Megan uploaded a number of new pics to KodakGallery.
Copy and paste the links below into your browser.
Vietnam Pics
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=ss51erh.cmdvdrtd&x=0&y=-y9d6k1
Up through Cambodia Pics
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=ss51erh.4smem0j1&x=0&y=prl7zp
Also, new blog below.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Still married . . . just barely.
Legendary Climbers of Fansipan
Fansipan, here we come . . . we procured ourselves a guide and sherpa from the Mountain View Lodge, situated on the main drag in Sapa. The trek schedule was as follows:
Day 1: Arrive at the lodge at 7:00 am, drive to park headquarters, start hiking around 8:00, summit that afternoon, return to basecamp, have dinner, sleep.
Day 2: Sleep in, have breakfast, hike back to headquarters, return to Sapa by 2:00 pm.
That sounded like a hell of a plan . . . . . until we woke up on Day 1 to find that it was raining elephants and water buffaloes. We waded through the streets from our hotel to the Mountain View Lodge around 6:30 am, had a quick breakfast, then talked strategy with our guide-to-be, Hugh. Things were pretty socked in with little sign of the rain letting up. The gang (Megan, Tom, and I) decided to try and break the World Record for Lipton Tea consumption while we evaluated the weather from the lodge . . . . about three hours and four mugs of tea each later, the torrential downpour came to stop and the pea soup lifted. The sun wasn’t shining and the birds weren’t singing, but things had definitely taken an unexpected turn for the better. Shortly before 10:00, we set off in an ancient Landcruiser for the 20 km ride to park headquarters.
The team consisted of Hugh (our guide, who is such a badass he could undoubtedly take Chuck Norris in a staring competition), Koa (guide in training, recent recipient of the most annoying human in Vietnam award), Toan (our real deal Sherpa, fully garbed in traditional clothing, equipped with a machete that would make Crocodile Dundee blush), Megan, Tom, and me. We hit the trail around 11:00 with the agreement that we’d make the trip into basecamp that afternoon, get a good meal and night of sleep in us, and target the summit in the morning. The hike into basecamp was going quite well (a bit muddy with a handful of knee-deep river crossings . . . good, solid adventure) until we came to the edge of a valley and Hugh explained that the basecamp was in the bottom of the valley, about 1,000 feet of elevation below. Giving up that elevation was like watching your stock portfolio tank in December after you’ve fought tooth and nail to stay in the black all year. We arrived into basecamp around 3:00, got our things settled in the sleeping shelter, then gathered around the campfire for some warm tea and coffee. That evening, Hugh and Toan assembled some of the finest camp cooking known to man . . . . several sensational stir-fries combined with a bottomless bowl of rice put our bellies well at ease. I broke out the bottle of red wine that I’d hauled up in my backpack to everybody’s delight. A bit of wine and a couple warm drinks later, we all hit the sack. It was a bit before 9:00 pm.
We awoke around 5:00 am the next morning. Hugh and Toan put a delicious breakfast in front of us around 6:00, and we set off for the summit around 7:00. At this point, I became a bit confused as we were going down AGAIN . . . . I was quite certain that at some point, we would have to go up. We gave up another five or six hundred feet of elevation before Hugh triumphantly declared, “We go up now.” He wasn’t joking. We went up and up and up. This wasn’t your friendly national park trail, equipped with runoff drains and switchbacks . . . this sucker was pretty much a straight line between the “We go up now” point and the summit. We scrambled up and over rocks and trees, used ropes to ascend steep walls, and bogged through the mud in 15 foot high bamboo forests. Almost four hours into the climb, Hugh giggled and told us that we were about an hour from the peak. Coincidentally, he had told us this same thing an hour ago. Now, although Hugh was an amazing guide, he wasn’t much of a comedian . . . I prayed that this was another one of his mediocre attempts at humour and that the summit was just around the corner. I know you’re hoping that I was wrong, and it was another hour because that would actually be pretty damn funny . . . but in this case, the joke wasn’t on me, the summit was just around the corner. We landed on the top of Mt. Fansipan (highest peak in all of Indochina, oh yeah!!!) around 10:45 . . . tired, hungry, and ecstatic.
The view was absolutely the most amazing thing you could ever imagine in the history of mankind (if your favorite thing is fog). Actually, we did get a couple warm and welcome sunbreaks from above, but we never did get that view of the surrounding area we dreamed of . . . oh well. It was still pretty awesome to be there after the roughly 5000 feet of elevation we’d covered from the “We go up now” point. We got some victory pictures and enjoyed a nice lunch.
Around 11:30, we confronted the brutal reality that we were about 10 miles from blacktop. We set off down the mountain, fortunately, on a much better, less steep trail. Six grueling, mind-numbing hours later, we arrived back at park headquarters. At several points during the trip down, Tom and I schemed how we could make Koa’s (uber-annoying guide in training) death look like an accident . . . we came up with several bulletproof ideas, but ultimately, Megan said it wouldn’t be nice to kill him. Anyway, we eventually made it. What a day!
Unfortunately, our dreams of warm food and cold beers would have to wait . . . construction between the park and Sapa was blocking the road. Hugh suggested that we walk the 3 km down to the construction, which would hopefully allow us to make our way through the roadwork on foot, eventually arriving at the old Russian army jeep waiting for us on the Sapa side. We decided that hitchhiking was a much more prudent course of action and flagged down the next empty cattle truck, whose friendly driver was more than happy to give us a lift to the roadblock. It was one of those odd moments . . . Are we really riding in the back of a cattle car through the mountains in Vietnam with a sherpa at our side? Yes we are. We made it down to the construction, where it became heartbreakingly obvious that we would have to wait. We finally rolled into Sapa sometime between 8:00 and 9:00 . . . the warm food and cold beer was excellent.
Still married . . . just barely.
Alright, it was time to push on to Laos. Only one problem, we weren’t in the most convenient location to do so. The safe bet was to do some expensive, time consuming backtracking to Hanoi, where we could catch an overnight bus to the Laos border or splash out some dough to fly into Luang Prabang. The more enticing (i.e. direct route geographically) bet was to cross the border at a new border crossing just west of Dien Bien Phu, Vietnam. The crossing had supposedly been opened to international traffic on May 10th, but we hadn’t seen any travel reports on-line to confirm that, but hey, it was on Yahoo News, so it must be right. The lack of information, uncertainty of the situation, and potential to be some of the first folks through the crossing appealed to Tom and me. Unfortunately, Megan acquiesced.
We set off from Sapa with fingers crossed . . . we found a bus that would take us all the way to Dien Bien Phu, which was roughly 300 km of windy mountain roads away. This backside hammering, twisting, turning ride lasted about 9 hours. I swear that the poor fellow next to me vomited three times his body weight. It was a tough go . . . about 4 hours into it, my beautiful wife was making not such beautiful faces . . . Oh shit.
We got into Dien Bien Phu around 6:00 that night, found a nice little hotel, got some noodle soup, and inquired about buses to the border, which was about 35 km away. The buses only ran on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, and seeing that it was Monday night, there would be no bus the following day. We figured that it was no big deal . . . we’d figure something out. The next morning, we found a guy to drive us to the border after a nice breakfast (more noodle soup). Around 8:30, we arrived at the immigration office on the Vietnam side to find a completely empty building, locked doors, and not a soul in sight. Uh oh. Fortunately, after a few minutes of head scratching, we figured out that we had just come to a closed customs building, equipped with truck scales and inspection facilities. The driver took us a couple more kilometers up the road, where we found the real border immigration office equipped with real Vietnamese people. Thank God. After a comical half an hour of passport inspection, paperwork, and bag checks, we set off down the 1 km dirt road through no mans land towards the Laos border and immigration office. So good, so far. The only remaining question at this point was could we get a visa on arrival. Yahoo News said they had visa on arrival facilities . . . it must be so. Fortunately, it was so. We strolled up to the immigration office, where we were warmly welcomed by the 15 or so odd number of border guards. We received visas number 6, 7, and 8 issued by that particular office. After that, we easily passed through the immigration process, at which point, we tackled the next challenge in the Sapa to Luang Prabang journey. How do we get to the next town in Laos? The Lonely Planet map showed a border town, Xai Trang . . . we figured there would be buses from there. Our eyes showed no border town, instead, miles of hills and jungle, which was confirmed by the guards. At this point, I was getting the not so beautiful face from my wife again . . . but wait, a plan. The border guard knew a guy in the next village, Ban Hok (about 5 km away), who had a car and would drive us to Mouang Khua, the next significant town. We agreed on paying him $40, a reasonable price for the 75 km trip, and broke out the playing cards to kill the 30 minutes it would take the driver to get to the border.
About an hour and a half later, we began to get a little pessimistic about the car to Muang Khua thing. We waited another half hour, before deciding that the next logical step was to head down to Ban Hok and find a different car and driver there . . . a 5 km walk was what we all needed. About a quarter of the way to the village, we ran into a nice Vietnamese guy who was working on some project near the border who offered us a free lift to the village. We took him up on it and offered money if he was willing to take us the entire way to Muang Khua. He said that he was unable to stray so far from the border, which was understandable. He brought the car to a stop in the “center” of Ban Hok . . . the “center” happened to be in front of the micro-general store of the village, which happened to extend another 50 meters in both directions. We walked the 50 meters one direction in search of a car and driver, then covered the 50 meters the other direction. After taking the initial several steps from the small shop, it became painfully obvious that we would have better luck finding a magic, flying pig that could carry us to Muang Khua (no motorized vehicles in sight, plenty of livestock). Unbeautiful face on wife turned to tear-laiden face on wife . . . fun adventure quickly becoming the trip I will be catching shit over the rest of my life.
Okay, so now were in this pig farm of a town, 5 km from the border, 30 km from the next pig farm, vehicle free town . . . what to do? We decided that the only semi-logical thing to do was to hike the 5 km back to the border, where we would hopefully be able to catch a passing ride. Worst case scenario, we would throw ourselves at the mercy of the guards, crash at the border for the evening, then catch the bus to Muang Khua the following morning (this was the bus that ran every other day from Dien Bien Phu, which we didn’t know continued on into Laos, a massively important fact left unexplained due to the language barrier in Dien Bien Phu, but cleared up by the Laos border guards). Before leaving Ban Hok, we cleared out all edibles from the general store (which covered the area of a breakfast table, partially covered with semi-tasty, preservative filled, wrapped snack foods) to curb our hunger.
We arrived back at the border around 3:00 pm, defeated and sweaty. The guard who we had originally arranged the ride with informed us that his friend was unavailable . . . Really? After half an hour of praying for a passerby, we discussed the possibility of staying at the border crossing with the guards. We were pleasantly surprised to receive the warmest, most welcoming response imaginable to this query. We could sleep in the meeting office that night, free of charge . . . but Megan would have to show her boobs to all the guards. I figured it was the least we could do for the young gang of men, who were forced to live in the middle of nowhere, without women, in service of their beloved country. Just kidding . . . about the breasts. However, the sincere offer was real. We breathed a sigh of relief. As expected, no vehicles came through and we settled in for a night at the border, which actually turned out to be a great night (even Megan agrees). The guards taught us a new card game. We tried our feet and heads at their favorite sport, a cross between soccer and volleyball. Later, Mr. Chit (the head visa man) treated us to a meal of sticky rice, pated beef with chilis, and pickled bamboo shoots. Afterwards, he set up beds (straw mats and blankets on the floor) for us in the meeting room of the immigration office. The worst case scenario worked out just fine . . . wew.
The next morning, we awoke, said goodbye to all our new friends, and jumped on the Dien Bien Phu to Muang Khua bus as it made its way through the border. We arrived in Muang Khua around 10:30, caught a ferry across the river, and sorted out our next leg of the journey . . . How do we get to Udomxai? After the last 48 hours of hell, with intermittent shades of heaven, this was much too easy. We jumped on the 12:00 bus out of Muang Khua and arrived in Udomxai around 3:30. I got us booked into the Susiphone Hotel, the nicest joint in town (still only $15/night with breakfast). We washed the last couple days of dirt and frustration off with a good hot shower, then met back up with Tom for our first substantial meal since Sapa.
Time for some R&R
The following day, we made our way to Nuon Khiew, where we caught a boat up the Nam Ou River to Muang Ngoi . . . it was a stunning trip up the river. After 4 days of travel, we’d made it to our first destination in Laos. We relaxed in Muang Ngoi for 3 days and 3 nights. This sleepy village resembles a summer camp for grownups . . . rustic cabins on the river, generator supplied power from 7:00 pm to 10:00 pm only (when the generator works), a handful of tasty restaurants set between the riverfront and main drag in the village, and miles of nice hiking trails though the surrounding mountains. Our highlight of the hiking we did came when we saw a couple kids from a nearby village, several miles from Muang Ngoi, stop their water buffaloes for a cool down swim at a stream. The buffaloes plopped in the water and the kids proceeded to use them as a jungle gym, performing back flips off their backsides . . . priceless entertainment for all present. The rest of our time in Muang Ngoi consisted of pretty much nothing . . . book reading, card playing, beer sipping, utter relaxation. The stop was much needed.
We made it!!!! Luang Prabang
Well, we got into Luang Prabang a couple days ago. I wanted to catch a boat the whole way down the Nam Ou River, but the hippies on our boat trip from Muang Ngoi to Nuon Khiew opted to take a bus ($7 cheaper than the boat), making the boat trip pretty damn expensive . . . so we got stuck on the bus. However, this turned out to be well worth it when one of the hippies (a heavyset German girl) discovered that the bus driver was transporting a four foot monitor lizard on the bus, underneath her very seat . . . . . I thought this gal’s red hair was going to turn white right in front of my eyes. Screams of terror erupted. I haven't seen a German get that excited since David Hasselhof performed atop the Berlin Wall in the late 80's. I almost pissed my pants I was laughing so hard. It was great.
Luang Prabang is a nice little town . . . quiet, friendly, much like the people of Laos.
One Man’s Opinion – A Couple Final Thoughts on Vietnam
Dear Vietnam,
I love you. You are great. Your village countryside is disgustingly beautiful. Your beaches are quiet and relaxing. Your mountains are impressive. Your cities are clean and efficient. However, I would like you to correct the following issues before my next visit, which will probably be quite some time from now . . . so you’ve got no excuse.
1) Destroy Hanoi and all its inhabitants – plain and simple. You choose how, matters not to me.
2) Please address the following 2 issues I find with male hygiene:
a. Mole-lets – Let’s get rid of the mole-lets (mole beards). I’m not sure what the cultural motivation is for the men growing the darn hairs on their facial moles as long as possible, but it must be stopped. It’s gross.
b. Fingernails – Hey guys . . . let’s think about cutting them, all of them. You can buy nail clippers for less than a quarter at your local market. Supposedly, the long fingernails are a sign that you don’t have to work the fields . . . you’re middle or upper class. Here’s an idea . . . wear nice, expensive clothes instead. It seems to work everywhere else. I’d rather shake the rice farmer’s well groomed hand, than go to battle with your well to do, Elvira-nailed hand. Seriously, Vegas strippers aren’t sporting nails that long (so I’ve heard).
I apologize for my cultural intolerance but felt I must get this off my chest.
Sincerely,
Rob
Fansipan, here we come . . . we procured ourselves a guide and sherpa from the Mountain View Lodge, situated on the main drag in Sapa. The trek schedule was as follows:
Day 1: Arrive at the lodge at 7:00 am, drive to park headquarters, start hiking around 8:00, summit that afternoon, return to basecamp, have dinner, sleep.
Day 2: Sleep in, have breakfast, hike back to headquarters, return to Sapa by 2:00 pm.
That sounded like a hell of a plan . . . . . until we woke up on Day 1 to find that it was raining elephants and water buffaloes. We waded through the streets from our hotel to the Mountain View Lodge around 6:30 am, had a quick breakfast, then talked strategy with our guide-to-be, Hugh. Things were pretty socked in with little sign of the rain letting up. The gang (Megan, Tom, and I) decided to try and break the World Record for Lipton Tea consumption while we evaluated the weather from the lodge . . . . about three hours and four mugs of tea each later, the torrential downpour came to stop and the pea soup lifted. The sun wasn’t shining and the birds weren’t singing, but things had definitely taken an unexpected turn for the better. Shortly before 10:00, we set off in an ancient Landcruiser for the 20 km ride to park headquarters.
The team consisted of Hugh (our guide, who is such a badass he could undoubtedly take Chuck Norris in a staring competition), Koa (guide in training, recent recipient of the most annoying human in Vietnam award), Toan (our real deal Sherpa, fully garbed in traditional clothing, equipped with a machete that would make Crocodile Dundee blush), Megan, Tom, and me. We hit the trail around 11:00 with the agreement that we’d make the trip into basecamp that afternoon, get a good meal and night of sleep in us, and target the summit in the morning. The hike into basecamp was going quite well (a bit muddy with a handful of knee-deep river crossings . . . good, solid adventure) until we came to the edge of a valley and Hugh explained that the basecamp was in the bottom of the valley, about 1,000 feet of elevation below. Giving up that elevation was like watching your stock portfolio tank in December after you’ve fought tooth and nail to stay in the black all year. We arrived into basecamp around 3:00, got our things settled in the sleeping shelter, then gathered around the campfire for some warm tea and coffee. That evening, Hugh and Toan assembled some of the finest camp cooking known to man . . . . several sensational stir-fries combined with a bottomless bowl of rice put our bellies well at ease. I broke out the bottle of red wine that I’d hauled up in my backpack to everybody’s delight. A bit of wine and a couple warm drinks later, we all hit the sack. It was a bit before 9:00 pm.
We awoke around 5:00 am the next morning. Hugh and Toan put a delicious breakfast in front of us around 6:00, and we set off for the summit around 7:00. At this point, I became a bit confused as we were going down AGAIN . . . . I was quite certain that at some point, we would have to go up. We gave up another five or six hundred feet of elevation before Hugh triumphantly declared, “We go up now.” He wasn’t joking. We went up and up and up. This wasn’t your friendly national park trail, equipped with runoff drains and switchbacks . . . this sucker was pretty much a straight line between the “We go up now” point and the summit. We scrambled up and over rocks and trees, used ropes to ascend steep walls, and bogged through the mud in 15 foot high bamboo forests. Almost four hours into the climb, Hugh giggled and told us that we were about an hour from the peak. Coincidentally, he had told us this same thing an hour ago. Now, although Hugh was an amazing guide, he wasn’t much of a comedian . . . I prayed that this was another one of his mediocre attempts at humour and that the summit was just around the corner. I know you’re hoping that I was wrong, and it was another hour because that would actually be pretty damn funny . . . but in this case, the joke wasn’t on me, the summit was just around the corner. We landed on the top of Mt. Fansipan (highest peak in all of Indochina, oh yeah!!!) around 10:45 . . . tired, hungry, and ecstatic.
The view was absolutely the most amazing thing you could ever imagine in the history of mankind (if your favorite thing is fog). Actually, we did get a couple warm and welcome sunbreaks from above, but we never did get that view of the surrounding area we dreamed of . . . oh well. It was still pretty awesome to be there after the roughly 5000 feet of elevation we’d covered from the “We go up now” point. We got some victory pictures and enjoyed a nice lunch.
Around 11:30, we confronted the brutal reality that we were about 10 miles from blacktop. We set off down the mountain, fortunately, on a much better, less steep trail. Six grueling, mind-numbing hours later, we arrived back at park headquarters. At several points during the trip down, Tom and I schemed how we could make Koa’s (uber-annoying guide in training) death look like an accident . . . we came up with several bulletproof ideas, but ultimately, Megan said it wouldn’t be nice to kill him. Anyway, we eventually made it. What a day!
Unfortunately, our dreams of warm food and cold beers would have to wait . . . construction between the park and Sapa was blocking the road. Hugh suggested that we walk the 3 km down to the construction, which would hopefully allow us to make our way through the roadwork on foot, eventually arriving at the old Russian army jeep waiting for us on the Sapa side. We decided that hitchhiking was a much more prudent course of action and flagged down the next empty cattle truck, whose friendly driver was more than happy to give us a lift to the roadblock. It was one of those odd moments . . . Are we really riding in the back of a cattle car through the mountains in Vietnam with a sherpa at our side? Yes we are. We made it down to the construction, where it became heartbreakingly obvious that we would have to wait. We finally rolled into Sapa sometime between 8:00 and 9:00 . . . the warm food and cold beer was excellent.
Still married . . . just barely.
Alright, it was time to push on to Laos. Only one problem, we weren’t in the most convenient location to do so. The safe bet was to do some expensive, time consuming backtracking to Hanoi, where we could catch an overnight bus to the Laos border or splash out some dough to fly into Luang Prabang. The more enticing (i.e. direct route geographically) bet was to cross the border at a new border crossing just west of Dien Bien Phu, Vietnam. The crossing had supposedly been opened to international traffic on May 10th, but we hadn’t seen any travel reports on-line to confirm that, but hey, it was on Yahoo News, so it must be right. The lack of information, uncertainty of the situation, and potential to be some of the first folks through the crossing appealed to Tom and me. Unfortunately, Megan acquiesced.
We set off from Sapa with fingers crossed . . . we found a bus that would take us all the way to Dien Bien Phu, which was roughly 300 km of windy mountain roads away. This backside hammering, twisting, turning ride lasted about 9 hours. I swear that the poor fellow next to me vomited three times his body weight. It was a tough go . . . about 4 hours into it, my beautiful wife was making not such beautiful faces . . . Oh shit.
We got into Dien Bien Phu around 6:00 that night, found a nice little hotel, got some noodle soup, and inquired about buses to the border, which was about 35 km away. The buses only ran on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, and seeing that it was Monday night, there would be no bus the following day. We figured that it was no big deal . . . we’d figure something out. The next morning, we found a guy to drive us to the border after a nice breakfast (more noodle soup). Around 8:30, we arrived at the immigration office on the Vietnam side to find a completely empty building, locked doors, and not a soul in sight. Uh oh. Fortunately, after a few minutes of head scratching, we figured out that we had just come to a closed customs building, equipped with truck scales and inspection facilities. The driver took us a couple more kilometers up the road, where we found the real border immigration office equipped with real Vietnamese people. Thank God. After a comical half an hour of passport inspection, paperwork, and bag checks, we set off down the 1 km dirt road through no mans land towards the Laos border and immigration office. So good, so far. The only remaining question at this point was could we get a visa on arrival. Yahoo News said they had visa on arrival facilities . . . it must be so. Fortunately, it was so. We strolled up to the immigration office, where we were warmly welcomed by the 15 or so odd number of border guards. We received visas number 6, 7, and 8 issued by that particular office. After that, we easily passed through the immigration process, at which point, we tackled the next challenge in the Sapa to Luang Prabang journey. How do we get to the next town in Laos? The Lonely Planet map showed a border town, Xai Trang . . . we figured there would be buses from there. Our eyes showed no border town, instead, miles of hills and jungle, which was confirmed by the guards. At this point, I was getting the not so beautiful face from my wife again . . . but wait, a plan. The border guard knew a guy in the next village, Ban Hok (about 5 km away), who had a car and would drive us to Mouang Khua, the next significant town. We agreed on paying him $40, a reasonable price for the 75 km trip, and broke out the playing cards to kill the 30 minutes it would take the driver to get to the border.
About an hour and a half later, we began to get a little pessimistic about the car to Muang Khua thing. We waited another half hour, before deciding that the next logical step was to head down to Ban Hok and find a different car and driver there . . . a 5 km walk was what we all needed. About a quarter of the way to the village, we ran into a nice Vietnamese guy who was working on some project near the border who offered us a free lift to the village. We took him up on it and offered money if he was willing to take us the entire way to Muang Khua. He said that he was unable to stray so far from the border, which was understandable. He brought the car to a stop in the “center” of Ban Hok . . . the “center” happened to be in front of the micro-general store of the village, which happened to extend another 50 meters in both directions. We walked the 50 meters one direction in search of a car and driver, then covered the 50 meters the other direction. After taking the initial several steps from the small shop, it became painfully obvious that we would have better luck finding a magic, flying pig that could carry us to Muang Khua (no motorized vehicles in sight, plenty of livestock). Unbeautiful face on wife turned to tear-laiden face on wife . . . fun adventure quickly becoming the trip I will be catching shit over the rest of my life.
Okay, so now were in this pig farm of a town, 5 km from the border, 30 km from the next pig farm, vehicle free town . . . what to do? We decided that the only semi-logical thing to do was to hike the 5 km back to the border, where we would hopefully be able to catch a passing ride. Worst case scenario, we would throw ourselves at the mercy of the guards, crash at the border for the evening, then catch the bus to Muang Khua the following morning (this was the bus that ran every other day from Dien Bien Phu, which we didn’t know continued on into Laos, a massively important fact left unexplained due to the language barrier in Dien Bien Phu, but cleared up by the Laos border guards). Before leaving Ban Hok, we cleared out all edibles from the general store (which covered the area of a breakfast table, partially covered with semi-tasty, preservative filled, wrapped snack foods) to curb our hunger.
We arrived back at the border around 3:00 pm, defeated and sweaty. The guard who we had originally arranged the ride with informed us that his friend was unavailable . . . Really? After half an hour of praying for a passerby, we discussed the possibility of staying at the border crossing with the guards. We were pleasantly surprised to receive the warmest, most welcoming response imaginable to this query. We could sleep in the meeting office that night, free of charge . . . but Megan would have to show her boobs to all the guards. I figured it was the least we could do for the young gang of men, who were forced to live in the middle of nowhere, without women, in service of their beloved country. Just kidding . . . about the breasts. However, the sincere offer was real. We breathed a sigh of relief. As expected, no vehicles came through and we settled in for a night at the border, which actually turned out to be a great night (even Megan agrees). The guards taught us a new card game. We tried our feet and heads at their favorite sport, a cross between soccer and volleyball. Later, Mr. Chit (the head visa man) treated us to a meal of sticky rice, pated beef with chilis, and pickled bamboo shoots. Afterwards, he set up beds (straw mats and blankets on the floor) for us in the meeting room of the immigration office. The worst case scenario worked out just fine . . . wew.
The next morning, we awoke, said goodbye to all our new friends, and jumped on the Dien Bien Phu to Muang Khua bus as it made its way through the border. We arrived in Muang Khua around 10:30, caught a ferry across the river, and sorted out our next leg of the journey . . . How do we get to Udomxai? After the last 48 hours of hell, with intermittent shades of heaven, this was much too easy. We jumped on the 12:00 bus out of Muang Khua and arrived in Udomxai around 3:30. I got us booked into the Susiphone Hotel, the nicest joint in town (still only $15/night with breakfast). We washed the last couple days of dirt and frustration off with a good hot shower, then met back up with Tom for our first substantial meal since Sapa.
Time for some R&R
The following day, we made our way to Nuon Khiew, where we caught a boat up the Nam Ou River to Muang Ngoi . . . it was a stunning trip up the river. After 4 days of travel, we’d made it to our first destination in Laos. We relaxed in Muang Ngoi for 3 days and 3 nights. This sleepy village resembles a summer camp for grownups . . . rustic cabins on the river, generator supplied power from 7:00 pm to 10:00 pm only (when the generator works), a handful of tasty restaurants set between the riverfront and main drag in the village, and miles of nice hiking trails though the surrounding mountains. Our highlight of the hiking we did came when we saw a couple kids from a nearby village, several miles from Muang Ngoi, stop their water buffaloes for a cool down swim at a stream. The buffaloes plopped in the water and the kids proceeded to use them as a jungle gym, performing back flips off their backsides . . . priceless entertainment for all present. The rest of our time in Muang Ngoi consisted of pretty much nothing . . . book reading, card playing, beer sipping, utter relaxation. The stop was much needed.
We made it!!!! Luang Prabang
Well, we got into Luang Prabang a couple days ago. I wanted to catch a boat the whole way down the Nam Ou River, but the hippies on our boat trip from Muang Ngoi to Nuon Khiew opted to take a bus ($7 cheaper than the boat), making the boat trip pretty damn expensive . . . so we got stuck on the bus. However, this turned out to be well worth it when one of the hippies (a heavyset German girl) discovered that the bus driver was transporting a four foot monitor lizard on the bus, underneath her very seat . . . . . I thought this gal’s red hair was going to turn white right in front of my eyes. Screams of terror erupted. I haven't seen a German get that excited since David Hasselhof performed atop the Berlin Wall in the late 80's. I almost pissed my pants I was laughing so hard. It was great.
Luang Prabang is a nice little town . . . quiet, friendly, much like the people of Laos.
One Man’s Opinion – A Couple Final Thoughts on Vietnam
Dear Vietnam,
I love you. You are great. Your village countryside is disgustingly beautiful. Your beaches are quiet and relaxing. Your mountains are impressive. Your cities are clean and efficient. However, I would like you to correct the following issues before my next visit, which will probably be quite some time from now . . . so you’ve got no excuse.
1) Destroy Hanoi and all its inhabitants – plain and simple. You choose how, matters not to me.
2) Please address the following 2 issues I find with male hygiene:
a. Mole-lets – Let’s get rid of the mole-lets (mole beards). I’m not sure what the cultural motivation is for the men growing the darn hairs on their facial moles as long as possible, but it must be stopped. It’s gross.
b. Fingernails – Hey guys . . . let’s think about cutting them, all of them. You can buy nail clippers for less than a quarter at your local market. Supposedly, the long fingernails are a sign that you don’t have to work the fields . . . you’re middle or upper class. Here’s an idea . . . wear nice, expensive clothes instead. It seems to work everywhere else. I’d rather shake the rice farmer’s well groomed hand, than go to battle with your well to do, Elvira-nailed hand. Seriously, Vegas strippers aren’t sporting nails that long (so I’ve heard).
I apologize for my cultural intolerance but felt I must get this off my chest.
Sincerely,
Rob
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