Llew Wanders the World

Part two of my Lao adventures began in the city of Pakse, capital of Champasak, the country’s southernmost province. I arrived in Pakse at about 14:00 along with many of my newly acquired friends from Don Det. Most of them were headed across the Mekong to Thailand, but myself and Kate, a girl from New Zealand were planning on staying in the area for a bit and had made plans to travel together for a few days.

This was more or less the extent of our plans, however. Our first stop in Pakse was at the Jasmin Indian restaurant, recommended by Lonely Planet as a good place to find information about the region. Before further planning we had a quick lunch (the Indian food was a nice change from the steady stream of [tasty] Lao fare in Don Det.)

After inquiring about transport to a few nearby towns we eventually decided to head for Paksong, 80km away on the Bolaven Plateau. This appealed for a couple of reasons. First, Kate formerly worked for a coffee distributor in New Zealand and was interested to see the heart of the Lao coffee industry on the plateau. Second, there was nothing more than a half sentence about the place in our guidebooks. Finally, we knew from the restaurant proprietor that there was a guesthouse there, and that if we hurried we’d be able to make it there that evening.

With that, we climbed aboard a jumbo (the Lao name for a tuktuk) and headed 8km out to one of Pakse’s two bus/songthaew stations. Upon arriving a kindly Lao man who had shared the jumbo with us located a songthaew headed for Paksong and we climbed aboard. And waited. Though the Paksong songthaew (apparently) normally departed at 15:00, we didn’t get moving until about 16:00. This gave us a bit of time to explore the small market near the bus station, and to try some of the snacks for sale by the usual crowd of female merchants.

After our hour of waiting and driving around the market to pick up cargo (and one additional passenger) was complete, the songthaew pulled out on to the road towards the highlands.

The trip up to the plateau was a very quick one, and quite pleasant. The air grew cooler as we climbed and the sun dropped. Shortly after departure, the sky was filled with a spotty layer of cloud that filled the air with sunbeams across half of the horizon. As we drove, it became darker and cloudier and I grew almost certain it would rain, but somehow or other it didn’t. Shortly before arriving in Paksong, coffee plants started to appear along the sides of the road, some bearing bright red “cherries” (the coffee bean complete with fruit and husk.)

We arrived in Paksong at about 17:00 and somehow or other managed to convey that we wanted to be brought to a guesthouse. We were dropped off at a surprisingly pleasant looking place with (again, surprisingly) English speaking staff. I’d been unsure about whether or not Kate and I would should a room or not, but thankfully she saved me the trouble by suggesting that we should (lest anyone get the wrong idea, Kate was headed up to Vientiane next to meet her partner who was moving to the UK with her, and our room had two separate beds.) We opted for the $2 budget room instead of the larger $4 one with a hot shower. It might not have smelled quite as nice or been as comfortable, but it was more interesting…

After checking in we went for a walk around the (small) town and then out into the countryside. From this I discerned that A. Our guesthouse was the only one in town and B. Rural Laos can be just as nice as rural Cambodia.

As the sun set we headed back into town past a small pond featuring an odd (simply because it was in Paksong) floating karaoke bar and a pretty weir with water spilling over. After a fast and very chilly bucket-shower Kate and I were ready to head out for dinner when two young men sauntered over from a nearby room and started talking with us. They were Vietnamese and (as far as we could tell) had recently finished working in Malaysia and were now hanging around in Laos looking for work and hiding from immigration officials since they’d overstayed their visas. In an effort to get them to smoke outside of our room instead of in it, Kate accepted a cigarette from them and headed outside, but they were too nervous to follow (this wasn’t entirely bad, since the smoke smell masked that of the mildew.) An amusing part of the conversation came when Kate (entirely understandably, for many reasons) claimed that yes, she and I were married. Eventually after quite a bit of difficult conversation we managed to free ourselves by saying we were going to sleep.

About twenty minutes later the coast seemed to be clear and we headed back out into town in an attempt to find some dinner, a task complicated by the fact that every restaurant in town seemed to be closed. Our only choice turned out to be the two food stalls across the road from our guesthouse. We’d originally dismissed these, but ended up returning for some very meaty (and not in a good way) and fatty foe (noodle soup.) Predictably, as we sat there eating one of the Vietnamese lads wandered by. Our embarrassment was doubled by the fact that in addition to making an excuse about sleep we’d also declined an offer of some of their food, saying that we were too full. He didn’t seem to be offended though, so no harm done.

After our dinner, which left me feeling about paranoid about my health, we headed back to bed where Kate’s passing mention of bedbugs left me still more paranoid. Eventually, however I made it to sleep.

Our second day in Paksong began with breakfast at our guesthouse (in my case a noodle soup which turned out to be made from the most delicious instant noodles ever.) We’d planned on venturing forth immediately after breakfast, but had an unexpected pause when I locked the key in our room (the doors were secured with padlocks.) There was no spare key available, so the latch had to be unscrewed as far as possible, then ripped off of the door to allow us inside to retrieve our things. The wonderfully good-natured owners simply moved us into the room next door and set to work re-attaching the latch as we headed out onto the road for a walk around town.

After a bit of debate, we decided on the Tat Fan waterfall as our destination. This walk would take us about 14km back along the road we’d travelled the previous day by Songthaew, but the experience turned out to be wonderfully different, just the same. We headed out of town, stopping to pick up food for lunch at the market and to watch a minute of a cockfight that was in progress (at 09:30 in the morning!?)

As we proceeded down the highway we got many smiles, stares or odd looks from Lao passersby (indeed, there were no other kind. We didn’t see a single foreigner on the entire three hour walk.) As we walked along the road, we learned that although this was the largest coffee producing area in the country there were no plantations as such. Individual families simply had coffee plants on their land from which they would harvest “cherries.” After picking, they would, individually or in groups of a few houses, dry the cherries out to remove the husks on mats in the front yard. The final step of the process was to take the beans to a neighbourhood or village bagging facility where they’d be packed for shipment to wholesalers or roasters.

As we walked, the smiles, hellos and sabai-dis (sabai-di is the universal Lao greeting) continued. I’d begun to get the impression that Laos weren’t quite as obviously friendly towards foreigners as were the Khmer people, but this impression disappeared over the course of our walk. Almost every house we passed brought a friendly greeting from people out front turning over drying beans or from students on their way home or from kids out front playing.

As we continued down the road, Kate and I talked about all manner of subjects. Or perhaps it would be fairer to say that I talked a lot and she a little. Eventually I got the feeling that my continuous monologue may even have been irritating, so I did my best to keep quiet for the last portion of the trip which led us across a bridge then off the main road down a dirt path to the Tat Fan resort near the falls.

The resort was a pretty looking place, but the falls were definitely the main attraction here. Tat Fan falls (a bit of a redundancy, since Tat means falls in Lao) consists of a pair of cascades, each over 120m high tumbling down into the end of a very steep walled box canyon. The smaller of the two dissolves into mist as it descends, while the larger plummets right to the bottom in two tiers. The sound of the falls was incredible. So powerful was the plummeting water that even from several hundred metres away it sounded as though it must be rocks or ice crashing down into the valley.

After admiring the falls from the top, we followed a trail that led down into the canyon. Partway down, there was another beautiful view of the falls. After reaching this point, Kate headed back up to the resort, saying that the trail looked to hard thereafter. As it turned out, she was right. I tried to continue, but found the going first difficult, then impossible, and I too headed back up.

We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at the resort restaurant quietly reading, enjoying Lao coffee very close to its home and relaxing. Finally we walked back out to the main road. We’d already decided to take a songthaew back, but after a bit of waiting it began to look as though this wouldn’t be possible. All that seemed to pass were motorcycles, the odd private car and many of the odd motorized plough carts that pervade the Lao countryside.

Finally a songthaew did come, perhaps forty minutes before sunset and we joined the mass of cargo and smiling Laos already aboard, relieved to be headed back to our guesthouse and belongings.

Before the sun set we had a short time to see a bit more of Paksong. The town was a dusty little place (though it had nothing on Ban Lung, Cambodia) with four major streets laid out in a # pattern. In the middle of the # was a large public park and a dirt soccer field that obviously got quite a bit of use. The buildings were mostly of shophouse style (retail business on the ground floor, home above.) The light of the setting sun actually turned it into a very pretty place.

That night we ate at the guesthouse (my fried instant noodles supplanting the breakfast soup as the best ever) and headed back to our room for an early night. Just before bed we were surprised to witness a Lao couple riding their motorcycle into the hotel room, presumably to secure it for the night…

The next morning we woke up, packed and headed straight for the market to catch a songthaew back to Pakse. We didn’t even make it that far before one pulled up alongside us and proffered his services. After a quick stop at the market for more passengers and goods we were back on the road once more.

Having walked it and driven it already, we weren’t too disappointed that the ride down from the plateau was even quicker than the one up. Indeed, it gave us a bit of time to explore Pakse.

Both Kate and I were headed north, she was going to Vientiane on an overnight bus. I, meanwhile, hadn’t quite figured out which bus I would take, or even where I was going. We sat at a pleasant little cafe and had breakfast while I sorted things out and Kate read. Over a beautifully presented (it had an orchid in it. An orchid!) lemon and mint slush drink I finally concluded that I’d stay in Pakse for one night then catch a bus north to Savannakhet the following morning.

After breakfast, Kate and I wandered around town in an attempt to find the market and see a few sights at the same time. The market search turned out to be a failure (the one in the town centre was quite small and mostly closed) but the sightseeing was quite nice. Pakse is the site of a bridge across the Mekong to Thailand, and the walk along the riverbank was very pleasant. While it doesn’t have the colonial architectural legacy of some Indochina cities, or the really spectacular Buddhist temples of some others it still has a few very pretty buildings, including a lovely riverside wat and a pretty Catholic church.

With our wandering around the town done (a single day was more than enough to see the sights of Pakse town) we headed back to our breakfast spot for lunch. We lazed about all afternoon enjoying a bottle of US$1.20 hibiscus wine (it was very sweet and smooth… tasted a bit like hot apple cider or mulled wine) and eating my first western food since arriving in Asia (a great steak sandwich and a mediocre pizza.) Later in the day we were joined by a friend of Kate’s named Kurt. Kurt was an older American she’d met in northern Laos. He’d visited the country many times, so I (and the German lady who joined us still later) were very pleased to question him for a bit about our upcoming plans.

My day ended in an internet cafe catching up on e-mails and ‘blog entries (I was way behind at that point) for a few hours, with the only pause to say farewell to Kate who popped in to say goodbye just before she boarded her Vientiane bus which left (very conveniently) from the Jasmin restaurant right across the road.

That night I slept in the cheapest guesthouse in town, right around the corner from the bus boarding point. It wasn’t pretty (though it did smell better than the place in Paksong) and it wasn’t fancy, but I had a good rest and was more than ready for the 250km trip north to Savannakhet the following morning. The rising sun gave Pakse a beautiful appearance as we headed out onto the highway.

The scenery along the way was pleasant, if a bit repetitive. The only breaks came in the form of occasional hills rising out of the plains and rare irrigated rice paddies which were brilliant green instead of the light brown that covers so much of southern Laos during the dry season.

I hadn’t really expected the trip to go perfectly smoothly, even though it was a “VIP” bus. Thus I wasn’t really surprised when 2.75 hours in all Savannakhet bound passengers had to climb off and switch buses on the roadside. Unfortunately I took this opportunity to have a pee by the roadside and so was the last one on the bus and one of three people left sitting in the aisle without a seat.

Despite all this, the 250km trip came in at a respectable 3.5 hours. I arrived in Savannakhet (or Savan as it’s sometimes called to in order to distinguish it from the name of the province.) Since I might have been staying in Savan for a few days, I wanted to make my own choice of guesthouse. Between this and the fact that it was still early I decided to walk the 3km into the centre of town from the bus station. I got my bearings and quite enjoyed the walk. Better still, I found a moderately priced guesthouse with that luxury of luxuries, a hot shower.

After setting my pack down in my room I walked out into the town for a look at its renowned old colonial architecture. One of my most important stops as I wandered through the streets was a foe (noodle soup) shop near the river. There I enjoyed a big bowl of foe with a huge plate of fresh vegetables on the side (by this point I’d more or less given up worrying about eating uncooked-unpeeled vegetables in clean looking places, simply because it made eating easier, more interesting and generally better.) It says something about my dining experiences in the recent past that I found the US$0.80 bill to be rather expensive for lunch.

It was very hard to believe that this place was the second largest city in Laos, but it definitely was. All over there were crumbling colonial buildings, animals wandering about, and hardly any activity of any sort. It was a wonderfully peaceful, sleepy even, city.

My primary goal in Savan was to see about a trekking program listed in my guidebook, and after lunch I went out in search of information. Unfortunately it appeared the book was out of date and the program no longer in operation. There was, however, a new trekking program in operation. This one was operated by the official provincial tourism office and at US$99 for three days was MUCH more expensive than the older, heavily foreign subsidized one. I talked with the guides in hopes of them convincing me one way or another. They said that in two days they hoped to head out on their first trek of the season (they can only run this trip during the dry season) and that they had two people signed up for the trip which required a minimum of four. The (probable) small size of the group and especially the fact that the guides seemed to be genuinely EXCITED about the trip led me to commit to going if one more person signed up.

That evening I had a nice supper in chatting with two women from the British army and a German fellow who we collectively convinced to go down to Don Det before he departed Laos.

This was followed by a very lengthy hot shower (it had been more than a week since I was able to bathe with something other than a dipperful of cold water) and a nice read before going to sleep.

The next day I set out to do have a lengthy walking tour of Savannakhet, but things didn’t proceed quite as planned. I woke up a bit late, and headed down to a nearby wat for a look. Almost immediately upon my arrival I was approached by one novice monk, then another. Before I knew it there was a veritable crowd of orange robes around me. Because various members of the crowd kept drifting in and out, I answered and asked many questions multiple times, but I didn’t mind one bit. It was lots of fun talking to these guys who were so genuinely interested in my life, home and travels. Before I knew it, it was 11:15 and time for the monks to have lunch. Before departing, I agreed to meet one monk, Hom, back at the wat at 17:30 to attend his English class with him.

Since the monks were having lunch I figured I might as well also, and headed back to the same foe shop from the day before. This time I sat listening to the blaring Boney M greatest hits album while enjoying the same yummy meal I’d had the previous day.

After lunch I went and changed some money (with no difficulty or commission charged, I might add) after which I’d planned on visiting a few of the town’s museums and taking in some more of the lovely old buildings. Before doing this, I popped into the tourist office to see if anyone had signed up for the trek. The guides working there were very surprised and relieved to see me. Apparently no one else had showed up, but they’d received special permission to run the trek with three tourists since they wanted to get the season open. They were all set to go but weren’t 100% sure I was committed to the trip, so one of them had spent the morning searching the town trying to locate me. Thankfully there was just still time for them to place a call to a town near the village we’d be staying in, and for the message to be relayed to the local guides from the village who would be accompanying us.

Unfortunately I had to stay nearby while all of this went on, so instead of visiting museums I did a bit of weblog writing. I also had to run up to the Wat to apologize to Hom, since the guides had previously arranged a pre-trek meeting from 17:00-18:00 that would conflict with my arranged English class visit.

After a bit more writing, I headed back to the tourism office for the meeting which went quite smoothly and quickly. Essentially the guides introduced themselves, told us what to bring, explained where we’d be going and let us know about the taboos and culture of the villages we’d be visiting. I also met Jeff and Margaret, the couple from New York who would be coming on the trek too. The meeting actually ended at 17:27, so I went running back up to the wat at top speed and just managed to catch Hom as he was leaving for class.

We walked down to the private English school where he was studying, arriving just before class began. The teacher appeared shortly after and was delighted to see me (he’d actually requested that his students bring any foreigners they could to class) and devoted the entire class to me talking with them.

I spent the next hour doing my best to coax the 24 shy students to ask me questions, though where that failed I asked them things myself. Our conversation generally centred on simple subjects like ages, family, hobbies ad the like, and it wasn’t always easy to communicate, but I still had a wonderful time. One of the last questions asked of me was “can you sing us an English song?” I was more than happy to oblige and gave them fine renditions (if I do say so myself) of O Canada and The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald (well not all of that. I DO actually know all the words, but it was just too long.) Before departing, all of the students were kind enough to pose for a commemorative photo. (The teacher’s near the middle and Hom, my novice friend is near the bottom right corner.)

After the class finished, I was invited to stay for the next one by a different teacher and was delighted to do so. Despite the fact that her students were studying at a much lower level, they seemed even more excited to talk with a native speaker. I often had to pick out individual students to talk with, but it was still a success I think. Once again, the singing question came up near the end of the class. This time I treated them to O Canada and (part of, again due to length) Barrett’s Privateers.

Before going back to the guesthouse to sleep I had a quick dinner with the teacher of the first class who wanted some time alone with me to practice HIS English!

The next morning I showed up at the tourism office at 07:00 as appointed. We were a bit slow getting going, but before too too long I’d stored some of my stuff in their boardroom and met with Jeff, Margaret as well as Tip, Theyon and Kai Rae (I’ve probably butchered their names in my transliteration, but it’ll have to do.) Shortly afterwards we all climbed aboard a songthaew headed east.

The ride was interesting enough, though not super-exciting. Interesting points included: the town of Seno (its name is a French acronym Sud Est Nord Ouest) and the strange root vegetables our guide purchased along the way. They look a bit like small turnips and are grown in the exposed sands of the Mekong river during dry season. They have the texture of an apple, and taste (very approximately) like slightly sweet mung bean sprouts.

In Muang Phin where we changed Songthaews we stopped at the market to purchase some food for the trip, and I managed to get a look at the Lao-Vietnamese co-operation monument, which features a Pathet Lao guerilla and a North Vietnamese soldier, both holding AK-47s and looking very cheery.

The ride took ages, since we stopped so often, but after perhaps 5.5 hours, we’d finished out 201km songthaew rides and were dropped off on the side of a dirt road where a small trail led off into the forest. At this point we met the pair of local guides who would accompany us to the village where we were staying that night. They were members of the Kattang group, an ethnic minority in Laos, and although they spoke no English were a very happy looking pair.

After a short walk along the trail we stopped for a HUGE lunch of delicious Lao food (rattan shoots, a vegetable pickle, pork and vegetable soup, papaya salad, sticky rice and barbeque chicken. YUM!) After lunch we headed out onto the trail. I was surprised that I was the only one who had a proper pack. Jeff and Margaret weren’t carrying too much, but all of our guides were hauling fairly substantial loads in small backpacks, plastic bags and cardboard boxes. I was probably carrying the greatest weight of anyone, having asked to be allowed to take some of our supplies, but I’m sure they all had a much harder time of it.

The walk was pretty but not supremely dramatic. We wandered through dry looking forest (reminiscent of some of those I’d seen in Australia), and more open areas filled with thin, delicate stalks of bamboo. We made regular rest stops along the way, entirely understandable given the weights and distances involved for our guides. During a few of the stops our lowland Lao guides would point out natural features, or would translate for the local guides who did the same. Undoubtedly the most memorable of these was the red ants. About 10mm long, they make their nests by folding leaves over and sticking them together with some kind of silk. They’re also notable because the locals use them as a substitute for lemon juice when it’s unavailable. I ate one of the little things (though it bit my tongue with its big jaws before it passed into oblivion) and indeed, it did taste a LOT like lemon juice, with a sort of nutty aftertaste.

After more walking, bringing the total to 8km, we finally saw the first signs of the Kattang village. Dry rice paddies started to appear on either side of the trail and before we knew it we were in the village itself. Our host houses (there were two, since visiting men and women must sleep in separate residences) were near where we entered, and we stood looking around as Theyon went off in search of the village chief.

In no time at all big crowds of villagers most of them women and children had gathered round and stood staring at us as we stood staring at them. All around there were animals, dozens of pigs and dogs, probably hundreds of chickens scampered about. It seemed to be a very young village, both because of the young animals and the preponderance of children among those who stood and looked at us. The village was very primitive looking. It certainly wasn’t stone age or anything like that, there were even some gasoline powered ploughs around, but there were few enough occurrences of metal and glass and plastic that you noticed them and they looked out of place every time they did appear.

(I couldn’t remember if photography was allowed in the villages, and never found a convenient time to ask, so for the first day in the village I have no photos. Later I learned that it was okay.)

We stood around like this for some time before one of our guides announced that we ought to go look for Theyon and the chief ourselves. A 400m or so walk took us through more of the surprisingly big village and to the chief’s house. He wasn’t there, but his relatives climbed up a tree and produced coconuts for us to drink from as we waited. When we were done drinking from them, they chopped then open and offered us the flesh to eat, but there was scarcely time to give it to the waiting children (they were so shy I actually had to set it down in front of them instead of handing it to them) before we had to head back to our host homes. All of the houses in the village stood on stilts and were constructed entirely of natural materials. Only the richest of people could afford wood walls and roofs. More commonly they were made of thatch or large leaves stuck between two woven bamboo sheets.

Before going inside, we walked over to the town water pump and washed our hands. While we were there I noted that there was a Canadian flag on a sign nearby and asked if it was perhaps a CIDA (Canadian International Development Agency) project. Sure enough, one of our guides read a bit of the Lao on the sign and determined that it (along with the school and medical centre in the town) was.

At this point the sun was starting to set and we all climbed up to the living area of the homes, removing our shoes before heading inside. Inside we all sat down around the candles while in one corner a fire burned (yes, inside the wood and leaf and bamboo house) and some of our guides prepared dinner.

As they cooked, we sat with the rest of the guides who translated for us, allowing us to talk to the local villagers. This was by no means an easy task, since the Kattang have their own language that differs considerably from lowland Lao, and not all of the Kattang speak Lao.

Before we got too far into the conversation, a bottle of lao lao (home distilled Lao rice whisky) was produced and we were all given a drink (I suspect that I’m in a fairly small minority of the world population in that I now know the Kattang word for “cheers.”) We were also all offered some of the local tobacco. I was the only one to accept and was presented with a fresh leaf rolled into a cone and stuffed with loose tobacco. I’d seen villagers smoking this before and had actually liked the pipe-like smell of it. I did my best to suck in a bit of the smoke as from a cigar, but it kept going out on me. All for the best really since I’m not a cigarette smoker at all and have only smoked cigars on limited occasions.

The talk continued for quite a while, with the foreigners and villagers learning a lot about one another in the process. (Some interesting facts: the Kattang all cut their own hair. Twenty or more family members may live in a single house. The oldest sister cooks the food in a small family, in a larger one, kitchen duties are shared. There were 566 people in the village where we stayed, up from only about 100 fifty years ago. The biggest Kattang festival is one of ancestor worship which happens every 10 or 20 YEARS!) As with many parts of Asia, questions about family and marriage were very common and our answers received with great interest. One of my favourite questions was if I knew Jim who was in charge of the CIDA project in the town (the villagers seemed to have very high regard for Canadians as a result of the CIDA work there, which prompted Jeff and Margaret to observe, half seriously, “you build the schools, wells and hospitals, and we just blow them up.”)

After the absolutely wonderful dinner of more Lao food (I got a lot of giggles as I displayed my poor technique at eating all the dishes with my hands, as the Lao do [you wouldn’t think it would be tough to eat with one’s hands, but depending on the food and the degree of elegance you’re aiming for it really can be]) it was time for bed (indeed, the Kattang usually go to bed at sunset, and had stayed up an extra couple of hours to eat with us, since our visit was a special occasion.) We helped our guides put up mosquito nets (the Kattangs didn’t use them, but our lowland Lao guides did) and spread out sleeping mats before laying down to sleep.

I woke up early the next morning with the rooster crows and was a bit disconcerted to find it PITCH black all around with no source of light available. Before too too long, however the sun crept in and everyone else started to stir.

After a quick breakfast of bread, jam and coffee (alone this time, since the Kattang don’t eat breakfast) we met up with our local guide and headed out to the Kattang Sacred Forest in an attempt to find Duoc and Silvered Langurs (two rare species of monkey.)

In the end we didn’t find any langurs in our two hours of searching. This was disappointing for us and for the local guide (they get paid a bonus if we spot them. This is done to encourage them to help preserve the monkeys.) Nonetheless, the walk through the sacred forest was wonderful. It was a wonderful place, much greener than the surrounding areas, despite the fact that we were in the middle of the dry season. Small shrubs and trees abounded and vines were everywhere. It was possible to walk without a machete, but just. Our local guide took us on a wonderful wander through the woods away from any visible trails before finally returning us to a path near their clan posts. Clan posts are basically burial monuments. Each Kattang village has its own post near this spot where all of their remains (and many of their possessions) find their final resting place after having been buried in the forest for a year or so and then disinterred.)

After our walk through the forest we returned for the village which was a real hub of activity, with animal feeding, and the pounding and sifting of rice happening all over.

We ate a quick meal of instant noodles, said our goodbyes and thank yous to our hosts and then hit the trail again for the day’s 18km walk to a second village. I carried my pack with me, since I felt I needed some practice in anticipation of a big trek in Nepal, but if I’d wanted to it could have been transported by tractor over a long and circuitous road to our final destination.

The second day’s walking was rather harder than the first. It started off going through forest almost as thick as the Sacred Forest, and I often had to duck right down to make it under thorny, clinging vines or bent bamboo. Eventually the forest thinned and the vegetation took on a character similar to that of the previous day. As we went further and further on large flat rock outcrops started to appear regularly as well. Once again, we made regular rest stops during which the local guides explained the significance of various plants or rock formations to their people.

As we carried on I learned that we were just the eighth trekking group to visit this village. As such it was quite possible that less than 50 foreigners had ever been to these places before!

Towards the end of the walk we came upon two reminders of Laos’ recent history: Unexploded Ordinance or UXO. One was a bomblet from a cluster bomb, the second a mortar shell. Given that Laos is the most bombed country in history per capita, this shouldn’t have been a great surprise, but it was still a bit odd to have to be so careful near these seemingly inert but highly dangerous objects.

In the late afternoon we arrived at our second village stay. This one was smaller than the first (about 300 people) but had a road connection to the outside world. This was probably the reason for its slightly more prosperous appearance. After being greeted by the chief in his home (where the men would sleep that night) with more lao lao and tobacco, we wandered around the village, again followed about by groups of curious children.

In the wet season the Kattang spend most of their time growing rice, but in the dry season their activity level slows and they spend their time raising animals, weaving and growing small vegetable gardens. Examples of all of these abounded in the village. One particularly interesting garden in this town was made from half of a cluster bomb casing!

Looms were scattered about near houses all over the village. The Kattang weaving was absolutely beautiful and wonderfully coloured. I would have gladly purchased some, even if the prices were high, but the Kattang weave cloth only for their own use.

After our wander around town I sat near our homestay for a while and watched the village children playing a game with the large, hard seeds of a local tree. They would set up some of the seeds as targets, then try to knock them down using a series of prescribed shooting techniques. I couldn’t figure everything out, but did get a fairly clear picture of how the game worked.

Before dinner I had a bath at the town pump (the Lao are VERY fastidious bathers and particular about their bathing to the point of requiring one person to stand well away from the basin while bathing to avoid splashing any water in that’s touched his body.) This caused great mirth among the local children, all of whom gathered round the pump to watch.

Once again, we had a nice time talking with the villagers while dinner was prepared and learned still more about their culture while happily answering many of the same questions from the night before. Yet again, our meal consisted of delicious Lao food including the ubiquitous sticky rice.

After dinner, and just before bed it seemed as though the entire village packed into the chief’s house for a special treat: a Baasli ceremony. The ceremony is essentially a way of wishing/ensuring good luck for friends or family going on a journey and proceeds thusly:

A large metal tray is brought out. On it is a basket of uncooked rice, a plate of chicken and many lengths of string. At each of the tray’s four corners (it was actually round, but you know what I mean) is placed a basket of cooked rice or a bottle of lao lao. These items are symbols of the culture and economy of the village.

The participants each put one hand under the tray and raise it three times whilst chanting before lowering it again. At this point everyone picks up the plate of chicken together. One person makes a praying gesture with his free hand and one of his well-wishers ties a string around his wrist. This is repeated several times for the first person and then the others. Finally a glass of lao lao is drunk and the ceremony is complete.

After this was over, a few girls came out in traditional Kattang dress (they wear the sarongs daily, but the tops are only used on special occasions such as weddings or, I suppose, visits from tourists.) One of our hosts pulled out a traditional Kattang instrument that functioned vaguely like a harmonica, but whose noise came from long bamboo pipes. With this accompaniment, another of our hosts sang a Kattang folk song, apologizing for the quality and the fact that there was only one since the best singer in the village was sick.

I’d anticipated what would come next, and was ready with a song of my own when we were asked to sing. This time I gave them The Log Driver’s Waltz (by the McGarrigle Sisters, as featured in a CBC heritage moment that played regularly in the 1980s.) They applauded loudly after this, and finally everyone headed to bed.

The final day of the trek began with an early rise (with the number of roosters in town it would be impossible to do otherwise) and a walk around the village to take a few more photos and soak up a bit more of the wonderfully peaceful and simple atmosphere. While we were doing this our eternally helpful guides were preparing food for breakfast and lunch.

After this we ate and gave a big thank you and farewell to our hosts who had been truly wonderful, and headed out on the trail once more. The final walk was a short one, just 4km to a river where we met up with two small boats that would take us down the river.

While stopping for a rest before boarding the boats, I took the opportunity to have a swim in the river. It was cold, but since I jumped right in after the walk ended was still wonderfully refreshing. Before too long Kai Rae (one of our lowland Lao Eco-Guides) had joined me, but no one else felt quite brave enough to.

After our dip was over we climbed aboard the boats and rode half an hour downriver past seemingly untouched shore. We stopped near a small rapids and unloaded the boats. While stopped we had yet another huge meal of Lao food (dried beef; barbeque fish; a paste made from garlic, chillis, sugar and buffalo skin and, of course sticky rice.) After lunch the boat pilots led the boats past the small rapids by rope and then we reloaded and boarded the boats.

After lunch signs of habitation started to appear on the banks, mostly in the form of domesticated buffalo. The ride was just as wonderful as all of my Cambodian river trips and it went by almost too quickly.

We arrived at our dropoff point and bid the boat pilots adieu. They headed off while we waited for the songthaew to pick us up. During the wait (which was beginning to drag) I realized that I’d left my beloved Tasmanian walking stick, Earl Tostig (that was it’s name) behind somewhere 🙁 and set about finding a new one. It wasn’t easy with the prevalence of termites in the area and eventually I had to use a whole sapling to find something the right size and stiffness.

Meanwhile the songthaew still hadn’t showed up. After a trip by foot to a nearby village and then back by motorcycle, our guides let us know that it had broken down and that we’d have to walk 5km out to the “main” road.

I hoisted my pack again and headed down the path through more sparse dry forest. After about 3km a big truck pulled up. Apparently they’d been called a while before by our guides, so we all piled into the back. The truck ride was exhilarating, if a bit unnerving. Once on the “main” road, we sped down through forest over the (generally very good) dirt surface. My worries were twofold. First, since I was standing at the front of the truck, I worried that one of the occasional potholes would lead to my losing some teeth on the roll bar in front of me. Second, the driver proceeded at a seemingly maniacal pace. It was actually a very nice ride through beautiful green forest with the sun low in the sky, and once I dispensed with my worries I quite enjoyed it.

After a LONG time on the dirt road we arrived back in Muang Phin and climbed off the truck. After quite a wait during which it seemed we might be spending the night, a songthaew appeared. Our guides waved it down and we quickly scrambled on.

The trip back to Savannakhet flew by since the songthaew made no stops and proceeded down the well paved road at a quick (but safe) 80km/h. Indeed, much to my surprise I arrived back in town in time to catch my desired 22:00 bus to Vientiane. But I didn’t end up getting it.

The wonderful guides from the trek invited me out to dinner with them and given that I hadn’t been certain about the wisdom of taking the night bus, I happily agreed. We went to a Korean restaurant of all things, where we enjoyed a delicious sort of hot pot/table grilled meal of beef and vegetables with personalized peanut sauce.

After dinner Theyon invited me back to his uncle’s home to sleep for the night. We arrived and after a quick greeting from his uncle and aunt and some friends of theirs we headed to bed in a medium sized room upstairs. I had a fine rest on the sleeping mats under mosquito nets and woke up feeling well refreshed.

It was interesting to see what I presume was a fairly typical urban Lao house. It consisted of two large rooms downstairs and one covered outdoor area in the back where the kitchen and bathroom were located. Upstairs there was one large room with many doors leading off to individual bedrooms like the one we’d slept in.

After a nice breakfast that included Vietnamese green tea, little cardamom flavoured pastries and a nice chat with Theyon’s relatives we climbed on his motorcycle and he drove me to the bus station, arriving a scant 15 minutes before the Vientiane local (as opposed to VIP or express) bus was scheduled to leave. I climbed aboard and found a seat (very easy, since despite the surprising cargo inside the bus there were few passengers.)

Shortly afterwards, I was joined by my inseparable companion for the trip: a half Lao, half Thai “ladyboy.” Ladyboys are essentially Asian transvestites. This lady was very pleasant, although despite her good English it took a while to make it clear that I only wanted to chat with her and nothing more. After this we had a very pleasant couple of hours talking (although she still occasionally laid her head on my shoulder or patted my leg proprietarily.)

Eventually I settled into some reading and listening to music (primarily to distract me from the ever growing crowd on the bus and the blaring karaoke videos being shown on the TV.)

Around the six hour mark of the 450km trip I began to get grumpy, a situation that wasn’t helped by the rising temperature on the bus or the woman sitting in the aisle beside me throwing up into a bag and handing her baby over to my ladyboy friend. Ah well… At least I had my own seat and a window to watch the mountains start to rise out of the plains around us.

Finally after almost nine hours the bus pulled into the Vientiane station and I climbed down, relieved that my ordeal was over and happy to be in a new and exciting place.

Thanks are due this time to a couple distinct groups:

First to Kate, who was a fun and interesting travel companion in Champasak province.

Second, to the Savannakhet Eco-Guides, Tip, Theyon (especially Theyon and his family for graciously allowing me to sleep in their home) and Kai Rae. They were super-enthusiastic about their tour and did a great job at it. The walks through the forest were very nice and the village stays were absolutely incredible… Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. If you’re ever in Savannakhet, or even just in southern Laos or western Vietnam I’d highly recommend checking them out. They don’t have a website just yet, but you can get information on 1, 2, 3 or 5 day treks by e-mailing them at: savannakhetPTO@yahoo.com

Tags: Laos

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