A Promise Kept...

Ban Na Village, Laos

July 18, 2007
N 20°41.836
E 102°42.307

We were lured to Northern Laos by Roger Vanderbeek, who we met in Torres del Paine National Park towards the beginning of our trip. Roger told us about the fresh air, the untouched, green countryside and about the beautiful people. We heard stories about the village of Ban Na and how the town had minimal electricity during his first visit, there wasn’t a single TV in the village, no cars, scooters or boats, and it was an area very few tourists had discovered. The picture Roger painted of the remote mountain village, surrounded by lush green rice paddies, sounded like a place we couldn’t miss.

Roger also told us about his adopted family in Ban Na, the owner’s of OBI Guesthouse (Obi is the boy in the picture below). Roger stayed with the family a few years ago and actually transported their son Aku to Luang Prabang for a hernia surgery that instantly relieved years of pain and only cost Roger a few dollars.

Our journey to Ban Na was more than a stay in the countryside, but we were delivering an important package from Roger to his family in Ban Na. The package contained enough money to send at least one of the kids to school for a year. This was at least the third time Roger has provided educational assistance to the family.

We walked to Ban Na yesterday to make sure we could find it and the family. We introduced ourselves to Kim, the mother of the four beautiful children, and told her we were friends of Roger. We let her know we had a package from Roger that we would bring back the following day and stay the night—we promised an early arrival.

We woke up fairly early and headed out with our daypack and slingbags for the overnight trip to Ban Na. We decided to keep our room in Muang Ngoi Neua to store our gear; we figured the extra $1.50 a night wouldn’t break our budget and would lighten our load for the trek.

We hit the slippery, single track, muddy trail at about 9:00 AM. We crossed two streams, checking our legs for leeches after each crossing. In some stretches the red, sticky, mud sucked at our feet. In others the mud was slick as ice, fresh from the overnight rain. We treaded cautiously through the jungle until we reached vast fields of rice paddies with ankle deep water (and more worry of leeches). After about 3 miles we came upon an open rice field with picturesque sandstone mountains covered with green trees and shrubs.

Little ladies worked in the rice fields, pulling out the clover in between the rice stalks. We weaved our way through the rice patties on the little levees, gradually ascending from one plateau to the next, until we reached the gate for Ban Na. We already knew the place we were looking for, OBI Guesthouse, was at the far end of the village.

We met Kim and three of the children—Em, Aku and Tye—under the canopy of the restaurant. The youngest child, Obi, was over at the new school monitoring the progress of the construction. Before delivering the package, we took another look at the sweeping views from the restaurant; the rice fields and mountains in the distance, spotted with little bungalows—used for shelter during the harvest—were breathtaking.

A few minutes later Marc pulled out a Ziploc with the envelope that read “From: Roger Vanderbeek” and handed it to Kim. Em came over to help open the envelope and pulled out the money. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. We could tell she was stunned. She counted it and fell to her knees, almost in disbelief. There was no question among the kids what the money was for—they were able to attend another year of school.

A little later we met Louie and Eve, a young Dutch couple helping with the construction of the school, and they told us about the conversations the family had regarding school the night before. We discovered there was some serious concern about money to pay for school for the older two, Em and Aku. The money from Roger immediately remedied their problem.

We spent the afternoon lounging around the deck of the restaurant, taking a break to check out the construction of the new school, and playing cards with Em and Eve. I learned a new game and tried to teach all of the kids the game of “Go Fish” before dinner.

We were treated to a special family dinner for delivering good news. Everyone gathered around the main course, roasted chicken stuffed with sticky rice, and put one hand on the tray. As we had our hands on the tray, the eldest family member, Kim’s dad, lead us in a type of prayer, Grace for Buddhists.

After the prayer was finished, we cupped our hands and waited for an offering from the eldest. We received a piece of chicken with a chunk of sticky rice. When everyone had a piece we ate it. Next, they normally serve Lao Lao to guests, but we were pleased to find out they didn’t have any in the town. (We didn’t want any part of that stuff after seeing the guys on the boat!) Instead we shared a Lao Beer, wished everyone good luck, and drank the warm beer kind of like a shot. We polished off the beer, grabbed the serving dish for another prayer, and then each family member started tying good luck strings on our wrists. We received an equal number on each arm promising us luck and prosperity in the near future.

Sharing a traditional Lao meal with the family was truly special as we rolled our sticky rice in our hands and picked at the tasty dishes in front of us to go with the rice. There were two types of soup—morning glory and mushroom—chicken in a spicy broth and a side of spicy morning glory. Everything was very tasty and we complimented Kim and Em on their culinary skills.

We felt we did our part in the good deed by delivering the money; however, we got the best end of the deal since we were able to meet the family and enjoy the beautiful countryside. The entire family is anxious for Roger to visit again, but they felt his presence as we passed through—apparently, just in time. Roger is known as PaPa to the family, but this time his kindheartedness came from the Buddha and brought the family the good luck they need to get through another year.

Life On the River...

Muang Ngoi Neua, Laos

July 17, 2007
N 20°42.573
E 102°40.446

The stunning views from the Vita Guesthouse made up for the sparse accommodations. We didn’t come to Muang Ngoi Neua looking for luxury, but instead we came to see the untouched countryside and enjoy life without scooters and cars—at least for a few days. Of course we also came here because we made a promise to our friend Roger.

Our room, or bungalow, sat right on the river’s edge with views of the mountains from every direction. In the afternoon we took advantage of the hammocks on the patio, enjoying the serene setting, with only a few sounds—the thup-thup-thup-thup of a boat’s motor and a rooster’s crow in the distance.

Our simple, bamboo thatched, bungalow was about 8’x10’ with a light bulb hanging from the ceiling by two wires; it worked between 7:30 PM and 9:30 PM (as does electricty for the rest of the village), a double futon-like pad, a small table and a mosquito net—what else do we really need? The shared facilities had a simple squat toilet. The shower was a large trough full of water and a plastic scooper for dumping the water over your body. It didn’t get off all of the dirt, but it did cool us down a little bit at the end of the day, and if you scrubbed hard you came out cleaner than when you went in.

At night, mangoes from the tree over our bungalow jolted us out of our deep sleep as they fell on our tin roof with a thundering crash. The first one bolted me straight up in bed as it sounded like an explosion, but after the first two or three blasts I become used to them only waking briefly.

The silence all around us was so beautiful that we didn’t mind an occasional mango trying to disrupt our sleep. The sleepy village is definitely worth the visit to get out of the chaos of the larger cities in South East Asia.

Rolling With the Locals...

Muang Ngoi Neua, Laos

July 16, 2007
N 20°42.573
E 102°40.446

Today was a travel day; we knew it would be a hard one. We had to take a bus four hours to a remote northern village where we would then catch a boat. The boat would take us upstream on the Man Ou River for a little over an hour; ultimately reaching our destination, Muang Ngoi Neua. This is if everything went as planned, and as we know, the best part about a travel day is we usually get a good story, especially when there are buses involved.

When we arrived at the bus station we discovered the “bus” wasn’t really a bus, but a Sawngthaew, a common mode of transportation in Laos. Essentially, a pick-up truck whose bed, a Toyota sized bed not an F-150, had been converted into local transportation. Both sides of the bed are lined with wooden bench seats, about two feet wide, barely fitting my butt. Overhead is a makeshift “roll bar” covered with metal siding to protect the happy customers from the heat and rain. In addition, it may protect the occupants from being tossed into oncoming traffic if the driver loses control and hits one of the many 18” deep pot-holes that plague the “highway”. Additionally, the roof of the “bus” served as a luggage rack; where the happy customer’s luggage is securely tied down.

Fourteen of us, mostly locals, climbed into the bed, staked out our spot on the bench, and got comfortable for the four hour ride. Of the tourists, there was one American from Connecticut and two English girls, one of which looked ready for afternoon tea and crumpets with mum on the veranda. Her freshly applied make-up and cute little jean skirt grabbed more than a few looks from the locals and the Westerners.

A little over an hour into the trip along the serpentine road the UCONN guy made a desperate plea for the driver to pull over—I knew the look. Marc banged on the cab and got the driver to pull over. The guy jumped out the bed of the truck and high tailed it to the bushes where he proceeded to get sick. The guy was kind enough to hide what he had for breakfast to himself. We offered him some Dramamine when he got back in the truck, but he politely declined. I went back to reading my book.

Another hour into the trip I started to get a little headache, this is when we realized the guy across from us was carrying a liter of kerosene in a plastic bottle back to his village. The bottle was leaking and we could tell from the look on his face and his glossy eyes that he was pretty f’d up. We tried to convince him to get rid of the bottle, others were suffering at this point, but his family was dependent upon him—he couldn’t just toss it. Marc banged on the cab again for the driver to pull over—we at least wanted to put the stuff on the roof—but the driver told him to cover it in a plastic bag. It was a good thing we had natural air conditioning or all of us would have either had a gas high, or have been dead.

After huffing kerosene for four hours and taking a severe ass-whooping from the potholes we finally made it to Nong Khiaw; the village where we had to catch the boat. We now had a few hours to kill before the boat departed at 2:00 PM. We spent the time sitting on a restaurant patio that overlooked the river. We watched the local kids, with their baskets of soap, headed down to the Nam Ou for their daily bath. The younger kids would strip down, the older ones would leave on some clothes, jump into the water to get wet, climb back out to lather up, and then jump in again to rinse off. A few of the kids weren’t more than four, jumping into the Nam Ou without a life guard, or parent, in sight.

After the “bus” ride we were actually looking forward to a tranquil cruise up the Nam Ou. However, when we finally boarded the boat we realized we may be in for another adventure. The vessel was 3 feet wide and probably 20 feet long. It had a roof, but not much of a bottom, as the water splashed, our clothes got a little wet from underneath.

The boat, like the bus, had two long, hard wooden benches for people to sit. We had to sit off center to prevent from bumping knees with the person sitting across from us. The boat was fully loaded with 18-20 people, plus luggage. The boarding process was the normal chaos we have grown accustomed to from our travels in South America and now into South East Asia; just sit back relax, watch and laugh. There was a slight delay when two of the locals wouldn’t get on the boat. The lady, baby in tow, kept yelling at someone. We weren’t sure what was upsetting her, but she definitely was mad about something. When her husband and his buddy, or possibly father, got on the boat we realized what was upsetting the lady.

I could instantly tell both of the men were three sheets to the wind. They stumbled onto the boat as jolly as can be. The younger guy was resting his arm on the tourist next to him as he leaned over to argue with his wife. The other man fell down and sprawled out on a small open patch of deck near the driver.

Fifteen minutes into the trip, the older guy next to the driver, who must have been in his 60s, decided to lie down and try to sleep. We would tell the dreaded Spins had set in and he was in trouble. Sure enough, less than a minute later, he was pulling himself back up and over the side of the boat. His friend, directly across from Marc and I, was laughing at his buddy hurl his lunch and Lao Lao (rice wine) into the river and then asked the driver for a cigarette.

It was probably another twenty minutes into the trip when the guy across from us, probably done in by the smoke, was over the edge puking. Lucky for us, he was on the opposite side of the boat, and didn’t have to worry about the wind catching the remnants of the Lao Lao and bringing the chunks back into the boat.

After a few more minutes the young guy realized his buddy looked very comfortable and crawled to the front of the boat and passed out on his friend. The site of them curled-up and snuggling gave all of the tourists a good laugh. The two of them, were out-cold at 2:30 PM on a Monday afternoon and actually were still on the boat after everyone got their stuff and left, including the young guys wife and baby. I think it was a good lesson for everyone on the boat… stay away from the Lao Lao!

Another Hot Day in LP...

Luang Prabang, Laos

July 15, 2007
N 19°53.486
E 102°08.302

Today, our third and last full day in Luang Prabang, was spent seeing the sites we kept walking by our first few days, but consciously said we would visit on another day. Specifically, we didn’t visit any of the temples because the first day was too hot, I wanted to wear shorts and a tank top, not a skirt and t-shirt as required when visiting a temple. Of course, today wasn’t any cooler, but we didn’t want to miss the sites over something as silly as my clothing or sweltering heat.

After a cup of hot coffee and a light breakfast, our first in at least five days, we headed out to see the Royal Palace Museum, climb the mountain to see Phu Si and then, if I have my way, we can cool off with a traditional Lao massage at the end of the day.

The museum, located in the King’s palace, featured incredible gifts from all over the world separated into groups depending on if the country is socialist or capitalist. The gifts from the US include a small moon rock and a miniture Lao flag that went to the moon with Apollo 11, as well as a few small trinkets from John F. Kennedy—nothing as spectacular as the Buddhist sculptures from India or the painting from Nepal’s Royal Family.

After the museum we headed across the street to climb the 190 stairs to the top of Phu Si. The number of stairs reminded us of the Filbert Street stairs we tackle during some of our training runs at home; however, these stairs weren’t as physically demanding. I do have to say with the heat and humidity though; the stairs were as mentally challenging. After we climbed to the top of the mountain, we were afforded 360 degree views of the Mekong Delta, the Nam Khan River and the Laos countryside.

Not only did we have spectacular views, but we were able to visit the temple and pay respect to the numerous Buddhas—one for every day of the week. We really took our time strolling around the temple and working our way back down the steps. We really couldn’t move fast since the temperature was tipping near 100 F and the humidity from the rain clouds on the horizon made it feel like we were walking in a sauna.

It was about this time I convinced Marc the best way to spend the rest of the afternoon was to get a massage. I had a traditional Laos massage a few days ago and told him how relaxing it was; especially for only $3 per hour. Since we were together, we decided to bust-loose and splurge for the full two-hour massage; for a whopping $5.

Shortly after changing into the loose cotton pants and massage shirt, I realized why Marc agreed to the massage. Normally, he’s not real hip to getting a massage from complete strangers. However, there was no way he could resist laying directly under a fan for two hours in a moderately cool room.

I should mention, our Guest House, the only one available when we arrived, doesn’t have AC, only a ceiling fan. The fan, even at its highest speed, doesn’t provide a lot of relief from the heat and humidity. After checking the temperature in our room over the past few days we determined the average temperature was between 85-90 F; which doesn’t include the wind-chill factor from our shitty ceiling fan. Our only remedy is to take a cold shower at least three times a day.

Thus, the massage was the best way to cool off after another extremely oppressively hot day.

Tomorrow we leave Luang Prabang and start visiting some very remote villages in the northern part of Laos. Our internet access will be very limited until close to the end of July when we arrive at our first stop in Thailand, Chiang Rai.