked at Pak Beng, the river town where we overnighted -- a smiley little man was handing out cups of the local brew to all visitors who passed by.  Evidently the custom there.  Later at the restaurants, a complimentary shot was served along with all food orders.  Again, the custom there.

What did it taste like?  Well I can tell you this:  After my order arrived, I slid my shot across the table to a guy from South Korea.  The jaunty type, he held it up in a toast, then downed it...Shortly after, his body was spasming in revulsion, followed by coughing and gagging.

By the way, Pak Beng was the first place I ever saw water buffalo on the menu.  This is common throughout Lao, I discovered, but my first time.  (It was tough and stringy and made my jaw sore I had to chew it so much.)

What a tabletop!  At one time, big timber sprouted in these parts.

Now a few words about traveling the river itself:  First off, this was not the poke-along ride that I thought it was going to be.  The Mekong through these parts is a-movin'.  A relentless, swirling flow.  You jump in on one side and try to swim across, you better be a strong or it'll sweep you way on down, if you make it at all.

Second, the river runs wide for miles, then narrows into numerous canyons, often strewn with rock formations.  More often than not, these canyons acted like wind tunnels, perhaps even generated their own wind because before our boat entered conditions were calm. 

Some of what we had to negotiate. 

The wind, the current, the rocks -- for these reasons Mekong River boats here are long and flexible.  They're made to be maneuverable, to swerve around hazards, which can be unnerving if you're not used to it.

For example, you enter into a canyon strewn with rocks...The current picks up, you zag past whirlpools big enough to swallow a dog.  The captain is working up a sweat -- whirling the wheel left, then hard right...The boat bends and creaks and groans beneath you, flexing into each change of direction.  Sometimes you swear that the thing is going to break apart under your feet! 

Then a gust of wind impacts, trying to rotate the boat crosswise...The captain clenches teeth and rips the wheel hard some more...

This is not entirely hypothetical -- similar instances happened on the two days going downriver.  It was scary until I figured out that the boats were so-designed and could take it with ease.

Shrine on bow of longboat--invoking of safe passage.

Had trouble with this...Spent an hour marooned on a sandbar as a result.

 

Population-wise, the numbers in this part of the world go something like this:  Neighboring Thailand has a population of about 55 million people, while mainly rural Lao chimes in with only about 5 million.  All this by way of saying, we didn't encounter many crowds en route.  In fact, aside from a few villages, we saw very few people. 

As dusk fell on the second day out, however, that was about to change.  In the distance, glowing up into the gathering darkness, the bright lights of civilization.  Just around the bend, the city of Luang Prabang at last.  Said to be the nicest city in Lao.

  

As it so happened, more by dumb luck than anything, the timing of our arrival was superb.

[PART THREE TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]

Drums Along The Mekong (#1 in Lao/Cambodia travel series)

 

Traditional drumming in Lao.

Well, here I am, Southeast Asia once again.  My fourth time.  I landed in Bangkok Sept. 24 and proceeded north by bus to the famous Golden Triangle region.  Where northern Thailand, Laos and Myanmar (formerly known as Burma) all come together.

In decades past, the area produced a lot of poppies for opium, much of which eventually found its way into the veins of junkies in the Industrialized Nations.  For this reason the area has been portrayed luridly in Hollywood films, with dark plots and lots of blood-spattered savagery.

However, it's turned out to be one my favorite parts of Thailand.  The opium is mostly gone now, though a fair amount of locals still smoke the stuff.

Going north out of Chang Mai, the second largest city in Thailand and a favorite of tourists, you pass through valleys lined with stately green-clad mountains, past butterfly enclosures (for making silk), elephant corrals, snake and fish farms, and fields of corn, lots of corn.  Topography-wise, it reminds me of the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. 

Your humble correspondent, in the back of the bus.

  

Rice fields along the way.

The scenery was great, especially when the bus topped out on hills clad with jungle, trees and hanging vines, but was it hot.  So hot that sometimes the sap seemed to boil right out of me.  Most locals sought shade in the afternoon and took naps, then re-emerged after sunset to shop, eat out or whatever.

Eventually I made it to Chiang Khong, a little border town along the Mekong River...as far as you can go in Thailand.  It's sunset now and across the way, across the brown and swirly flow, drums are beating out time to tribal chanting.  Probably the Hmong People, I'm told, who inhabit that part of Lao. They say that it's a different world over there, a different culture anyhow, and from where I stand this tranquil evening it certainly sounds it.

The riverfront at Chiang Khong.

Chiang Khong itself is the consummate border town -- a little rough around the edges but emanating an air of excitement and anticipation.  Vehicles are spattered with mud or coated with reddish dirt.  Many of the people are Thai, but many also are hill tribe, with crinkled, prune-like faces and brownish teeth from chewing betal nuts and various roots and herbs.  

Into this mix, toss the few odd "felongs," which is what they call white foreigners or tourists, and you get an idea of Chiang Khong -- Boggie in a ball cap mingling with friendly natives in need of dental work.  I found a nice place to stay and settled in for a few days.

 A hill woman displaying her produce.

Maleewan, the Thai woman who manages the guest house I'm staying at, describes her job:  "This is my mission -- to feed and house felongs.  So they will not be hungry on the way to Lao."

Indeed, that's what she and her staff do -- their guesthouse is a way-station, a last stop going into the so-called People's Democratic Republic.   In reality, Lao is Communist-run and has been since the fall of Saigon in 1975.  Hardly a real Republic.

Loudspeakers across the river demonstrate this every morning:  At 0500 they blare forth with rousing music and Commie-style propaganda, urging Laotians to rise up and go forth to labor for the betterment of the state, or some such thing.  Kind of a comrade-worker alarm clock. 

A lot of us at the guesthouse found this amusing -- except that the exhortations jolted us awake at 5 A.M., too.  From all the way across the river!

The dining area at Baan Rimtaling Guesthouse.

 

Maleewan, of Baan Rimtaling.

By the way, a bunk in the dorm there goes for 100 Baht these days (about $3 U.S.).  It's a little on the rough side, but the view of the Mekong is excellent and the house green curry is to die for.  It's reasonably priced as well, as is the whole menu. 

At 32 Baht to the dollar, you can figure it.

I was quite taken with Baan Rimtaling; the ambiance, the people staying there, the view of the river, etc., and would like to have lingered there longer.  But I was on a mission, of sorts, to proceed downriver through three countries:  Thailand, Lao and Cambodia.  To accomplish such things, I've learned, sometimes you have to keep movin'.

As the drums beat on across the Mekong, Maleewan admonishes her cats: "Hey, you behave or I take you all to Lao."  As for what they do with them over there, well, let's just say that most aren't kept as pets -- for long.

To explore these and other such rumors, in a day or so I head on over there myself.  Will have details in my next report.

Lao across the river.

[PART TWO TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]