Mark’s Vagabonding Blog

I have learned something that breaks my heart, and levels my soul. I’ve recently discovered that I am not a true vagabonder. I had my suspicions, but now it’s been confirmed.

As I mentioned in my last post, my next stop was the deep south of Laos, to a place called Si Phan Don. This translates to 4000 Islands. Although there may actually be 4000 islands in this region of the mighty Mekong River, only a few are inhabitable. Most of them are about as big as a circus elephant. But the inhabitable ones are quite large. The largest island, Don Khong, is about the size of a small Montana town.

After the 2 hour minibus ride from Pakse, followed by a 5 minute boat ride, I hauled my backpacks onto the island of Don Khong. On the short boat ride to the island you can sense the beauty as you pass the tiny green islands on the serene river. But the island itself doesn’t hold much beauty, the view of the river is what pays the bills. For such a large island there aren’t many guesthouses. There are only about 6 or 7 on about a 400 meter stretch of land on the southeastern side of the island. One of the guesthouse names I had written down was Pons, and that was the first one of them I saw, so I went there.

“AC or fan?” the guy (Pon?) at the desk asked.

“What are the prices?” I repied.

“Ten dollars for AC. Five dollars for fan.”

“Fan,” I said.

“In the back.”

So I went to the building in the back, which was actually a separate guesthouse called Souk Sabai. It was built in April of 2005, so it was quite clean. The sink still even had it’s stopper . . . attached to the chain! I love when the sink has a stopper. That means I can easily do my laundry. The bed was as hard as pavement, but that’s not always a bad thing. So I was happy with my $5/night room, except that it had no view of the river. But none of the guesthouses on this island were right on the river, however the restaurants were.

That first day I was exhausted from the sleepless, overnight bus ride with cuddle bunny, so I just relaxed a little, and then I took a short walking tour of the immediate area. There was nothing much to see, unless you had just been dropped off directly from Danbury, Connecticut. Then you would be frazzled by all the free roaming fowl, swine, and bovine, as well as the general way of life, and the seemingly poverish conditions. Having been here for 4 months, I would be frazzled if I didn’t see those things. There were a couple of large Buddhist temples close by as well.

The next day, I woke up with the roosters, had breakfast, then rented a bicycle for 10,000 kip. I put the cookies and vegetable crackers that I’d bought in Vientiane in my backpack, along with 2 bottles of water, sunscreen, insect repelent, my medicine bag, a shirt, and my New York Jets cap, and peddled away under the overcast sky.

The previous day had been filled with bright sunshine, so I was glad the sun was hiding today, because it made the temperature more bearable. Plus, I have an aversion to applying sunscreen to my body: it feels yicky, and it’s a pain in ass to get off, at least the cheap stuff I have. And besides, the sun was hidden today, and this boy, who had spent the last 5 years in sunny Florida, USA, knows that the sun can’t get you if it’s hidden behind the clouds. And who needs a map, it’s an island, how can you get lost on an island?

I stuck to the paved roads, and the ride was relatively scenic, especialy when the river was in view. There were also green mountains in the near distance to admire. I rode through several small villages to many cries of, “Sabaidi!” from children and adults alike. Sabaidi is the Lao word for hello. Incidentally, almost everyone who answers a phone in Southeast Asia–at least where I’ve been so far–answers it, “Hello?”

At one point in my exploration I came upon some very young children who said something to me that wasn’t sabaidi. Then they started chasing me, and holding out their hands while still shouting the words. I think they wanted money, or a Sammy Sosa rookie card. One girl briefly grabbed a hold of my pants pocket–the one with my camera in it. So I peddled as hard as could and started kicking at them, but I couldn’t shake them. They really like Sammy Sosa. Finally, my manly strength was too much for the little tykes, and I put some distance between us. I was free, but out of breath, so I peddled a little further to make sure I was far enough away from the little psychos, then took a break. Of course, I didn’t really kick at them, but I do think they wanted a Sammy Sosa rookie card. I took a couple of gulps of my now blood-warm water and continued riding, with a watchful eye out for young children wearing Chicago Cubs jerseys.

By now I’d been riding continually for about 3 hours, stopping occasionally to take a photo or admire a scene: a view of the river; the lush green rice fields; two pigs fucking. So it was time to snack on some cookies and crackers. In all the time I’d been riding, and with all the turns I’ve made, I was still sure I hadn’t seen the same thing twice. I was clueless as to where I was on the island. Also I had a sinking feeling that my decision not to apply sunscreen was going to send me back to the hospital.

As I continued to ride–a little more labored now–I saw another traveller riding what appeared to be his own bike coming toward me. My bicycle was a girly bike with a basket in front, and a bell that didn’t work. I would have loved to ride through the villages going, “Ring ring, ring ring.” But it rode rather smoothly. I stopped the guy to ask if he knew where we were in relation to the guesthouses. At first he seemed to know what he was talking about, but later I learned that he was as clueless as I was. But at least he knew that the guesthouses were on the southeast side of the island. That’s more than I knew. So I continued to ride in the same direction for about twenty munutes when I remembered that I had a compass! It was given to me by my good friend Alan as a gift for being in his wedding party, about 5 days before I left for my trip. I got it out of my backpack, along with the directions on how to use it, and tried to figure out where the hell I was. From what I could determine, southeast seemed to be that way, so that’s the way I went. Half an hour later I started to recognize things, I was home at last. Man, thanks.

The next two days I relaxed in the shade to protect my badly sun-burned skin.

The island I really wanted to visit was Don Khon. That one is supposed to be nicer, and I would have gone there sooner if it hadn’t been for the sunburn. The very scenic boat ride to Don Khon cost 30,000 kip and took 1 1/2 hours (I think the speedboat to Sihanoukville cured me of my motion sickness, because I’ve been on a few boats since then, and I haven’t felt the least bit woozy, and without the aid of Dramamine. Granted these boats have been on the calm river, but I’ve gotten nauseous laying on a raft in the pool). Actually they tricked us. They don’t take you to Don Khon, they take you to Don Dhet, which is right next to Don Khon. Some people do want to go to Don Dhet, so it’s no trick to them. But you have to walk the length of Don Dhet to get to the bridge that takes you to Don Khon, a 45 minute walk with heavy backpacks in the hot sun.  I suppose you could take a tuk tuk there, but I didn’t see any when I arrived, so I just walked.

There is a big difference between Don Khong and these two neighboring islands. Don Khong is more civilized. Accomodations are traditional guesthouses, with 24-hour electricity and western toilets. Don Khon and Don Dhet are more idyllic, but also more primitive. Accomodations are bungalows, and I believe electricity was just introduced to these islands this January (but don’t quote me on that), and it only works from 6:00pm until 10:00pm. And that means no AC, or even fans. And toilets are of the squat variety. There is at least one upscale accomodation on Don Khon which may have modern ammenities, but it is way out of my price range.

The first place I saw that was on my list was Mr. Boune’s. I didn’t have to approach him, because when you are walking with backpacks attached to your body, you are a walking neon sign that says, “You can have some of my money if you just ask.”

One advantage to these islands is that the bungalows are set right on the river, with hammocks on the porch, offering stunning views. But Mr. Boune first showed me a bungalow off the river, with the advantage being a private bathroom inside the bungalow, but still with a squat toilet. He said that this one was $4.00/night. Then he showed me one on the river. This one had shared bathrooms with squat toilets. And both rooms had mosquito nets over the beds. This one he said was also $4.00.

This is the kind of thing I’ve been looking foward to this entire trip: a peaceful (except for the roosters) place on the river with a gorgeous view, where I can relax in the shade on my hammock and read or write. So I chose the riverside bungalow with the shared bathroom, which would not exactly pass any hygiene inspections. Normally I always opt for the private bathroom whenever possible, but this view was too good to pass up.

The first thing I did was lay myself in the hammock, because I was wasted from the long walk in the hot sun, sandwiched by my backpacks. This is another reason I think I’ve been cured of motion sickness. Hammocks used to make me nauseous too, but I felt fine in this one.

Another reason to go to Don Khon is that there is a magnificent waterfall within walking distance. Upon rising from the hammock, I started walking in a random direction. I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, but I had the feeling I was headed toward the waterfall, so I asked someone if I was, and I was. The waterfall was wonderful. It wasn’t a big waterfall like the one in Ratanakiri, Cambodia, it was several smaller falls among beautiful rock formations, with a very large stream flowing through the middle. There was also a small beach at the end where you could swim, but I just dipped my feet in. It was incredibly hot, and the sky was cloudless. And guess what? I didn’t put any sunscreen on. I didn’t know I was going that far so I never put it on. But I was wearing my shirt that covers my arms, an even my hands, completely. And I also had on my Jets cap.

When I got back to my bungalow I was very hot, sweaty, and tired, I needed a shower badly. But these bungalows are so basic that they did not supply a towel, and I didn’t have one of my own. So I just took off my shirt and laid in the hammock. Not that you really need a towel here, because you could just naturally dry off in the sun. But how was I going to cover myself from the shower to the bungalow? Yes, I did start to realize that these questions were just excuses for me not to use that bathroom. Eventually, I went in as I was and just wet my hair to cool off. While I was in there the lights came on. It was 6:00pm.

I put on my long pants, socks and boots to protect my legs and feet from the potentially dangerous twilight and evening mosquitos, and applied the insect repelent to my arms, then I went to my bungalow’s restaurant to eat. In the restuarant I had a long conversation with with a nice kid from Sweden. In our conversation I’d mentioned that I’d never slept with a mosquito net before, and had never used a squat toilet, at least for pooping. He told me how to the use the mosquito net, which is actually quite simple as long as it’s already attached. Then he took me into the bathroom and demonstrated how to take a crap in the squat toilet. Man, he had the longest . . . poop I’d ever seen, and so . . . brown. Okay, I know you didn’t believe that. But he did say that he would rather use a squat toilet as opposed to a western toilet, especially a shared one, because it’s more sanitary: you don’t have to touch anything. Which is true I suppose, except for the water bucket that you have to pour into the toilet, and something to hold onto for support. but I’d never seen a sanitary looking public squat toilet during my entire trip, and this one was no exception. I’d used several to pee in, but not poop. I’ve been trying to avoid it this entire trip. But I didn’t have to go yet, so I’d have to wait until tomorrow morning for my moment of truth.

While in Sihanoukville, Cambodia, about 3 months ago, I bought a book: The Collector, by John Fowles. I also still had the Michael Critchon book I bought in Koh Samet, Thailand. So I’d been carrying these books around for quite a while now. While in Bangkok, I’d gone to the Khaosan Road area to try and trade them in at one of the many used book shops there. On my first attempt, I didn’t make a trade because they wouldn’t offer me enough for my books, and they also charge too much for theirs. But while I was in one of the shops, some kid was trying to sell his books to them. They would not give him a fair deal either so he got angry and said that he would rather give them away to someone than sell them to the shop. So he gave me one. It was The Loop, by Nicholas Evans.

So I read that book too, but now I had 3 books making my backpack a little heavier than it needed to be. Shortly after, June went to Lampang for a few days, so I stayed in the Khaosan area while she was gone. I tried again to get rid of my books. The first place I went to, the guy offered me 180 baht for the 3 books. I felt I could do better elsewhere, so I went to the other shops, but no one would match it. Some wouldn’t even take any of the books. I don’t think they realized the John Fowles book is not about collecting butterflies. It is called The Collector, and there is a picture of a butterfly on the cover, but it is not about collecting butterflies.

Anyway, I went back to the first guy to make the trade and get it over with. As I was there looking for another book to get–which I would still have to pay about 70 baht for, even though I was giving him 3 books–someone came in to sell his Lonely Planet: Laos Guidebook. Wow, that’s exactly what I need, I’m going to Laos in about 2 weeks! I should make the guy an offer. But I didn’t. The owner said he’d give him 150 baht for it (These types of books are very expensive here). The guy said, “C’mon, two-hundred, look at it, it’s practically brand new, I hardly used it.” “One-seventy,” the owner said. All this time, I’m telling myself, “Come on, offer him the two-hundred baht.” But I’m still a very tentative person, despite what I did at the Cambodian border, so I kept quiet. About a second after they struck a deal, I opened my mouth, “I’ll give you two-hundred baht for it.” But it was too late, the money changed hands. I noticed the owner gave him the money quickly when he saw that I looked interested and was about to say something. The customer said to me, “Ahh, man, if you were a little quicker I would have just given it to you.” Then he continued, “Well, now you know how much he paid for it, see if you can strike a deal with him.” I said, “He’s going to want seven-hundred baht for it.” So the guy left and I continued to look for a book. When I had chosen a book, and took it to the counter, the guy grabbed it out of my hand, and gave me my bag of books back and said, “I don’t need your books!” Whoa. Either I pissed him off because I tried to take some of his business by offering the guy the money for the Laos book, or because I said he’d charge 700 baht for it, which he would. Either way, I was still stuck with the 3 books, and I’d missed out on the free Laos book, all because I’m not aggressive. This is the kind of thing I hoped this trip would help me conquer. So I vowed never to deal with the book shop owners near Khaosan Road again.

Back at the bungalow on Don Khon, my new Swedish friend mentioned that he’d just finished the book he’d been reading.

“Oh,” I said, “What book?”

“Midnight’s Children, by Salman Rushdie.”

“Is it in English?” (I’d seen many Europeans reading books in their languages.)

“Yes.”

Awesome, this is a book I’d been considering reading. So I asked him if he wanted to trade. I knew the John Fowles book was the only one I had that was worthy of Rushdie, so I told him I had that one. He’d never heard of John Fowles, but agreed to the trade. He also added that his book was in very poor condition. I said I didn’t care, as long as it was all there and legible. The book is in pretty bad shape, most of the pages are falling out, but it is all there. I won’t be able to trade this one at all, unless I get lucky like he did. I don’t care though, at least I have something new to read.

When we left the restaurant, and I went back to my bungalow to get the book for him, I noticed that my light did not work (which is not necassarily a bad thing, since light attracts bugs). So I had to use my camera’s LCD screen for it’s light. I got my flashlight out of my backpack, and that didn’t work either. Damn! I think it was somehow knocked into the on position in the backpack and the batteries died. So now I had to use the camera’s light for the rest of the evening.

I was still feeling tired, hot, and headachy from the day I’d had, and I was not looking forward to lying on that uncomfortable bungalow bed (which had a huge stain on the sheet), under the mosquito net with no fan. So I laid in the hammock for a while, and considered staying there all night.

Eventually I did go into the bungalow. I put the mosquito net down over the bed, which I immediately noticed had a hole in it big enough for a frog to jump through. So if a mosquito wanted to give me malaria, that net would have welcomed him to my blood. What I don’t like about malaria is that the mosquitos probably have no idea they are killing people. I think I would feel better about it if they knew. Then it wouldn’t just be dumb luck. If he knew he had the power to kill people, you’d think he’d pick and choose, right? Even John Wayne Gacy chose who he wanted to kill. So I’d feel better about it if I knew I was chosen rather than being killed by some random bite from an insect that was hungry. So I laid down on the bed and hoped that tonight wasn’t the night the mosquitos chose to drink the blood of all white guys named Mark.

I shared this bungalow with a French couple. Our rooms were separated by whatever the bungalow was made from, which might as well have been toilet paper, because I could hear everything that went on in their room. Luckily, they didn’t do anything perverse or strange. They may have been discussing whether the guy could screw all the cows on the island in under an hour for all I know, because they spoke French. But it seemed like they were just a normal couple. But whatever separated us was so thin that I could hear the guy breathing. Not snoring, breathing! I was sure I was getting no sleep here, so I contemplated leaving the island the next morning, and going back to Pakse to explore the rest of the south a little sooner than I anticipated. But I decided to wait until morning, after my squat toilet experience to make the decision.

Miraculously, I slept! When I awoke in the morning I was stunned that I actually slept on that bed, in that room, in that heat, with no fan. I must have been pretty tired. I went into the bathroom to pee first, then I would think about whether I would poop in there or not. And I did have to go. When I went into the bathroom, I saw that the sink was filled with water, and about 3000 dead bugs were floating in and a around it. Bugs that were attracted to the light that shone from 6:00 to 10:00 last night. But clean bathroom or not, I still had to decide if I would use that squatter.

Like I said, I’ve avoided squat toilets this entire trip, and held it for what I know best, western, sit down, toilets. I’ve never even pooped in the woods. What scares me is that I’m afraid I won’t pull my pants down properly, or I won’t squat far enough, or something, and I’ll end up getting it all over my pants somehow. Plus it just seems weird to me. In fact, every single time I have ever pooped in my life, it’s been on a western, sit down toilet, except when I was a baby and I would poop in my pants. If you are into numbers, that would be roughly 14,000 consecutive, sit down and read a book, poops!

Ultimately, and shamefully, I decided that that was too big a number to mess with. And a person cannot refuse to poop for too long. So my decision was to pack my bags and leave this peaceful, idyllic island, and go back to the mainland to extend my shitting streak. This is why I say that I am not a true vagabonder. A true vagabonder adapts to the way of life of where he chooses to travel.

So I ordered my banana pancake from the bungalow restaurant and asked the lady how to get to Pakse. She told me she had a boat leaving at 9:00am for $2.00 that would take me to where I could get a minibus to Pakse. I agreed to that, and when I finished my pancake, I paid for everything: The meal from the previous night; the pancake; the boat ride; and the bungalow.

I watched her add up the bill on the calculator, and she only charged me $2.00 for the bungalow. That’s odd, Mr. Boune had said it was $4.00, but I didn’t say anything. She did it again and this time voiced the itemization, and it was the same, so I wasn’t seeing things. On the minibus back to Pakse, I talked to a guy who had been on Don Dhet for 5 weeks, and he told me the standard price for bungalows there is $2.00. Damn, if I’d have known it was only going to be $2.00 a night I would have shit in a God damned ashtray!

Tags: Cambodia, Laos, Thailand

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 21st, 2006 at 7:34 am and is filed under Cambodia, Laos, Thailand. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.