One Hell of a Journey

It was at this point in our journey that we had to make a choice between adventure or cost. We were ready to traipse about Cambodia and our choices were to take a local bus down the panhandle and across the border or spend a little extra money and fly, though this meant returning to either Vientiane or Luang Prabang. After chatting with some locals, we chose the adventure.

In hindsight, it was not the wisest decision. I will once again write that if we say, "Hey, how bad could it be?" upon making a decision, it will be one of those stories that is hell in making and great in the telling.

To start, we wove our way through precipitous mountain tops and drudged through very dusty roads towards Paksan. Directions from locals was to get off at this small town a mere hour east of Vientiane, spend the night and then hail a bus on the side of the road the next morning bound for Pakse.

Paksan was not a location I would even classify as a town, but rather a village signified by the bus shack at the one intersection of town. The hotel we had booked the previous night was nowhere near what had been marked on the map and ended up being a fiasco in finding. After a five kilometer hike, we were met with an owner who declared that she no longer was on Agoda even though we had the confirmation with her hotel name and phone number. We ended up walking away, doubling back to another hotel I had read about a few days earlier. Upon asking the owner about a bus to Pakse, he told us to trek back to where we were dropped off. As for the time - "whenever."

We started early, hailed our rickety chariot for the day and began. After the requisite stop for every person remotely near the road and enough to fill the aisle twice, we kept stopping for this or that. Our reportedly eight hour journey down the panhandle turned into a fifteen hour ordeal. We lived off granola bars and seaweed crackers. We drank little water because we never knew when or where the next toilet would be. While we expected an extra hour or two tacked onto the given time, we never dreamed that six would be the final tally. Then the late night bonus was a group of sleazy, drunk men who foreigner-sighted us and tried multiple times to engage us in their crude antics. Headphones and shrinking into our seats was the best defense. Eventually, they got off, though we are unsure whether is a forced evacuation or it was their stop.

We rolled into Pakse after ten. Relief from being off the bus was quickly eclipsed with the immediate need to find accommodation. Due to the internet not working the previous night, we had not had a chance to book a room and thus ended up pounding the pavement quickly. Price gouging was at a peak, with even one place telling us thirty five American dollars for a shack. Luckily we found a garish pink cavern of a room for cheap with minutes to spare before the curfew. Zach dropped bags and sprinted out the door in search of food, racing against time and authorities. He returned bearing manna from heaven in the form of Indian food. Picnics on a bed are rarely planned, but actually end up being favorite memories for us. Though, over this picnic, we decided that our initial plan of a one night stay in Pakse before pushing on to Cambodia was going to be a two night affair. We did not know at this point that the drive to Cambodia was not going to be better and would have an ugly end.

The single thread of humor that ran throughout this tale came in the form of a fellow traveler named Darwin. Our journey together began in the minivan leaving Phonsavan and ended at the Laos-Cambodia border. This was not a planned joint journey, but rather a series of hilarious incidents.

Darwin joined the ill-fated hike to the Paksan hotel, joining in our coup against shady business practices. The following morning, we left before him. Five hours later, our bus stopped at a gas station. A few minutes later, another bus pulls in behind us, passenger shuffling occured, and Darwin ended up on our bus. He was upset that he ended up on a worse bus and we were mad that we could have slept later and traveled faster. We parted ways in Pakse, though kept running into each other on the street. Granted, Pakse is not large so it was bound to happen.

The morning we began our journey to Cambodia, were boarded a minivan though we had been told it would be a bus. The owner was not happy that we kept mocking his picture of a nice, luxurious bus while a heap of scrap metal with four wheels was parked in front of the shop. We know the prettier the picture, the worse the ride, but many other foreigners were not so accepting of his bullshit excuses as to why they had been sold a bill of goods. It was two hours before we actually started our journey and our final stop included Darwin joining the passenger list. Bemusement with a dash of bewilderment was the exchange between us, especially since we were bound for another country and him to 4,000 Islands. A few hours later, riot nearly ensued as we stopped at the border. The few of us crossing it were kicked out while the rest threw their fists into the air questioning how the border came before their destination.

With a wave to Darwin, our journey of 867 kilometers spanning thirty three hours in some mode of transportation had come to end.

The Veun Kham border crossing is nothing more than three wooden shacks, an outhouse and a tent for medical (yet definitely not medical) officials to declare travelers devoid of fever for the fee of one dollar per forehead. It is the epitome of a wild west crossing, including a battered briefcase filled with American dollars and a burly, overweight border guard overseeing its contents.

We ended up on a bus, though it was a chaotic hour or two before we actually went anywhere. When the wheels started to turn, a small amount of stress lifted for that was our last land border crossing and we were facing our last country of the holiday travel.

The road between the border and Phnom Penh is basically a path among fields. Similar to the Laos panhandle, northern Cambodia is a perpetual bonfire and dust bowl. At points, we could not see the stilted houses for the dust rising around our bus. It was an uneventful ride, tedious and filled with random stops, but overall not one our worst legs.

Our anxiety level increased. the later the hour became. We had booked accommodation in Phnom Penh near the bus station we hoped was our destination. What worried us more is that late hour arrivals usually means more than normal hassle and barraging. We were definitely unprepared for the deluge of tuk tuk drivers mobbing the bus before it had even stopped. It was a sea of sheer desperation. Zach and I shared a wary look, conveying that things had definitely changed since our first visit three years earlier. We grabbed our bags and crept away. We had to spend ten minutes de-dusting our bags since they had become dark brown rather than one orange and one green. We ignored the drivers that came near, though most steered clear of the plume of rising dust.

Packs on and tuk tuks avoided, Zach pulled out his phone with the hotel address. Fifteen minutes later, it was stolen from his hands. We had been asking locals to point us in the direction we needed to walk; one young kid sent us down a street. After a minute or two, we realized it was not right, turned around only to be met with him and his buddy on a motorbike racing towards us.

A snatch and grab.

Zach screamed and cursed into the night.

"IT'S A CHINESE KNOCKOFF!"

It had happened so fast. Anger. Violation.

We had trusted and it had been betrayed.

The worst of humanity had shown itself.

Tears of desperation and tiredness seeped out. A small crowd of older men gathered around us. I grabbed Zach's hand and pulled him away, for crowds are not to be handled in a dark street in a foreign country. I know they wanted to help, were just as shocked as we were, but there was nothing to be done.

Looking up, our hotel had been to our backs the entire time. The kid sent us left when it was actually right.

Even though we did not need confirmation, three guards standing at the hotel perimeter was an indication of crime level in the area. The man working the front desk immediately knew something was amiss. We narrated the events of the previous fifteen minutes and he gave the best sympathetic remarks he could, even personally walking us to our room and telling us to go to sleep.

Within the safety of four walls, we cried. It had been one hell of a journey.

While theft is never expected, it was not a bonus we wanted for the tale. After a shower, Zach did the mandatory turning off of applications tied with the phone. In the process, he discovered that in Pakse he had backed up everything, so no pictures or data was actually lost, only his contacts.

We found solace that it was only a phone, it could be replaced, and the bandits had forgotten to notice that it was not a high-end smartphone but rather a Chinese knock-off. In their eagerness to steal, they did not know it would not work outside China, apps had glitches and, when they turned it off and back on, the keyboard and other basic function would be missing.  They basically had grabbed a brick of a phone known as a spicy little pepper.

Plain of Jars: One Jar, Two Jars, Big Jars, Small Jars

The legends and lore surrounding the behemoth stone jars sprinkled throughout eastern Laos are a nice mix of academic guesswork and tall tales. While some jars have been excavated and found to contain some human remains, not all have the bones-turned-to-ash at the bottom nor scattered around them. Other folklore includes water jugs for passing caravans or alcohol vats for victorious giants who staked their dominance after a bloody battle. During our exploration, we lobbed about further possibilities, such as alien landings, the inspiration for the movie Cocoon, and a secretive troll hoard not written about in Lord of the Rings. Ultimately though, these chunks of mysterious stone are so bizarre that they are awesome.

Our trek was not all laughter and tromping through rice fields and pastures on a stone scavenger hunt, for there were many sobering moments upon seeing small concrete markers; half white, half gray. These small squares marking our paths were a harsh reminder of an ugly history. The plains of Phonsavan were a dichotomy of what legacies mankind leaves behind - stone jars to honor the dead or bombs to send men to their death. The secret war that ravaged Laos for years was very much visible, even tangible when the tour guide handed us bomb shrapnel found along the path. While I refuse to bear the burden and shame of what was done years before I was born in the name of protection and foreign policy, the more I travel, I do continue to realize and understand that America does not always leave a good legacy. Every country has a dark side; on this day I walked among what cruelty got left behind - unexploded ordinances.

As one can imagine, conversation was a bipolar affair. I should note at this time that Zach and I were not alone in our musings, but rather tagging along with two Americans. It was a chance meeting, a shared dinner table which resulted in Zach and I joining Rick and Fava on their private tour for the day. They were absolutely delightful in conversation and personality. In between conversations of alien landing pods and comical photo shoots, we processed bomb craters and secret war statistics. Fava was actually a refugee, a child when her family fled the war, so her perspective was captivating and heart wrenching.

It was a fantastic day, even with the ebb and flow of emotions. Yet, once again, Laos proved to be the land of the strange and bizarre attractions and we loved it.

Luang Prabang, A Foreigner Haven

I once read a quote that said a journey was not merely about the adventure but also about those met along the way. I understand and appreciate this sentiment even more with each our journeys. There has not been a journey yet where we have not had multiple people who crossed our path in some form and left a resounding mark of themselves on our memories. I know I am better for these interactions.

Luang Prabang is a foreigner haven. It is the spot where all things tourist collide in perfection - an outdoor playground combined with amazing architecture with a dash of exotic wildlife and an overarching idyllic slow pace of life. However, in full confession, it was overwhelming to have so many foreigners in one location. While it was exciting to see such diversity, it felt weird to be part of the majority rather than the minority.

With so many people, it was inevitable that we would have an assortment of interactions with many of them. One evening while strolling the night market, a girl pulled Zach aside and quizzed him as to why the patches on his backpack were her life - she was a Portlander currently living in Beijing.

We laughed with the lady who owned the baguette sandwich because we kept coming back for the amazing sandwiches. Actually, they probably were not that amazing, but we can only enjoy baguettes a few months a year, so we feel as though we have to stockpile when available.

We spent evenings chatting with the guesthouse front desk worker.

We befriended a couple from Canada who were amazing conversationalist, who even kept us company on our last morning as we waited for a bus that ended up being two hours late.

While we enjoyed our time in the small town alongside the Mekong, meandering its tiny alleyways, being mesmerized by the stunning sunsets and eating well, it was the people that we enjoyed the most. Lucky for us, this was to the be the beginning of many more great encounters.

Boats, Boundless Buddhas, and Big Elephants

I firmly believe that there is not better way to start a day than on a boat. Stateside, putting Gerty in water is a ritualistic procedure calming to my soul. Traveling by boat in Asia is paradoxical to this; more of a chaotic assortment of steps. Should one include actually setting foot in a boat it is hailed as a success. Such was the start of this day on the Mekong.

It seemed our tickets for a half day journey to Pak Ou Caves and some quality time with elephants was a bafflement to the dock manager. In the span of ten minutes, we had been shuffled to no less that four boats. It became the comedic relief for those around us, with some launching verbal bets to the masses as to which vessel would actually be the one. In due time, all was settled and we began the trek up the river. Of course, ten minutes into the ride, we had the requisite petrol stop. Another round of jeers whether we were actually stopping to get shuffled once again. We stayed put.

The journey was pleasant albeit chillier than expected. Though we had our fleece wear, the wind was biting and the occasional splash was not one of warmth. Nonetheless, we huddled into our wooden seats and observed the morning rite of fog dissipating to reveal stunning mountains. Truly there is nothing better than starting a day on a boat.

There is always a kitschy tourist shop trap on any tour package. For this Mekong ride, we had a pit stop at a weaving village named Whiskey Village. The whiskey choices were slim, but looms and woven goods were draped on any surface available. The few moments we were able to watch the women work their craft were pleasant. Sadly, once they caught a glimpse of us, they hopped up and starting haggling and touting their wares which were exactly the same make and color as the stall next to them.

The more interesting piece of this stop was where our boat moored. Since there was multiple boats that left the Luang Prabang dock at the same time, we were not alone in this journey. Whereas, they docked at option A, our guy puttered a bit farther down and docked at option B. It was the more homespun type of dock with a staircase that led into the backside of the village. Nonchalantly, Zach and I verbally noted to each other, "Illegal boat." Our fellow passengers that overheard vehemently denied the possibility, but we shrugged our shoulders and said, "Watch."

By the time we reached the caves, the mist had completely burned away and the sun was warm as we disembarked at another back door dock. Illegal boat for sure.

Pak Ou Caves is also commonly known as 4,000 Buddha Cave, though we frequently heard the number vary from four to seven thousand. Whatever the number, Zach and I quickly dubbed Laos the land of the largest ball of twine. In America, road trips thrive on finding the quirkiest attraction along the route. In Laos, it became evident that quirky was the mantra for tourist sites.

These caves were so bizarre that they were awesome. The story goes that years ago a king visited the cave, bringing with him a Buddha as a gift. Upon departing, he decreed that anyone who would visit should also bring a Buddha. The result has ended up being the most garish collection of statues ranging from tiny to humongous. It is randomness at its finest and it was magnificent to see.

One site seer did jovially comment while strolling, "I think they are all made in China."

After our stroll through Buddha utopia, we resumed our trek via boat. We thought our boat would take us across the river, for on the beach we spied trundling elephants. It was time for some elephant quality time. We were befuddled when our captain steered the boat back towards Luang Prabang. We inquired to our fellow passengers as to their next destination, which for all was the starting point. A moment of panic, a wild gesticulating episode with the captain depicting our need for elephants, followed by his nonchalant wave and a hearty OK. Our Asian gondola puttered along and my dreams of frolicking with the elephants waned with each nautical mile.

The next stop was not by dock A or dock B, but rather by a pile of rocks surrounded by knee deep mud. Zach discovered the mud when stepping ashore and missing the rock. I followed soon behind because his yelp of shock distracted me from the task at hand. Wide eyed, our fellow passengers watched the impromptu mud battle all while the captain kept urging us towards the brush. No elephants were in sight and we were sure it was a classic get-rid-of-the-foreigners-because-I-do-not-know-what-to-do-with-them moment in progress. I jokingly yelled to the those still on the boat, "If you do not see us in town later, please send someone this way." They chuckled, but even the concern was written on their faces.

We eventually made it to solid ground and was met by a Laotian who said, "The river is shallow so there is no where to dock right now. Follow me."

The captain high tailed it back to the boat, nimbly jumping rock to rock. Even imagining a higher river, I could not spot a potential dock location when I scanned the horizon and watched our illegal yet reliable mode of transportation slip beyond the river bend. I turned back to the trail and came face to trunk with an elephant. All was not lost.

After a thorough washing of legs and footwear, Zach and I reconvened by the kitchen. The man who had met us was the only one who could speak English and relayed to us that we would ride the elephant, eat our lunch, then bathe with the elephant. We nodded in understanding. As he strolled away, Zach leaned over and whispered, "We did not pay for bathing. Plus it is 1pm; we are suppose to be finished at 2pm." It seemed our half day adventure had become a full day filled with surprises for half the cost. I did a happy dance.

Seeing wild elephants in Sri Lanka combined with the actual delight of settling into a howdah strapped to the back of an elephant set the tone of dreams coming true. While the internet is filled with pleas to scratch elephant rides from bucket lists, I realize that perspective is key. These giant and beautiful creatures are seen as added strength for hard tasks in Southeast Asia and have been for generations. Westerners balk at the methods used to train them, while many Easterners balk at the methods used to train horses. There are ethical and unethical domestication approaches and, no matter where you are in the world, some people will choose to do what is right whereas others with be harsh and cruel.

I noted while getting on Ham that there were not sores or raw places from ropes and chains. He seemed well fed. Also, when not toting passengers, the elephants were relieved of the howdahs and given a big pile of sugar cane to devour at their leisure. While I cannot speak for what happens after the tourists leave, it seemed as though these beautiful creatures were well cared for at this location. Plus, as the day progressed we learned that one was pregnant and another was saved from brutal conditions as a railroad worker. Whether animal activist like it, many elephants need a refuge and in order to make the human population aware of their fragile plight, some rides need to be allowed.

Watching the world pass from three meters up is wild and exhilarating. Our plodding around the grounds was frequently interrupted by Ham scrounging for missing food. It did not matter, I was on an elephant and it was delightful.

After a lunch of fried rice, the expectations of the day were far exceeded when I rode Ham sans howdah. Zach declared that he would not bathe with Ham but would rather take pictures. Granted, neither of us had fully prepared for a water activity, but Zach in a white football jersey facing a muddy Mekong seemed a recipe for laundry disaster. I encouraged him to join, but he was adamant that this was a moment for me.

I found riding a elephant bareback is akin to riding in a canoe. There is a rhythm and once it is figured out, euphoria is achieved. At this point, I genuinely understood why these beasts of the wild were sought for a mount to travel. The gait is easy and speed does not exceed that of an nice evening constitutional.

Our stroll to the river was pleasant, but upon reaching the water's edge it became apparent that Ham was not that interested in a bath. I did not care for I was on an elephant, but the mahout was a bit distressed that Ham did not want to flick his trunk to soak me or his back. It was at this point I had to keep telling him to not worry, I was thrilled to just be on the back of an elephant. However, further in the water, Ham exerted his dominance on the matter by pooping on the mahout. Though he did not understand English, I think Mr. Mahout fully understood the meaning behind my laughter. I gave Ham a nice squeeze in appreciation as his handler attempted to deflect dung balls.

Too soon, my dreams of riding an elephant for days was dashed by a stop at the disembarking station. My dreams of stashing Ham in my backpack were thwarted as well when I watched the mahout mount and steer Ham towards the wilds of the property for an afternoon of rest and relaxation. I gave a soggy hug to Zach and declared, "That was the best Christmas gift ever!"

Perched

A simple road melded with the landscape, a harrowing path laid among the high peaks of Laos. While it seemed improbable that a road could even be possible, it was even more bewildering to see villages perched alongside the black river of asphalt. Woven walls wrapped around wood pillars were the most common dwellings, with a few ever so often fitted with actual plank walls. Smoke curled over the outdoor kitchens. Clothes were seen drying on scraggly bushes or thrown over piles of unused wood. Entwined within the stationary was the life.

A child standing on a pile of rock brandishing a stick over his conquered foe. A dirt football pitch chiseled on top of a cliff, where one wrong kick would send the ball careening into a mountainous void. Women and men gathered around the village well pump for an afternoon bath. Wobbly wee ones wearing a thick jacket, a toboggan and no bottoms maneuvering their way from watching grandparents. All age ranges seen beating tiger grass on the blacktop. Laughter. Tears. Waves and smiles towards the behemoth red bus that seemed completely out of place.

These glimpses into a life completely different than my own was precious. So many times I wanted to the bus to stop. I yearned for the chance to sit alongside them for a time and see the world pass from their vantage point. What would life be like perched precariously between a road and a cliff?

The journey from Vientiene to Luang Prabang was one of the greatest journeys I have ever taken.

For hours, our rickety red bus chugged its way through staggeringly beautiful mountainous landscape. Navigating the continuous hairpin route was no easy task, compounded by the need to stop every hour to run water through the motor as well as hose down the brakes. When we were not going straight up, we were going straight down with a 180 degree turn at the bottom. We even saw the disastrous turn for a big rig, who ended up on its side. Luckily its demise was on the mountain side of the road and not the sheer cliff side.

It was an all day trek. Long after the sun had set behind the mountains, which had filled my mind with wonder, we pulled into Luang Prabang, our next stop in Laos.

Hello, Hello, Hello Laos

Roused from our fitful slumber by the baritone voice of our driver yelling "hello, hello, hello," our first glimpses of Laos were by the rising sun over the Mekong. Land border crossings always cause a bit of angst within me, for they are the wild west of countries. Anything goes, no matter how much a government head will stand behind a podium declaring no such corruption exists within their borders. Each crossing has its own scam; for Laos it is an "overtime fee" of two dollars per person before 8am or past 4pm. I am sure there is another type fee for the actual working hours of 10 to 4 though it was not posted. While visas are pure money makers for countries, I do wonder how much of the extra fee makes it to the upper echelon for the practice to continue.

After paying all fees necessary and handing over our passports, we stood waiting, wondering out loud with other foreigners if the passports would not be returned until after 8am to incur an extra fee. To our relief, twenty minutes later, no ransom was needed and we walked into Laos.

Between the bus station and our guesthouse, Vientiane captured our adoration. We loved the feel of the city. We just knew our stroll along the streets of this quaint capital in the morning light was the beginning of a great travelogue.

For two days we immersed ourselves into the life of Vientiane. We sat among monks and Buddhist believers in the local vats. We watched a ceremony for those seeking healing at the foot of Buddha. We watched the monks walk the perimeter, chanting by candlelight. He heard the gongs and cymbals.

We laughed at the blatant audacity of signage that declared the Patuxai to be an ugly heap of concrete. From afar, the fake Arc de Triomphe is impressive. However, upon closer inspection, the sign speaks truth. Shoddy paint job, oddly shaped deities and massive cracks do add to the tale that the concrete was pillaged from donated mortar for a new airport. Nonetheless, the trek to the top was worth it for the staggering view over the city.

More than temples and attractions, our adoration for Vientiane came from wandering the streets, talking with locals. While tourism is a primary income, it was refreshing to have a city that did not cater solely to foreigners, but rather invited us to participate in the ongoing life of the locals. Time and time again we felt as though we were in our Chinese village, yet enough was different to remind us that it was another country.

Laos was a journey three years in the making. Every travel season it was on our list only to be marked off for one reason or another. Our exhilaration of finally crossing the border mixed with our immediate infatuation for what we found on the other side of Mekong really made us question why we had waited so long to visit this gem of a country.

Bumming in Bangkok

It sounds obnoxiously pretentious to say that we were in Bangkok for three days and did nothing but drink Thai tea and lay by the pool.

Bangkok is the Asia hub and it does lose its luster after so many trips through its jammed streets, glittering wats and boundless night market. Nonetheless, we love it dearly for its street eats, nectar from heaven Thai tea, and the chance to stock up on some western goodies that can be found nowhere else. It is the epitome of a love-hate relationship.

In our last days of Sri Lanka, Zach and I agreed that a couple days of stillness would be a wise decision. It had seemed that our energy level within Sri Lanka was one step behind and we needed to plot our course for the coming weeks. The bonus to this Bangkok staycation was a time of recovery. Somehow on the last day of island life, I acquired a nasty (unknown) bug bite on my left thigh. It had a Thai pharmacist tsk-tsking and quickly handing over topical steroids. That along with hours beside a pool was the perfect remedy.

Yes, the death of me will be by the bite of some exotic creature.

We were not complete sloths in our staycation. Nightly we would ride the BTS to some of our favorite spots and devour food. One night we spent time strolling the Mochit weekend market. Another evening we had the opportunity to meet our friends, DaWen and DaTou, who were immensely enjoying their time outside of China. I am thrilled when students can travel and experience the world beyond communism.

As for travel plans, we nixed our idea of heading to northern Thailand in favor of directly getting to Laos. Unbeknownst to us, the first day of February was a mad dash for the border, so we had a bonus day in Bangkok. As the sun set on the second day of the second month, we were sitting in the most luxurious bus we have ever seen in our days of traveling, bound for Vientiane.