Tuesday, September 13, 2005

The Slow Boat To Indo China.

Our last night in Thailand, we wandered down to a place only a hundred yards or so from the border crossing, overlooking the Mekong. A last few Chang in Thailand before we got to sample the delights of Beer Lao. Across the water we could see the lights of Huay Xai, where we would land by ferry the very next morning.

Up early next morning, a packed lunch provided by our wonderful guesthouse owners, we headed for the border. Passports stamped and a 5 baht fee paid, we walked down to the jetty to catch a short ferry ride across the river to the Laos immigration in Huay Xai. A few minutes later and we clambered off the boat and into Laos.

Here semi confusion kicked in, no one too sure of where to go, what to do, or what the hell was going on. Bewildered Falang (Laos version of Thai Farang), littered the streets. We managed to get through immigration without much hassle. Found where we needed to be to get our slow boat ticket, we paid and were pointed towards a waiting taxi. A cramped, bumpy ride found us dropped off in god-knows-where.

At this point the wandering Falang became sheep. Just lost little sheep following each other around, no-one quite sure where to go. As we neared the jetty, a guy requested our passports, pulling out an official looking badge and putting it round his neck as he asked for them. We refused, saying we went wherever our passports went. He eventually threw up his arms in despair, telling us we couldn't get the boat if we didn't hand them over. He then wandered off to accost other bewildered sheep.

Others caved in easier than us, and seeing how now a large number of people had done as requested, we relented also. A short wait in a restaurant we'd been pointed to, sat in slightly unsettled amusement, the guy returns with a whole bunch of passports in his hand. Handing them all to me I dug out Sam's and mine, before handing the bunch over to the nearest grasping hand.

We were told that Laos PDR doesn't just stand for 'Peoples Democratic Republic', but also 'People Don't Rush'. So the fact that the boat left an hour lat was of no suprise. A small cheer went up when we eventually set sail, then we all settled in for a bum numbing 6 hour journey ahead of us. Crammed in on a low to the water, thin river ferry, on benches with little or no leg room, means you have to get along with the other sardines. We chatted with John and Shuri (another unsure spelling), who sat behind us. He was a friendly Irish lad, traveling with a whole bunch of mates. A real lads on a world tour thing. She was an American, who'd spent the last 10 years living in the U.K., and was traveling alone. All of us with a good 50-60 others, on the slow boat to Lunag Prabang. A slow leisurely ride down the famous Mekong River.

This is the stuff that dreams are made of. Even now as I lean on the side of the boat to write this entry, I look up and have to check myself. Spectacular scenery almost beyond description. Thick forested mountains rise up of both sides. Low clouds leave wisps of themselves as they skirt across the tops of the dense rain forested peaks. Every so often we get small signs of life, as small bamboo shacks peek from the undergrowth. This really is the middle of nowhere, and so we were soon to reach its arse end!

We stopped at the aforementioned arse-end-of-nowhere just as the sun was starting to set. Pakbeng is a little village that is as thin as the road that its buildings hundle against. It goes something like this... To the left... road, building, MOUNTAIN!!! Or to the right... Road, building, RIVER!!! With no room for error. Everyone disembarked and made there way to one of the small guesthouses in this 'no' horse town. Sam, Shuri and myself dumped our stuff not far from the pier. Well I say pier, I mean a couple of planks leaning against the river bank. The place we stayed was a good sized bamboo built house, charging only 60 baht a night. We all showered, changed and headed out to explore wherever it was we were. That took all of 10 minutes, so we went to eat at a place overlooking the Mekong.

Food, conversation, and finally a Beer Lao. (Here please note it's Lao and not really Laos. The 's' was added by the French by mistake.) Anyway, there are a lot of other things on offer in Laos. Within 5 minutes of me being there, a guy appeared at the balcony window waving a bag of opium at me. A young lad swaggered down the street, whistled up at me and asked if I wanted any weed. In fact I must have been offered opium and weed more than half a dozen times, in the space of a few hours. Declining politely we moved on.

Electricity was intermittent to say the least. But at 10:35pm it was lights out pretty much everwhere. Laos is famous for closing down early. Our guesthouse still had its lights on, so we stayed downstairs for another drink before bed, with the other falang that were staying there. Come 11:00pm and a young bloke came and ordered us all upstairs and to bed. Amused by this, we all turned into whispering school children as we huddled round candles on the large balcony. One lad caught hold of a cockroach that squealed in the most ear spliting high pitched noise. A Laoation lad crushed in between his hands, and the noise stopped. Soon things died down, the opium pipes came out, so we said our goodnights and headed for bed.

The low buzz of whispered chatter could be heard through the paper thin bamboo walls, the scent of opium wafted through the air. This place was a big change from Thailand, it was going to take me a while to get my head around this, although I knew this was not the whole story on Laos.

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