Sandalwood City: Vientiane

“Vientiane is exceptional, if inconvenient”, wrote Paul Theroux in 1975, “the brothels are cleaner than the hotels, marijuana is cheaper than pipe tobacco, and opium is easier to find than a cold glass of beer."

Much has changed since one of my favorite travel writers swung through Laos thirty odd years ago. It may have had something to do with the culmination of another successful communist revolution in Southeast Asia (1975 was a big year for the local Reds) and, perhaps more tellingly, the subsequent departure of American USAID and CIA personnel. When the Pathet Lao rolled into town they immediately shut down the local bars and night clubs, sent most of the former regime off to "re-education" camps in the hills, and (no kidding) banished the city's sizable population of prostitutes to an island in the middle of the Mekong.

It turns out that at least some of the hookers could swim, because they're back on the streets plying their trade to an annoying degree. I can't walk more than two blocks at night without an offer ("hey you, you want Lao lady tonight you?") - although, sadly, most of them are coming from the taxi-driver by day/pimp by night dudes. I guess "boom boom" is big business in Vientiane again. Never a group to hide on the sidelines, Katuoys are also on the prowl. Normally the Thai-style Lady Boys are pretty harmless and mildly entertaining in the light of day - they get a little creepier when they start hooting and hollaring at you on a dark street. If you've been to Southeast Asia you know what I mean. Enough said.

At any rate, after the revolution Vientiane began the inexorable socialist slide into economic and cultural oblivian. While things are perking up a bit, and have been for a while, Vientiane could win the world's mellowest capital city award, hands down. I know I've (over)used the term "sleepy riverside town" to describe most of the places I've visited in Laos, but there's no way around it - Laos is full of them, and the biggest of all is Vientiane. Compared to Hanoi, Saigon, and Phnom Penh....well, there's just no comparing (I won't even mention Vientiane and Bangkok in the same breath). Vientiane is more of an oversized town than anything else, which is wonderful, if a little boring when all is said and done. The Buddhist temples are (mostly) beautiful and there are literally dozens of them within the city limits to check out. The food selection - via French cafes, Scandanavian bakeries, Indian and Italian restaurants, the riverside fish stands, a Tex-Mex place, and more - is out of this world, especially when compared to some of the local gruel I've had to endure over the past few weeks. The locals are exceptionally friendly and the touristas definitely entertaining (the Japanese "lotus-eaters" (wiki that one) I'm dorming with are....interesting). As someone told me, the lure of Vientiane is not so much seeing as just being.

And until the Bangkok airports start moving some planes, plenty of ticked off foreigners are just being in Vientiane a little longer than expected. Good thing I'm heading north overland. Next up, Vang Vieng.

Heading NORTH: Pakse - Savannakhet - Tha Khaek - Vientiane

The past few days have been devoted to a very mellow hopscotch north along Laos Highway 13 - paralleling the Mekong - with brief layovers in the river side towns of Savannakhet and Tha Khaek. The prospect of riding an overnight bus to cover the entire 677 km between Pakse and the capital, Vientiane, in one go was about as appealing as having a jagged piece of bamboo poked up my rear. Conversely, I've found that I can't handle being in a local-style bus for more than about six hours before I start going nuts - due as much to the endless loops of sappy Thai music videos and Cambodian comedy shows played on the bus "entertainment centers" as to the painfully slow progress they make. By cutting the trip into a few sections, I hoped to regain bits and pieces of my soon to be tested patience. At any rate, travel during the day allowed me to see more of the central Lao countryside, although that turned out to be a bit anticlimactic - if you've seen a hundred stilt-houses, you've really seen them all.

Traveling complaints aside, both Savannakhet and Tha Kheak turned out to be pretty pleasant stops. Savannakhet, in particular, is sort of the classic backwater French Indochina administrative capital of old. Lots of decaying French-style buildings lining the riverfront neighborhood streets. The gentrification potential is huge, but alas, no one seems particularly attached to the colonial reminders. A shame from my point of view, but I guess you can't blame the locals for wanting something new and flashy as opposed to old and Frenchy. Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed wandering the dusty streets and caught a couple spectacular riverside sunsets as I watched the sun sink into Thailand on the far side of the Mekong.

Pulling out of Tha Khaek for the final leg of the journey to Vientiane, I caught an early tuk tuk (taxi) out to the bus station and at the last minute waffled and then folded. Instead of taking my planned "regular" bus I decided to cough up an extra 20,000 kip ($2.50!) for the privilege of riding the two-story "VIP" bus. In addition to negating the necessity of sharing the aisles and (potentially) my seat with locals and\or livestock, the later departure provided a couple hours to mill about the bus station as it slowly came alive for another day - people watching at its best. As a half-awake shopkeeper kept my steaming coffee cup topped off I chatted and mimed with the chain smoking taxi drivers waiting for incoming fares. Perusing the sidewalk food vendors who were assembling I feigned disgust (ok, it was real disgust) at the racks of freshly killed squirrels for sale. Mmmm....furry breakfast, anyone? After a couple hours it was finally time to mount up and head out.

In the end, the VIP bus turned out to be a mixed blessing. It was certainly more comfortable than the regular buses - roomier, fewer Thai music videos, less stops - but being double tiered had the effect of amplifying the swaying back and forth that comes with cruising the Lao "highways." I suffered from a bit of motion sickness - didn't lose breakfast or anything, but it was heading in that direction. After five hours of rollercoasting (as opposed to the 9 hour ride the regular bus provides) we pulled into Vientiane. In the end, it took about three extra days, but was worth every frustrationless second.

Pakse and the Bolevan Plateau

Condom boxes and cockroaches notwithstanding, my trip to the Bolevan Plateau turned out to be really pretty cool. Although I had initially intended to motorbike around the area for a few days, that plan was scuttled as soon as I realized that my possibilities for accomodations may have peaked out with the evening at the Sekong Souksamlane. Instead, I got up early the next morning and spent an entire day picking my way along dirt roads and through dusty villages all the way back to Pakse.

The Bolevan is indisputably beautiful - rising over 3000 feet above the Mekong plain to the west and the Vietnamese border to the east, it is covered in old-growth tropical forests, clear-running rivers, huge waterfalls, and remote villages. It also happens to hold the record for being one of the most heavily bombed areas in the history of warfare - which goes a long way towards explaining the lack of development. UXO (unexploded ordnance) is still a huge problem, as are the lingering effects of defoliants like Agent Orange. Nixon's attempts to disrupt the Ho Chi Minh trail which ran through the province were both amazingly destructive and ultimately futile. Needless to say, I stuck to the main roads.

If the Bolevan has anything going for it besides the spectacular scenery, American scrap metal, and occasional tiger (really), it's the coffee farms that cover its slopes and valleys. Some of the world's finest, and most expensive, coffees are grown here - the legacy of colonial French planters. The coffee farms are going strong today, mostly owned and operated as small family plots, and nearly every home I passed was surrounded by coffee beans drying in the sun on raised racks or tarps on the ground. In one small town, I stopped at a wood framed shop adorned with Tibetan prayer flags blowing in a surprisingly chilly breeze - mostly because the prayer flags seemed so out of place. Immediately a cheerfully caffinated Dutch guy named - seriously - "Koffie" came out to greet me. A self-described coffee freak, Koffie had given up his life in Holland a few years ago to settle in a small town in northern Thailand. After a road trip to Laos, he had met, fallen in love with, and eventually married the daughter of a local coffee grower (seemed a little convenient to me, but hey, love is what it is). This was her shop, he was quick to tell me. She ran the show, while he designed and led educational coffee tours ("from plant to cup") on his new, VERY extended, family's farm.

Koffie turned out to be an amazing guy and, over the freshest pot of Dutch-brewed coffee I've ever had (ok, the only pot of Dutch-brewed coffee I've ever had), we sat on his front porch and chatted about everything from the intricacies of coffee growing, roasting, and brewing to his new life as a member of a big Lao family in a small Lao town. Koffie has been, by far, one of the most interesting and hospitable people I've met on my travels and it was a bit of a bummer to part ways when a new group of coffee-touristas showed up. At any rate, I grabbed a kilo of fresh roasted (like that morning fresh roasted) coffee beans before heading back down the plateau to Pakse - a good way to cut the funk my backpack has developed over the past two months. Anyway, here's my plug for Koffie. Check out: www.paksong.info

Sekong Souksamlane Hotel.....not recommended

Just for the record, if you ever find yourself on the far side of the Bolevan Plateau in a small, dusty town called Sekong, and the sun is sinking fast and you're thinking "man, I'd better find a place to stay tonight....and quick," DO NOT, no matter how desperate you may be (and given the options in Sekong, you will be VERY desperate), stay at the Sekong Souksamlane Hotel. It's the one with the goats and piles of water buffalo shit out front.

After a long day on the back of a motorbike, I made the mistake of following a Lonely Planet recommendation by stopping for the night in Sekong. I quickly found that most of the guesthouses they had listed were no longer in operation - and, of course, by this time it was too late to move on and try my luck in the next village down the road. So, with much trepidation, I checked into about the only place still open - the Sekong Souksamlane. I should have known it was a bad idea when I had to wade through weeds just to get to the front door. Inside was no better - the two story "hotel" looked like a place the Adams Family might stay. Other than a few geckos chasing flies on the dusty walls, there was no one around. Finally, a young disheveled-looking guy came out the shadows and offered me the only room available that evening (which was odd because, after looking through the guest register, I was apparently the only one staying in the entire hotel - in fact, the last guest had left almost a week ago). Without much of a choice, I took the room and settled in. Actually, I barely unpacked, planning to make a quick escape as soon as the sun came up.

After carefully arranging a clean sarong on the bed so (in theory) I could avoid touching the sheets, I took a look at the only piece of furniture in the room - a tall wooden cabinet against the far wall. One of the door was missing and the other was fronted with a cracked mirror. Now, in retrospect, I never should have opened the door, but at the time, I had to see what was inside. Turned out to be a little display I like to call "Lao Still Life." The contents included (1) one dusty drinking glass of dubious origin, (2) one empty cellophane covered, cardboard display box for non-sharpening pencils, (3) one empty bottle of M-150 Thai energy drink, (4) one empty box of "Number 1 Deluxe Top Quality" condoms, (5) one empty foil package of said condoms, and (6) one huge dead cockroach.

Let's just say that, for once, I was very happy to hear the rooster crowing outside my window at 5:00am. By 5:30, as the sun was just cracking over the mountains in the distance, I was gone.

Don Det to Champa"sick"

Apparently, hammock time isn't as good for your health as you might think. After living the island life for a couple of slow days, I managed to come down with my first real illness of the entire trip - no, not malaria, tapeworms, or even simple giardia (although Emilie's money is on Dengue fever). No, I've been taken out by the common flu. The past two days have been spent mostly curled up in the fetal position underneath my fan, with occasional attempts to choke down a little bread and orange soda. The mere thought of yet another bowl of rice kickstarts the dry heaves. Ok, I'm being slightly dramatic, but still - being sick with something as lame as the flu, in a foreign country sucks. That being said, I did manage my first full meal in 48 hours this evening. It hasn't come up for round two yet - life is looking better.

The trip from Don Det (flu island) to my next stop in Chamapasak town was pretty straight forward by Laos standards: river ferry, pickup truck, hitch hike, pickup truck, river ferry, sweaty 2 km hike into town. Made a couple of friends along the way - a Zimbabwean-born Kiwi and a kid from Los Angeles. Between the three of us, we managed to get from point A to point B without too much drama and plenty of Mugabe-bashing all around. The main mode of transport in Laos is the sawngthaew, sort of the bastardized offspring between a pickup truck and tuk tuk. If you happen to see one heading going your way, wave it down, negotiate a fare, and climb into the covered back. If you're lucky, there will be a little room amongst the bodies, livestock, produce, and luggage.

Heading out of Don Det, I wedged in between a couple of betel nut-chewing old ladies and a younger woman carrying a string of (very) freshly caught Mekong catfish - they were still flipping and flapping all over the place. Finally she just tied them up into a ball with some twine and stuffed them into a plastic sack. As I sat down, I accidentally kicked one of the big burlap sacks that was taking up most of the floor and the entire thing jumped up about six inches and started squealing. Then the bag next to it started squealing and thrashing around. The old ladies started cackling and laughing, red betel juice dripping from the corners of their mouths, until one finally shoved the bagged pigs back to the floor. Eventually everything calmed down and off we went, in a cloud of road dust. Minus what I hope to be the tail end of my illness, Champasak turned out to be a pretty cool little place. Sleepy riverside towns seem to be a dime a dozen in Laos but Champasak also has a UNESCO World Heritage Site going for it. About 10 km south of town lies Wat Phu Champasak, an ancient Ankor-era temple complex that, like Angkor, has been slowly reclaimed by the surrounding jungle. Wat Phu Champasak is unique because it was built up the side of the nearby mountain, peaking out at a sacred spring. The spring is still flowing (I took a holy splash bath after my hike to the top) and some of the ruins are being restored with the new UN money. It's no Angkor Wat, but its location is arguably more stunning. Climb to the upper temple and you can look out across the Mekong and beyon eastern Laos into Vietnam. Riding my bike down to the ruins at sunrise let me beat the crowds of tourists that bus in from nearby Pakse - I had the it all to myself, save for a French couple and the Lao women setting up their shrine-side snack snops, for an hour or so.

The rest of the day was spent curled up in a ball on my bed sipping Orange Miranda soda. By evening I was feeling well enough to pedal around town a bit and eat a little. Asleep by 7:00, up with the neighbor's crowing rooster at 4:00am, and off to Pakse after an omlette and cup of Lao coffee. Starting to feel better.

The living is eaaasy on Don Det

Ahhhhh.......Laos. If the Mekong River islands of Don Det and Don Khon are any indication, I've officially found my bucolic Southeast Asian paradise. Oversimplified wishful thinking, but Laos hasn't disappointed yet. After my frustrating misadventure getting to the Lao border, everything chilled out a few notches and the rest of the trip was a piece of (mango?) cake. A short mini-bus ride to the village of Ban Nakasang was followed by a long-tail boat ride through a maze of beautiful mid-channel islands, and suddenly I was wading ashore on Don Det.

Don Det is part of a chain of permanent and semi-permanent seasonal islands that dot the Mekong near the Cambodian border - in Lao, the area is known as Si Phan Don or "4000 Islands." The biggest islands are inhabited and a few, like Don Det, have been attracting tourists (well, backpackers - a distinct cheapskate subclass of tourists) for years now. Most of the farming and fishing families have built at least a bungalow or three on the river's edge to rent out at ridiculously low prices - mine cost $2.40 a night. No electricity on the island but generators run from about 6-10pm, if all goes well. Basically, the islands are famous for setting new, internationally recognized standards in the world of "chilling." It's a great place to become better acquainted with your hammock as you watch the Mekong gurgle by. In case that isn't relaxing enough for you, most of the island restaurants specialize in (fully advertised) "happy meals." For those so inclined, a few extra kip (Lao currency) will ensure that your meal or fruit shake is spiked with a wad of home grown marijuana.

So, while the lifestyle ensures that there are plenty of foreigners kicking (or drooling) around, it is easy enough to leave the scene behind - a five minute walk down a sandy footpath takes you into the real-deal, rural Laos: rice paddies, vegetable farms, thatched roof huts, water buffalo, and friendly locals, who amazingly don't seem to be jaded at all by the newcomers. For most of my morning walk around the island the other day, my only companion was a small cat that had attached itself to me - until it got bored and wandered off. The islands are also perfectly flat and interlaced with dirt paths, making bike riding a breeze - unless you come across the rare scrap metal piles that apparently pass for bridges. The rusty metal comes from a French-built narrow gauge railroad that was built across the islands to circumvent a very serious set of rapids that line the west side of the island. I was shocked at the size of the falls - I guess I had never thought about the Mekong having rapids. At any rate, these rapids, along with an even bigger set just downstream, killed the French dream of a "Mekong Highway" from Saigon to China.

All in all, Don Det has proved to be a nice change from the (sometimes) craziness of travel in Cambodia. It also provided a bit of recovery time - it seems as though I managed to pick up my first illness of the trip. Feels like a head cold, but we'll see. Back to hammock - doctor's orders.

Cambodia to Laos - No looking back!

Anxious to maintain my now-pleasant memories of Cambodia, it was time to leave the country - quickly. That, of course, was asking a bit too much and I ended up stuck in the near-border town of Stung Tren for a very uninspiring day. Long story short, while I was happily SOLD a ticket to the Laos border and beyond, it became infinitely more troublesome for the transport company when they realized that I was the only one who had booked a trip that day. Embarrassed about the situation they had created, they refused to tell me the bad news until I finally dragged it out of a particularly smarmy slick-haired asshole (yes...asshole) after I had sat around for two hours waiting for my now imaginary ride to the border. Typically Asian - avoid the truth at all costs in order to maintain "face." There are many things I dislike about American culture, but our tendency towards straight talking and blunt honesty is not one of them. Ah well, another guy from the bus company stepped in and we quickly came to an agreement - in exchange for a discounted room at their affiliated guesthouse, I'd spend the night in Stung Tren and hop on their fully booked bus to the border the following morning. That's all it would have taken (albeit two hours earlier) to rectify the situation. In the end, I soothed my anger by munching dragon fruit and watching back to back to back shows on the Discovery Channel and BBC (he threw in free cable tv). For the record, Stung Tren still sucks.

True to his word, first thing in the morning, I was loaded on an almost-full mini bus for the drive north to the (very) rural Cambodia-Laos border crossing. A wooden shack on the Cambodian side was separated by a 200 meter long stretch of no-man's land from another wooden shack on the Laos side. Occasionally, a random herd of goats would illegally immigrate from country to country, but that was about it. I had already arranged a Lao visa in Phnom Penh so, other than a bit of waiting and a one dollar bribe to each set of immigration officials, the transition was pretty straight forward. A short van ride and quick ferry trip later, I was on Don Det island, my home for the next couple of days. Welcome to Laos!

Northern Cambodia: Kratie and Beyond

The first thing I realized after taking my seat on the bus out of town was that - in terms of picking a travel day - I had made a very poor decision. Yeah, 1 to 2 million people flood into Phnom Penh for the Water Festival, which means that 1 to 2 million people have to flood out of Phnom Penh at its conclusion. I pondered this fact as our bus sat thoroughly wedged in downtown gridlocked traffic. Hmmm..... Live and learn, if you're lucky.

So the ride north to Kratie turned out to be slightly longer than I had envisioned, but in the end, it wasn't all that bad. The highlight, beyond the stunning scenery, was a showing of "Fist of Fury"on the bus dvd player. It really is amazing how bad copies of early 80's Hong Kong kug fu flicks dubbed in Khmer can make the travel time fly - before long, we had arrived.

Kratie is a smallish town on the Mekong river about half way between Phnom Penh and the Lao border to the north. A mellow little place with untended horses wandering main street and run down French colonial-styled buildings slowly mildowing in the humidity. It was pretty similar to a few of the towns I had visited down on the southern coast, but just a little more lively. The bustling market made it easy to track down my new favorite tropical delicacy, the dragon fruit. I also managed to score my cheapest room of the entire trip: $3.00, with swarms of flies thrown in for free. What a deal! No hot water, but for three bucks, you really can't complain.

Kratie also happens to be famous for its nearby population of the endangered Irrawaddy river dolphins that congregate a few km upstream at a place called Kampi. I'm not kidding, there really are dolphins in the muddy Mekong - only about 75 left in the entire country, although a few still swim free in Laos, apparently. So, obviously, where there are dolphins there are bound to be dolphin tours. After enduring the hard sell tactics of would be guides, I decided to skip the (relatively) expensive tour and just rent a motorbike for the day instead. Since the best time to spot the dolphins is during the low water months of April and May, I figured my money would be better spent elsewhere. Locals don't dive for cover as I approach (but the kids, who happily wave and shout "hello" as you ride past, will run and start screaming bloody murder the moment you stop your bike).

Taking a small road paralleling the river, I took off to the north, with the goal of visiting the largest wat (Buddhist monastary) in Cambodia. Like everything else, it is completely understated and really off in the middle of almost nowhere. I didn't get very far before running smack into the tail end of a victory parade. Turns out one of the boat racing teams I had probably watched in Phnom Penh was making its triumphant return to their home village. Dozens of men walked along side their (now wheeled) boat banging on drums, shouting, waving to the locals who lined the roadside. They were all as excited to see me as I was to see them, so I joined the parade on my motorbike for a few minutes before zooming off. A very cool way to top off the Bon Om Tuk experience.

Further along the road, I passed the parking area for the "dolphin tours" which was quickly filling with tourists. Apparently they would climb into boats and their guides would motor out into the middle of the river and begin the hunt for the elusive dolphins. Two miles beyond that, I pulled off the side of the road for a drink of water and, lo and behold, right in front of me (to be fair, maybe 200 yards away) was a pod of five or six Irrawaddy dolphins repeatedly surfacing and diving! HA!! I had found the dolphins myself and for the next half hour a couple of local kids tending their cows and I sat on the river bank and enjoyed the show. Before long the tour boats had arrived and (perhaps vindictivly) blocked our no-fee-paying views. Oh well, not only had I been in my first Cambodian parade, I had also seen my first river dolphins. Quite a morning - and what a great way to end my stay in the country.

If all goes well, it's off to Laos in the morning.

Bon Om Tuk - The Grand Finale

Ah, the Water Festival. Once again, this amazing experience has completely altered my attitude towards Cambodia - and for that I will be forever grateful, especially now that I'm high tailing it for the border, possibly never to return. As I wandered around the city on that last morning of celebration, I was a little concerned by the apparent lack of people on the streets. I thought maybe the million plus visitors were trying to get a jump on the long journeys back to their home towns and villages. Ha, what a sucker I was.....everyone was just sleeping off the hangovers from the night before. By 2:00 the party was back in full swing with, if you can believe it, even MORE excitement in the air. Once more I dove headlong into the (very polite and orderly) masses and managed to make my way down to the "Foreign Visitors Viewing Area" on the river bank for the boat racing finals. As it turns out, I was in distinguished company - just down river sat the King of Cambodia. I caught occasional glimpses of his royally bald head when he stood to applaud the racers. Having a seat so close to the King and other assorted dignitaries ensured that I got an up close view of all the boats as they did their victory laps back upstream. Between the Cambodian's excitement due to the presence of royalty and the copious amounts of alcohol they had obviously been drinking in the hot sun all day, all the boat crews put on quite a show after their heats. As entertaining as they were in front of the stuffy officials and subdued foreigners, they really let loose as soon as they paddled a little further upstream and got in front of the hometown crowds. Then the partying really began....as it should.

I had a little trouble following all the action since the play by plays were in Khmer, but it was obvious that the races were winding down in frequency. Finally, I could just make out the King overseeing some sort of ceremony down on his stretch of river bank. Then two beautifully ornamented boats manned by crews in royal regalia began the long paddle upstream past the crowds to the starting line. All of the other boats joined the procession and before long they were out of sight. Not quite sure what was going on, but also realizing that none of the Cambodians were leaving their seats, I waited with a couple of Brits I had been watching the races with. Suddenly, a MASSIVE flotilla of boats appeared around the upstream bend, heading for the red ribbon tied off between mid-river buoys that now marked the finish line. But they weren't paddling very hard - this was just a ceremonial race, led of course, by the royal boats. To the thunderous applause, shouts, and chanting of the crowd, the entire mass of boats made its way to the finish line, with the King's boats breaking the ribbon. This year's boat racing was over.

The rest of the evening was devoted to a massive firework display over the river and a parade of lights: barges covered in neon-laced scaffolding representing.....well, I'm not sure what they were representing. There were big turtles, a firebreathing rooster, an oil derrick, and a back hoe among other things. At any rate, the entire spectacle, from the first boat races of the day to the late night street party, was by far one of the coolest things I've seen in all of my travels. A perfect way to say goodbye to Phnom Penh.