A River Rat

The 4,000 Islands. I don't really think it's an apt name for the area as only a handful of the Mekong river islands are inhabited but nonetheless it does paint the mental picture of tranquility. A place where people get aggressively idle. In general Laotians are already very laid back. Supposedly the French have a saying summing up the people of SE Asia--that the Vietnamese plant the rice, the Cambodians watch it grow, and the Laotians listen to it grow. (Mysteriously the saying omits something about the French selling the rice for their profit). Well, I have never listened to rice grow so I thought I should investigate this phenomenon. And no better place to do this than the river island Don Det.
No bigger than a couple kilometers in length, Don Det has become a must-stop for many travellers heading south to the nearby Cambodian border. The activities list on this locale starts with a stroll around the island and ends with hammock durability testing, with not much else in between. Sadly, sporadic electricity has been introduced to the island, leaving one to look forward to the 10pm power shutoff that returns the island to the desired quietude.

For the second time since I entered Laos I had a bit of an internal plumbing problem. The first time I was in the town of Savannakhet where I was able to buy medicine from a man with a proper bricks and mortar shop, that at least included the word "Pharmacy" (although probably misspelled) on the sign. I was not so lucky on the island. On the advice of the lady I rented the bungalow from I walked over to the underneath of a stilted house, where an old Laotian lady was conducting her trade. I gave her the polite gesture of patting my tummy with a frown to convey my ailment. She in turn made the gesture of eating food and then waving her hand frantically near her behind to show its violent exit. Umm, yeah thats about right...
She then opened her bucket o'toxins and placed all these pills in my hand.

Staring at 12 pills, mostly varied and unmarked, I asked her which ones I was supposed to take and she indicated "all of them." This posed a delimma as I maintain a high personal safety standard, which only allows me to take mass quantities of unknown pills unless I am being paid handsomely by a medical research company. Also, ending up dead on Don Det would spoil what I foresee to be a really fun summer, so I declined to take them right then and there, but bought them as not to hurt the feelings of this aspiring pharmacist. Lucky for me some other travellers offered up some of their more recognizable stock.

Other breaks in idle lazing were a bike trip around the island and the neighboring one. I had been spending the days in the company of 5 Germans I initially met in the village of Tatlo. A hilarious group that made the stay on the island pretty enjoyable. They regularly spouted bits of their German wisdom (they avoid drinking cold water on hot days--with the reasoning that the body has to use energy to warm it up in your body. Not sure I buy it, but it has some merit I guess) and I tried to pass along some practical advice on what to do when residing next to a river. My Missouri-borne wisdom told me that daylight imbibing and jumping off the riverside bar's wooden plank was a suitable pastime. Surely risking fun but also blindness, Laotian brand whisky sells for $1 a bottle on the island and provided the necessary ingredient for a good time by all.

Crossed the Cambodian border yesterday and I now find myself in the capital city Phnom Pehn. If my guesthouse can serve as a microcosym from what awaits me in the rest of the city, its a sunny place for shady people.

Lots of history to ingest today, so I will update soon.
BQ

Laotian Living

On my bus ride from Savannakhet to Pakse a friendly Laotian struck up a conversation with me containing much of the surface level-line of questioning that one can always expect from a local. "Where are you from? How do you like my country, etc.." The Laotian then abrubtly segued into "The U.S. dropped 100 million lbs of bombs in Laos. Killed many Laos people." It was said without an aire of condemnation but rather just a statement of fact of which I could only reply "yes, very sad" and think about how our fear of a failed political system (communism) has left a legacy of destruction in many parts of the world. A fews days later while trekking alone in the countryside I returned to the village to hear the caution about the unexploded mines and cluster bombs in the area. I only spent a little part of the trek off-trail, although enough that it did give me a momentary pause. The irony of an American stepping on an American dropped mine didn't escape my thoughts either. "Just desserts" is what I'm sure many would have thought, and who would've blamed them? Annually, these explosives kill and maim hundreds of Laotians 35 years after their intended use.

Once in Pakse I fortunate to be a guest of Bertrand and Lyne from France. Couchsurfers and true citizens of the world, Bertrand's work in the coffee industry had placed them in extended residency in Mexico, El Salvador, Dominican Republic and now they were gracefully gliding into middle age in Laos. They had been living in Pakse for over 3 years and were a wealth of information about all things Lao. With their experiences it was easy to sit back and soak in their advice and perspectives. Lyne talked of the linguistic benefits received by her children with their growing up abroad and Bertrand opined about the paradox that although Laotions are extremely good people, they are also hideously corrupt. Given his previous locales of residency this kind of statement held a lot weight.

The two were also able to provide some insight into the peculiar culinary habits of the Laotians. A market stroll highlighted their delicacies: beetles, frogs, chicken embryos--they eat just about everything Bertrand stated. Most revolting is the dish where they drain the contents of a cow's intestine into a soup. So, if someone says they had shit soup for breakfast, they are not making a metaphor for their terrible morning, they actually had it for breakfast. I however did not have shit for breakfast the next morning but instead parted with Bertrand and Lyne and followed their advice to head off to the Bolaven Plateau, where I was to end up spending 5 days in the village of Tadlo.

Set to the side of a waterfall and within walking distance to 2 others, the village was a nice place to assimilate into laid back Laotian living. The daily river-swim usually ended up with an elephant or two appearing out of the trees, ferrying people around the area.

I spent one of the days hiking to 3rd waterfall. I set out armed with it's name, "Tat-sung," which means "mighty wall." Well no, that's not actually what it means but I know you like information so just play along with it will ya? Although there is supposedly a trail all the way to the falls, a walkaround in a neighboring village threw me off it. No need to worry (I didn't hear of the mines until later), as I would occasionally stumble across farmers who would point me in the right direction when needed. Like the one I came across in an empty field, sickle in hand, spliff in mouth, and baby on his back. Tat-sung? That way.....

When I did reach it, its volume was significantly less than the other two falls, although it was several times higher. As the only one there it made for just about the most perfect jungle shower one could have.

Just when I thought I was wrapping up my time in the village an opportunity came up to do a bit of teaching. A Spaniard, who had been staying in the village for some time, hilariously announced at dinner one night that he had just realized that he had flight for home in 36 hours. In Bangkok. This presented a bit of an urgent problem as he and a teenage Buddhist monk had started an English language class for the village kids about a week earlier and now needed people to continue it as about 40 kids were eagerly showing up everyday. Myself, two Brits, and a German agreed to do it, although my motivation was more to counter the instruction of the Queen's English on the kids. "Listen kids, I know what their saying but its actually a trash can not a rubbish bin..."
The following day the Brits and German were leaving so I decided to stay another day to teach the class and hopefully rope some other travellers into carrying on the class. With an incredible guilt tripping ability acquired from my mother, I harassed all the other travellers in the village. "Oh the 4,000 Islands area sounds nice place to head to today..I guess the kids will just teach themselves English..."
With this I was able to get a Canadian and another Brit to assist the class that night and then I was off to the Islands myself.....

Hopefully the rumors are true and there is no electricity on the Mekong River island I am en-route to. If true, you'll hear from me next in Cambodia.

Cell phone turned off (if i had one),
Brian

Hanging a Left

Due to time constraints my northernly progress was halted and I decided that I needed to take a left. Or a trip west into Laos if you want specifics.
Arranging transport across a border is always a crapshoot. Inevitably plans, people, and modes of travel become sketchier around a border. So when booking passage from Hoi An to Savannakhet, Laos from one of the many booking agents I was a bit surprised when she said that because the border was not open 24 hours, the group I was to be travelling with ("yes, yes, there will be other travellers on the bus" she stated) will be spending the night in the dormitory of a guesthouse in a town neighboring the border. This prospect sort of intrigued me. Mostly because I began to think how interesting it would be to take say the passsengers on a subway carriage or other public transport and force all the people spend the night somewhere. You know, find out what really makes that old man tick that is manically jabbering to himself, or what is really bothering that goth kid giving everyone the stare down. But really this was not NYC, and the bus passengers were probably going to be the regular backpacker crew that is more or less cut from the same cloth, so the concept actually isnt that cool.
Due to the ridiculous business manner in which this trips are usually done, you buy a ticket from a booking office and basically you are at the mercy of what company they outsource the actual transporting. On a given trip you may come under the "care" for about 5 different transport "companies." This was to be my case on this particular trip. In the game of cards I drew and 7/2 offsuit and started on on a crappy bus that became crappier as I was transferred continously from one to another. And yes I was the only one going to Laos. So the grand social experiment of the public bus dormitory lock-in consisted of me being told to get off of the bus in some non-descript town near the border and to ride on the back of a motor scooter to some family's house, where I was to sleep before being put back on a bus in the morning. The tally marks in the weird experiences column on this trip just reached 65 by the way.
So early the next morning with my mode of transport slowly digressing from a bus to inevitably a Fred Flinstone car, I reached the border. As as the only westerner there, the moneychangers were on me like the proverbial stink on shit. It was a pretty painless ordeal however and amazingly after a brief staredown and prodding my last bus driver ditched his initial plans of leaving me there and pocketing the rest of my fare and grudgingly paid another driver to drive me the rest of the route in Laos.
Refreshingly the people in Laos are very laid back and don't quite have the nose for the tourist dollar like the Vietnamese do. I spent my first two nights in the quiet Mekong rivertown Savannakhet. This morning I woke up and drew another bad card hand and had a 6 hour bus ride where they packed them in like sardines. I was lucky in the sense that I had a window seat as I was able to drape my shoulder and right arm out the window the entire journey. I was not worried about possible loss of limb during the trip as the blood had left my arm in the first hour and the severation would have been painless.
On a good note, I am currently Couchsurfing with a nice older French couple who have a nice pad and great info on what to do in the area.