Sunday, February 21, 2010
I know I've been writing too much about my time on buses/the road. I'm sure you are getting tired of the same stories of buses breaking down, and frankly, I am a little too. Unfortunately, these are the stories that are the clearest to me when I find the time to write in my journal. There are many smaller stories that I plan to record and then forget, but I'm going to start making more of an effort to take notes in my journal to remember these stories and try to take a break from the bus stories. If the bus journeys stop being so eventful I'll have less bus material to write about! Cross your fingers ;) For now, one more...
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I stare across the road at the bus that will take me the first half of the way to Sen Menorum. It looks sturdy. Or at least its clean. I stare more aggressively, as though in a contest with it. My message should be obvious, “Don’t even think about breaking down until after you drop me off. Not even a flat-tire from you. Do I make myself clear, Bus?”
The bus will leave around 7am and I was told I will arrive around 2:30pm in Sen Menorum. My plan with Liz and Jen is dinner at 7pm. I want to arrive early and be relaxed. And I don’t want to find myself stuck on the road again, not now. It’s a sign of my stress and excitement that I am negotiating with my bus across the street as I have my breakfast.
We leave on time and an hour later we are in Snoul. The bus stops at its designated stop/restaurant and everyone gets off. It will soon continue to Phnom Phen and I will wait for my bus to SM. I ask what time my bus will come. “1pm.” One!?! They tell me I will arrive in SM at 4:30pm. Yeah right, I think. If the bus is suppose to come at 1 it won’t leave till after 2. And now I have to wait nearly 5 hours here?
I saw we passed a market in town with a lot of shared vans on our way here. Screw this. I’m taking my own transport. I don’t care about the $6 I lose from the bus ticket. I grab my bag and walk into town. I find a shared van that will leave at 11am for SM, $5. I’m not sure why, but I trust a van more to get me there than a bus. Particularly because the bus is from the same company that failed to get us to Kratie.
At 11am we are actually on the road! I’m squeezed between two women. One is a particularly wide woman by Cambodian standards. Her weight shoves me into the smaller, bony woman next to me. For the entire ride they speak loudly across me, constantly throwing their arms across me to emphasize their statements that I don’t understand. There is so little regard for personal space (at least within the same gender) that I wonder why we are so protective of our personal space at home. While I would greatly prefer that their conversation not fall across my lap, I appreciate that they are so comfortable with resting a hand on the others leg or taking my hand to get my attention. If I touched a woman on the bus in Seattle to get her attention… well I just wouldn’t.
The road to SM clearly used to be horrible. Now it’s in the progress of being paved. It winds up and down into the mountains of far Eastern Cambodia. If I continued directly east for another 150km or so I would pass through Vietnam and reach the Pacific Ocean. Looking at my map, it amazes me that I would only have to go slightly north to find myself in Mui Ne, where I started just a month ago. It’s only been a month since I left dad in Mui Ne?
Every time the van slows down I tense up. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop… I hold my breath and we start to accelerate again. I’m growing slowly more confident that the van will make it without any serious stops, it sounds fine, the AC works, it seems in good shape. Then again there are 18 people in this mini-van, 4 ducks under the 2nd row of seats, 2 piglets in the back, and a lot of boxes and baskets on the roof. With each pothole or rock we drive over I wait to hear the sounds of a flat tire, but they don’t come. Sooner than I thought possible we are in Sen Menorum. I get off at the eco-tourism office in town called “Middle of Somewhere,” which is mentioned in my LP. Yes, I am in the middle of somewhere, I made it! It’s 2pm, I have 5 hours to relax and read, eat, find a guesthouse and the restaurant for tonight.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
To horribly abbreviate:
I enjoyed Luang Prabang and headed to Vientiane for the Chinese New Year. I found nothing happening in Vientiane for the New Year, in fact everything was shut down. I spent only 1 night there. I was eager to get south to have a little time to see something in Southern Laos before having to make it to Cambodia for the fieldwork. After much back and forth deliberation I decided to spend 2 full days with two guys I met in Tha Kheak to go to the Kong Lo cave. We rented motorbikes and I learned to ride for the first time! It was a blast to drive, though also very nerve-racking. I definitely wouldn’t do it alone. The scenery on the way to the cave was straight out of Jurassic Park, beautiful and dramatic. The cave was really amazing. It’s a 7km under-mountain river that is actually used as a means of transport for villages on the other side. The fastest way for them to take products to market is by boating for 30 minutes through the blackness of the cave. I had to spend another night in Tha Kheak, a night in Pakse, and finally I found myself on the islands of Si Phan Don in the Mekong river, a traveller’s oasis. I got a simple bungalow (no electricity or bathroom) for 2 nights for $2.25/night on the small island of Don Det. I saw the Irrawaddy River Dolphins and tried as much as possible to do nothing, though there was blogging to catch up on (yes, I was really really behind) and laundry to do to get ready for the fieldwork. I rented a bicycle which I rode to the far end of a different island, where my chain then snapped on me and I spent an evening and following morning walking around to return the bike to its owner. All in all, I really enjoyed Laos, but I feel I really need to come back to explore more in-depth and experience it at the pace of life that is actually Laotian, and not my rush to reach Cambodia by the 20th.
Getting to work… (+proofread)
Saturday, February 20, 2010
I’m so stressed out right now, and I wonder if writing about today’s journey has any chance of helping me relax. I doubt it. I have little time to catch up on over a week of blogging, so please forgive typos and lack of style.
I left my simple bungalow this morning at 7:30am to catch a boat back to the mainland which would take me to my bus headed to the border. As I ate breakfast at the beach where the boats come in I was shocked to see the number of other travelers that were also waiting for a boat back. Did we all pick the same day to leave the islands? We pack into the boats and head to shore. It took 4 boats to transport us all. Getting on the bus seems relatively smooth. Having been on a later boat I have to get on the third bus, the first 2 are full. But I am reassured by the conductor that the buses are “same-same.” Any will take me to the border to then catch my bus to Kratie.
40 minutes later we arrive at the border, all 40 or so of us. As we wait in line for our exit stamp from Lao we exchange introductions, the usual, “where are you from?” “how long are you traveling for?” “Oh you went!? Did you like it?” “I hated it.” “I loved it.” “I got so wasted there! What a night!” “Most amazing place I’ve been so far.” “I didn’t see much, I was shitting through a needle.”
I attempt a conversation with a girl about how interesting it is that all the Lao women below the age of 40 I’ve encountered in the last 1 week are pregnant. Has she noticed that? Laos’ population is surely going to increase rapidly as it develops over the next couple of years. She’s vaguely interested. We switch to talking about our further travel plans in the next month. Talking to fellow travelers about their experiences is a great way to estimate time spent in places and whether somewhere is worth going, but I’d rather compare observations to see if my thoughts about a country or culture are random or shared. Can I go home with these ideas and share them as perceptions about Laos or were my experiences random series of events that don’t really mean anything about the country? Did someone have the same experience? The most general consensus I have managed to gather from most travelers my age is that Beerlao, the national drink, is supremely better than any of the Thai or Vietnamese beers. I’ve tasted them and I agree… I don’t mean to make all other travelers out to be shallow. I’ve met some wonderful, fascinating travelers that I’ve shared hours of conversation with on buses. But really, I’ve met very few people I could imagine myself traveling with for more than 24 hours because our travel tastes and styles differ so greatly.
So we’re waiting for our exit stamps. It’s my turn, I hand forward my passport and they stamp it. The man hands it back and as I take it he doesn’t let go and says, “20,000 kip?” “Huh?” is my reply. I hadn’t been paying attention. We have to pay an exit fee? Then he says on his own accord, “You already pay?” (There are several men sitting behind the window all handling the passports and money) “Sure.” I reply.
I take my passport and walk away onto the 100meters of road that is no longer Lao, but not quite yet Cambodia. The people standing behind me in line look shocked. What injustice, I didn’t have to pay!! It's sweet sweet vengeance for when they took my Vietnamese visa from me! The irony is that 20,000kip is barely more than $2 (though worth a good dinner!) and I now have no use for my 60,000 remaining kip, so I may as well have spent it. But it’s the principle of the thing. Laos and I are now even.
Two more lines and several fees later we have our Visas and entry stamps. Now we should be able to board out buses to our next destination. People are going to Siem Reap, Phnom Phen, or Kratie. There is only one bus. We are told more buses are coming, we just have to wait. I’m used to this by now and I know we will get out of here eventually, but I’m eager to get to Kratie. I want to book my ticket for a mini-van to Sen Menorum in Kratie and have some time to write my blog…
Welcome to Cambodia, I think as I settle in for a long wait. I’m getting the feeling it’s not so different than Laos.
I head to one of the small stands with cold drinks and snacks. I enjoy an interesting bowl of noodles in a green sauce. I have no idea what it was, I never saw it in Laos. It’s delicious. Several other travelers sit at the table drinking sodas. There is a group of 3 Chinese women traveling together and two older Italians. Suddenly, the single bus starts its engine. The larger group by the bus gets up, starts to hoist their bags and clamber on the bus. The travelers around me abandon their drinks and get up to run across the road to the bus. The women running the snack stand shout at them. At first it sounds like a complaint of, “You didn’t pay!” Then, once the travelers are gone, everyone is smiling and laughing. I’m still sitting there, they told me the bus wouldn’t leave until the other buses came, and I don’t see it going anywhere, so I continue to eat my noodles. “What is it?” I ask. “Driver,” they say, pointing at the man enjoying his noodles calmly at the end of the table. I laugh too. That bus is definitely not going anywhere. I watch 15 minutes later as everyone slowly files back off the bus once they realize this as well.
An hour later still no bus. Apparently the one we are waiting for has broken down and we are waiting for it to be fixed. I’m ok with waiting for things in these countries, but once I know something is broken, I don’t like to wait, I find a different ride. This, however, is not an option since we are on a road at a border so there is no flow of traffic.
Eventually it becomes clear that the broken bus is not going to make it. We cram as many as we can onto the one bus, and the rest of us get into a mini-van. They tell us we will head to the first town, Stung Treng, there will be another bus for us there to take us to our destinations. Whatever, I think. As long as we get into a town I’m happy. As we are finally leaving the border a bus pulls up to the Lao border. It’s the first bus from the landing outside Don Det. Something must have happened to them along the way and they were only now arriving. Who knows how they will get out of the border… Now I’m thankful I didn’t make it onto the first bus this morning, turns out they weren's all "same-same."
In Stung Treng we wait again. The current bus will take people to Siem Riep, the farthest destination. The rest of us must wait for a mythical bus that will come and take us to Kratie, and onwards to Phnom Phen. After 2 hours I am getting nervous. I really want to get to Kratie. My opportunity in Sen Menorum is too important to me and I’m beginning to stress. Before, traveling didn’t stress me so much because I didn’t really care if I made it somewhere in a day or two. Now I have an actual destination to reach for an actual purpose. I start to wonder if we should look for a public bus to Kratie. I don’t care if I lose the money I paid for this ticket.
I read my LP and ask around. Turns out Stung Treng only became connected to the rest of Cambodia by road several years ago, you used to have to take a boat to get there. The bus system is not large, all the public buses leave in the morning only. Waiting for our mythical bus is the only option. So we wait.
Amazingly, at 3:30pm it comes. It’s already full of local passengers. The air is broken and the windows don’t open. The bus is a complete sauna. But it doesn’t matter, it’s a bus. Some of us at this point are more stressed than others, but none of us are so stressed as the Chinese woman leading her two other friends on their trip with the best English. She puts up such a fight with the drivers because she is completely unsatisfied with the “company’s” service. She did not pay so much for a ticket so that she could sit in the aisle of a hot, steamy bus. Her English is impeccable, but she achieves nothing and in the end they are still on the same bus as us. The only bus.
It should only take us 2 hours to reach Kratie. I hope we will arrive by 6pm. About 40 minutes and about a liter of sweat lost later there is an unwelcome, familiar hissing coming from the back of the bus. The tire is punctured. I’m not worried. So far I’ve learned that flat-tires are the best thing that can happen. They are pros at fixing them. 20 minutes and we should be back on the road. I’m surprised when I see them pull out not a spare tire, but several nails and some odd material. One man stands with his finger over the whistling hole. It’s not a proper flat-tire, just a tire with a hole. So, apparently, the logical solution is to stick a nail in it and call it good. We are back on the road in 15 minutes, impressive.
30 minutes later we stop at a road side… mechanic? So now they will replace the tire properly? We wait and watch as they remove the outside rear-right tire. We wait longer. Then we watch as they put the same tire back on, fasten the bolts and honk the horn. Time to get back in. I don’t care if the fix the tire or not, I just want to get there, but it is unsettling to think that this bus seems to not be carrying a spare tire.
It’s now 5:30pm and I really hope we reach Kratie in the next 40 minutes. We have been driving ridiculously slow though. My stress is growing as I think about wanting to buy my ticket, use the internet, take a proper shower, and just know that I am ready to continue the last leg of my journey on time. Traveling with a purpose and time-constraint in developing-countries like these is the worst idea. I should have followed my original plan and aimed to be in Kratie a day early. But Don Det was so nice...
We stop again, too soon after we left with the "replaced" tire. Everyone gets off and the men crowd around the engine in the back of the bus. There are tools out, bottles of water, and a lot of debate. Is the engine overheated? We wait. This is what I was afraid of. The bus seems properly broken this time. I know we can’t be more than 60km from Kratie. The Chinese woman is having a shit-fit. She’s on her iPhone placing calls trying to hire a private cab while also telling the conductor and driver how mad she is. We are all just as frustrated as her, but we know that getting mad won't help the situation. If we could all get to Kratie we could figure out our independent travel plans.
Our current tickets are quickly losing their value. The sun is almost set and I’m reminded of being stuck on the side of the road outside Oudamaxai with Dina. I want to get to town, we’re not that far away. I walk out into the road and wave down the first empty-bed truck that passes. They slow down and I yell “Kratie?” They stop!! I get the attention of the Canadian girl and Dutch couple I’ve been talking to. Let’s go, I’m not waiting for this bus to be fixed or not fixed. Besides, this truck will drive 3 times faster than that bus.
To my amazement all of the travelers on the bus, including the Chinese women, decide to take the truck. We crowd on, laughing and taking pictures of each other, relieved to have a mode of transportation that we have some confidence in. And a breeze! What a relief.
At one point on the truck, once it is dark, someone shouts the name of the town they think we passed through. The name of town that is further south than Kratie. No? This can’t be happening! I cannot miss Kratie, I cannot afford to spend the night anywhere else because I need to leave first thing in the morning for Sen Menorum. Thinking back at the Ninh Binh incident in Vietnam, and how easy it is for me to be headed to the wrong place because I can’t read a single sign, I decide I can’t wait to find out. I bang on the rear window of the driver cabin. They pull over and I shout, “Kratie?” Are we still going to Kratie? They point ahead of us, yes, we are still headed to Kratie. Thank goodness. I relax a little.
When I get off the bus in Kratie I am so relieved. I walk directly to the guesthouse listed in the LP as having internet. They're full. I ask to buy a ticket for a mini-van to Sen Menorum. A mini-van is much less likely to break down and they drive faster, it’s my best assurance to know that I will reach Sen Menorum with plenty of time to spare. The man at the guesthouse calls to book my ticket. The mini-van is already full he tells me. Ahh! This can’t be happening. This is why I wanted to get to Kratie early. “What are my options?” I ask. I’ll sit on the floor of the mini-van if I have to. The only option is to take the public bus he says. I will have to transfer in a town called Snoul. The bus leaves at 9am. 9am!?! That’s so late! That gives me little flexibility in case things go wrong, and I’ve heard the road to Sen Menorum is bad.
I’m getting more and more stressed. I know that if I’m latter than the planned 7pm to meet Liz and Jennifer it will probably be ok, but I’d really rather be early or at the very least, on-time. Resigned for the worst, I head to the bus station to buy a ticket. Mercifully, there are two women still selling tickets at 8pm. She tells me the bus leaves at 7am for Sen Menorum! Never before have I been so happy to know I will have to wake up at 6am.
Now I’ve found a guesthouse and I am desperately trying to catch up on my blogs which is impossible before the internet places shut down for the night. I’m sorry I’ve been so behind. I have so many stories to tell, including ones that would make the context of this story much more meaningful…
I’m so stressed out right now, and I wonder if writing about today’s journey has any chance of helping me relax. I doubt it. I have little time to catch up on over a week of blogging, so please forgive typos and lack of style.
I left my simple bungalow this morning at 7:30am to catch a boat back to the mainland which would take me to my bus headed to the border. As I ate breakfast at the beach where the boats come in I was shocked to see the number of other travelers that were also waiting for a boat back. Did we all pick the same day to leave the islands? We pack into the boats and head to shore. It took 4 boats to transport us all. Getting on the bus seems relatively smooth. Having been on a later boat I have to get on the third bus, the first 2 are full. But I am reassured by the conductor that the buses are “same-same.” Any will take me to the border to then catch my bus to Kratie.
40 minutes later we arrive at the border, all 40 or so of us. As we wait in line for our exit stamp from Lao we exchange introductions, the usual, “where are you from?” “how long are you traveling for?” “Oh you went!? Did you like it?” “I hated it.” “I loved it.” “I got so wasted there! What a night!” “Most amazing place I’ve been so far.” “I didn’t see much, I was shitting through a needle.”
I attempt a conversation with a girl about how interesting it is that all the Lao women below the age of 40 I’ve encountered in the last 1 week are pregnant. Has she noticed that? Laos’ population is surely going to increase rapidly as it develops over the next couple of years. She’s vaguely interested. We switch to talking about our further travel plans in the next month. Talking to fellow travelers about their experiences is a great way to estimate time spent in places and whether somewhere is worth going, but I’d rather compare observations to see if my thoughts about a country or culture are random or shared. Can I go home with these ideas and share them as perceptions about Laos or were my experiences random series of events that don’t really mean anything about the country? Did someone have the same experience? The most general consensus I have managed to gather from most travelers my age is that Beerlao, the national drink, is supremely better than any of the Thai or Vietnamese beers. I’ve tasted them and I agree… I don’t mean to make all other travelers out to be shallow. I’ve met some wonderful, fascinating travelers that I’ve shared hours of conversation with on buses. But really, I’ve met very few people I could imagine myself traveling with for more than 24 hours because our travel tastes and styles differ so greatly.
So we’re waiting for our exit stamps. It’s my turn, I hand forward my passport and they stamp it. The man hands it back and as I take it he doesn’t let go and says, “20,000 kip?” “Huh?” is my reply. I hadn’t been paying attention. We have to pay an exit fee? Then he says on his own accord, “You already pay?” (There are several men sitting behind the window all handling the passports and money) “Sure.” I reply.
I take my passport and walk away onto the 100meters of road that is no longer Lao, but not quite yet Cambodia. The people standing behind me in line look shocked. What injustice, I didn’t have to pay!! It's sweet sweet vengeance for when they took my Vietnamese visa from me! The irony is that 20,000kip is barely more than $2 (though worth a good dinner!) and I now have no use for my 60,000 remaining kip, so I may as well have spent it. But it’s the principle of the thing. Laos and I are now even.
Two more lines and several fees later we have our Visas and entry stamps. Now we should be able to board out buses to our next destination. People are going to Siem Reap, Phnom Phen, or Kratie. There is only one bus. We are told more buses are coming, we just have to wait. I’m used to this by now and I know we will get out of here eventually, but I’m eager to get to Kratie. I want to book my ticket for a mini-van to Sen Menorum in Kratie and have some time to write my blog…
Welcome to Cambodia, I think as I settle in for a long wait. I’m getting the feeling it’s not so different than Laos.
I head to one of the small stands with cold drinks and snacks. I enjoy an interesting bowl of noodles in a green sauce. I have no idea what it was, I never saw it in Laos. It’s delicious. Several other travelers sit at the table drinking sodas. There is a group of 3 Chinese women traveling together and two older Italians. Suddenly, the single bus starts its engine. The larger group by the bus gets up, starts to hoist their bags and clamber on the bus. The travelers around me abandon their drinks and get up to run across the road to the bus. The women running the snack stand shout at them. At first it sounds like a complaint of, “You didn’t pay!” Then, once the travelers are gone, everyone is smiling and laughing. I’m still sitting there, they told me the bus wouldn’t leave until the other buses came, and I don’t see it going anywhere, so I continue to eat my noodles. “What is it?” I ask. “Driver,” they say, pointing at the man enjoying his noodles calmly at the end of the table. I laugh too. That bus is definitely not going anywhere. I watch 15 minutes later as everyone slowly files back off the bus once they realize this as well.
An hour later still no bus. Apparently the one we are waiting for has broken down and we are waiting for it to be fixed. I’m ok with waiting for things in these countries, but once I know something is broken, I don’t like to wait, I find a different ride. This, however, is not an option since we are on a road at a border so there is no flow of traffic.
Eventually it becomes clear that the broken bus is not going to make it. We cram as many as we can onto the one bus, and the rest of us get into a mini-van. They tell us we will head to the first town, Stung Treng, there will be another bus for us there to take us to our destinations. Whatever, I think. As long as we get into a town I’m happy. As we are finally leaving the border a bus pulls up to the Lao border. It’s the first bus from the landing outside Don Det. Something must have happened to them along the way and they were only now arriving. Who knows how they will get out of the border… Now I’m thankful I didn’t make it onto the first bus this morning, turns out they weren's all "same-same."
In Stung Treng we wait again. The current bus will take people to Siem Riep, the farthest destination. The rest of us must wait for a mythical bus that will come and take us to Kratie, and onwards to Phnom Phen. After 2 hours I am getting nervous. I really want to get to Kratie. My opportunity in Sen Menorum is too important to me and I’m beginning to stress. Before, traveling didn’t stress me so much because I didn’t really care if I made it somewhere in a day or two. Now I have an actual destination to reach for an actual purpose. I start to wonder if we should look for a public bus to Kratie. I don’t care if I lose the money I paid for this ticket.
I read my LP and ask around. Turns out Stung Treng only became connected to the rest of Cambodia by road several years ago, you used to have to take a boat to get there. The bus system is not large, all the public buses leave in the morning only. Waiting for our mythical bus is the only option. So we wait.
Amazingly, at 3:30pm it comes. It’s already full of local passengers. The air is broken and the windows don’t open. The bus is a complete sauna. But it doesn’t matter, it’s a bus. Some of us at this point are more stressed than others, but none of us are so stressed as the Chinese woman leading her two other friends on their trip with the best English. She puts up such a fight with the drivers because she is completely unsatisfied with the “company’s” service. She did not pay so much for a ticket so that she could sit in the aisle of a hot, steamy bus. Her English is impeccable, but she achieves nothing and in the end they are still on the same bus as us. The only bus.
It should only take us 2 hours to reach Kratie. I hope we will arrive by 6pm. About 40 minutes and about a liter of sweat lost later there is an unwelcome, familiar hissing coming from the back of the bus. The tire is punctured. I’m not worried. So far I’ve learned that flat-tires are the best thing that can happen. They are pros at fixing them. 20 minutes and we should be back on the road. I’m surprised when I see them pull out not a spare tire, but several nails and some odd material. One man stands with his finger over the whistling hole. It’s not a proper flat-tire, just a tire with a hole. So, apparently, the logical solution is to stick a nail in it and call it good. We are back on the road in 15 minutes, impressive.
30 minutes later we stop at a road side… mechanic? So now they will replace the tire properly? We wait and watch as they remove the outside rear-right tire. We wait longer. Then we watch as they put the same tire back on, fasten the bolts and honk the horn. Time to get back in. I don’t care if the fix the tire or not, I just want to get there, but it is unsettling to think that this bus seems to not be carrying a spare tire.
It’s now 5:30pm and I really hope we reach Kratie in the next 40 minutes. We have been driving ridiculously slow though. My stress is growing as I think about wanting to buy my ticket, use the internet, take a proper shower, and just know that I am ready to continue the last leg of my journey on time. Traveling with a purpose and time-constraint in developing-countries like these is the worst idea. I should have followed my original plan and aimed to be in Kratie a day early. But Don Det was so nice...
We stop again, too soon after we left with the "replaced" tire. Everyone gets off and the men crowd around the engine in the back of the bus. There are tools out, bottles of water, and a lot of debate. Is the engine overheated? We wait. This is what I was afraid of. The bus seems properly broken this time. I know we can’t be more than 60km from Kratie. The Chinese woman is having a shit-fit. She’s on her iPhone placing calls trying to hire a private cab while also telling the conductor and driver how mad she is. We are all just as frustrated as her, but we know that getting mad won't help the situation. If we could all get to Kratie we could figure out our independent travel plans.
Our current tickets are quickly losing their value. The sun is almost set and I’m reminded of being stuck on the side of the road outside Oudamaxai with Dina. I want to get to town, we’re not that far away. I walk out into the road and wave down the first empty-bed truck that passes. They slow down and I yell “Kratie?” They stop!! I get the attention of the Canadian girl and Dutch couple I’ve been talking to. Let’s go, I’m not waiting for this bus to be fixed or not fixed. Besides, this truck will drive 3 times faster than that bus.
To my amazement all of the travelers on the bus, including the Chinese women, decide to take the truck. We crowd on, laughing and taking pictures of each other, relieved to have a mode of transportation that we have some confidence in. And a breeze! What a relief.
At one point on the truck, once it is dark, someone shouts the name of the town they think we passed through. The name of town that is further south than Kratie. No? This can’t be happening! I cannot miss Kratie, I cannot afford to spend the night anywhere else because I need to leave first thing in the morning for Sen Menorum. Thinking back at the Ninh Binh incident in Vietnam, and how easy it is for me to be headed to the wrong place because I can’t read a single sign, I decide I can’t wait to find out. I bang on the rear window of the driver cabin. They pull over and I shout, “Kratie?” Are we still going to Kratie? They point ahead of us, yes, we are still headed to Kratie. Thank goodness. I relax a little.
When I get off the bus in Kratie I am so relieved. I walk directly to the guesthouse listed in the LP as having internet. They're full. I ask to buy a ticket for a mini-van to Sen Menorum. A mini-van is much less likely to break down and they drive faster, it’s my best assurance to know that I will reach Sen Menorum with plenty of time to spare. The man at the guesthouse calls to book my ticket. The mini-van is already full he tells me. Ahh! This can’t be happening. This is why I wanted to get to Kratie early. “What are my options?” I ask. I’ll sit on the floor of the mini-van if I have to. The only option is to take the public bus he says. I will have to transfer in a town called Snoul. The bus leaves at 9am. 9am!?! That’s so late! That gives me little flexibility in case things go wrong, and I’ve heard the road to Sen Menorum is bad.
I’m getting more and more stressed. I know that if I’m latter than the planned 7pm to meet Liz and Jennifer it will probably be ok, but I’d really rather be early or at the very least, on-time. Resigned for the worst, I head to the bus station to buy a ticket. Mercifully, there are two women still selling tickets at 8pm. She tells me the bus leaves at 7am for Sen Menorum! Never before have I been so happy to know I will have to wake up at 6am.
Now I’ve found a guesthouse and I am desperately trying to catch up on my blogs which is impossible before the internet places shut down for the night. I’m sorry I’ve been so behind. I have so many stories to tell, including ones that would make the context of this story much more meaningful…
Yes for fieldwork!!
14 February
So I didn’t write about this earlier because I was afraid it may not go through, but I just got the confirmation!! I found out during fall quarter at UW that the lab I’ve been volunteering in, the Center for Conservation Biology at UW, was starting a new project in Cambodia in December. Funded by the World Wildlife Fund (think Panda), the project’s aim is to take a census of the tigers and leopards living in the Mondulkiri province of Cambodia. This province is much less developed than the rest of Cambodia, having rich forest that still support a surprising number of large fauna. NGOs such as WWF are interested in expanding eco-tourism opportunities in the region to help conserve the wildlife and diversity, similar to how safari tourism protects the Serengeti. I emailed the lab’s director, Dr. Wasser, about the opportunity for me to check out the project while I was in Mui Ne and he put me in touch with the two researchers out there, Jennifer and Liz. We communicated about the option of me joining them for several days but they needed to confirm that they would in fact be out of the field, in town, on the 21st of February and that it would be ok for me to join them (I think you need government permission to enter the park). I’ve been waiting for that email, rather impatiently while knowing they have limited email access, because it would dictate my travel plans and schedule.
I just got the email and I’m very excited about the opportunity. The fieldwork that the Center for Conservation Biology does is really exciting, plus the research fascinates me, and having spent nearly 2 years volunteering in the lab, processing samples from the field, I’m thrilled to be able to partake in the actual fieldwork.
I don’t know much about what to expect, except that: I will probably spend about 8 days (or more) in the field with them, it seems that you need private transport to get into the forest where they are and it isn’t easily accessible, I doubt there is electricity, I will be sleeping in a hammock with mosquito netting. The work consists of walking long distances daily with the lab’s specially trained “conservation canines.” The dogs are trained similar to drug detection police dogs. They find and identify the scat from various species. We work with them, rewarding their finds with play, and collecting the scat samples for later genetic and endocrine analysis in the lab.
My understanding is that the current work is an initial survey of the area to determine the number of individuals of tigers/leopards, and perhaps male to female ratio as well. This can all be done using this noninvasive sampling method, without ever disturbing the animals.
I think it’s unlikely the researchers ever see any tigers, and no matter how much I may want to, I know it’s better that we don’t… Besides, I’ve been lucky enough in my life to see tigers in the wild in India.
Have I mentioned how excited I am about this? Now I need to leave for the south immediately. Unfortunately, I will be missing a lot of Southern Laos and I have little time to relax any place along the way. The time in the field will also cut into my time to explore Cambodia. But this just means I will definitely have to come back to these countries. The opportunity is well worth the 10 days less traveling!
So I didn’t write about this earlier because I was afraid it may not go through, but I just got the confirmation!! I found out during fall quarter at UW that the lab I’ve been volunteering in, the Center for Conservation Biology at UW, was starting a new project in Cambodia in December. Funded by the World Wildlife Fund (think Panda), the project’s aim is to take a census of the tigers and leopards living in the Mondulkiri province of Cambodia. This province is much less developed than the rest of Cambodia, having rich forest that still support a surprising number of large fauna. NGOs such as WWF are interested in expanding eco-tourism opportunities in the region to help conserve the wildlife and diversity, similar to how safari tourism protects the Serengeti. I emailed the lab’s director, Dr. Wasser, about the opportunity for me to check out the project while I was in Mui Ne and he put me in touch with the two researchers out there, Jennifer and Liz. We communicated about the option of me joining them for several days but they needed to confirm that they would in fact be out of the field, in town, on the 21st of February and that it would be ok for me to join them (I think you need government permission to enter the park). I’ve been waiting for that email, rather impatiently while knowing they have limited email access, because it would dictate my travel plans and schedule.
I just got the email and I’m very excited about the opportunity. The fieldwork that the Center for Conservation Biology does is really exciting, plus the research fascinates me, and having spent nearly 2 years volunteering in the lab, processing samples from the field, I’m thrilled to be able to partake in the actual fieldwork.
I don’t know much about what to expect, except that: I will probably spend about 8 days (or more) in the field with them, it seems that you need private transport to get into the forest where they are and it isn’t easily accessible, I doubt there is electricity, I will be sleeping in a hammock with mosquito netting. The work consists of walking long distances daily with the lab’s specially trained “conservation canines.” The dogs are trained similar to drug detection police dogs. They find and identify the scat from various species. We work with them, rewarding their finds with play, and collecting the scat samples for later genetic and endocrine analysis in the lab.
My understanding is that the current work is an initial survey of the area to determine the number of individuals of tigers/leopards, and perhaps male to female ratio as well. This can all be done using this noninvasive sampling method, without ever disturbing the animals.
I think it’s unlikely the researchers ever see any tigers, and no matter how much I may want to, I know it’s better that we don’t… Besides, I’ve been lucky enough in my life to see tigers in the wild in India.
Have I mentioned how excited I am about this? Now I need to leave for the south immediately. Unfortunately, I will be missing a lot of Southern Laos and I have little time to relax any place along the way. The time in the field will also cut into my time to explore Cambodia. But this just means I will definitely have to come back to these countries. The opportunity is well worth the 10 days less traveling!
A day in Luang Prabang
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Luang Prabang is a beautiful, romantic town with rich Lao and French history. It has been preserved in it’s peaceful state despite being Laos’ tourism capital thanks to its UNESCO World Heritage status. The protected part of town doesn’t allow large buses down the streets and keeps an 11pm curfew on all the bars, preventing the town from becoming the “hedonists paradise” (to quote Lonely Planet) that is Vang Vieng.
My first day was wonderful. There is an organization in Laos called Big Brother Mouse (BBM). They print children’s books in Laos and English to provide reading material for village children and promote learning English. One of their main offices is in Luang Prabang. For $300US you can sponsor a “book party” and bring a supply of books to a remote village and spend the day reading with the kids. If you don’t have the money to donate you can volunteer each morning from 9am-11am at their office to practice English with any students that show up. Mostly the students are high school and college age.
I woke up early and headed to one of t several Western run cafes that are overpriced but offer some familiar comfort foods and delicious baked goods. Just seeing a proper espresso machine in a café was comforting and brought me home to Seattle, even though I don’t drink coffee! I enjoyed my black tea with sweet milk (condensed milk, try it, so good!) and a chocolate croissant (real chocolate!). Then I headed to BBM to find only one other traveler there to volunteer. Eventually 2 other travelers showed up to teach as well, but I was surprised that there were not more. Much of Luang Prabang is entirely travelers and tourists and BBM is highlighted in the Lonely Planet as a fun, easy way to volunteer and meet some students. I was really looking forward to it.
I spoke and read with Jacki for the 2 hours. He is a 20 year old college student studying education and English. He was excited to read with me and listen to me speak but seemed shy about constructing his own sentences. We read a BBM book about the ancient wonders of the world. I asked him questions about what we were reading and challenged him to use his English independently.
I learned a lot as well. After about an hour I asked the question, “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go to?” He looked confused and thought for a while and asked me to repeat the question. I did, speaking slower. He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote too and to. “Please explain me, I don’t understand difference,” he said.
Ah, I thought. Grammar. I was not the right person to teach grammar but I could give it a try. I began to explain the difference of when you use to in order to describe a destination and when you use too in order to describe likeness. Jacki shook his head. “I don’t hear difference,” he said. He also wrote down four & for, their & there, world & word.
Oh! He was asking me how to distinguish the difference in sound between the two words (no pun intended…). Suddenly a lot of my frustration in Vietnam made so much sense. Lao and Vietnamese are tonal languages, Vietnamese being the more difficult with 6 tones. When in Vietnam, I and many other travelers were frustrated by our inability to communicate with Vietnamese words. Try as we might to say “Lipton Sua Da” (Lipton tea w/ condensed milk) or “Pho Ga” or the name of a destination, no one could understand us. Often the context seemed so obvious we couldn’t believe that people didn’t figure out what we were trying to communicate. I knew I didn’t pronounce the tones correctly, but if I’m in a café what else could I be asking for? Sometimes, if you said the word more than 15 times you would get response, “Ahhhh, Lipton Sua Da!” Yes, finally! (later I found out that Da could mean both ice or milk depending on the tone, no wonder sometimes my tea was on ice!) It amazed me that people really had such a hard time understanding our attempts. Now, all at once, I was able to comprehend the extreme difference in how the Lao and Vietnamese listen to their language. In English we hear the whole word as part of the sentence order and context. If I say, “I’m going to the market to buy four eggs,” no native English speaker would mistake the sentence for, “I’m going too the market too by for eggs,” because that means nothing. However, here they are listening less for the word and more for the tone. In Vietnamese there are actual few “sounds” compared to the English dictionary of words, but each of these one syllable sounds can have 6 meanings with the correct tones applied, and most of them do! It makes little sense to them that we can have words that sound exactly the same, when we could easily be distinguishing them with tones. And it makes little sense to us that we can say the sounds of their words and not be understood. Jacki was looking for clarity to help him translate English sentences in his head when he didn’t know if he had just heard too or to. How confusing that must be!
I tried my best to explain our concept of “context.” I gave him examples and told him to take his best guess in difficult situations, he would probably be right.
After BBM I explored the various temples in town. I enjoy visiting the temples and taking some time to observe the young monks doing their daily chores. However, after several Wats you understand Lonely Planet’s use of the term “temple-fatigue.” I found it fascinating to discover that at one temple the entire front side was decorated by gold carvings depicting the Hindu epic of Ramayan. This made me curious to understand the shared history of Hinduism and Buddhism and where the religions overlapped in philosophies. (This resulted in me downloading a book on Hinduism, a book on Buddhism, and the Quran onto my Kindle, I’m excited to finally begin to read these ancient texts, something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time.)
At 5:30pm I returned to a large Wat to observe the evening prayer/chanting. Again I was surprised by the lack of other Westerners. There’s not that much to do in Luang Prabang, where is everyone? A girl my age entered and sat next to me. We waited for the young monks to filter into the temple. The novices took their places on the floor in front of us. They exchanged hushed comments and giggled. One boy folded a paper plane with what looked like a page ripped from his prayer book. After only a day in Luang Prabang, where you see many novice monks hanging around the town, you realize that they really are just boys. I think most Westerners feel a certain reverence when we see the shave head and orange robs. In Laos it is typical for boys to become a monk at some point in their childhood or teenage years, whether it is for several months or several years. Each boy has the freedom to decide to when he completes his “monk-hood.” Certainly, these boys are studying Buddhism and live with a certain level of discipline and simplicity, but you remember that they are also just children when you see them playing in the river, running in the streets, and even smoking cigarettes.
Soon the chanting began and my mind and heart thought of mom instantly. The monks recite their prayers in a tone that incredibly and immediately reverberates through your whole body. I’m sure my mother would describe the sensation as “waves of energy” continually passing through you. During the half-hour of chanting the young monks came and went. They asked permission from a monk at the doorway before they left, bowing to him, then running out. Outside we could hear their laughter. In front of us it was fascinating to watch them pass whispers between each other and giggle, sneaking glances back at the observing monk to check if he had caught them.
When the chanting finished they began a silent meditation. The monk next to us smiled and said, “You try! Meditation.” So I did. I sat upright with my legs crossed and tried to focus my mind on… nothing? Oh, if mom could see me now! I don’t know if she would be proud or laugh, probably both. For 15 minutes we were silent. Towards the end, I have to admit, I opened my eyes a couple of times. What if they had all started to get up and I was still sitting there with my eyes closed! So I’m not a natural at meditating having never asked my mother for any instruction and her never having imposed her daily routine on me. I’m not sure if meditation could be my thing, but yoga does interest me more and more.
Once all the monks got up, the monk that had told me to meditate came over and asked Laura (the Hungarian girl I was sitting next to) if we had some free time. We did and he invited us to sit with him and talk for a while so he could practice his English. We asked him some questions and we joked around. He told us he studied business and English in college and enjoyed being a monk. He thought he would probably finish his time in the Wat in about a year. He tied bright orange strings around our wrists and said a prayer for each of us wishing us a safe trip and success in our careers. We asked more questions about how they live and the rules they follow. Apparently, they are not allowed to play sports, such as football and basketball, and they are not supposed to intentionally condition/exercise their body. So why did so many of the teenage monks have surprisingly buff looking arms? We asked him. He laughed. Because the boys do push-ups and pull-ups in the bathroom where no one else can see them. Male teenagers are male teenagers, despite the orange robs, and they are still vain enough to want to show off. He did not partake in the secret workouts. In fact, I got the impression he may be gay. He asked us if we were interested in seeing his room. We were curious so we followed him into the house where all the monks have their rooms. He shared a room with a novice who slept on the floor, our monk had a bed and many pictures of himself taken by friends on the wall. It was cute, but when he asked us to sit and continue our conversation I think both Laura and I felt uncomfortable. There must be a line somewhere to how friendly we should be. After all, monks could not touch women, were they allowed to invite them into their bedrooms, gay or not? And besides, I was very hungy and ready for dinner. We thanked him for his hospitality and left. Maybe we would return tomorrow afternoon for another conversation, we had had a lot of fun.
(i'm hoping to find time eventually to write a blog about my experience at Tat Bak when the monks collect their alms in the morning... maybe in another week...)
Luang Prabang is a beautiful, romantic town with rich Lao and French history. It has been preserved in it’s peaceful state despite being Laos’ tourism capital thanks to its UNESCO World Heritage status. The protected part of town doesn’t allow large buses down the streets and keeps an 11pm curfew on all the bars, preventing the town from becoming the “hedonists paradise” (to quote Lonely Planet) that is Vang Vieng.
My first day was wonderful. There is an organization in Laos called Big Brother Mouse (BBM). They print children’s books in Laos and English to provide reading material for village children and promote learning English. One of their main offices is in Luang Prabang. For $300US you can sponsor a “book party” and bring a supply of books to a remote village and spend the day reading with the kids. If you don’t have the money to donate you can volunteer each morning from 9am-11am at their office to practice English with any students that show up. Mostly the students are high school and college age.
I woke up early and headed to one of t several Western run cafes that are overpriced but offer some familiar comfort foods and delicious baked goods. Just seeing a proper espresso machine in a café was comforting and brought me home to Seattle, even though I don’t drink coffee! I enjoyed my black tea with sweet milk (condensed milk, try it, so good!) and a chocolate croissant (real chocolate!). Then I headed to BBM to find only one other traveler there to volunteer. Eventually 2 other travelers showed up to teach as well, but I was surprised that there were not more. Much of Luang Prabang is entirely travelers and tourists and BBM is highlighted in the Lonely Planet as a fun, easy way to volunteer and meet some students. I was really looking forward to it.
I spoke and read with Jacki for the 2 hours. He is a 20 year old college student studying education and English. He was excited to read with me and listen to me speak but seemed shy about constructing his own sentences. We read a BBM book about the ancient wonders of the world. I asked him questions about what we were reading and challenged him to use his English independently.
I learned a lot as well. After about an hour I asked the question, “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go to?” He looked confused and thought for a while and asked me to repeat the question. I did, speaking slower. He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote too and to. “Please explain me, I don’t understand difference,” he said.
Ah, I thought. Grammar. I was not the right person to teach grammar but I could give it a try. I began to explain the difference of when you use to in order to describe a destination and when you use too in order to describe likeness. Jacki shook his head. “I don’t hear difference,” he said. He also wrote down four & for, their & there, world & word.
Oh! He was asking me how to distinguish the difference in sound between the two words (no pun intended…). Suddenly a lot of my frustration in Vietnam made so much sense. Lao and Vietnamese are tonal languages, Vietnamese being the more difficult with 6 tones. When in Vietnam, I and many other travelers were frustrated by our inability to communicate with Vietnamese words. Try as we might to say “Lipton Sua Da” (Lipton tea w/ condensed milk) or “Pho Ga” or the name of a destination, no one could understand us. Often the context seemed so obvious we couldn’t believe that people didn’t figure out what we were trying to communicate. I knew I didn’t pronounce the tones correctly, but if I’m in a café what else could I be asking for? Sometimes, if you said the word more than 15 times you would get response, “Ahhhh, Lipton Sua Da!” Yes, finally! (later I found out that Da could mean both ice or milk depending on the tone, no wonder sometimes my tea was on ice!) It amazed me that people really had such a hard time understanding our attempts. Now, all at once, I was able to comprehend the extreme difference in how the Lao and Vietnamese listen to their language. In English we hear the whole word as part of the sentence order and context. If I say, “I’m going to the market to buy four eggs,” no native English speaker would mistake the sentence for, “I’m going too the market too by for eggs,” because that means nothing. However, here they are listening less for the word and more for the tone. In Vietnamese there are actual few “sounds” compared to the English dictionary of words, but each of these one syllable sounds can have 6 meanings with the correct tones applied, and most of them do! It makes little sense to them that we can have words that sound exactly the same, when we could easily be distinguishing them with tones. And it makes little sense to us that we can say the sounds of their words and not be understood. Jacki was looking for clarity to help him translate English sentences in his head when he didn’t know if he had just heard too or to. How confusing that must be!
I tried my best to explain our concept of “context.” I gave him examples and told him to take his best guess in difficult situations, he would probably be right.
After BBM I explored the various temples in town. I enjoy visiting the temples and taking some time to observe the young monks doing their daily chores. However, after several Wats you understand Lonely Planet’s use of the term “temple-fatigue.” I found it fascinating to discover that at one temple the entire front side was decorated by gold carvings depicting the Hindu epic of Ramayan. This made me curious to understand the shared history of Hinduism and Buddhism and where the religions overlapped in philosophies. (This resulted in me downloading a book on Hinduism, a book on Buddhism, and the Quran onto my Kindle, I’m excited to finally begin to read these ancient texts, something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time.)
At 5:30pm I returned to a large Wat to observe the evening prayer/chanting. Again I was surprised by the lack of other Westerners. There’s not that much to do in Luang Prabang, where is everyone? A girl my age entered and sat next to me. We waited for the young monks to filter into the temple. The novices took their places on the floor in front of us. They exchanged hushed comments and giggled. One boy folded a paper plane with what looked like a page ripped from his prayer book. After only a day in Luang Prabang, where you see many novice monks hanging around the town, you realize that they really are just boys. I think most Westerners feel a certain reverence when we see the shave head and orange robs. In Laos it is typical for boys to become a monk at some point in their childhood or teenage years, whether it is for several months or several years. Each boy has the freedom to decide to when he completes his “monk-hood.” Certainly, these boys are studying Buddhism and live with a certain level of discipline and simplicity, but you remember that they are also just children when you see them playing in the river, running in the streets, and even smoking cigarettes.
Soon the chanting began and my mind and heart thought of mom instantly. The monks recite their prayers in a tone that incredibly and immediately reverberates through your whole body. I’m sure my mother would describe the sensation as “waves of energy” continually passing through you. During the half-hour of chanting the young monks came and went. They asked permission from a monk at the doorway before they left, bowing to him, then running out. Outside we could hear their laughter. In front of us it was fascinating to watch them pass whispers between each other and giggle, sneaking glances back at the observing monk to check if he had caught them.
When the chanting finished they began a silent meditation. The monk next to us smiled and said, “You try! Meditation.” So I did. I sat upright with my legs crossed and tried to focus my mind on… nothing? Oh, if mom could see me now! I don’t know if she would be proud or laugh, probably both. For 15 minutes we were silent. Towards the end, I have to admit, I opened my eyes a couple of times. What if they had all started to get up and I was still sitting there with my eyes closed! So I’m not a natural at meditating having never asked my mother for any instruction and her never having imposed her daily routine on me. I’m not sure if meditation could be my thing, but yoga does interest me more and more.
Once all the monks got up, the monk that had told me to meditate came over and asked Laura (the Hungarian girl I was sitting next to) if we had some free time. We did and he invited us to sit with him and talk for a while so he could practice his English. We asked him some questions and we joked around. He told us he studied business and English in college and enjoyed being a monk. He thought he would probably finish his time in the Wat in about a year. He tied bright orange strings around our wrists and said a prayer for each of us wishing us a safe trip and success in our careers. We asked more questions about how they live and the rules they follow. Apparently, they are not allowed to play sports, such as football and basketball, and they are not supposed to intentionally condition/exercise their body. So why did so many of the teenage monks have surprisingly buff looking arms? We asked him. He laughed. Because the boys do push-ups and pull-ups in the bathroom where no one else can see them. Male teenagers are male teenagers, despite the orange robs, and they are still vain enough to want to show off. He did not partake in the secret workouts. In fact, I got the impression he may be gay. He asked us if we were interested in seeing his room. We were curious so we followed him into the house where all the monks have their rooms. He shared a room with a novice who slept on the floor, our monk had a bed and many pictures of himself taken by friends on the wall. It was cute, but when he asked us to sit and continue our conversation I think both Laura and I felt uncomfortable. There must be a line somewhere to how friendly we should be. After all, monks could not touch women, were they allowed to invite them into their bedrooms, gay or not? And besides, I was very hungy and ready for dinner. We thanked him for his hospitality and left. Maybe we would return tomorrow afternoon for another conversation, we had had a lot of fun.
(i'm hoping to find time eventually to write a blog about my experience at Tat Bak when the monks collect their alms in the morning... maybe in another week...)
Grief
February 9th, 2010
After a night in Oudamaxi, Dina and I headed to Luang Nam Tha. This time the trip was smooth, with only one flat tire, fixed in 20 minutes. From Luang Nam Tha we took a bus to Muong Sing, arriving at 6pm. In Muong Sing we would try to find a trekking company the next day. We had reached our destination after 4 days of busses.
By the end of Friday we had a group of four for a two-day “trek + homestay.” Dina, Ben (Australian), Chris (Austrian), and myself. Saturday morning we headed out. The first day of “trekking” consisted of walking through several villages of different ethnic minorities. The visits were brief and we mostly only interacted with the children by taking pictures. Our guide was a wonderful young woman named Phuang. She had been working in the office for the trekking “company” for the past several months, we were only the 2nd trek she had led. Her English wasn’t that limited but it was a challenge to convey our curiosity about the tribes and ask questions. So we didn’t learn very much about our surroundings, but she was really fun company.
At one village we spent awhile in the empty school “house” teaching each other phrases in our respective languages, taking turns to be the teacher in front of the blackboard. Earnestly, Phuang asked Ben, “Teach me something in Australian!”
Some of the women still wore the traditional headdresses of thick fabric and bead work. The eldest women wore traditional attire. The tribes we visited were the Akha, Yao, and one more I’ve forgotten the name of. It was nice to walk through the country and see the villages up close, instead of from a bus, and these villages did not have road access. But the experiences were quite shallow. The most time we spent was when two women invited us to sit with them on their porch. I was excited, perhaps we could ask some questions about their culture! Their spoken Lao was limited, however, and Phuang did not speak Akha. We were offered the bark of a tree wrapped in a packet of leaves that the women all chew. We all accepted and giggled as we chewed the bitter bark which left a dark red stain on our tongue and teeth. The women of the Akha chew this bark so much that their lips seem permanently stained with the red which I had at first mistaken for some type of disease. We attempted an exchange and asked Phuang to ask the women their names. Some heated conversation began between our guide and the women and then we were told that they could not tell us their names, it was rude of us to ask. That is the first time I have encountered a cultural boundary that could be crossed so easily! Something to do with spirits knowing their names and us being strangers… Our visit ended shortly after when the women began to ask us to give them money. A gift? A donation? For the bark? We were disappointed that when we each gave them 5,000kip they wanted more. We left.
The most fascinating thing I learned of the Akha culture: When a boy is of age to marry his family builds him a small house. They find a suitable girl for him and they sleep together, separate from the family, in the house for several months. If the girl does not get pregnant she returns to her family and they try again with a new girl. Only once a girl gets pregnant do they get married. I found this fascinating because it is so different from the cultures I’m familiar with. It reminded me how many differences there are in the world between customs and cultures, from casual introductions to sexual relations.
For one reason or another I had been thinking a lot about mom over the course of the day. I felt pensive as we reached the village we would be spending the night in. Upon arriving at the house we would sleep in we encountered an elderly woman with several children observing us. Within seconds I noticed how skinny she was. Her neck pulled forward from shortened muscles, her arms were skin and bone, and her cheek bones were prominent. She didn’t seem ill in any particular way and I don’t know why she appeared so weak and famished, but the image deeply upset me. When she smiled I could see the effort exerted to exude the energy. She clearly still played a role in the chores of the home and wasn’t disabled, but some illness was affecting her weight, mobility, and energy. And her movements, body, and smile reminded me too sharply of mom’s illness. I couldn’t watch her, I couldn’t interact with her. I always try hard to remember mom in the past, healthy and happy. I’ve discovered that watching television shows about hospitals, seeing death in movies, or people physically suffering in any form in reality makes me extremely emotional. Watching this emaciated woman move about in front of me was too much and I had to work to distract myself with other thoughts. I walked around the village alone.
Soon it was time for dinner and we ate together without any of the family. I had suspected that this trek would not include what I consider a legit “homestay,” but now I was relieved that it was just us. As we began to eat the village chief joined us. He was very apologetic as he explained that unfortunately they would not be able to put on the traditional dance performance we had been told we would see. “Why?” we asked. A man from the village had died today, he told us. The family had already lost their mother and now they had just lost their father in a hunting accident, they were grieving and it would be rude to hold the dance performance. This was getting too much for me. My heart ached for the children. We were asked if we perhaps wanted to give some money as a donation to the family. Of course, I thought. One of us asked, “What do they need the money for?” “Funerals are expensive,” I replied. Despite the diversity of customs that exist across cultures, one thing I’m sure of, everyone wants to be able to give their loved ones the honor of a proper ceremony and remembrance, despite any lack of wealth. We all agreed to give 20,000kip each. I went to sleep with a heavy heart.
When I woke the next morning I was excited to see two texts on my mobile from Atish. Yay!
The first one read, “Hope you are having fun. Please text me when you get this.”
The second one read, “Can I call you? I had to take Sapphire to the vet, she’s not doing so well.”
My excitement was gone. Sapphire’s sick? She seemed so healthy when I left. We had moved her to Atish’s so that he could take care of her and she seemed to love it there. Atish calls me and I learned that he took Sapphire to the emergency vet and found out that she was suffering from both a tumor in her lungs and kidney failure. How could that be possible? At 15 years old, I knew she was old but hoped she had a couple more years.
I was so upset that I couldn’t be there with her. I imagined my poor cat in a kennel with a collapsed lung and I couldn’t be there to comfort her. In combination with everything from the day before I couldn’t handle it and I broke down. My group was sweet and tried to cheer me up, but I just waited for Atish’s next call. He managed to get a hold of Dad, who was just leaving Vietnam. Sapphire couldn’t wait 24+ hours for him to get home. We continued to exchange texts and calls, and at the beginning of our trek through the forest Sapphire was put to sleep. Sapphire was with me since I was 7 years old. She was my only friend when we moved from New York to Seattle and my confidant when mom was sick. I felt horrible for not being with her, but I’m so grateful that Atish was there to show her how much she was loved.
In all, the trek was a nice experience and I enjoyed the company of my group, but it was a rough weekend. The next day on my way to Luang Prabang I shared half of my fish dinner with two skinny kittens at a roadside restaurant.
After a night in Oudamaxi, Dina and I headed to Luang Nam Tha. This time the trip was smooth, with only one flat tire, fixed in 20 minutes. From Luang Nam Tha we took a bus to Muong Sing, arriving at 6pm. In Muong Sing we would try to find a trekking company the next day. We had reached our destination after 4 days of busses.
By the end of Friday we had a group of four for a two-day “trek + homestay.” Dina, Ben (Australian), Chris (Austrian), and myself. Saturday morning we headed out. The first day of “trekking” consisted of walking through several villages of different ethnic minorities. The visits were brief and we mostly only interacted with the children by taking pictures. Our guide was a wonderful young woman named Phuang. She had been working in the office for the trekking “company” for the past several months, we were only the 2nd trek she had led. Her English wasn’t that limited but it was a challenge to convey our curiosity about the tribes and ask questions. So we didn’t learn very much about our surroundings, but she was really fun company.
At one village we spent awhile in the empty school “house” teaching each other phrases in our respective languages, taking turns to be the teacher in front of the blackboard. Earnestly, Phuang asked Ben, “Teach me something in Australian!”
Some of the women still wore the traditional headdresses of thick fabric and bead work. The eldest women wore traditional attire. The tribes we visited were the Akha, Yao, and one more I’ve forgotten the name of. It was nice to walk through the country and see the villages up close, instead of from a bus, and these villages did not have road access. But the experiences were quite shallow. The most time we spent was when two women invited us to sit with them on their porch. I was excited, perhaps we could ask some questions about their culture! Their spoken Lao was limited, however, and Phuang did not speak Akha. We were offered the bark of a tree wrapped in a packet of leaves that the women all chew. We all accepted and giggled as we chewed the bitter bark which left a dark red stain on our tongue and teeth. The women of the Akha chew this bark so much that their lips seem permanently stained with the red which I had at first mistaken for some type of disease. We attempted an exchange and asked Phuang to ask the women their names. Some heated conversation began between our guide and the women and then we were told that they could not tell us their names, it was rude of us to ask. That is the first time I have encountered a cultural boundary that could be crossed so easily! Something to do with spirits knowing their names and us being strangers… Our visit ended shortly after when the women began to ask us to give them money. A gift? A donation? For the bark? We were disappointed that when we each gave them 5,000kip they wanted more. We left.
The most fascinating thing I learned of the Akha culture: When a boy is of age to marry his family builds him a small house. They find a suitable girl for him and they sleep together, separate from the family, in the house for several months. If the girl does not get pregnant she returns to her family and they try again with a new girl. Only once a girl gets pregnant do they get married. I found this fascinating because it is so different from the cultures I’m familiar with. It reminded me how many differences there are in the world between customs and cultures, from casual introductions to sexual relations.
For one reason or another I had been thinking a lot about mom over the course of the day. I felt pensive as we reached the village we would be spending the night in. Upon arriving at the house we would sleep in we encountered an elderly woman with several children observing us. Within seconds I noticed how skinny she was. Her neck pulled forward from shortened muscles, her arms were skin and bone, and her cheek bones were prominent. She didn’t seem ill in any particular way and I don’t know why she appeared so weak and famished, but the image deeply upset me. When she smiled I could see the effort exerted to exude the energy. She clearly still played a role in the chores of the home and wasn’t disabled, but some illness was affecting her weight, mobility, and energy. And her movements, body, and smile reminded me too sharply of mom’s illness. I couldn’t watch her, I couldn’t interact with her. I always try hard to remember mom in the past, healthy and happy. I’ve discovered that watching television shows about hospitals, seeing death in movies, or people physically suffering in any form in reality makes me extremely emotional. Watching this emaciated woman move about in front of me was too much and I had to work to distract myself with other thoughts. I walked around the village alone.
Soon it was time for dinner and we ate together without any of the family. I had suspected that this trek would not include what I consider a legit “homestay,” but now I was relieved that it was just us. As we began to eat the village chief joined us. He was very apologetic as he explained that unfortunately they would not be able to put on the traditional dance performance we had been told we would see. “Why?” we asked. A man from the village had died today, he told us. The family had already lost their mother and now they had just lost their father in a hunting accident, they were grieving and it would be rude to hold the dance performance. This was getting too much for me. My heart ached for the children. We were asked if we perhaps wanted to give some money as a donation to the family. Of course, I thought. One of us asked, “What do they need the money for?” “Funerals are expensive,” I replied. Despite the diversity of customs that exist across cultures, one thing I’m sure of, everyone wants to be able to give their loved ones the honor of a proper ceremony and remembrance, despite any lack of wealth. We all agreed to give 20,000kip each. I went to sleep with a heavy heart.
When I woke the next morning I was excited to see two texts on my mobile from Atish. Yay!
The first one read, “Hope you are having fun. Please text me when you get this.”
The second one read, “Can I call you? I had to take Sapphire to the vet, she’s not doing so well.”
My excitement was gone. Sapphire’s sick? She seemed so healthy when I left. We had moved her to Atish’s so that he could take care of her and she seemed to love it there. Atish calls me and I learned that he took Sapphire to the emergency vet and found out that she was suffering from both a tumor in her lungs and kidney failure. How could that be possible? At 15 years old, I knew she was old but hoped she had a couple more years.
I was so upset that I couldn’t be there with her. I imagined my poor cat in a kennel with a collapsed lung and I couldn’t be there to comfort her. In combination with everything from the day before I couldn’t handle it and I broke down. My group was sweet and tried to cheer me up, but I just waited for Atish’s next call. He managed to get a hold of Dad, who was just leaving Vietnam. Sapphire couldn’t wait 24+ hours for him to get home. We continued to exchange texts and calls, and at the beginning of our trek through the forest Sapphire was put to sleep. Sapphire was with me since I was 7 years old. She was my only friend when we moved from New York to Seattle and my confidant when mom was sick. I felt horrible for not being with her, but I’m so grateful that Atish was there to show her how much she was loved.
In all, the trek was a nice experience and I enjoyed the company of my group, but it was a rough weekend. The next day on my way to Luang Prabang I shared half of my fish dinner with two skinny kittens at a roadside restaurant.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Pictures!
I'm still working on catching up with my journal, but until then here are some highlights from my trip so far. Enjoy!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
New to Laos (part 2 of 2)
2/2/10
Still Tuesday:
We all cleared “customs” with our new visas for Laos. We were told the bus would come by 10am to continue our journey. It came after 1pm, except it was a different bus. Apparently, they had transferred all of our baggage from the first bus to a new Laotian bus. They had not told us this would happen and we were all relieved that two of the guys had decided to walk back to the bus to check on it and had ensured that all of our bags, water bottles, small bags, and snacks had made it to the new bus.
We eagerly boarded the bus. We rolled forward 20m and then everyone got off again. Huh? The bus pulled ahead another 30m, we walked along side it, past the border control office. Then we got back on. Apparently, you can’t be on a vehicle when you cross the border?
Relieved to be on the bus and on our way, we settled into our seat with zero leg room. Twenty minutes later we were stopped again. In front of us was another construction site. The sign said the road would open at 4pm. We waited in the dust for 30 minutes and somehow they had cleared the road enough to let us through. Again we were on our way!
“Let’s see how long we can go without stopping,” I said to Dina, the Israeli I was sitting with.
5 minutes later we stopped again. This time we could see the massive hills of dirt blocking our way. “You opened your mouth to the devil. Do you have this expression in English?” Dina asked.
“No, but I think I understand it,” I smiled. We waited an hour this time to get through.
A total of 6 times, I believe, we were stopped by road construction, sometimes waiting 20 minutes, once waiting 2 hours. The worst of it was that no one had anticipated this. We were quickly running out of water and no one had eaten lunch, much less a decent breakfast.
Everyone was hungry. I was amazed by one family with two little boys. One about 2 years old and the other still breast feeding. The family was so quiet, including the children. They waited patiently on the bus with every stop. Those children must have been so hungry. The last stop we faced such an upheaved road that we couldn’t see any flat road ahead. There was only one back-hoe working hard, but it was piling dirt from the cliff onto the road, the wrong way! We thought perhaps we would be on the road all night; it seemed there was no way this could be cleared before dark. Amazingly, the one back-hoe did it. Ultimately, we arrived in Muong Kwah at 5:30pm, 12 hours after our 5 hour bus ride had begun.
The positive of this trip was meeting all the cool travellers on the bus with me. We all stayed in the same guest house together and enjoyed dinner together, sharing travel adventures and advice. Dina and I discussed travel plans and she asked me if I was interested in staying in Northern Laos with her instead of going straight to Luang Prabang. I decided it would be fun to have someone to travel with for a couple days and to see more of Northern Laos before arriving in LP, a chance to trek and maybe do a home-stay.
Wednesday
The next morning we left together, saying good bye to the rest of the group who would head south. We caught a bus to Oudamaxi to then head to Luang Nam Tha. I was surprised to see the same family with the two little boys on the bus with us again to Oudamaxi. This poor family was traveling for so long with two little kids. And they really didn’t look like they had anything to eat with them. But the boys were so good, quietly playing together and napping on their parents’ laps. The father took an equal role in comforting the children. Occassionally I could get a smile from the father, but the mother was completely silent and with no facial expressions. It seemed that she was entirely concentrated on getting to their destination, with no energy for social interactions. The couple would speak quietly together. They were wearing the same clothes as the long day before in the dust, and their entire belongings they had with them were in one large backpack. I wondered how much the bus tickets must cost for them.
We arrived in Oudamaxi without any problems. Dina and I found the bank and exchanged some money and checked our emails. I found a Chinese restaurant by the bus station. There is a large Chinese influence in Laos, particularly Northern Laos. China is sponsoring the construction of a major highway through the country that will quickly alter Laos’ innocent landscape. With new “friendship” bridges and borders opened, the exchange is for several hundred-thousand hectares of Laotian forest to be at China’s disposal for timber extraction. One could say Laos has forest to spare, but I’m sure the local communities would disagree, and on a whole SE Asia does not have forest to spare. Laos has some of the last primary forests supporting endemic species. Like Japan to Canada, China needs its neighbor’s resources to support its booming industry and economy. Now, before tourism and industry take over, is the time to visit Laos. It is one of the most peaceful, simple countries to travel through. I regret I don’t have more time and a companion to see Lao properly. Instead, I’m mostly stuck on the tourist track. Though, in Laos, you still don’t see many other Westerner’s even when you are taking buses between main destinations and the people are wonderful.
So, I found a Chinese restaurant for lunch. I asked for a menu with my hands but didn’t really expect to find one. A group of Chinese men were sitting around a table, enjoying a large meal. They asked me to join them. I tried to decline as politely as possible. Sometimes local invitations are wonderful, but I usually avoid invitations by groups of young men, the attention (staring rather) is not what I’m interested in.
The restaurant owner took me by the arm a carton of eggs and picked one up. “Yes, hao.” I said. Eggs with a stir-fry would be great. She picked up a tomato. Ok! Then she pointed to the bowl of steamed rice on the table of the men. The message was clear, “Fried-rice with egg.”
I didn’t really feel like fried-rice. It’s so generic. That must have been why she suggested it to me, a fa-rang as they call us westerners. I stared over the shoulders of the men, examining the delicious looking vegetable dishes. I felt like my father. He always makes his rounds in restaurants to inspect everyone else food. I point to some dish that looks yummy and try to ask for it with eggs. The woman shakes her head violently. Again she points to the egg in her hand and the rice on the table. And then she points to me! “You will have fried-rice.” I try again, “Can I try this dish?” Her head shakes and I submit. Fried rice it is. Why don’t I remember my Chinese from university? Karin, where are you?
Several minutes later a man (must have been the woman’s husband) walks out of the kitchen carrying a dish of tofu in some type of spicy tomato sauce. I point to it and ask him for it. He gets excited and agrees to make it for me. It’s delicious! Mixed with the fried rice, now I have a good meal. I find here that eating rice fills me up quickly, but I’m soon just as hungry as I was. I don’t think my body is capable of really digesting the rice and getting the energy from it that people here clearly rely on. I prefer to eat noodles and vegetables (and sometimes french fries!).
We board our bus to Luang Nam Tha, and once more there is the same family with the boys. The ride should take 4 hours, we will be passing only several Kms away from the Chinese border at one point. 30 minutes into the trip we hear a metallic snap, some grinding, and the bus pulls over. That did not sound like a flat tire. Everyone gets out. The driver begins the steps to what looks like fixing a flat tire, lowering the spare and pulling out the jack. But I don’t see a flat.
Instead, what I do see is the bus sitting extremely low over one of the back wheels. Could the axil have snapped? As Dina pointed out, the driver was fairly careless about navigating this section of a very bad road, we had been bouncing out of our seats. I’m starting to get a hang of this Lao travelling. I pull out my kindle and settle down on my large plastic map to read. Dina entertains an older man who seems really keen to practice his fading English skills. After 45min the word is that the bus is very broken. They will send another bus to pick us up and continue to Luang Nam Tha. When? No one knows. Soon. We wait.
Dina suggests hitchhiking. I’m not opposed to the idea since I am with her, but it’s getting late and if we don’t find a vehicle going directly to our destination we may be somewhere we don’t want to be in the dark. Besides, all the vehicles passing us are already full. We wait longer. I ask when the bus is coming. 10 minutes someone says. Bullshit. 30 minutes later I ask again. Does anyone know if a bus is actually on its way? I decide to try to see if I can spark some incentive in everyone that is standing so patiently and apathetic on the side of the road. I’m starting to get cold, and the sun is going down. If I can’t get a real answer I’m not waiting for a mythical bus. I raise my voice and ask, “When? When is the bus coming?” No one knows. The driver has a phone, why doesn’t he call and check? I point to the driver, I imitate a phone call, “Can he call?” He was on his phone earlier. “No,” seems to be the response. I look at the driver and ask him to call, he just looks at me and laughs shaking his head. No one seems to be communicating directly with the driver. A young man from Vientiane and his girlfriend said that they lied to him when they told him the bus would come in 10 minutes, 1 hour ago. Ok, I tried. Even when I am more aggressive about it no one will tell me that the bus is actually on its way (someone had said it was coming from Luang Prabang which is 5 hours away at least). They aren’t even lying to say that a bus will be here soon, and in my experience that is not a good sign of progress. There is no way I am waiting in the cold and dark on the side of the road where every time a vehicle passes we get surrounded by dust.
A tuk-tuk (pick-up truck with bench seats) has arrived and is waiting on the road for 2 girls from Vientiane who seem to be deciding to head back to Oudamaxi. Dina and I are uncertain of what to do. If we go back we lose the 35,000 kip ($4 US) for the ticket and have to pay for the tuk-tuk. And what if another bus does come? I find it highly unlikely that will happen in the next 3 hours. I’d much rather spend the night in a bed then on the road in the cold. After a game of chicken with the other 2 girls, seeing who would cave first to head back, just in case the bus comes in the next minute.
Ultimately, the 2 girls and the couple from Vientiane head back with us to town. It seems that those who could afford to buy the 2nd ticket and a night in a guest-house went back. Everyone else was more willing to wait it out in the cold, either of incredible patience or necessity. Before we left I gave the mother of the family my packet of biscuits. She seemed very surprised and she shook her head at first, but I only had to ask her once more and she took it. It wasn’t much, but at least something for the little boys. I felt so bad for them and hoped the bus would come soon so they could reach their destination. I don’t know where they started or how far they were still headed, but this would be the end of their 2nd day of non-stop travel without food or water each day that I had witnessed.
Tomorrow, maybe, we will reach our destination...
Still Tuesday:
We all cleared “customs” with our new visas for Laos. We were told the bus would come by 10am to continue our journey. It came after 1pm, except it was a different bus. Apparently, they had transferred all of our baggage from the first bus to a new Laotian bus. They had not told us this would happen and we were all relieved that two of the guys had decided to walk back to the bus to check on it and had ensured that all of our bags, water bottles, small bags, and snacks had made it to the new bus.
We eagerly boarded the bus. We rolled forward 20m and then everyone got off again. Huh? The bus pulled ahead another 30m, we walked along side it, past the border control office. Then we got back on. Apparently, you can’t be on a vehicle when you cross the border?
Relieved to be on the bus and on our way, we settled into our seat with zero leg room. Twenty minutes later we were stopped again. In front of us was another construction site. The sign said the road would open at 4pm. We waited in the dust for 30 minutes and somehow they had cleared the road enough to let us through. Again we were on our way!
“Let’s see how long we can go without stopping,” I said to Dina, the Israeli I was sitting with.
5 minutes later we stopped again. This time we could see the massive hills of dirt blocking our way. “You opened your mouth to the devil. Do you have this expression in English?” Dina asked.
“No, but I think I understand it,” I smiled. We waited an hour this time to get through.
A total of 6 times, I believe, we were stopped by road construction, sometimes waiting 20 minutes, once waiting 2 hours. The worst of it was that no one had anticipated this. We were quickly running out of water and no one had eaten lunch, much less a decent breakfast.
Everyone was hungry. I was amazed by one family with two little boys. One about 2 years old and the other still breast feeding. The family was so quiet, including the children. They waited patiently on the bus with every stop. Those children must have been so hungry. The last stop we faced such an upheaved road that we couldn’t see any flat road ahead. There was only one back-hoe working hard, but it was piling dirt from the cliff onto the road, the wrong way! We thought perhaps we would be on the road all night; it seemed there was no way this could be cleared before dark. Amazingly, the one back-hoe did it. Ultimately, we arrived in Muong Kwah at 5:30pm, 12 hours after our 5 hour bus ride had begun.
The positive of this trip was meeting all the cool travellers on the bus with me. We all stayed in the same guest house together and enjoyed dinner together, sharing travel adventures and advice. Dina and I discussed travel plans and she asked me if I was interested in staying in Northern Laos with her instead of going straight to Luang Prabang. I decided it would be fun to have someone to travel with for a couple days and to see more of Northern Laos before arriving in LP, a chance to trek and maybe do a home-stay.
Wednesday
The next morning we left together, saying good bye to the rest of the group who would head south. We caught a bus to Oudamaxi to then head to Luang Nam Tha. I was surprised to see the same family with the two little boys on the bus with us again to Oudamaxi. This poor family was traveling for so long with two little kids. And they really didn’t look like they had anything to eat with them. But the boys were so good, quietly playing together and napping on their parents’ laps. The father took an equal role in comforting the children. Occassionally I could get a smile from the father, but the mother was completely silent and with no facial expressions. It seemed that she was entirely concentrated on getting to their destination, with no energy for social interactions. The couple would speak quietly together. They were wearing the same clothes as the long day before in the dust, and their entire belongings they had with them were in one large backpack. I wondered how much the bus tickets must cost for them.
We arrived in Oudamaxi without any problems. Dina and I found the bank and exchanged some money and checked our emails. I found a Chinese restaurant by the bus station. There is a large Chinese influence in Laos, particularly Northern Laos. China is sponsoring the construction of a major highway through the country that will quickly alter Laos’ innocent landscape. With new “friendship” bridges and borders opened, the exchange is for several hundred-thousand hectares of Laotian forest to be at China’s disposal for timber extraction. One could say Laos has forest to spare, but I’m sure the local communities would disagree, and on a whole SE Asia does not have forest to spare. Laos has some of the last primary forests supporting endemic species. Like Japan to Canada, China needs its neighbor’s resources to support its booming industry and economy. Now, before tourism and industry take over, is the time to visit Laos. It is one of the most peaceful, simple countries to travel through. I regret I don’t have more time and a companion to see Lao properly. Instead, I’m mostly stuck on the tourist track. Though, in Laos, you still don’t see many other Westerner’s even when you are taking buses between main destinations and the people are wonderful.
So, I found a Chinese restaurant for lunch. I asked for a menu with my hands but didn’t really expect to find one. A group of Chinese men were sitting around a table, enjoying a large meal. They asked me to join them. I tried to decline as politely as possible. Sometimes local invitations are wonderful, but I usually avoid invitations by groups of young men, the attention (staring rather) is not what I’m interested in.
The restaurant owner took me by the arm a carton of eggs and picked one up. “Yes, hao.” I said. Eggs with a stir-fry would be great. She picked up a tomato. Ok! Then she pointed to the bowl of steamed rice on the table of the men. The message was clear, “Fried-rice with egg.”
I didn’t really feel like fried-rice. It’s so generic. That must have been why she suggested it to me, a fa-rang as they call us westerners. I stared over the shoulders of the men, examining the delicious looking vegetable dishes. I felt like my father. He always makes his rounds in restaurants to inspect everyone else food. I point to some dish that looks yummy and try to ask for it with eggs. The woman shakes her head violently. Again she points to the egg in her hand and the rice on the table. And then she points to me! “You will have fried-rice.” I try again, “Can I try this dish?” Her head shakes and I submit. Fried rice it is. Why don’t I remember my Chinese from university? Karin, where are you?
Several minutes later a man (must have been the woman’s husband) walks out of the kitchen carrying a dish of tofu in some type of spicy tomato sauce. I point to it and ask him for it. He gets excited and agrees to make it for me. It’s delicious! Mixed with the fried rice, now I have a good meal. I find here that eating rice fills me up quickly, but I’m soon just as hungry as I was. I don’t think my body is capable of really digesting the rice and getting the energy from it that people here clearly rely on. I prefer to eat noodles and vegetables (and sometimes french fries!).
We board our bus to Luang Nam Tha, and once more there is the same family with the boys. The ride should take 4 hours, we will be passing only several Kms away from the Chinese border at one point. 30 minutes into the trip we hear a metallic snap, some grinding, and the bus pulls over. That did not sound like a flat tire. Everyone gets out. The driver begins the steps to what looks like fixing a flat tire, lowering the spare and pulling out the jack. But I don’t see a flat.
Instead, what I do see is the bus sitting extremely low over one of the back wheels. Could the axil have snapped? As Dina pointed out, the driver was fairly careless about navigating this section of a very bad road, we had been bouncing out of our seats. I’m starting to get a hang of this Lao travelling. I pull out my kindle and settle down on my large plastic map to read. Dina entertains an older man who seems really keen to practice his fading English skills. After 45min the word is that the bus is very broken. They will send another bus to pick us up and continue to Luang Nam Tha. When? No one knows. Soon. We wait.
Dina suggests hitchhiking. I’m not opposed to the idea since I am with her, but it’s getting late and if we don’t find a vehicle going directly to our destination we may be somewhere we don’t want to be in the dark. Besides, all the vehicles passing us are already full. We wait longer. I ask when the bus is coming. 10 minutes someone says. Bullshit. 30 minutes later I ask again. Does anyone know if a bus is actually on its way? I decide to try to see if I can spark some incentive in everyone that is standing so patiently and apathetic on the side of the road. I’m starting to get cold, and the sun is going down. If I can’t get a real answer I’m not waiting for a mythical bus. I raise my voice and ask, “When? When is the bus coming?” No one knows. The driver has a phone, why doesn’t he call and check? I point to the driver, I imitate a phone call, “Can he call?” He was on his phone earlier. “No,” seems to be the response. I look at the driver and ask him to call, he just looks at me and laughs shaking his head. No one seems to be communicating directly with the driver. A young man from Vientiane and his girlfriend said that they lied to him when they told him the bus would come in 10 minutes, 1 hour ago. Ok, I tried. Even when I am more aggressive about it no one will tell me that the bus is actually on its way (someone had said it was coming from Luang Prabang which is 5 hours away at least). They aren’t even lying to say that a bus will be here soon, and in my experience that is not a good sign of progress. There is no way I am waiting in the cold and dark on the side of the road where every time a vehicle passes we get surrounded by dust.
A tuk-tuk (pick-up truck with bench seats) has arrived and is waiting on the road for 2 girls from Vientiane who seem to be deciding to head back to Oudamaxi. Dina and I are uncertain of what to do. If we go back we lose the 35,000 kip ($4 US) for the ticket and have to pay for the tuk-tuk. And what if another bus does come? I find it highly unlikely that will happen in the next 3 hours. I’d much rather spend the night in a bed then on the road in the cold. After a game of chicken with the other 2 girls, seeing who would cave first to head back, just in case the bus comes in the next minute.
Ultimately, the 2 girls and the couple from Vientiane head back with us to town. It seems that those who could afford to buy the 2nd ticket and a night in a guest-house went back. Everyone else was more willing to wait it out in the cold, either of incredible patience or necessity. Before we left I gave the mother of the family my packet of biscuits. She seemed very surprised and she shook her head at first, but I only had to ask her once more and she took it. It wasn’t much, but at least something for the little boys. I felt so bad for them and hoped the bus would come soon so they could reach their destination. I don’t know where they started or how far they were still headed, but this would be the end of their 2nd day of non-stop travel without food or water each day that I had witnessed.
Tomorrow, maybe, we will reach our destination...
Thursday, February 4, 2010
New to Laos...
4 February 2010, Thursday
(Part 1)
Well, I’ve made it to Laos, and I definitely feel like I am in Laos…
I’m sitting in the dirt on the side of the road, being repeatedly covered by dust every time a vehicle passes us. Laos, in the 2 days I’ve been here, has already begun to teach me a new understanding of patience.
I left Hanoi at 6am on Monday. The trip to DBP was fairly smooth. With 1 flat tire and several breaks we reached DBP in 12 hours when my LP told me it would take 14. I enjoyed a nice lunch with some of the women on my bus, wich I was surprised to discover was complimentary with our bus ticket. The drive was quite beautiful, I admired the landscape and the fascinating hairstyles of the tribal women we saw along the way. The only negative was the vomiting of almost every woman on the bus, minus myself. This is something I came to understand in India. The people, particularly the women, are not used to driving fast in a car, particularly in winding mountain roads and they get car sick easily. Unfortunately, once one woman starts the rest often follow…
Arriving in DBP at 6pm, I suddenly realized a dilemma. In Hanoi, the day before, I had planned to take care of some things, such as going to the bank to get Laotian money. It wasn’t until the morning that I realized it was Sunday and the banks were closed. The woman at my hotel told me there would be banks in DBP. At a guest house I looked at the clock and frantically tried to ask the 12 year old boy checking me in (he has the only English skills in his family) if the banks were still open.
He looked at the clock, “no.”
“No?” But then I’d arrive in Laos with no money and I knew the first town we stopped in doesn’t have ATMs. He tells me the bus I wanted to Laos leaves at 5:30am. What time doe the banks open?
“7:30am”
“Well, then I have a problem.”
He didn’t understand. With a pen and paper I managed to convey my problem after several tries.
“Ahh. Big problem,” he said with a grin.
I smiled weakly, glad I had at last managed to communicate. Yes, big problem. He didn’t offer any ideas. I ran to the bank across the street, hoping the boy was wrong.
He was! The bank was still open. “Hi, could you please change duong to kip?”
“No. we don’t change to kip.”
“really? Is there a bank here that does?”
“Yes, go to Agribank.”
“Is it open?”
“No, close at 5:00pm.”
“Is there anywhere else I can change money now?”
The teller thought for a moent, then whispered, “the gold shop.”
The gold shop? She drew me a rudimentary map and I was off, looking for the “gold shop.” Thank goodness the bank was open, I’m not sure I would have been able to get the tip of the “gold shop” if not.
I asked people and they pointed me in the direction of 3 gold trading shops in a row. I go to the first one, “can you please change duong to lao kip?”
“No, no change.”
I tried the second, “No. No kip.”
With the third I got lucky and changed the equivalent of $25 USD to kip, enough till I make it to a Lao bank.
Tuesday:
The 5:30am bus leaves on time! (20 minutes late) It should take us 5 hours to reach Muong Kwah, the first “city.”
On the bus are 10 other travelers: 4 Dutch, 2 German, 1 each Italian, Spanish, Irish, and Israeli. Over the course of our journey we would learn everyone’s names and discover we were a pretty chill, fun group of people.
We reach the border of Vietnam where we must be cleared to exit the country. We each submit our passports for inspection and wait. My visa is a bit different, we got it from a travel agency in Seattle and the visa is printed on a slip of paper separate from my passport. Up until now I had no problems with it. They inspect it and decide that because it is a “special visa” they have to keep it. Unlike most of my fellow travelers, I have a 3 month visa. Dad had decided it was better to get me a longer visa than 1 month “just in case” I have to return to Vietnam. I have no plans of returning to Vietnam, but I’d like to keep my visa as evidence that I had permission to enter the country since I have no stamp or other documentation. After all, I will be returning to the Saigon airport for my return flight in May.
“What if I need to come back to Vietnam? That is a 3 month visa. What about entering Lao? How will they know where I came from?”
“We make you new visa paper. It will explain to Lao border that you have visa.”
“Can I please keep my visa?”
“No. This type of visa special, we give you paper.”
I tried several times, but with no success. I accepted the new half sheet of paper with some black text, a red stamp, and some notes they wrote on it.
Our experience entering Lao should have prepared us for the rest of our trip…
Not far past the Vietnam check point we found our bus stuck in front of a road completely turned over by… renovation? The road was dug up, with huge piles of dirt in the middle of it. The construction continued for a ways. We were told to walk the next 2km to the Lao border. We would get our visa’s and the bus would follow. How? Apparently, they were working and the road would open.
We enter Lao on foot and reach the border control. Without our consent our temperature is taken with an external electric thermometer. H1N1 virus detection we are told. Everyone passes. Later we find out an extra $2 USD is added to the visa fee for the “test.”
It’s my turn to hand them my passport and get my visa. When I get it back I have a shiny new visa on page 11! Where’s my Vietnam “visa?” I ask for my paper visa.
“No. We keep this.”
“Why?”
“Because, we need it for record.”
“But now I have no visa. They said this was my new visa. It’s not expired.”
They talk amongst each other behind the dark class window, we all have to bend over double in order to talk through the opening.
“And, can I keep my visa? Please?” My fellow travelers, fast becoming friends, all wait to hear the answer as well. This is absurd. They can’t take away my visa which hasn’t expired!
Apparently they can. The bureaucracy wins and I walk away visa-less. This would be a serious issue if I had plans to return to Vietnam, luckily, I’m traveling one-way.
More to come….
(Part 1)
Well, I’ve made it to Laos, and I definitely feel like I am in Laos…
I’m sitting in the dirt on the side of the road, being repeatedly covered by dust every time a vehicle passes us. Laos, in the 2 days I’ve been here, has already begun to teach me a new understanding of patience.
I left Hanoi at 6am on Monday. The trip to DBP was fairly smooth. With 1 flat tire and several breaks we reached DBP in 12 hours when my LP told me it would take 14. I enjoyed a nice lunch with some of the women on my bus, wich I was surprised to discover was complimentary with our bus ticket. The drive was quite beautiful, I admired the landscape and the fascinating hairstyles of the tribal women we saw along the way. The only negative was the vomiting of almost every woman on the bus, minus myself. This is something I came to understand in India. The people, particularly the women, are not used to driving fast in a car, particularly in winding mountain roads and they get car sick easily. Unfortunately, once one woman starts the rest often follow…
Arriving in DBP at 6pm, I suddenly realized a dilemma. In Hanoi, the day before, I had planned to take care of some things, such as going to the bank to get Laotian money. It wasn’t until the morning that I realized it was Sunday and the banks were closed. The woman at my hotel told me there would be banks in DBP. At a guest house I looked at the clock and frantically tried to ask the 12 year old boy checking me in (he has the only English skills in his family) if the banks were still open.
He looked at the clock, “no.”
“No?” But then I’d arrive in Laos with no money and I knew the first town we stopped in doesn’t have ATMs. He tells me the bus I wanted to Laos leaves at 5:30am. What time doe the banks open?
“7:30am”
“Well, then I have a problem.”
He didn’t understand. With a pen and paper I managed to convey my problem after several tries.
“Ahh. Big problem,” he said with a grin.
I smiled weakly, glad I had at last managed to communicate. Yes, big problem. He didn’t offer any ideas. I ran to the bank across the street, hoping the boy was wrong.
He was! The bank was still open. “Hi, could you please change duong to kip?”
“No. we don’t change to kip.”
“really? Is there a bank here that does?”
“Yes, go to Agribank.”
“Is it open?”
“No, close at 5:00pm.”
“Is there anywhere else I can change money now?”
The teller thought for a moent, then whispered, “the gold shop.”
The gold shop? She drew me a rudimentary map and I was off, looking for the “gold shop.” Thank goodness the bank was open, I’m not sure I would have been able to get the tip of the “gold shop” if not.
I asked people and they pointed me in the direction of 3 gold trading shops in a row. I go to the first one, “can you please change duong to lao kip?”
“No, no change.”
I tried the second, “No. No kip.”
With the third I got lucky and changed the equivalent of $25 USD to kip, enough till I make it to a Lao bank.
Tuesday:
The 5:30am bus leaves on time! (20 minutes late) It should take us 5 hours to reach Muong Kwah, the first “city.”
On the bus are 10 other travelers: 4 Dutch, 2 German, 1 each Italian, Spanish, Irish, and Israeli. Over the course of our journey we would learn everyone’s names and discover we were a pretty chill, fun group of people.
We reach the border of Vietnam where we must be cleared to exit the country. We each submit our passports for inspection and wait. My visa is a bit different, we got it from a travel agency in Seattle and the visa is printed on a slip of paper separate from my passport. Up until now I had no problems with it. They inspect it and decide that because it is a “special visa” they have to keep it. Unlike most of my fellow travelers, I have a 3 month visa. Dad had decided it was better to get me a longer visa than 1 month “just in case” I have to return to Vietnam. I have no plans of returning to Vietnam, but I’d like to keep my visa as evidence that I had permission to enter the country since I have no stamp or other documentation. After all, I will be returning to the Saigon airport for my return flight in May.
“What if I need to come back to Vietnam? That is a 3 month visa. What about entering Lao? How will they know where I came from?”
“We make you new visa paper. It will explain to Lao border that you have visa.”
“Can I please keep my visa?”
“No. This type of visa special, we give you paper.”
I tried several times, but with no success. I accepted the new half sheet of paper with some black text, a red stamp, and some notes they wrote on it.
Our experience entering Lao should have prepared us for the rest of our trip…
Not far past the Vietnam check point we found our bus stuck in front of a road completely turned over by… renovation? The road was dug up, with huge piles of dirt in the middle of it. The construction continued for a ways. We were told to walk the next 2km to the Lao border. We would get our visa’s and the bus would follow. How? Apparently, they were working and the road would open.
We enter Lao on foot and reach the border control. Without our consent our temperature is taken with an external electric thermometer. H1N1 virus detection we are told. Everyone passes. Later we find out an extra $2 USD is added to the visa fee for the “test.”
It’s my turn to hand them my passport and get my visa. When I get it back I have a shiny new visa on page 11! Where’s my Vietnam “visa?” I ask for my paper visa.
“No. We keep this.”
“Why?”
“Because, we need it for record.”
“But now I have no visa. They said this was my new visa. It’s not expired.”
They talk amongst each other behind the dark class window, we all have to bend over double in order to talk through the opening.
“And, can I keep my visa? Please?” My fellow travelers, fast becoming friends, all wait to hear the answer as well. This is absurd. They can’t take away my visa which hasn’t expired!
Apparently they can. The bureaucracy wins and I walk away visa-less. This would be a serious issue if I had plans to return to Vietnam, luckily, I’m traveling one-way.
More to come….
I’m Pro-Choice, but…
1 February 2010, Monday
Scene: Bus station @ 4am
I’ve gotten 3 hours of sleep only to find the bus to Dien Bien Phu won’t leave until after 5am. Sitting on the empty bus I realize how hungry I am. I wander over to where they are selling some transportable breakfast items: hardboiled eggs and packaged bowls of ramen noodles. I would love 2 eggs, and maybe a couple for my 14 hour bus ride. The man serving the eggs eats some in a small bowl, mixed with some type of sauce. He cracks 2 open into a bowl and hands them to me.
Oh. There’s something very wrong or very different about these eggs. That wasn’t sauce…
They are surrounded by a lattice of something brown. I lift my eyes from the bowl, looking all around me I hope for some alternative explanation to the truth my mind already knows. Are these eggs not from chickens? Maybe they cook them in a special way? Oh boy.
There’s one obvious answer which I badly want to deny. Hard boiled eggs had sounded so good…
When I first saw the eggs in my bowl my mind had immediately jumped to the several biology classes I’ve had where we dissect and examine chick embryo’s at different stages. In these labs we never incubated past a set number of days, stopping before the nervous system fully develops. The brown network around my eggs is the cooked bloody placenta wrapped around the yolk. I’ve had plenty of eggs in Vietnam. But these are different, specifically allowed to be fertilized.
I think, as I stare at the eggs, that if it is an early stage and the embryo is still just a small ball of tissue I’ll eat it anyway. Not such a big deal.
I lift my spoon and cut a piece away. Oh man. I push the bowl away from me and apologize that I can’t eat it. This is my first experience with Asian food where I am really shocked and not willing to try something.
Inside the egg is a full, boiled, chick fetus. I had cut right into the head.
It’s too early for this, I think. I ask for the ramen. I’ll take the MSG over this. The man sitting next to me appears to be a business man and asks, “Ok?”
“At home we don’t eat eggs like this, they are only white.” He doesn’t seem to understand fully.
“Where you from?”
“America.”
“America, you no have?” he gestures at the egg.
“No. The eggs in America don’t have…” for lack of a different, simple explanation, “…babies.”
He chuckles.
Saying it makes me squirm a little inside. One thing that really confuses me is that an egg with a chick should have the same nutritional value as an unfertilized egg, minus half the genetics, right? So they eat this for the taste? They must take them from the nest just before he bones start to really develop. I stare at the large pot full of “hard boiled eggs.”
I eat my noodles and try not to stare at the other bowl in front of me. I feel bad I wasted the food. Even though I didn’t eat any, no one else will eat it now. I pay for the eggs, noodles, and a snack, $1.25 total.
I’ll eat almost anything but I think I just found a new limit. I have a thing about eating the whole body, particularly the head, of an animal. Except with insects, then it’s ok.
Scene: Bus station @ 4am
I’ve gotten 3 hours of sleep only to find the bus to Dien Bien Phu won’t leave until after 5am. Sitting on the empty bus I realize how hungry I am. I wander over to where they are selling some transportable breakfast items: hardboiled eggs and packaged bowls of ramen noodles. I would love 2 eggs, and maybe a couple for my 14 hour bus ride. The man serving the eggs eats some in a small bowl, mixed with some type of sauce. He cracks 2 open into a bowl and hands them to me.
Oh. There’s something very wrong or very different about these eggs. That wasn’t sauce…
They are surrounded by a lattice of something brown. I lift my eyes from the bowl, looking all around me I hope for some alternative explanation to the truth my mind already knows. Are these eggs not from chickens? Maybe they cook them in a special way? Oh boy.
There’s one obvious answer which I badly want to deny. Hard boiled eggs had sounded so good…
When I first saw the eggs in my bowl my mind had immediately jumped to the several biology classes I’ve had where we dissect and examine chick embryo’s at different stages. In these labs we never incubated past a set number of days, stopping before the nervous system fully develops. The brown network around my eggs is the cooked bloody placenta wrapped around the yolk. I’ve had plenty of eggs in Vietnam. But these are different, specifically allowed to be fertilized.
I think, as I stare at the eggs, that if it is an early stage and the embryo is still just a small ball of tissue I’ll eat it anyway. Not such a big deal.
I lift my spoon and cut a piece away. Oh man. I push the bowl away from me and apologize that I can’t eat it. This is my first experience with Asian food where I am really shocked and not willing to try something.
Inside the egg is a full, boiled, chick fetus. I had cut right into the head.
It’s too early for this, I think. I ask for the ramen. I’ll take the MSG over this. The man sitting next to me appears to be a business man and asks, “Ok?”
“At home we don’t eat eggs like this, they are only white.” He doesn’t seem to understand fully.
“Where you from?”
“America.”
“America, you no have?” he gestures at the egg.
“No. The eggs in America don’t have…” for lack of a different, simple explanation, “…babies.”
He chuckles.
Saying it makes me squirm a little inside. One thing that really confuses me is that an egg with a chick should have the same nutritional value as an unfertilized egg, minus half the genetics, right? So they eat this for the taste? They must take them from the nest just before he bones start to really develop. I stare at the large pot full of “hard boiled eggs.”
I eat my noodles and try not to stare at the other bowl in front of me. I feel bad I wasted the food. Even though I didn’t eat any, no one else will eat it now. I pay for the eggs, noodles, and a snack, $1.25 total.
I’ll eat almost anything but I think I just found a new limit. I have a thing about eating the whole body, particularly the head, of an animal. Except with insects, then it’s ok.
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