Stu in Asia

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December 31, 2005

Mong La back to Kentung

The next morning we wake up and prepare for the journey back to Kengtung. Brittany has arranged with driver who brought us to Mengla to take us back. She goes out for breaky at some local joint near the ‘bus station’ beside the hotel and I just munch on some fruit I bought at the market the previous day, drink some green tea, and watch the English-language Chinese CCTV news channel on my room’s television. Once our negotiated departure time approaches, we check out and sit down at Brittany’s breaky joint, chat about the people there, and sip much tea and coffee. We also watched a couple of platoons of soldiers marching back to and fro some destination with ancient, single shot rifles.

Finally our driver is almost ready to depart having packed up his Toyota to an unbelievable degree. There are even a dozen people sitting on makeshift benches up top. It is stunning how heavily loaded the truck is. After ten minutes he returns from the immigration office without our travel documents and indicates to Brittany to hope on the back of the scooter so they can pick up our paper work.

While she was away, it became clear that something definitely was no normal. My paranoia set in. Thoughts of how to handle hypothetical situations where racing through my head: what if they came back for me? (Shit…I bet the food is bad.) What if they said she was detained and I was free to leave? (No. She’s been a good travel mate so far and I’ve got mobile phone reception…start making calls.) What if I can’t get my internal papers…are my chances of crossing the border into China illegally and hoping for the best? (Great idea...now my salvation lies in the hands of Condoleezza Rice’s US State Department.)

I’ve asked Brittany to explain in her own words what happened next:

I jumped on the back of the motorbike behind our taxi-driver, and zoomed off to the immigration office. We entered to find 6 guys, dressed untidily in t-shirts and longyis, crowding around a table. Due to them not being in uniform, it was unclear if they were SPDC (Burma Army) or UWSA (United Wa State Army), the drug producers who signed a ceasefire agreement with SPDC who control that area. As it was immigration, I would imagine that they were SPDC, although USWA would control the check-points and border crossings. So, all these guys are crowded around the table, with the head guy speaking and jabbing his finger accusingly at our (Stu’s and mine) two pink travel documents on the table before him. I speak barely any Burmese, so had no idea what he was going on about. This exchange, him barking and pointing, me shrugging, smiling contritely and replying “na ma leh bu� (I don’t understand), went on for a while. I realise that something is wrong, but am too nervous to pick up the documents and inspect them. In irritation he huffs, and flaps his hand at one of the guys, who comes to my side, two documents in hand, and tries further to explain to me. It is clear that the other guys believe that he is speaking English, and he believes that he is speaking English. But believe me, it wasn’t English. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Eventually I look to our taxi driver (who, thankfully, doesn’t seem too fazed by all of this) for support. He was Shan, spoke Shan/Thai (the two languages have a lot of similarities), the basics of which I understand. He speaks, everyone looks at me expectantly, but no luck, I don’t understand. Although nervous, I’m not particularly worried at this point, as I know that whatever the document problem is, it has no relation to the work I do in Thailand, work that if the SPDC knew about, would bring me interrogation resulting in being kicked out and blacklisted. But this is the slightly worrying thing, I’m no ordinary tourist, I’m here because I’ve been working with people from Burma for over 3 years. And no matter how vigilant I am about keeping my identity safe, the paranoia-inducing bastards still manage to get me on something! I look at the two open documents on the table. Head guy jabs his finger at Stu’s document, at a stamp of ‘MGL’, and barks “Mong La!�. He jabs his finger at my stamp, which says ‘KTG’, and barks “Kengtung!�. Oh… I don’t have a stamp to be in Mong La. HOLY SHIT, I DON’T HAVE PERMISSION TO BE IN MONG LA?? How the hell did this happen? The immigration guy in Tachilek gave me this document, how come he only stamped it for Kengtung? And why the hell didn’t he tell me he only stamped it for Kengtung? And how come all the checkpoints we came through between Kengtung and Mong La didn’t realise it was only stamped for Kengtung? And why didn’t the taxi boy, who got all the photocopies and dealt with all the paperwork in the checkpoints not realise? OH MY GOD. I look at the taxi boy. He looks at me. He looks ok, he doesn’t look like he’s just realised he’s gonna be facing the firing squad, or be made to stand in the sun for 8 hours (Myanmar Lonely Planet explains somewhere how because 2 stupid tourists on a bus refused to pay a checkpoint charge, the checkpoint soldiers took the bus driver out and made him stand in the sun for hours as punishment, while the tourists sat on the bus in ignorance. Stu, can you check this for me – the piece is boxed text.) Oooooh, be extra contrite to head man. Explain how immigration in Tachilek gave the stamp and I hadn’t seen it. Smile, nod/duck, wai (hands together, head bent), do anything to deflect this situation. Head guy glares, puts wrists together, to imitate handcuffs, "Kengtung!�. They’re gonna arrest me in Kengtung? No no no, he’s joking, everything’s ok, I put my wrists together, back away looking at head guy in mock-indignation, “No no no. No arrest� Head guy’s eyes open wide in disbelief and anger, bangs table, starts ranting. Everyone starts ranting. Taxi boy, head down, deflates, “she’s blown it.� Oh for god’s SAKE! Ok, ok, back to table, head down, ranting stops, nobody speaks. I gesture weakly at documents, “Ok, Kengtung, Kengtung, no Mong La. No Mong La… Sol-ee...� Raise eyes, they’re all glaring at me suspiciously, shit, put eyes back down. No one speaks. What to do? Wonder what the bathrooms are like in this place? Did I notice a comfy sofa on my way in? (Just to humour myself. Of course there was no comfy sofa, I think I saw one broken plastic chair.) I’m a woman. Would they treat me well, bring me nice bits of food? Oh come one, someone speak, the tedium of this is killing me. Head guy folds up 2 documents, hands them to me. Starts writing a letter neatly on note paper. I breathe with relief, look up to find guy in doorway pointing camera at me. Oh please, now that is something I really don’t want. Smile for the birdy…

The letter was signed and stapled closed, handed to taxi boy. We left. I doubt that anything will come of the photo, they have no computers up there, pointless documents govern every part of everyone’s lives, documents that get lost very easily. I’ll let you know the next time I apply for a visa to Rangoon, in June…

It was good to have her back and everything in order. At about 11am we finally hit the road. Because of how heavily laden the Toyota was, our driver took it nice and slowly. Every time we hit a pot hole I had visions of the cute little seven-year-old girl up top flying off. Our driver spent more time looking in his rear view mirror than forward. During the descents down slopes he repeatedly pulled over, grabbed a plant watering bucket, and poured stream water onto the disc breaks to cool them down. Fan-fucking-tastic. At one point we came across another truck, even more heavily loaded, that had a catastrophic tire failure on the right rear side. Our driver, without hesitating, got out and helped them fix the flat. I just love that kind of community spirit. It delayed our own journey a good twenty minutes, but whatever.

Some hours later we made it back into Kengtung with little more drama. Quickly we check in and discover that there are two $4 rooms that they don’t really advertise unless someone is about to walk away. I got room 117 this time. Both Brittany and I were not up for a trip into town so we settled down next door to Harry’s for dinner. Making use of my newly acquired ‘how to eat when you do not speak the same language as the cook’ that Brittany taught me, I walked in and pointed at a few things and, in the end, had a nice scrabbled eggs with mixed vegetables dinner. We invited a lone traveler, Ivan, over to join us. He was from Slovenia and turned out to be a bit of an ass. He also seemed to have a really dodgy background, but that is speculation. Brittany retired early. Ivan and I drank a bit until it became clear we disagreed on much, and I decided he was just an ass. Oh, well. We tried.

Posted by stu at 09:39 AM | Comments (0)

December 30, 2005

Ghost Town: Mong La

At the guesthouse through out the day everyone is discussing there future travel plans—it can shorten the journey to travel as a group because the taxi drivers have fewer seats to fill and can leave earlier. Both Brittany and I are headed up for Mongla the next day and agree to try and arrange a taxi the next morning. This turned out to be an interesting exercise is patient negotiating. The original Corolla driver we approached wanted 1000 Baht each, but then offered 750 each…which works out to nearly USD$20 for a three hour ride. Too much, so after getting board around 10:30am we tell the driver ‘no’ and are prepared to just spend another day in town. This changes things with the group drivers notably and we soon are ushered into the front seat of a ‘80s Toyota Hilux pickup truck that is only half loaded for 500 Baht each—a slightly high, but fair price.

The trip north was beautiful with the many mountains that were thankfully not to steep. Road conditions were better than Laos, but worse than Thailand. The second of three (or four?) police check points was more like a boarder crossing: there were officials manning two gates in different uniforms and at the second gate we forked over 37 Chinese Yuan each. From what I can gather, this portion of the Shan state is controlled by the ethnic Chinese Wa clan and was formerly in open rebellion with the national government. Hence the border crossing feeling, the Yuan payment, etc.

When we finally arrived in town and check in at the 60 Yuan (US$8) a room hotel near teh market. It is the best $8/night hotel I’ve ever seen. I’m in room 226 and Brittany is across they was in 219. It is about 2pm and we are famished. Across from the hotel is the central market were we easily find some great Shan-style vegetarian food that is nice and spicy. After lunch we head off to explore town. It was even more spooky than Kengtung—a literal ghost town.

In Mengla a dozen years ago or so, they had set up several casinos and large hotels. Much investment clearly went into the basic infrastructure to make it attractive. It was a boom town full of Chinese tourist and lots of traders. Apparently all this came to a screeching halt a over a year ago and now things are different. Why? The Asian Times reports in CHINA MOVES ON MYANMAR: Casino town loses out "The reason can be traced back to {the summer of 2003}, when the daughter of a high-ranking cadre in the Chinese central government lost millions of yuan in Mong La's casinos." There are dozens of casinos, hotels and discothèques in various states of closure and disrepair. Some, like the Myanmar Royal Casino, are closed but still being maintained. Not a car in the parking lot but exquisitely manicured hedges that read in English ‘WELCOME’. Other buildings have paint peeling off of them, broken windows and trash littering the surrounding grounds. The streets were nearly empty of people and cars, at least in the sense that they city had the infrastructure to accommodate many multiples more people. We didn’t even bother with the side walks that much.

At the other end of town near the Chinese border is a great Wat/temple which was our goal. We accidentally took a left instead of a right and found ourselves just a few tens of meters from the Burma/China boarder. It was a bit shocking to realize that we were headed that way because there was no vehicle traffic—only a few hand pulled carts with agricultural goods by local peasants. So we backtrack a bit, take the right turn, pass a police check point where they half laugh at us and point up the road to the temple. The view from the temple was amazing…and only a few hundred meters from a hill on the Chinese side of the boarder with a large mobile phone mast. (This explains all the Chinese Telecom and Unicom shops in Mengla.) I break out my Swiss SIM and realize that I can ring my family for the obligatory holiday calls the next morning. Cool. The temple itself was very impressive and well maintained. Inside the temple there were about a dozen chronological murals starting with the enlightenment of Buddha all the way to current day justification of the current government and Chinese support of it. There was also a guest book which I signed. One has to leaf back a few pages to find the sporadic western name.

Once we left the temple and bought a bottle of water each, we headed down the mountain were we were intercepted by a young man who spoke some English. He apparently was a correspondent student of some sort of science (Chemistry?) and had ambitions of being a tour guide. He walked us down to and in the Drug Eradication Museum which we really had no intention of visiting. Brittany and I politely viewed all the displays and read the English language exhibits. It was spooky and boring, but I felt somewhat obliged to follow through with it. Once we finished, our impromptu guide was no where in sight so we quickly headed back into town.

Once back in the city, we took the scenic route and delved into the old city. This is were the heart of the current town life seems to be and we vowed to come back for dinner. Before exiting the old town we came across two young girls dressed up in stunning red outfits. I motioned that I wanted to take a picture. They were too shy, but an old lady a) made them do it, and b) made me pay them 5 Yuan. Capitalism is alive and well in Burma.

Soon we are back at the hotel to freshen up and put on warmer clothing. It has been a beautiful day in stark contrast to the cloudy drizzle of Kengtung. Once the sky starts to darken we can start to see stars more clearly than I have in months.

Back up in the old town we settle down in a restaurant that looks very popular. Brittany, having traveled much more extensively than myself, introduces me to the skill of point-n-cook. If required, one should even go into the kitchen and indicate what is acceptable, and what is not. This is a great skill for a picky vegetarian like my self. As we chow down we notice that two tables are seated mostly by men who are drinking Johnny Walker black label. There are also lots of new full sized four door sedans about. No BMWs or anything, but clearly these guys are wealthy…maybe even the movers and shakers in town. Hard to tell.

After dinner we first pick up some fried crispy things along the side of the street for Brittney and then head down to the central market which is now significantly more active than before. We settle down for a beer (Huang Guang(?) 4.2%) and observe our surroundings. There are people selling food and goods, our waitress/owner is playing Mahjong with some friends (and clearly winning some cash by nights end), there are many store fronts surrounding the market with red lights which we interpret to be infrequently visited brothels, a crowded pool hall, and a group of monks who smiled and joked as we passed.

We are very interested in finding a beer that will actually give us a buzz and after forty-five minutes of walking about town we settle on two Chinese brewed Budweiser beers each and go back to the now very chilly market. It doesn’t take long before our interest in being warm and getting some sleep overtakes our desire to finish the beers at our leisure. Bed time for Bonzo.

Posted by stu at 10:00 AM | Comments (0)

December 28, 2005

Mae Sai to Techilek to Kengtung

First thing on the 25th I packed up and headed for the border. The exit from Thailand was uneventful and I crossed over the bridge that spans the Nam Ruak river separating the two nations towards the city of Tachileik on the Burma side. Because traffic in Thailand is on the left hand side, and the opposite in Burma, we border crossers have to cross over in an X-like fashion. It being only 8:30am, the immigration office is nearly empty and I turn over three passport photos, pay the 500 Baht (it is supposed to be $10, but they screwed me on the exchange rate), turn over my US-issued passport, and receive an unsophisticated pink construction paper internal travel document with permission to travel all the way up to Mong La (Mengla.) I must turn to Tachileik to exit the country. The immigration officer tells me that it’ll be 750 Baht to Kengtung, my intended destination which contradicts my online research. Soon we’ve agreed on 500 Baht which I accept as there doesn’t seem to be many people about it being Christmas day.

Soon after changing some of my Baht into Kyat, I’m in the back of a ‘80s white right-hand drive Toyota Corolla station wagon which is as prevalent in these parts as a black cab in London. It takes until well past noon when we have an additional three passengers, small infant, and some cargo to encourage the driver to head off for the three hour drive to Kengtung at a profit. Within twenty minutes I’m fast asleep only waking for the many toll booths and three or so immigration/police check points. Some time after dark we pull into town. I’m the last to be dropped off after having the driver try to push the $40/night Prince Hotel on me. After a few minutes of insisting on Harry’s Guesthouse we make the final drive there and I check in.

Harry’s wife is up and shows me a nice $10 room, #110, which I readily agree to. I just want to get to bed. She registers me and then send off my internal travel documents to the town’s immigration office. The room has a television which I don’t use and a natural gas economy water heater that warms up the water better than any economy wall mounted water heater I’ve ever seen. Shit, shower, shave and I am quickly sound asleep. Traveling can be so exhausting.

The next morning over the inclusive breakfast of XXX, bananas and terrible coffee I meet some of my fellow guests. Everyone is over 50, from America, Canada, or the UK, on a package tour, and had flow up into Kengtung, the Shan state administrative capital, on a domestic flight. Basically, I gel with none of them.

Off I go on a walkabout back into town. Harry’s Guesthouse is in a little sub-village north of the disappointing Naung Pha Gate. (Chiang Mai’s has Tha Phae Gate has defined what a gate should be to me.) On the way into the center of town I meet Zar Zar, a fifteen-year-old girl who wants to work on her English. After some basic question and answers, she occasionally whips out a sheet of paper to refresh her memory of some English phrases and we continue talking. She offers to show me Wat Pha Jao Lung (Maha Myat Muni) to which I readily agree. It is an attractive little wat but there is not much to see. She does a little prayer, we both donate a little bit of Kyat, and continue on into town. Zar Zar works at her family’s stall in the central market where they sell mass-produced whatever from China. Nothing to interesting so I continue on exploring town.

My big, somewhat peculiar interest is in the UN Drugs Control Project building on the north side of the lake. I never find it, but do find the local anti-narcotic agency, city hall, and the International Red Cross compound on the eastern side of the lake. At the IRC there was only a guard, a job advertisement board, and a requisite white Toyota Landcruiser with underwater breathing kit installed—no people about. They day is a bit cloudy and is sprinkles on and off forcing me to take cover here and there. It is a bit spooky that there seem to be no foreigners about. Large propaganda boards are all about town, with a few in English beneath the Burmese language slogans, lots of men in green with guns, and policemen in white jackets who constantly talk into their walkie-talkies. I imagine them saying things like “OK, subject S-420 is moving towards Yang Kham Gate Rachileik-Taunggy Road� and such. A bit of paranoia is setting in. Regardless, throughout the length of my journey I try to make eye contact and then smile to these military men. Only once did I get anything other than a blank stare or no eye contact at all—and that was only a diminutive nod.

After hours of walking and taking some pictures, I head back for Harry’s to get some money. Joyasia on Lonely Planet’s online Thorn Tree forum suggested that it would be best to change my Baht/Dollars/Kyat into Chinese Yuan at a gold dealer or money changer before getting to Mengla. (More on that later.) So, I head back for the market in the early afternoon only to find it closed up. Hunger is beginning to set in so I head for the Golden Banyan restaurant near Paleng Gate. There I read up on Mengla, have a ‘vegetarian’ dish that includes enough chicken bits to make me gag, and a Myanmar brand beer. After some more walkabout time it is back to Harry’s were I met Brittany, a charity worker in Thailand from the UK. We got along quit quickly and were distinctly separate from the other travelers at Harry’s Guesthouse. That evening Brittany and I head into town for a Chinese place that seems quite popular. After dinner we wonder semi aimlessly down to the lake side and find ourselves a little beer joint and split a beer.

Posted by stu at 08:42 AM | Comments (0)

December 27, 2005

In and out of Chiang Mai

My stay in Chiang Mai turned out to be short and eventful. First of all, Tai from Child’s Dream, offered me a free ride up to the border town of Mae Sai. That would mean quick and easy access to Burma, so I agreed to go along. Secondly, my beloved Sony DSC-T1 digital camera was nicked from my back while browsing the night market. That’s why there are no pictures on the last post. I spent my three days in Chiang Mai just catching up on emails and preparing for my trip north.

Posted by stu at 09:29 AM | Comments (0)

December 25, 2005

Flight back 'home' to Chiang Mai

Tuesday morning I took a negotiated 15,000 kip communal taxi truck ride alone to the Luang Prabang Airport to catch my US$80 10:10am Lao Airlines flight QV 637 to Chiang Mai. A tuk tuk would have been 10,000 kip, but I thought 15,000 kip was fair since it was a proper truck. Once at the airport the driver tried to pull the old “’Fifty’, not ‘fifteen’� scam on me. How many times does a traveler have to hear this kind of shit? How many give in? I was having none of it and angrily called him a thief on the spot, told him to piss off and walked away after leaving the agreed 15,000 kip on the rear bench of his truck. You’re not supposed to do that kind of stuff in Asia, getting rude and hostile, but the driver was blatantly trying to rip me off and my mood was less that relaxed about it. (Traveling under threat of scheduled departures does that to me at times.)

Once in the terminal I soon discovered that I was the first to arrive. So I sat down by the window, read the ever informative Vientiane Times, and stared out the window. My flight was late and soon the other Bangkok Airways Chiang Mai bound flight passengers were filing into the Gate 1 departure hall, including Jimbo. We spoke briefly but then my twin-turboprop plane finally pulled up. The mechanics started tinkering with engine number one on the ATR-72 which delayed things further. When we finally boarded the aircraft at 1100 this American woman in her fifties has conveniently placed her carry on bag in my foot space on at seat 14B. (Those small regional turboprops have tiny carryon compartments.) I asked the flight attendant if the bag could be placed elsewhere in the cabin, which got the American woman incensed. “It’s only a short flight!� Maybe I’m not the perfect gentleman at times, but this bitch was being totally selfish, inconsiderate and presumptuous. She hadn’t even bothered to ask if it was OK with me to take up the space. Finally she offered to switch seats with me so that she could keep her precious bag near her, and I had my leg room for the hour and some minutes long flight. She clearly was not happy with me and didn’t even thank me later when I picked up her pen that she dropped. Grrrr… Oh, I should mentioned that she was pretentiously dressed in high-end traditional Western-Laotian fusion clothing, which made the situation just a bit more ridiculous.

The flight was pretty uneventful after all that drama but my window seat (14A) view was obscured by the increasing post-rainy season haze and fog. Soon we touched down in Chiang Mai and while taxing to the aircraft parking spot, the pilots shut down engine number one before we made it to the gate. That was a bit spooky as they had been tinkering with the same engine back in Luang Prabang. I jotted the tail number (RDPL-34137) down and will be curious if there is some fatal accident in the near future. I can be morbid that way.

Once I cleared immigrations, grabbed my rucksack, and breezed through customs I was fortunate enough to stop a tuk tuk making a drop off as soon as I made curb side. Showing him my Child’s Dream ID card with the address in Thai seemed to kill any potential desire in him to take the silly farang for an expensive ride and he offered me a reasonable 70 Baht (less than US$2) fare to the Child’s Dream HQ office on Patan Road near the ‘super highway’. Groovy.

All is good, and it is great to be back in Chiang Mai. It is almost like coming home. Pamela is letting me stay in the spare room at her flat near Chiang Mai University, which is very kind of her.

Posted by stu at 09:17 AM | Comments (0)

December 20, 2005

Several days in Luang Prabang

After checking into our 80,000 kip/night room at the Mekong Guesthouse, literally the first place we found along Th Khem Khong near the ferry boat ‘pier’ to Van Xieng Maen, I crashed big time. The pain and suffering from the boat ride was too great, so I popped some aspirin, 20mg of Valium, closed the shutters, and climbed into bed. Levi went out to explore town some. Hours later, about six or seven in the evening, Levi came back and we headed out for dinner. I was starving having donated my breakfast to the ecological system of the Nam Ou river valley and gone with out any lunch. Levi, always the price-minded traveler, was looking for something like a 3,000 kip grilled-whatyahmacallit served up all over the night market. I was desperate for some good old fashion western food after having spent the past week eating basically the same small menu of foods. I won the day, sort of, and had myself a nice big vegetarian pizza at a touristy restaurant along Th Sisavangvong where the night market is located. Levi had a banana milk shake, which he can be very particular about. He had also eaten much more than I that day, so no guilt was coming from my end for being so selfish in our restaurant choice.

On the way to dinner we were scoping out a new guesthouse. The Mekong GH was OK, but they served no food, were located on a busy road (for Luang Prabang), and worse of all…our room was next door to a beauty salon with happy but very noisy women gossiping about whatever women gossip about in those kind of places. (Like maybe the two incredibly handsome western men who just checked-in to the guesthouse next door!) We found a place called the Mali Guesthouse just 200m away on a side street nearby that came highly recommended by this Frenchman sitting out front drinking a Lao coffee. He said it was the cheapest in town. We met with the proprietor and she said a room would be available for us the next evening.

The next morning we packed up and headed around the corner to check in. Our small room was pretty dodgy but worked for us. We had our own private bathroom (cold shower) and the manager let me use the shared hot water facilities for an extra 10,000 kip per shower. The room worked out to 120,000 (US$11-12) each for our entire six day stay—a fair deal for Luang Prabang which is under going a major economic boom. More on that later. The food was pretty good, cheap compared to local dinning prices but the menu was extremely limited. I only ate omelets, baguettes, vegetable sandwiches, and fruit salad with yogurt at every sitting. But, they did have coffee with real milk imported from Thailand, which is hard to find in Laos. They had a very cozy six or seven table brick floored porch with dining tables lined with orchids and immediately adjacent to the fishponds. Near the end of our stay some of the local Buddhist monks (bald kids dressed in orange cloth, in effect) showed up with two symbolically important statues and placed them in the fishponds. It was fun to watch and photograph.

After the past week of hard traveling, Levi and I were quite content to just chill out for several days of catch up on some reading, photo processing, emails, blogging for myself and diary entries for Levi. I was able to do about 2/3rds of my geek-work at the Khem Khong Ban How Restaurant along the Mekong. They were even nice enough to run out an extension cord so that I could keep powered up and work for hours at a time. The coffee, food and beer was a bit on the pricey side but that was OK as long as I had a fantastic view, frequent refills of coffee and later beer…and power for the laptop. From my river side cubical I could see boats passing, fishermen heading to/from their favorite spots and the greenery isolated Wat Xieng Maen. Once I finished my non-Internet work, I headed for the Phousy Guesthouse 2 where they cleared a desk to let me use my directly wired-up laptop for a couple hours a day during my stay in town. At 200 kip/minute I was pleased. Levi was keen on this 150 kip/minute place which I thought was slower and unworthy.

While at the Mali guesthouse Levi and I met Jimbo, an 30-year resident of Hawaii. Mostly he lived on Maui but now owns property on the south point of the Big Island with his brother. We semi-bonded on our shared ‘heritage’, but not really…our lives are just a bit too different despite being currently domiciled in Hawaii (as defined by the IRS.) Anyway, I’ve got a secretly recorded mp3 clip of him strumming his guitar in during my first breakfast at the Mali which you can check out in the audio gallery. Jimbo flew to Chiang Mai on the 20th, same as me, so we might meet up again soon.

The bulk of the remainder of our time was spent wondering around Luang Prabang both separately and together. On one of my lone walkabouts I discovered the Luang Prabang Scents exhibition near Wat Nog Sikhumneuang with over a dozen amazing watercolor paintings by Somboon Phoungkorkmai. Truly wonderful stuff. Only five works were for sale. Specifically, I was enthralled with a US$1350 painting of a silk weaving market in Laos. I met the gallery owner, a Frenchman named Engelmann, and we talked about my interest in the painting. The logistics are a bit difficult for me…and it was a bit on the pricier side…and the exhibition had just opened, so there was really no room for negotiation. But the painting was fantastic. I managed to leave Luang Prabang without the painting, and credit card debt I really can’t afford at this moment. No job, cash running low, debts rising and too many unexpected bills. Damn.

Luang Prabang, which in 1995 was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO, is crawling with NGOs of which many are “this was our colony first� Francophile type organizations (including UNESCO.) I could not count how many brand new white Landcruisers, et al with big in-the-bush CB antennas we saw about town. Most of their efforts seemed to be about preserving the architecture, wats, etc. For instance, all the dirt streets are being painstakingly repaved with red bricks in a consistence but more than basic pattern. We saw some German government sponsored activities but they seemed more humanitarian in nature and notable even in remote locations like Sam Neua. Luang Prabang is going to be a very ‘cute’ city for package tourists in the next few years...if it is not already. Jimbo was even talking about some preliminary plans for a major international airport nearby. While I can’t deny the right of the Laotians to demand their slice of the global tourism industry, repair decades worth of neglect to monuments and general post-communist, economic success, there is a sense of innocence lost. Levi and I could feel the difference in people from up north in our previous stays to LP.

There are a lot of wats in Luang Prabang. Loads. I took many pictures and will post them soon but fear that some may have been mislabeled. If there are any experts out there please do let me know about any inaccurate descriptions. Some were amazing, some were sorta whatever, and some just plain ruinous. It took so many pictures that I couldn’t remember what wat was what.

On about the fourth day Levi and I rented bicycles at 10,000 kip a pop to check out a second art gallery I had heard about and check out the two bus stations in town so Levi could do some pricing reconnaissance. It was mostly disastrous. The X marked on the map by the employee from Luang Prabang Scents Gallery was completely inaccurate…we found a mostly deserted hilltop guesthouse with a scenic view of the below Shell petrol station. We peddled on with our rickety one speed bikes to the top of the hill which lead to a dead and several Laotians wondering what the silly farangs on bicycles were doing up there. Next we went off in search of the two bus stations where Levi wanted to scope out for prices and times to his next destination: either Vang Vieng or the Lao national capital of Vientiane. The first bus terminal, ‘the southern bus terminal’, was easy to find and very foreigner friendly. Soon we were on the search of the second, more reclusive Sanyabuli bus station. We got lost, wondered down dirt lanes, and wasted way too much time for my tastes. I was getting grumpy (as I’m known to do), hungry and ready to ditch the piece of shit rental pedal powered transport. Some decent photographs of the area did manage to make into my Sony’s memory stick. After what seemed ages, and many thoughts of silently abandoning Levi and heading back to town, we finally found the Sanyabuli Bus Station. Fantastic. Levi will save a good 15,000 kip on his journey south, and more importantly, we now we can have lunch.

We quickly popped over to the nearby Phousi Market which is pretty much a local affair. It was very interesting with all the rice, spices, flowers, animal parts and mass produced junk (Chinese?) for sale. We soon found a noodle soup joint that understood that I didn’t want any meat in my soup and I sucked up our local 5000 kip cuisine instantly. Great stuff. And, the food did much to improve my mood. But by then both Levi and I were sick of the crapola hired bicycles and headed back towards the rental agency to drop off the bikes and reclaim my passport which was held for deposit.

One night Jimbo and I headed off for the Lao Lao Garden Restaurant and Bar where they have a bonfire every evening which is great for both heat in the cold 20C weather and friendly what-is-your-story kind of socializing. We met this cheerful pair of Dutch women who I mistakenly confused for Swedish at first named Ilse and Maike. Ilse readily admitted to owning and wearing a pair of wooden shoes. Apparently the secret to wearing them in comfort is to don a pair of goat's hair wollen socks. Although she said nothing, I suspect she wears them only back on her traditional windmill powered tulip farm in her native Holland. As always with Dutch people, I asked if they drove to Laos (or wherever we I met them.) Those pesky Hollanders seem to drive everywhere…one sees the EU licenses plates with the blue star-encircled NL all over Europe. So for me it is a big joke. They didn’t really find this funny until after reciting a story about a road trip to Morocco. Ha!

One evening I went out to the night market and did some shopping. My most valuable purchases include a hand painted and carved Asian-style stone chess set (US$30), a pair of cozy looking slippers (30,000 kip) for home that will probably last no more than a few weeks, some post cards, and two bracelets from a young girl who made pleas about needing to fund her schooling. I didn’t really buy into that sob story, and despite my distaste for child labor like this, I gave in and even got two nice photographs. For the most part, the market was full of stands with similar if not identical items. For instance, most of the weavings and textiles were so perfect and more-than-occasionally identical that they probably were machine made in China or somewhere outside of Laos. My slippers fall into this category but the chess set does not.

Seven nights after our arrival, Levi and I parted ways. He was off for a 0730 bus to wherever. (I still don’t know, and he may not even have decided himself until getting to the bus station.) It was a great few weeks traveling together. He improved my German a bit and his English-language slang and idiom knowledge is much enhanced. I look forward to his return this spring/summer to the Stuttgart region so we can meet up again and share some more travel stories.

Posted by stu at 09:12 AM | Comments (1)

December 18, 2005

Boat ride down to Luang Prabang (painful)

After checking out of Wan’s guesthouse at 8:15am or so Levi and I head down for the boat landing. It is a great relief to me to find a direct boat as other travelers have had problems or been pessimistic about our chances. Then again, others said ‘no problem’. We bought our 120,000 kip (~US$11) each tickets for the six-ish hour long boat ride and scrambled down to the boat terminal—a mudflat, basically. Quickly we loaded our gear onto the back of the ~18m longboat with roof and soon set off. Within an hour we had past Nong Khaiw for a brief gas stop, including the 20l plastic container that was sitting between and the engine in its wooden cage and myself.

It was a mistake for me to sit that far back on the boat…it just seemed convenient at the time. Levi was farther foreword having an almost non-stop conversation with some German woman. At first a Dutch couple and I tried to chat about our travel experiences and life in general, but the noise and vibrations from the engine provided too much interference. Soon we gave up and just sort of stared out at the scenery. At times the river became full on rapids and were a bit nerve racking to travel through. On this trip I had put all my super valuables (passport, iPod, and any other small but expensive things I could find) into the AquaPac and some was somewhat secure. But many people and their belongs did get soaked including my beloved 30,000 kip wool blanket from Sam Neua and my shoulder bag, with a few books and all of my scraps of paper with the names and email addresses of travelers we’ve met along the way in it.

Some three hours or so after departing our first stop at Nong Kwiaw we pulled over to a small island in the middle of the river to fill up the boat’s petrol tank and let everyone take a stretch and a pottie break. I discretely headed off upstream to the remotest part of the 100m sandbar to force a purge—the hours of engine noise and vibration, forgetting to take my GERT medication for the past two days, with only four hours of sleep the previous night and too much of Cas’ bottle of Rum the previous night, well, it had taken their collective toll. I felt much better for it and nobody seemed the wiser. I actually managed to find a semi-comfortable position leaning against my fellow passenger’s packs (and not the side of the boat, the source of much vibration) to catch a few winks. This should not surprise many of you…my weak willed stomach is legendary in certain circles.

At Pak Ou, which we never actually saw, the Nam Ou river we had been cruising on for the past five hours merged with the famed Mekong river. The change was noticeable and for the better. The Mekong was wider, smooth and easy going. The only disturbing point was the frequent rocks peaking out from the surface below. Fortunately, the river is fairly well posted with proper navigational markers.

An hour or so after the Nam Ou’s assimilation into the Mekong river we saw our destination, Luang Prabang. Our boat captain not-so-deftly pulled up to the long distance ferry landing at end of Th Kitsarat, point 120 on page 112 of LP’s Laos guide. (The counterfeit versions don’t seem to have it.) After unloading everyone’s rucksacks we all head up for our to be discovered guesthouse. There seemed to be touts handing about, but the Lao are so shy nobody really approached us. If this were Bangkok or Saigon we would have been eaten alive.

Dutch couple: if you read this the please send a message via the comments!

Posted by stu at 10:39 AM | Comments (3)

December 14, 2005

My favorite villiage in Laos: Muang Ngoi Neua

An hour after breaky in Nong Khiaw, we join a dozen travelers and two Laotians for an hour long 15,000 kip ride upstream. The boat is a bit more rickety that I would have preferred for the trip. At many points the river becomes a bit rough and one of the two people running the boat is occationally bailing water out by hand. We can see the narrow 20m long vessel bend disturbingly as we strike turbulent rapids. Nothing to scary, but I sure wish I had packed all my valuables (iPod, passport, etc.) into one of the expensive AquaPac gadgets that is along for the trip. Duh. In the end, we make it safely to Muang Ngoi Neua. Two days later a group of travelers tells me about how the steering linkage on their boat broke in the rough waters while heading up stream. People were grabbing onto passing shrubbery, yelling commands, woring about how many pictures on the digital cameras they have not backed up to CD yet, etc. The water was not so deep but the current was swift and most belongs would have been lost. Yikes.

Once we made landfall and our packs were unloaded, we were greeted by a lone, friendly young woman named Wan. Everyone ignored her but Levi and I accepted her invitation to view her lodge, The Phetdavanh Guesthouse, on the high street. Her English turns out to be some of the best I’ve heard in Laos to date. Her guest house, which she runs with her family, was fairly nice. Levi and I opted for double room on floor 2 near the dining porch. All the walls are thatch, so sounds carry a little too well. But for 10,000 kip a piece, it’s a great deal. Wan turns out to be a great host, mega-flirt, and great saleswomen as many other travelers show up at the guesthouse.

Muang Ngoi Neua is a pretty out of the way village. There are no motor vehicles of any kind. It’s very much backpacker territory but generally unpretentious. Every restaurant seems to have the same menu leading many tourists to believe in a grand conspiracy. Every Sunday there is a market which is more popular with the locals than the foreigners. There are fresh fruits, noodle soup, various pieces of western clothing for sale…and a watch repair man. Many of the vendors seem to be families that work in short shifts as we saw the same stands staffed by different people through out the day including small children.

Our guesthouse if outfitted with both Western and Asian toilets, cold water shower, and 24/7 electricity. The energy feature is unusual for the town and is apparently produced by a small hydroelectric generator up in the surrounding hills that is shared by a few houses and only her guesthouse. Yea, right. In the daytime I would plug my laptop into the socket-cum-light-socket above the dinner table. Wan would have to run around the entire building turning off incandescent light bulbs so she should crank up the voltage to 240v—she said they’d blow above 200v. If too many florescent light bulbs in the building were on my laptop would drive the available power down too far and the lights would flicker until either I unplugged the computer or we turned off a bulb or two. Once in the late-afternoon/early-evening I was trying to show Levi and Cas (from Canada) a video clip of Levi attempting to cross a stream with shoes on. Very comical. The think was, the additional power that my laptop consumed showing the video drained off too much power and the lights flickered until the video finished. Too funny. In the evening, when many lights in the village started to come on, the power was unusable. I hate to think of what damage all of this has done to my four year old Sony Viao…it just needs to survive this trip!

At Wan’s guesthouse we met many fellow travelers. An unusual amount of guests were Swiss. Specifically, there was Mathias and Nicole from Saint Gallen for the first day or two, and later Patrick the last day who is also from St. Gallen. I think Patrick was originally from a small town in Canton Thurgauer, but don’t remember too clearly. There were also three Swiss from south of the Rosti Ditch, but their Francophile linguistic skills isolated them from the rest of us travelers. One impressive note about the trio from Lausanne was that they were biking across Laos and Thailand. Can you say Veloland Laos? With all of them I tried out my Swiss German and asked about people they might know, like Stefen Hauser, Yann Delisle, and Raphael Roth who are all former colleagues of mine back from the Unit.Net dot-bomb days. There were also two Austrians from Innsbruck who I mistook for Swiss because of their Low-German accents. I think Levi really enjoyed the opportunity to speak German with some native speakers as it is apparently quite tiring to speak a non-native language all the time with people with various accents.

That first night we went out to dinner with the Swiss couple from St. Gallen and John from Manchester, England down at the riverside Nicksa Restaurant. Frankly, it was terrible. My curried vegetables were boring. Levi strongly disliked the cheese pattini (sp?) but they worked for me. We bought a bottle of Lao Lao rice whiskey for only 10,000 kip but even that was a disappointment. The Swiss woman, Nicole, was done for the evening and headed back for the guesthouse. The rest of us (all men) headed off for Say’s Bar & Restaurant. There the English guy was falling off his floor cushion and unable to really speak. So that left Levi, Mathias and I to chat away. We were all pretty exhausted by that point so after only one drink we left. Levi accidentally left his Lao Lao bottle there, but at 10k a bottle it was no great loss.

On our first full day in town, Levi and I headed on a self guided trek. Some travelers we had met the night before, the Swiss couple I think but don’t remember, said it was a colossal waste of 80,000 kip and told us how to do it ourselves. They even said I could manage it in my knockoff Teva flip-flops. So, down the high street we went, made a left at Say’s Bar & Restaurant, past the school, over the creek and there we were at the first highlight: the 5000 kip toll booth. The lady there was really nice. We paid the toll and checked out the cave just 20m beyond. After the cave we hiked on the additional twenty minutes along a jungle lined foot path and through dry rice fields sporadically roamed by water buffalo munching on grass, shrubs and the like. Finally, we arrived at the first village, Ban Na. The view from the deck of the Chantanom Restaurant and Guesthouse was stunning as it overlooked rice paddies and a scenic mountain range. They had these inviting hammocks that called my name. I might go back and spend a night or two there. There were also floor mats and pillow for people to stretch out in the sun and read a book or whatever. Then again, and maybe I’m being cynical, but it seemed more of a grass hut resort for western backpackers who wanted to squat to shit in dirt-floored outhouses, live with out electricity, drink warm beer and then brag about how way native they went than anything else. But it was damn pleasant and at 5000 kip a night it was cheap if you don’t actually eat or drink anything. (Everything else commanded a 30% premium from life in Muang Ngoi Neua.)

After a noodle soup for me, Levi and I headed on toward the next village (Ban Huay Bor) and an alleged waterfall. It took maybe another hour or so before we arrived at a real, live rice-farmer village. These were working people here and they live a hard life. I didn’t take a signle picture while there…it felt to invasive. We stopped off at the Samsanook Guesthouse & Restaurant for a coffee (which they didn’t have) and directions. We ended up with hot tea, a liter of water and a couple of sales pitches for rooms, food, booz and a guide to the waterfall. We headed out ourselves shortly after finishing our drinks and quickly became lost in a rice paddy. There were two other westerners wandering about who we worked our way towards—a Dutch woman and a British man who had spent the previous night in Ban Huay Bor. They told us the waterfall was a joke and not to bother as it was getting late. The Dutch woman was going to spend the next two nights in the village because there was a big ceremony happening soon. We knew some Buddhist monks had arrived for something, but it turns out they were there to supervise the killing of a water buffalo and the following celebration the next evening. Whatever toots your horn…

Levi and I made back for Muang Ngoi Neua with haste. It was getting a bit late and we’d be in trouble if the sun set on us. We made good time and I’ve got a video of Levi getting his feet soaked in a small river trying to cross it Robinhood style with a bamboo pole.

That night was pretty uneventful with the two of us just having dinner at the guesthouse and chatting with fellow travelers. I had the vegetable curry, which was fantastic. But I also ordered the spring rolls, which were no so great. The St. Gallen couple offered to take them off my hands and cancel their order, which was very nice of them. Unfortunately, Wan had already started preparing their dish and wanted to know why I didn’t want mine. She was not happy and grilled me on the subject. There is nothing worse than telling an Asian woman that you are unhappy with her cooking. Next time I’ll just lie and say something like “I am too full� or whatever. Time for bed.

The next day I spent processing photos and trying to catch up on the photo gallery and blogging. This kind of work takes hours. I also bought some nice cotton weaving work from Wan’s guesthouse as gifts for others and myself. In the afternoon two Canadians checked in later to be followed by a weirdo American from Charlotte, North Carolina.

One of the Canadians (Adam) and I had an in depth discussion of current Kanuck-Yankee politics, a fair bit of Bush-bashing, the general state of world ignorance about how ‘green’ Canada really is, and other interesting topics. The other Canadian named Cas, a baseball cap wearing, quarter-Chinese-and-damn-proud-of-it 19-year-old and I drank way too much of his rum and wondered off towards Ban Na village at about 1am with my camera and a liter of Beerlao each. After becoming lost in a rice paddy (my fault, it seemed like a short cut) under a three-quarter moon we finally made it to the unstaffed 5000 kip toll booth. There we took a few inebriated photos and then sobered up enough to realize it was time to head back before the moon set behind the mountains. (I didn’t notice we had taken any photos until downloading the images from my camera two days later.) We stumbled to bed around 0300. This was one of the most stupid things I’ve done on this entire trip, but also one of the most beautiful and memorable. Did I mention that we didn’t even have a torch between us? Kids: don’t try this at home.

The next morning Levi wakes me up for a quick breakfast (noodle soup and garlic bread) and an instant packing routine. We’ve got to catch the 9:30am, 120,000 kip, six hour boat ride down to our next destination: Luang Prabang. In hind sight, I should have stayed in bed.

Posted by stu at 06:22 AM | Comments (0)

December 10, 2005

The scenic route: Bus to Nong Khiaw

Our 1400 Hyundai passanger bus to Nong Khiaw showed up 90 minutes late. We passed the time by drinking some green tea, reading books, taking pictures, and greeting friendly locals who passed by. Once the bus did arrive, we loaded our packs up top and I jumped on and grabbed the best seats we could get on the big, shoddy bus. Our seats (30 and 31) were painfully towards the rear where a quartet of Lao men behind me were sucking on beetle nuts and spitting every few seconds. The drivers needed another ninety minutes to fix an inner tube from a previous flat and grab lunch. Off we go.

After a few hours the saliva chorus ended with the beetle nut maestros’ departure at some small little town between here and there. I hopped out and took a few pictures of a young girl weaving on her loom while her father happily said who-knows-what to me the entire time. I have them the thumbs up and re-boarded the bus. There were three other foreigners on the bus with us, a trio of French travelers. The five of us became the object of interest for our brief few moments in town. Surely, we all were the topic of dinner conversations in dozens of households that evening.

Some time that evening we heard a loud bang followed by a repetitive thump, thump, thump. The right rear outermost tire had blown. While the driver/foreman was inspecting the wheels I took a picture. He didn’t seem so fond of that and said something severe in Laotian to me. Most of the passengers, including myself, jumped off the bus for a break. Many people were smoking and others were finding discrete little coves in the bushes to relieve themselves. I took another picture of one of the bus crew spinning the lug nuts back on and received a second, harsher rebuke from the bus foreman. Oops. Flat fixed, all aboard, let’s go.

At about 2230 we pull into Nong Khiaw. Only Levi and I got off at the stop. I jumped up to the top of the bus to help the bus crew identify our bags, but they remembered exactly what was what. Impressive. After the bus pulled out, Levi and I were pleasantly surprised by the night time beauty of the half-moon light town. We stopped on a bridge to take pictures but only Levi’s turned out decent. (He’s got this fancy Cannon digital camera, as opposed to my sleek-n-sexy but limited Sony.)

It’s dark and there is only a small sign of life from the area around a guesthouse that Lonely Planet describes as “use as a last resort� or something like that. So, we head for the Manypoon Guesthouse. It takes a while, but we wake up the mistress of the house who shows us two 30,000 kip rooms each that are pretty decent. I’m dead beat tired and am ok with it, but Levi is much more cost conscience than me and says “no, let’s look for something else�. I offer the sleepy madam 40,000 for the rooms but she rejects my offer. We wander down the street and find the Somgnot Guesthouse (which LP incorrectly lists as the ‘Songot’ Guesthouse.) We wake up the friendly owner, find two decent 20,000 kip a piece rooms and he agrees to make us a much desired dinner…at 2300. Soon his wife joins us to sit out on the dining deck this pleasant, starry evening. Noodle soup, a vegetable flaked omelet, and a Beer Lao hits the spot for both Levi and I. This tasty dinner must have run us a whopping 17,000 kip a piece. Soon we are all sound asleep in bed by 2400.

The next morning we pack up and have breakfast on the dinning deck. It seems most of the extended family is out to hang about and talk story. While Levi and I are chowing down breaky, a few travelers approach us about the boat ride south to Luang Prabang. It seems that the boat owner wants a million kip for the entire trip regardless of how many passengers are on the boat. Levi and I are headed 10km northbound to Muang Ngoi Neua but are interested in their dilemma because our next destination is Luang Prabang. We are not sure what happened to them, but suspect they opted for bus ride at for 38,000 kip. (That figure is speculative…I’ve heard different numbers between 30,000 and 50,000 kip.)

Time to sort out the trip north to Muang Ngoi Neua. We are headed there at the recommendation of fellow travelers we met in Sam Neua.

Posted by stu at 05:26 AM | Comments (0)

Taking the scenic route: Muang Vieng Thong

Thursday morning at 0640 Levi, Anders and I headed out for the bus station just 100m away from our guesthouse. (Sam Neua is on the small side.) It turns out that Anders is on a different bus to his destination, Luang Prabang, than we are even though Muang Vieng Thong is on the way. Levi and I pass our packs to the driver who loads them up on top of the minibus and then we settle into the back row of seats. After only twenty minutes or so we are moving off down Route 6 and then onto Route 1 after a brief stop in Nam Noen.

On one hand, the ride was fairly comfortable because the vehicle was not crowded, we had some fruit, and my nice new wool blanket kept us warm. On the other hand, Route 1 is in terrible shape. It seems to have been paved at some point but that can be frequently difficult to discern. Clearly, the single lane road must be hell to travel on during the rainy season—there were obvious signs of recently and hastily repaired land slides and many portions of the ‘highway’ were just plain mud. About halfway through the 35,000 kip five-hour journey we pulled over to the side of the road because the gear shift linkage had broken when our driver downshifted the poorly maintained struggling diesel beast. About twenty minutes later, just when I was mentally preparing myself for an hours long repair stop, the driver announced all was ok and to get back on the bus. Yippee.

We pulled into Muang Vieng Thong at about 1400 and grabbed the first guesthouse in sight, the 10,000 kip per person Souksakhone Guesthouse. Asian style toilet, cold shower, but that’s ok…we are having fun. Our first priorities were water, cigarettes for Levi and some real food. I had some mixed vegetables in a bag that turned out to be heavily loaded with red hot chili peppers. Levi had two meaty dishes that were of no interest to me, other than the funny way in which they were grilled. We both had a Beer Lao. While many soon-to-be-consumed H5N1-infected chickens were crawling around under our table, Anders’ bus shows up and he hopped out with his fellow passengers to grab a quick lunch. A few minutes later they were off again.

After lunch, we went over to the two looms under the same wall-less building we had our lunch in. A local woman had just started up her weaving again but refused to let us take any pictures. So, we settled on the adjacent loom with a partially finished weave in place. During the later half of the journey we saw many looms under people’s houses. Apparently, this portion of the country is famous for its weaving. (Mom: If you click on the picture you’ll see a full size image of an entire loom.)

About 1 kilometer away from the high street where our guesthouse is located there is a hot springs, as mentioned in our not-so-trusty Lonely Planet. We walked up there over a bridge to the springs taking pictures along the way. There were many children on bicycles riding along the way who shouted out ‘Hello’ and ‘Sabai Dii’. A few even stopped to practice there Conversational English 101 lessons with basic questions like “What is your name?�, “How old are you?� and “Where are you from?� Only two of these teenagers seemed to understand our answers so we tried to keep the responses simple. At least they aren’t learning French.

At the hot springs some western donor had build a bathing facility for the locals that made use of the hot springs water by capturing it in a cooling pond. There were dozens of children and a few adults bathing there which we passed while on the way up to the source springs themselves. I had brought along some soap, a 20,000 kip newly purchased razor and my trusty Nanning procured 2 Yuan Chinglish hand towel with the idea of shaving off a full weeks worth of facial hair. (I’d left my expensive Gillette blade, SFr. 8 comb and trendy-brand hair wax behind in a hotel in Vietnam on the Xin Man trip.) Complete disaster. The razor, despite the price tag, was complete shit. The blades became dull after shaving the right cheek, began tugging at my skin on the left cheek, and I had to salvage the effort with an asymmetrical, elongated goatee. Blah.

Just as I was giving up on the shaving, two small groups of children showed up at the hot springs with some roots and vegetables. The had some knives with them which they used to push the roots and veggies down into the bubbling water where they let it cook for twenty minutes or so. The girls gave us some sort of sweet potato and the boys a chalky tasting root. I had two carrots in my bag, so we cooked those and I returned the children’s gift. Levi and I also soaked our feet in the water and mud. Unfortunately, I mildly scalded the arch of my left foot. Ouch. After an hour or so later we headed back to the guest house.

That evening we hung out at our sleeping lodge and when hungry went down to a restaurant on the high street (aka Route 1.) The plan was to have dinner, but we ended up sticking to Beer Lao and two shots of Lao Lao. We were not too concerned about getting to bed early because our bus for Nong Khiaw was not scheduled to depart until 1400 the next day.

That next morning I left on a one hour long like up a road into the mountains for a bit of exercise and some photography. A few children along they way were absolutely stunned by the big, white strangely dressed foreigner and either said ‘Sabai Dii’ or burst into tears and ran for cover. Every now and then a truck or scooter would come down the rode with the drivers smiling and waving. The road was crap and almost difficult to walk on. There were grass huts, rice paddies, a few looms about, and many breathtaking countryside vistas. It was a really interesting experience and I wish there was more time to walk about.

Posted by stu at 04:55 AM | Comments (0)

December 09, 2005

Three wonderful days in freezing Sam Neua

Our arrival in Sam Neua was a great relief from the strains of travel in Vietnam. The contrast between everything is stunning and pleasant. There are virtually no touts, barginning is easy and friendly, the people are really shy, and everything is just so relaxed. The only negative aspect was that the temperature was absolutely freezing! The morning after checking into our guest house I quickly went about purchasing a black hat with ‘REVALDO’ on the back, a pair of grey wool mittens, and a dark green scarf that the locals seem to wear—all for about 30,000 Laotian kip (just under US$3). The following day a wool blanket (30,000 kip) really sorted me out. We also made it to the Laotian Development Bank just in time to convert US$100 into kip at an excellent 10,790 kip per dollar. The largest Laotian note is worth 20,000 so US$100 worth of the stuff left us with a 3cm-thick wad of cash.

That first evening in town Levi, Terje and I went for dinner at Dan Nao Mueng Xam restaurant. I had the mixed vegetables for 7,000 kip and a few Beer Laos with the guys. Later on some other travelers joined us, including this awfully irritating Deleware-born punk from Philadelphia named James. He was one of those guys who made a joke out of everything thinking he was the funniest guy since the “why did the chicken cross the road?� author. Our first full day in town was about relaxing, checking out the market, etc. We also met two friendly young Swedish women, Eva and Tanja, who were on their way to Hanoi…with US$40 in cash and some difficult in this part of the world to redeem travelers checks. They had not really considered the difficulty in doing this part of the trip and were asking us for advice. It was quite comical. Levi gave them his counterfeit Lonely Plant Vietnam and I turned over my 20,000 Dong map of Northern Vietnam. The next morning I saw them heading for the Na Maew/Nam Xoi border crossing with

One of the good things the French left behind in Laos was freshly backed baguettes in almost any town. There fresh fruit, including bananas, oranges, apples and some exotic stuff was in large supply. So were chilli peppers, live maggots, green moss-like stuff, freshly killed fish, chickens and pigs, and smoked field rats. One of my favorite purchases was a 90,000 kip traditional dress that all the women in town seemed to be wearing. My mother is really into weaving and has her own loom, so it will probably go to her. There was some really expensive silk weaves that would have been nice to purchase too.

The second day, Tuesday, Levi and I headed for day trip to Vieng Xai, which is a one hour 8,000 kip passenger truck ride away. The big attraction in town are a series of caves. Levi and I met up with a group of travelers who we joined on the 10,000 kip tour offered by the Kaysone Memorial Cave Tour Office. They charged an extra 2,000 kip for cameras. One set of caves was used by the PL (Pathet Lao) Polit Bureau the in the mid-sixties during the Lao revolution. My knowledge of Laotian history is not so good, so much of the historical importance was lost on me. When back in Chiang Mai in a week or two I plan to read up the recent history of Laos.

After the tour, all of my fellow travelers and I agreed to meet up for dinner back at the Dan Nao Mueng Xam restaurant. Levi and I were wrapped up in blankets. A bottle of Lao Lao, a locally distilled cheap hard liquor of varying quality, was passed around. One sniff of the petrol-like booz was enough to turn me off. I didn’t jot down the names of anyone, but there were an entertaining lot to have dinner with: an American kid from Philadelphia just finished with university in Delaware, a Spanish woman active in the Catalonian independence movement, a young British guy from just outside of London, another American working on his doctorates in his home state of Wisconsin, Terje the Norwegian, Levi and I. The Americans and I got into some interesting and informative political and cultural discussions. They both have politic similar to my own, so it was generally a friendly conversation.

Everyone at dinner that night, sans Levi and I, were headed out of town early the next morning for points east (Vietnam) or south (Phonsavan). Levi and I decided to spend another day in the relaxing Sam Neua. In the morning Levi said hello to a guy in our guesthouse who he thought was someone from dinner the previous night. It turns out to be Anders, a Swedish man who had been on a trip to Halong Bay with Levi two weeks ago in Vietnam. The three of us agreed to meet for dinner that evening. Levi and I went shopping for food for our next journey and actually found some 300 kip/minute dial-up internet access in an unheated photocopy/printing/internet shop. Levi got really excited about all this Laotian pop music on the owners computers and burned a few CDs.

That night we packed, showered and got to bed early ready for the next leg of our trip to the town of Muang Vieng Thong.

Posted by stu at 04:22 AM | Comments (1)

December 08, 2005

Laos Bound

0700 Sunday morning Levi and I met at my hotel (the Tin Tin on Hang Non) and headed towards a major avenue, Phu Hang Gai, where we hopped into a westbound taxi to the bus station. Within a few minutes Levi realized that the meter was running very fast—the fare was roughly double what it should have been. We demanded that he pull over, we paid him an extortionate amount (37,000 Dong) and hailed another taxi. It seems our original thieving taxi driver was taking us on the scenic route because the new driver quickly turned around and headed south. Twenty minutes and 85,000 VND later we are dropped off just across from the Son La bus station.

As soon as we set foot into the bus yard we were quickly mobbed by aggressive touts. Lots of pulling on our arms, grabbing our maps, etc. Very irritating. Levi and I walked around checking out each individual bus destinations, weighed our options, and settled on a 20,000 Dong bus ride to Hoa Binh (the provincial capital of the same name that means ‘Peace’.) Three-ish hours and 64km later down Route 6 we arrived. On the journey Levi befriended a Vietnamese woman named Ha Thi Toan with help from his Lonely Plant Vietnamese Phrase book. She was going to Mai Chau, which was our next goal. We three waited 45 minutes being the object of amusement from some local children on Hoa Binh’s high street before boarding an old, rickety bus that climbed up a mountain pass that left us all a bit chilled. Levi kindly loaned his Pakistani-procured blanket for our new friend and her neighbor to share. This really paid off when we arrived in Mai Chau and the driver tried to extort an additional 30,000 Dong each from the two of us. Our new friend defended us and the driver sulked away without too much hassle.

Mai Chau is stunning little rural town (~50,000 people) spread out at the bottom of a huge valley with steep slopes. If we did not have such a strong desire to get into Laos ASAP I would have liked to spend a day there. But we were trying to make the Na Meo border crossing that night. It took two hours of researching and negotiating with various motor bike drivers and a taxi driver to arrange passage with a young man named Duy and some older guy who did not like to talk. A bus did not seem like an option then but we now know better. Whatever. The US$35 fare for the both of us to Quan Son via Quah Hoa was a spectacular journey with the first 60km along route 15 to Quah Hoa the most impressive. We stopped occasionally to take pictures along bridges and let the smoker’s get their fix. Repeatedly while flying by houses, villages, schools, and sports fields the children would stop what they were doing and shout ‘Hello!’ and wave to us. It was like being some sort of celebrity. Duy, my driver, insisted that I respond in Vietnamese with ‘Xin Chao’. At one break point a group of young boys and single Vietnamese man gathered near to check us out. We took a few photos of them and showed them their pictures. This is always a great icebreaker with children. When we were ready to go Levi politely shook the man’s hand and I quickly followed his lead.

About an hour outside of Quah Hoa on the ~60km stretch to Quan Son via Route 15 and 217, dusk turned to night making the ride very unpleasant. The road was more difficult to navigate. Duy’s motor bike’s headlamps only had a high beam—every time we approached an oncoming vehicle he would turn off his headlight and only briefly turn it on to see where we were going. It was cold. My back was starting to hurt. The mosquitoes and other airborne insects were striking my face with a not quite painful impact every second or two. Because I’d not shaven in a few days (my razor stayed behind in Ha Giang) the bugs were sticking in my beard.

Our arrival in Quan Son was also disagreeable: our drivers dropped us off at a guest house that tried to extort US$8 each for a dirty little room with a single bed and no bathroom. It was clear Duy was expecting a commission out of this. Not cool. Levi took off on foot in search of another guesthouse and left me to guard the bags. Thirty minutes later he came back successfully with two guys on motor bikes. We paid our original drivers and set off for the fairly priced (US$4 each) Nha Khach Hotel. It turns out our room’s faucet would only produce a trickle of water and our beds are local style—no mattress, just a thatch mat on wooden planks. But that’s OK, we are happy.

I should note at this point that our itinerary is very much off the beaten path. The 2005 Lonely Planet Vietnam does not cover this area in enough detail to make the journey. In fact, Na Meo is not even listed as a border crossing, town or being serviced by any roads. (Na Meo is listed in the 2005 Laos edition.) We saw only two foreigners during the trip going the other direction. Thankfully, I had bought a map of northern Vietnam from a vendor in Hanoi for 20,000 Dong. It was paramount in out negotiating the westbound path. To assemble our loose itinerary, we had done some research on the internet, discussed it between ourselves and other travelers, and inspected every map of Vietnam we could find. But this is the fun kind of travel that we’ll not forget.

The next morning we make some instant coffee, pack up and head out the door at about 0830. We were under the impression that there was no bus to the Na Meo border until 1600 so we negotiated with some motor bike drivers and a taxi driver for twenty minutes and settled on a US$20 ride in an old, beat up micro-van. Because we were paying with a US$50 note and going to receive VND450,000 back as change, we had to stop off at the driver’s house so he could get the cash from his wife. They feed us tea and smoked a water pipe with Levi before we all left for the border. Along the way we picked up and dropped off a few local people. We also saw the apparently non-existent morning bus working its way to the border.

Three hours later we arrived. The border facilities on the Vietnamese side consisted of three square wooden huts and maybe a dozen officials. There are initially no other westerners about but that changed while clearing customs when a single guy appeared from the Laos side. In fact, we were the first to cross that day into Laos. The first order of business was to clear immigration where the man asked us some basic questions, stamped out passports and logged our departure. Next we went back to the customs hut where two officials made a light search of our packs. One official spoke decent English. When he saw that Levi was born in Karlmarxstadt, he said ‘Oh, I have been there several years ago!’ (The socialist governments like to hang out with each other two decades ago.) I got a prepared five minute speech on Vietnam-American history and current relations: it started in the 1950s, nearly four million Vietnamese dead, 58,000 Americans dead, Vietnam won the war in 1975, diplomatic relations resumed in 1995, Bill Clinton made an official visit in 2000, and now we are all friends. Thanks for coming. Please come back. It was a bit spooky really, but I just smiled and thanked him.

Past the gate we walked through the 200m no man’s land between Vietnam and Laos border crossings. Just like when we crossed into Vietnam from China, it was eerie. We saw three local women going the other way and two men on bamboo boats on a small river, but that was it.

On the Laos side the facilities included a single large wooden building that housed four or five separate offices. An immigration official at the last office asked us some basic questions, stamped our passports and took our US$1 entrance fee. Two customs officials made a much more detailed inspection of our packs than in Vietnam, but it was no problem. Near the building was a waiting passenger truck and Norwegian named Terje who had attempted and failed to cross into Vietnam without a visa. I later learned that Terje, who works in Oslo, had once met the Norwegian kid involved in that DVD decryption software scandal a few years back. Pretty cool for us geeks.

About three hours later we arrived in Sam Neua (aka Xam Neua. The town of ~50,000 people is the little visited provincial capital of Hua Phan. Being at 1200m above sea level, Sam Neua has turned out to be very chilly with day time temperatures well below 10C. Levi, Terje and I all check into the Phatphousay Guesthouse just behind the bus station. Levi and I are sharing a room for US$2 each that has access to a communal hot water bathroom.

Our arrival in Laos has been great and a stark contrast from Vietnam. The people are much more relaxed, even shy. No touts mobbed us at the bus station. Prices are cheap and haggling is a straight forward and friendly process. We have arrived.

Posted by stu at 11:31 PM | Comments (1)

Children’s Physical Therapy Ward Visit in Xin Man

Thursday morning Pam, Levi and I hoped into a 33,000 Vietnamese Dong taxi ride to the headquarters of the Vietnam Ministry for Population, Family and Children on D Tran Phu where we were greeted by Huyen, the Deputy Chief of Communication for The National Fund for Vietnamese Children which is a division within the ministry. Huyen, a friendly and beautiful Vietnamese lady, was our interpreter and guide for the trip north into one of the country’s most least accessible and visited regions, the Xin Man district in the north of the Ha Giang province. Once we introduced ourselves, and Pam had taken a quick potty-break, Huyen lead us outside to our transportation: our driver and his late model 7 passenger 2.5 liter diesel Isuzu Hi-Lander with air-conditioning, LCD screens in the front seat headrests, and a wide selection of Vietnamese music. This luxurious surprise is in contrast to Pam’s previous journey in an old Russian-manufactured military jeep. No complaints.

We are on the road at about 0900 heading through the suburbs of Hanoi and northward on Route 2 via Ninh Yen, Tuyen Quang and a quick detour to our driver’s house to pick up his briefcase when Pam makes her first of many ‘Can we stop for a toilet’ requests. At first Huyen thought she was joking and ignored her. The second request fell on deaf ears and started to upset Pam somewhat. The third, more forceful demand got results and we stopped off for a pee break no more than 20 minutes after leaving Ministry HQ. There were two more potty break requests in the next hour. Seriously. I was entirely unsympathetic.

Once we cleared the rough roads of the greater Hanoi region we picked up speed…to a whopping average of about 60kph. We saw many rice paddies, produce bearing scooters, and near fatal accidents. At about 1300 we stopped for lunch in Vihn Ngoc and three discrete police check points/bird flu-related vehicle sterilization stops. At these stations a man would spray down the outside of our Isuzu, paying particular attention to the wheels with some sort of chemical compound. Can anyone say H5N1? This part of Vietnam is the current global bird flu ground zero. Spooky shit.

After the last road block we made the final part of the journey into Ha Giang, the provincial capital of the same name, where we stopped off at the provincial office of the Ministry for Population, Family and Children. There we meet two vice-chairwomen of the provincial ministry, had tea, and turned over out passports to receive travel clearance to the Xin Man district and province where the hospital is located. After tea and extended formalities we were ushered to our hotel, the Khach San Hoang Anh Hotel. Levi and I split a room for 120,000 Dong each.

That evening we (Pamela, Levi, our driver, Huyen and I) meet the two vice-chairwomen again along with several of their minions. One of the vice-chairwomen, don’t remember her name, took a liking to me. :D We had dinner and many toasts with accompanying shots of vodka. Lots, actually. After dinner and well pissed, we took a walking tour of Ha Giang and saw the local communist party history museum, excited children on the street shouting ‘Hello!’ (their only English, other than ‘OK’) and a barber shop where this really cute little Vietnamese girl refused to smile until she saw her own picture on Levi’s camera. (Mom: click the link to see the pictures.) Levi and I finished up the evening, along with a new minder/guide who spoke no English, at some beer joint near the hotel.

Because of the brevity of our overall stay in the province, one day plus two for travel, the following morning’s departure was at a painful 0600. We all hopped into the Isuzu and headed 45km down to Vih Ngoc where we turned on a secondary road. The term ‘secondary road’ is generous…it was more like a 100km long driveway to a mountain retreat of an aging literary recluse. Single lane, many pot holes, tight curves, dodgy bridges, 10%+ grade hills, etc. For the first few minutes it was incredibly romantic and idyllic. After twenty minutes or so I was feeling a bit queasy. Soon after I requested a puke break where most of my small breakfast and coffee nourished the plants of the northern Vietnamese highlands…and fifteen minutes later my second puke stop relieved me of anything left in my tummy. After another quarter hour on the road Huyen joined me in a roadside gastronomical purging choir. My third puke pit stop left me not only feeling some major pain, but also ashamed for teasing Pamela the day before for her now innocent ‘potty breaks’. By the time we reached Xin Man I was dry heaving. At the last a fifth (sixth?) stop I accused Pamela of taking a picture of me in my most painful and helpless moment. She sarcastically responded: “I am not that kind of person!� Oh…like the kind of person who would take an unflattering picture of you while completely inebriated on a train from Chiang Mai to Bangkok and post it on the internet. Ouch….

Accompanying us to the district was a man who I now believe was our ‘minder’; someone to watch over us, make sure we did not do anything ‘wrong’ and ensure we had a good time. I’ll call him ‘Bob’ for now since his name eludes me.

Five painful hours later, we arrived in Xin Man. First stop was the local party headquarters where we met in a large traditional Vietnamese style meeting room. We met many functionaries headed by the Chairman of the Communist Party of District of Xin Man. After introductions they escorted us to lunch at a local hotel accompanied by all the technocrats and a few extras for a total of about twenty people. Pam, Levi and I sat at the center table along with the Chairman and his Vice-Chairman. As is custom in Vietnam, we were supposed to eat everything until full and drink to every toast. Pam and I were glad Levi was there because we were not up to it. He gladly went along with the rice wine toasts and fondue-style meat lunch. To avoid offending them, we had to explain why I was in such a poor state…which granted me a little bit of sympathy…and them several minutes of laughter at the silly foreigner’s expense.

After lunch we sat down for tea, Levi shared a Bon Song (???) with the three most important party officials, and we chatted a bit about our itinerary. Twenty minutes later we hopped into our SUVs and were off to the short drive to the hospital.

It was a very surreal scene: a single massive soviet looking building with several smaller shabbily constructed and maintained satellite buildings situated around two faces of the main building’s perimeter. The first peripheral structure we saw where many people were milling about was the children’s ward of the physical therapy unit. Pam met with the hospital administrator and inspected the project proposal with Huyan while Levi and I wandered around and took a few photographs. Next stop on the tour was of the building itself where we met many of the patients and their parents. We took some pictures, asked some questions and then moved onto the next building. This is when some of the locals started to warm up to us and ask basic questions that the Vietnamese like to ask, like “What is your name?�, “Where are you from?�, and “How old are you?� After a detailed inspection of the second building we gathered people for a group shot. Of all the locals there, one ethnic woman and her baby stood out. Her child was maybe a year old and strapped to her back. She was beautifully dressed in traditional-but-everyday-clothing. Her child was strapped to her back…and every time I approached to say ‘hello’ her kid would burst into tears.(mother and child)She found this amusing and kept trying to introduce her child to me. We did do not better than getting myself within 2m before all hell broke loose. :P While the child’s mother and I had no language in common, we both found it worthwhile and entertaining to try and get the child and I to interact. I hope she remembers this exchange as much as I will. (Poor kid will grow up scared of white guys with beer bellies…no Santa for this child…)

After our inspection of the facilities and paperwork, we head back in the direction of Hanoi. Because of the length of the journey we spend the night in Viet Quang, which is still in the Ha Giang province at the Hoa Don Ban Hang Hotel. Our 500,000 Dong per night room was decorated in 8-year-old girly pink much to our chagrin and Pam’s amusement. Pam and I skipped dinner and left it to trusty Levine to represent us. Our minder showed Levine dirty movies on his mobile phone and let Levi know over dinner that the house prostitute was available in room 604.

The next day we headed back to Hanoi in an uneventful 5 hours. No puke breaks, no unnecessary potty breaks. Huyen and our driver did give us a bag each of tea from the Ha Giang province, which Levi and I later used as little presents for drivers and guest house owners along our route to an in Laos.

Posted by stu at 03:42 AM | Comments (0)