mighty mekong
By Rach, who ordinarily is not fond of boats, and was happy you could see land at all times
Jungle-covered hills rise up from the river. Crops of sweetcorn march in straight lines down to her edge. A reddish-brown ribbon stretches along the trees wherever a road winds through the jungle, occasionally releasing a red dust cloud behind a motorbike. Vines compete with banana palms and tall straight large-leaved trees to cover every spot of hillside not cultivated or cleared for an infrequent hut.
The river itself has amazing rocks poking up through the surface. They look as if they’ve been thrown down in a fit of anger by the gods and landed sideways. Massive white sanddunes line one bank, while directly opposite pinkish brown sand provides a home for vegetables to grow in. The water alternates between millpond flat and swirling eddies with white-water-rapid-like whirlpools. It’s brown. Dull. Murky.
Six hours of floating down the Mekong was preceded by four hours of preparations.
We had beaten the roosters at waking up! The goal had been to complete the 1.5km walk with packs on backs to immigration by opening time, 8am. Arriving at the office, we discovered we needed to walk another 2km! Where’s a tuktuk when you need one? Ferrying all the other tourists in town to the immigration queue ahead of you. That’s where.
Signing out of Thailand was easy; the official lived in the same lane we had been staying on and had seen us around and so stamped our passports without even sighting everyone – no other border crossing had been that simple.
Down to the river we scurried and piled all our bags and ourselves into a tiny, narrow canoe “ferry”. I think I might have been inclined to enjoy the ride more if Rob had not announced the rescue plan for if we went down! At least we weren’t wearing our packs like a girl in the next boat – apparently she was doomed to be dragged straight to the bottom. Comforting thoughts for one who doesn’t like being in water over her head.
On the Laos side there were twenty forms to fill in (literally) and US$310 to part with (glug). Everyone else was being charged an additional Saturday overtime fee, but we somehow managed to escape that one. Even if a sign says you should, don’t offer money that is not requested.
That only took a minute to type, but in reality the waiting lasted well over two hours, and as ER2 was having one of her more disagreeable mornings, it felt even longer in the blazing sun! Having been told there was only one boat and that it left at 10:30, we were not convinced we would be on the river that day, still being at immigration at 10:10. We raced up the hill, purchased boat tickets, waited for a tuktuk to take us to the pier, waited again at the pier for more formalities to be completed and finally tiptoed up the gangplank. Although we were among the last to board, we were fortunate to get some of the best seats right at the front of the boat away from the noisy smelly engine, and with a big space in between the seats to roll out a mat for the children to stretch out on.
The trip was very peaceful, chugging along at 23km/hr (yay for the GPS to tell us so!), a cooling breeze blowing through the hair, water lapping against the hull. Peaceful, that is, until….graunch. The engine sounded different, the water was swirling around madly and it took two men hanging off the steering wheel to keep the boat on course. All conversation on board ceased and collectively we held our breath, while a third crewman came running form the engine room shouting something unintelligible (to us). The three of them looked down the outside of the boat, exchanged some gesticulations and words, and Mr Engine Man returned to his post. We’ll never know what that was all about. By the second day, though, we will have worked out that the engine is quietened before entering the rough water and there are plenty of rocks just under the surface.
What does one say about six hours on wooden benches staring at scenery? It’s quiet, relaxing (when you stop worrying about losing someone over the edge), enjoyable, full of “look at that”s for the first few hours, scenery, scenery, scenery….when asked what the day’s favourite was, Mboy6 got in first with, “Going on the boat”, and Jboy12 was almost as quick with his, “Getting off the boat”. Neither of them were wrong!
The sun was setting as we pulled in to the pier (actually, that’s hardly the right word – the front of the boat was wedged against the sand and the gangplank was extended out over the water!), the last boat of the day to dock. By the time we were off the boat and had scaled the sand-dune, darkness had fallen.
Pak Beng is a little one street town rising straight up the hill from the river, existing, it would seem, entirely to service the boats, which are forced by darkness to spend the night there. It consists exclusively of eateries and guesthouses, the owners of which actively encourage you to give them business.
We find a bed, dinner and hit the sack. How can sitting on a boat all day doing nothing make you so tired?
At 10pm the entire town is plunged into instant and complete darkness as the generators are turned off. Our room is right on the road, but not sound is heard all night. In fact, the town is eerily silent.
Escaping from our small dark room in the morning, we sit on the bench outside to eat steamed buns and bread rolls. A gaggle of locals descends on us and stops to stare. They are not a metre from us, following every mouthful! We eat, smile, share the first Lao words we have learnt and they keep staring!!!
I was wondering if a second day on a boat could be any different to the first, other than being, as we had been warned, longer. I was to discover it could be – on two counts. Firstly, the boat was smaller. Secondly, we put more people on! We started off with 108 passengers plus a crew of three, which meant, in our opinion, the boat was full – every seat was taken and some of our family were sitting on the floor. As there were cushions on the seats, it seemed it might be more comfortable. But not for long. Soon we were stopping to pick up another three passengers and luggage. But that was nothing. At the next stop we took on at least a dozen 50kg sacks of rice, which were piled in the aisle, and when that was full, were laid out on the ground space we had claimed for the children when they had given up their seats to adults. Twenty or so people accompanied the rice, each with their own bag or two. The boat sank submerged (no, it wasn’t quite that bad) dipped lower in the water, but it was still not packed up. There was still a large metal box to be handed over the side, and not one, but two motorbikes to be strapped on the front. Only then were we ready for a now-slower pushing away from the sandy shore. I’m sure all the farang (white faced foreigners) were certain the boat was now full, but this taxi was to make two more stops before anyone would get off to lighten the load. Are you seeing the picture? There isn’t an inch of spare space anywhere. Bags are on the roof, in the aisles, under seats, on laps. People are perching atop the rice sacks and in each other’s laps. Whatever position you were in when the loading began, you will be in for the next few hours – if one person moves, everyone has to move! Do you recall which end of the boat we are at? The very front. Guess where the toilet is. The back! This, of course, necessitates clambering over aforementioned rice sacks, bags and people for anyone who can not “hold on” for nine hours!
But, believe it or not, this was not all bad. The boat now sat more securely in the water instead of bouncing about. And it made for much more of an adventure, although I’m sure after sitting cross-legged for hours with two kids in his lap, Rob would have settled for less adventure and more comfort! His only escape was to do the toilet-trip, and while he was gone one of the less considerate men we have met stretched out in his space and went to sleep for the rest of the trip!
Again, just as the sun was setting (and an awesome view it made across the river sinking down below the mountains), we pulled up to the riverbank for the last stop of the day. We breathed a prayer of thanks and relief. Another day to remember.
Tags: children, parenting, postcard: Thailand, price, toilet, transport
rayres
I remember being on PLANE packed in the same manner in Vanuatu. Complete with live chickens tied together. Glad you made it – it does make a great story!