Meditations around the world

Epilogue: the Eight Months Wrapped Up in an Ontological Blanket

thedukeoearl — Sun, 20 May 2007 23:25:00 GMT

Hey, I'm working on it!

Thoughts from my hammock...

thedukeoearl — Sun, 6 May 2007 22:03:00 GMT

Thoughts from my hammock. May 7, 2007

Haad Thien Beach, Ko Pagnan Island, Thailand

People may wonder what one does sitting at the beach for two months. Doesn’t it get boring? they may think. I imagine for some people that it would get boring, especially the way they may see me doing it. My daily schedules vary, but in no stressful way. Sometimes I get up for the eight-oclock yoga class. Sometimes not. If I don’t, I may go to the four-o’clock class. I typically eat a plate of fruit for breakfast, locally grown watermelon, pineapple and banana and perhaps some mango if they have it. Sometimes I will get up at sunrise to practice Chi Gong on the beach if it is not too windy. The past ten days has been rather stormy so I have been sleeping in. Generally during the day, when the spirit strikes, I will find a spot on the beach to meditate for a while. If the weather’s bad, I will do this inside my bungalow. Lunch is usually between twelve and four in the afternoon, though if that late I will probably skip dinner. I often will have another plate of fruit or perhaps a bowl of tom yum vegetable soup with tuna. Dinners may be a soup or a curry, or occasionally a stir-fried chicken and vegetable, no oil.

Much of the time during the day I can be found swinging in my hammock. I'm not sure what it is about my hammock, but it calls to me and I willingly obey. While residing in said hammock I may spend the time watching the ocean do its ebb and flow or watch the dogs playing on the sand. Today the sea was quiet and I could barely hear the waves lapping against the shore. Yesterday the waves were crashing down, fiercely thrown in by an angry sea.

The small voice in my head shared with me a secret. In nature's present moment lies the truth. I seek this moment when lying in my hammock. As I swing and hear the waves against the shore, I try to listen beyond the obvious. I hear the insects chirping in the trees. I hear the birds singing soft songs, I hear the scratching of chickens teaching their chicks to forage for food. Occasionally I will catch something else, something beyond my ability to hear. I try to tune into it but as soon as I do, it is gone. A coconut falls to the ground. The wind makes branches dance and then calms again. I turn my attention inwards. How do I feel right now? How is my breath? Where am I contracted, expanded? Where can I release unneeded tensions I am holding? I breathe. Deep abdominal breaths, I remind myself. Another. Deeper. My closed eyes see the light of my breath as it travels downwards toward my navel. I relax and concentrate without effort, letting go. I lift my thoughts to the divine. Perhaps a little prayer, a request to be made pure, empty of self that I may be filed only with goodness and love, to be a beacon of light to brighten all with whom I come in contact. A slight smile. A feeling of warmth and energy surging very subtly through my body. I breathe deeply again.

Today is my fourth day of a water-only fast. It has not been hard this time. My diet has been light and healthy for over a month and my body does not mind the neglect. It actually appreciates the time to concentrate on cleaning and repairing itself, I believe. It is hard to tell what the body really wants, always craving the things bad for it. Or is that the mind? Sometimes it is hard to tell what is doing the desiring and craving. My only symptom of my fasting is a low energy level. Today I went to walk on the beach. I did not have the energy to walk for very long. I happily returned to my hammock.

Nights can be my favorite time here. I put on some soft heart-stirring music, light a candle or two and some incense, and enjoy the most romantic evenings in the presence of Divine Spirit. My posture quickly becomes an unforced half-lotus and my brain slows, I sit upright, spine straight, all processing naturally without need for self-correction or thought. I focus on my breathing for a while. How does it feel? What is the quality? Then I regulate, long deep-belly breathing. My mind begins to visualize my breath and it becomes bright in the darkness of the candlelit room. The light fills my belly and then expands outwards. Soon I am sitting in a cocoon of bright white light, radiant and glorious. Not too much time passes before my mind wanders and I lose the present moment. Sometimes I catch it quickly, other times it goes into some very important future planning, past re-living or idea structuring. Eventually I come back to nature's present moment and realize that none of those thoughts were real. Just fantasy; fiction. A moments energetic pulse and then gone, fleeting. I become deliberate about my breath once more. No self-scolding, no admonishment. The brain does its own thing naturally. One cannot blame the brain for thinking. Lovingly I remind myself to return, to train the mind to the present moment. What else is there? I recently read in a book that sooner or later, this present moment will be your last."* And here it is, and there it goes. Present for only the briefest instant, yet always there.

Until that sooner or later, that is.

*Deida, David. Blue Truth.

April 19: Alone With My Gallbladder

thedukeoearl — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 12:41:00 GMT

March 20-April 19, 2007

The next morning I shook off my aloneness with busying myself packing and getting a ride to the immigration office where I could extend my visa for another month. A long wait for a sawngthaw was explained by the traffic jam that caught us on our way to my destination. I was dropped off at the pier, realized had 45 minutes to get my visa extended before the boat back to Ko Pagnan left, and hopped on the back of a moped and sped off to the immigration office. Waiting two hours for the visa, (or so it seemed; they were in much less of a hurry than I) I concluded my business and was back to the boat with five minutes to spare.

Travelling alone is a much different experience than travelling with another person. I had time to ponder this as I sat on the boat crossing back from Samui to Ko Pagnan. Alone, you notice people more and in a different way. You are noticed in a different way. I was aware, now on my own again, of a self-consciousness I did not have travelling with Leslie. Recognizing this I chuckled to myself and relaxed. Being alone again would take a little while to get used to.

Once back on Ko Pagnan I headed straight for the other side of the island to a beach called Haad Thien. I had a recommendation to visit this beach by a few people I had met at the Suan Mok ten-day meditation retreat I had attended last November. These retreatants lived on the beach and Said it was a marvellous place to come and reconnect mind-body-spirit. There was a British run health and wellness center on the beach called The Sanctuary. The beach is also known as Sanctuary Beach because of the center's popularity. After a rough and stormy longboat ride to the beach, I backpacked around to the different accommodation options and finally settled on a bungalow at the Haad Thien Resort. Dont be fooled by the name. Its a basic rustic wooden bungalow on the beach with an insect-ladden bathroom, but cozy enough for me. I laid low here for a few days adjusting to my new aloneness.

Finally, seeing my friend Shashi from the retreat, I was encouraged to join in on the four-day Shiatsu course beginning the next day. Weighing price against experience (as I always do) I agreed and spent the next four days learning the basics and foundations of the healing art of shiatsu massage. We learned of the meridian channels and of the flow of chi energy through the body and how to stimulate them into a healthy flow. An experienced practitioner can be very effective in helping one acknowledge the validity of chi and its presence in the body. Medical science has verified it as well and everyone's health and wellbeing would be enhanced by the awareness and attention to it. I had studied about chi before and had practiced techniques that improve its flow and quality. I was very happy to return to that awareness.

After the workshop I took another half-day workshop with Shashi on nutrition according to Chinese medicine, which was based on the same principles as the shiatsu. Basically, balance is the key to everything and if you want to be a whole person, eat whole foods instead of processed foods that rip away vital nutritional qualities. White flour and white sugar are right out, but that is common knowledge for health. Ice and cold beverages are hard on the body and can lead to stress and disease in the body's systems. The best foods to eat are the naturally sweet foods like brown rice, pumpkins, squash and the like. Green foods are wonderful for the liver. Vibrant colored fresh foods are full of chi and therefore good for the health. Different seasons call for different types of food to nourish your body's energy systems. The system is quite complex and it really becomes more of a lifestyle than a diet. The nutritional aspect is to be integrated with the exercises such as tai chi which help to keep the flow of chi healthy and moving. Stagnant chi leads to illness. Flowing chi leads to harmony and inner peace.

A few days later I had a session with the teacher of the shiatsu workshop. Many people were remarking about his abilities as a healer and I thought I should catch him before he left the next day. I was glad I did. Before leaving the states I had gone to the doctor to understand the pain and swelling that was constantly plaguing my right ankle, residual I believed from limping on my foot through Costa Rica . I had been taking pain killers for it but wanted to know how to cure it. The doctor looked at it. He took x-rays. He looked at it. Without even saying it was tendonitis, he looked at me, shrugged, and said, "Aches and pains. Take Advil." That was it. Thanks doc. I mention this because in one session with this Australian healer, through deep massage and energy work, he completely cured my ankle and told me, physiologically, why it was bothering me. He also balanced all my other energy pathways and I felt great.

Cleaning the ol'Gallbladder

Later, after eating mostly raw fruits and vegetables for three days, I went to the Sanctuary Wellness Center to begin the highly recommended Liver Cleanse. This cleanse lasts a day and a half and does more to clean out the gallbladder to the liver. Basically, we all have gallstones in our bile ducts, especially with our high fat diets in the west. These can sometimes grow to dangerous sizes and, to avoid death, our doctors do what they do best. They take a knife and slice you open. This barbaric procedure will indeed remove the gallstone, but will also leave you with a long recovery period and a souvenir scar to keep along with a bill for tens of thousands of dollars. I vent like this because there is absolutely no need for this except for a fiscal flow. Basically, the cleanse is a process of storing up the bile, softening the gallstones, and then opening the system up to let these stones flow out through your intestinal tract. I did the cleanse and on the second day was amazed to look into the catch-basket they provide to see the large handful of tan and green gravel that had been released. Most of it was fairly small(large aquarium rock size) but some of them were marble-sized rocks that I cringe to think were blocking my common bile duct. While in our bodies, these stones block and/or reduce the flow of bile into our digestive systems and reportedly even interfere with the amount of cholesterol the body can eliminate. I highly recommend it and will post the 'recipe' for those brave enough to take charge of their own health. Also, if you know someone with a gallstone, please do not let them get an operation without trying this first! There are many reports of people who have avoided an operation by using this process.

Over the next few weeks I continued eating light and healthy whole foods and focusing on meditational practices. It is nice to stay put in one location and not have to pack my bag and travel every few days. We have had unseasonable rain here but that has been a nice relief to the normal heat of this season. I have a bungalow on the beach with a hammock on my porch for $6/night and a nice choice of restaurants. Electricity is only from 6pm to 11pm and the rest of the time is just nature. Life is good here.

1½ Day Gallbladder Flush Recipe

thedukeoearl — Wed, 18 Apr 2007 10:38:00 GMT

Here is the recipe for the Gallbladder Cleanse. My own experience of flushing out of the bile ducts sure sold me on the need for it! I was about to post a picture of what that blockage looked like, but when I pulled it up full frame, I just couldnt post something that gross looking! Does that mean I'm finally maturing?

Anyhow, this cleanse did take a good bit out of me for about 4 days, though I think that depends on the person. I met many people who did this and had mixed reports of resultant energy levels. I also experienced quite a fever about half an hour after drinking the shake. Around one in the morning I vommited up the shake, and that is okay, about half of people doing this do the same. You may wish to buy a cheap plastic collinder to put in the toilet for the morning release of stones if you are interested in seeing what they look like. Dont forget a rubber glove!

Make sure to read on to the bottom for the full information on the process!

I will site my source here so I can list it verbatim. The following information comes from a handout from the Sanctuary Wellness Center, Haad Thien, on the island of Ko Pagnan, Thailand. They get the information from the book "The Cure for All Disease" by Hulda Regehr Clark (Page 552).

Cleansing the liver of gallstones dramatically improves digestion, which is the basis of your whole health. You can expect your allergies to disappear too, more with each cleanse you do! Increadibly, it also eliminates shoulder, upper arm, and upper back pain. You have more energy and increased sense of well being.

This is a 21 hour fast. You must be able to rest and stay close to home on day 2.
Take no medications, vitamins or pills that you can do without during the cleanse.

Day 1
Eat Apples Only	Not eating any fat allows the bile in the liver to build up and develop pressure. High pressure pushes out more stones. Apples and apple juice help soften the stones.
2pm	Begin fasting. Do not eat anything for the rest of the day.
6pm	Drink one 12 oz. glass of water with 1 Tbsp of Epson Salt. (adults)
8pm	Drink another glass of Epsom Salt water. (You can expect to have diarrhea later.) Make your bedtime ‘shake’ of 4oz. Raw olive oil and 4oz. Lime juice in a shakable container.
9:45pm	Get all ready for bed.
10pm	Shake and drink the olive oil/lime juice shake with a straw (standing up). Get it down within 5 minutes. As soon as its gone, lie down on your right side with your knees up to your chest and go to sleep. Try to keep still for at least 20 minutes. You may feel a train of stones traveling along the bile ducts like marbles.
Day 2
7am	Drink another glass of Epson Salt water. You can expect to have diarrhea.
9am	Last glass of Epson Salt water.
11am	You can begin eating again. Start with fruit and continue with raw food for the rest of the day. You can continue eating normally the next day.
Epson Salt Water	1 Tbsp. Epson Salt is mixed into a glass of water. It cannot be absorbed by the body, so it will go straight through. This cleans your colon and provides a clear path for the Gallstones to exit. It also opens the bile duct valves so there is no pain when the stones pass into your small intestine.
Olive Oil Shake	This is ½ raw olive oil and ½ limejuice. Four ounces of each. Shake well before drinking. The fat in the olive oil triggers the release of bile, which flushes out the gall stones.

Congratulations, you have successfully removed gallstones without surgery! They are the green or tan "stones" that float in the Toilet.

Cleansing the liver bile ducts is the most powerful procedure that you can do to improve your body's health. It should be done after a parasite cleanse, and for best results it should follow a kidney cleanse. If not you could feel rather ill for a few days but its still completely safe.

It is the job of the liver to make the bile, 1 to 1½ quarts (~1 liter) in a day! The liver is full of tubes (biliary tubing) that deliver the bile to one large tube (the common bile duct). The gallbladder is attached to the common bile duct and acts as a storage reservoir. Eating fat or protein triggers the gallbladder to squeeze itself empty after about twenty minutes and the stored bile finishes its trip down the common bile duct to the intestine.

For many persons, including children, the biliary tubing is choked with gallstones. Some develop allergies or hives but some have no symptoms. When the gallbladder is scanned or X-rayed nothing is seen. Typically, they are not in the gallbladder. Not only that, most are too small or not calcified, as a prerequisite for visibility on X-ray. There are over half a dozen varieties of gallstones, most of which have cholesterol crystals in them. They can be black, red, white, green or tan colored. The green ones get their color from being coated with bile.

At the very center of each stone is found a clump of bacteria, according to scientists, suggesting a dead bit of parasite might have started the stone forming.

As the stones grow and become more numerous the back pressure on the liver causes it to make less bile. Imagine the situation if your garden hose had marbles in it. Much less water would flow, which in turn would decrease the ability of the hose to squirt out the marbles. With gallstones, much less cholesterol leaves the body, and cholesterol levels may rise.

Gallstones, being porous, can pick up all the bacteria, cysts, viruses and parasites that are passing through the liver. In this way "nests" of infection are formed, forever supplying the body with fresh bacteria. No stomach infection such as ulcers or intestinal bloating can be cured permanently with out removing these gallstones from the liver.

Cleanse your liver twice a year.

March 9-19: Back to the Beach

thedukeoearl — Mon, 19 Mar 2007 11:38:00 GMT

March 9-19

Another overnight bus took us from Bangkok down to the port city of Surat Thani. From here we caught a ferry to the island of Ko Samui in the Gulf of Thailand.. The next few weeks seemed to go by very quickly in a blur of sad anticipation of Leslie's flight back home.

Our overnight bus rode the ferry over to the island with us, so we were riding once again for a bit, then transferred to a pickup truck with bench seating (called a sawngthaw; a very common form of local transport) and ended up at Lamai Beach. We found the beach well developed but quiet. The area was a bit expensive for our budget, though. We relaxed here for a few days and then got a ride up to the largest beach Hat Chaweng. For the day we walked around the beach and looked into some accommodations. It was very crowded and seemed quite expensive, so we decided to move on to one of the quieter areas of the island. We ended up staying on the northwest side of the island where we walked down a long sandy road to a quiet beach called Bang Po. The bungalows were a bit back from the beach but the restaurant relaxed right in front of the sand. We got motorbikes and rode around the island a bit, making it down to the southern part of the west coast and had a drink at a gorgeous stretch of empty beach looking out over the aquamarine water to five small islands huddled together a few kilometres from shore.

Having received an email from my Norwegian friend Joeran, we decided to head over to the island of Ko Pagnan, where I had spent almost two weeks at the beginning of my trip in October. I had met Joeran at a small beach named Bottle Beach and travelled with him for a month afterwards down to Malaysia and back. Joeran had returned there in January and had been mostly there since.

Leslie and I caught a boat to Ko Pagnan and then a sawngthaw to a longtail boat that delivered us to Bottle Beach. We got a bungalow and for five nights we enjoyed the beach and the company of Joeran and his new girlfriend Lilia.

The subtle anxiety of Leslie's leaving built up during this time and before we knew it, we were packed up, heading back to Samui and on our way to the airport. Leslie's was booked on a night flight to Bangkok from the island's small airport. From there she would have an early morning flight with several layovers on her way back to the states. With a few tears she left to board the plane and I slowly and thoughtfully walked the four dark kilometres back to my bungalow, escorted much of the way by a friendly black dog. Not ready to go into my bungalow, I sat on a chair in the sand overlooking the dark water lapping against the shore. I was unused to feeling alone and I didnt know what to do with myself. I turned around to find an old man, security for the facility I supposed, crouched in some bushes watching me suspiciously. I laughed to myself and walked to my bungalow and let myself in. Alone.

March 2-9: Chiang Mai

thedukeoearl — Fri, 9 Mar 2007 11:32:00 GMT

March 2-9

The first full day in Chiang Mai, we hired a tuk tuk driver to take us to all the famous temples. They were interesting to see but not really to talk about. The next day we went to the national museum -a big disappointment, and then on to the Chiang Mai Zoo. We enjoyed the zoo, especially after we realized they had a tram service and we didnt really have to walk kilometres between animal exhibits! The tigers, kahualas and giant walk through aviary were most impressive exhibits. The pandas cost extra to see so we missed those. At night we wondered around Chiang Mai's huge night market lining a main street for several blocks. The restaurants in the market area all featured seafood, which was curious because the city is pretty far away from the sea. I wasnt tempted.

So we 'did' Chiang Mai and it was time to turn our thoughts back to the beach. We headed back down to Bangkok on an overnight bus and spent the next few days unsuccessfully trying to reclaim my abandoned eyeglasses.

Feb 25: Pai and Scooters

thedukeoearl — Fri, 2 Mar 2007 11:32:00 GMT

February 25-March 2, 2007

Our time in Pai was a mixture of making the best of it and some disappointment. The mountains did not lend themselves, we felt, to a great deal of independent trekking, or awe for that matter. It was dry season and there were many fires on the mountains. We did take a great six hour hike into the mountains to see an impressive waterfall. I don't think many tourists brave that hike. We met one older couple on their second hike to the waterfall but speculated no other tourists made it there that day. The only other couple we saw had turned around because it was too far away. It was a great hike. We only got lost once.

We finally got a chance in Pai to rent mopeds and ride them around. This was a great place to learn as there was not much traffic and there was a long looping road on which to drive, with interesting sights to see along the way such as a canyonlands, a WWII bridge and domesticated elephants. There were other things as well but really the fun part for me was in pushing the speed out of the little 125cc's. Vroom vroom.

Returning the bikes, we booked a bus ride back to Chiang Mai where I was ready to do a bit of temple touring. The ride back caused terrible motion sickness and we were happy to get to the city three hours later and find a room.

Feb 23-25: Reunions and Karaoke

thedukeoearl — Sun, 25 Feb 2007 11:30:00 GMT

February 23-25, 2007

Leaving Chiang Khong, we took a three hour ride on a local bus to the northern Thailand city of Chiang Rai. I was hoping to see Ajahn Choon, the Thai english teacher I had befriended at the monastery three months previously. Not in the mood to shop for accommodation, we left the bus and got a ride directly to a place in our guidebook and got a room. The area was full of expat bars but not a far walk from a great night bazaar.

With a little help from a Thai girl on the street, I used a pay phone to call Ajahn Choon (Ajahn means teacher). She was teaching high school, but grabbed one of her student with a moped and drove over to see us. We arranged to meet later after classes were over.

We spent that night and the next afternoon and evening touring around the city and dining with Ajahn Choon. She even sang a few karaoke songs to us. We finished our visit with a long stroll around the night bazaar; a few snacks and beers by the food stalls.

The third day in Chiang Rai, we packed and headed the four hours to Chiang Mai on a much nicer than usual bus. We made it just in time to catch a bus onward to a town far in the northwest called Pai. Pai is reported to be an artsy little community with a quiet and chill vibe up in the mountains. The bus ride there was a little less comfortable than usual. The windows did not open and the bus kept overheating, so the driver could not turn on the air con. The bus ride was slow on the winding mountain roads and I was happy to make it into town before dark.

Feb 21-23: Of Nachos and Optical Retardation

thedukeoearl — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 11:24:00 GMT

Chiang Khong

February 21-23, 2007

Of Nachos and Optical Retardation

After breakfast in Huay Xai, Laos, we packed up and queued through the shoreside visa exit process, hopped on a longboat, crossed the Mekong, got stamped for a Thai visa and we were back in Thailand.

We walked up the hill and down the street a quarter mile and Bamboo Guesthouse, the lodging that had come with high recommendations. From the street it looked like nothing special. We followed the signs down the path toward the river and soon were in the midst of very well arranged bungalows in a lovely garden-like setting. We were sorted out in a room and went for a walk about the city.

The city was build on the Mekong River. Several dozen years ago,or so it looked, the city planners had made a big effort to build a paved community boardwalk along the riverbank. It was still very nice to walk along, but seemed a bit neglected. There were none of the shops or vendors along the way as you would expect, but now and again you would see people strolling or jogging by, enjoying the tranquil view.

The restaurant at our guesthouse was a piece of artistry. The cooks make sure the food is thoughtfully and lovingly prepared, complimented by the presence of the Thai owners, Jib and and his wife Tao. The eating experience is enhanced by the artful decor and the perfect music selected by Jib. We were treated to a small concert in the restaurant; Jib showing his talent on the guitar. Jib is in his fifties and is the picture of an artistic rasta hippie. His wife, Tao, has the whole mature artist thing going on. I would have sworn they had lived in San Francisco for a while. As we remarked on the perfection of everything, Jib shared with us that one should have good food for the mouth, food for the ears, and food for the eyes. We appreciated his holistic approach to living and enjoyed truly being guests in his guesthouse. They also had a 3-month old Dalmatian mix puppy whose name was salsa in honour of the absolutely fantastic mexican food they make in the restaurant.

While in Chiang Khong we passed by an optical store and I remarked how it would be nice to have new prescription sunglasses. On a pressing suggestion from Leslie, we went in the store and before I knew it I was spending $200 on new prescription sunglasses and regular glasses. I figure I did this just because I had not had enough hassles in my life to that point.

I went back the next morning and he had made both pair incorrectly. I went back at lunch and nearly fell over the sunglasses were so off. He thought the lenses were too curved and I should pick another frame. We stayed another night. I went back in the morning. He had made them wrong again. Afternoon. Wrong again. This time I noticed he had put the regular glasses in the wrong frame. He delivered the sunglasses to the guesthouse about eight-thirty at night and all but ran away as soon as I had tried them on. They still are not perfect and make me a bit cross-eyed feeling. The regular glasses, however, worked wonderfully, fit my face handsomely, were comfortable and had a crystal clear new prescription. I left them on a bus two weeks later.

Feb 17-20: Disappointment in Laos

thedukeoearl — Tue, 20 Feb 2007 11:22:00 GMT

February 17-20, 2007.

Disappointment in Laos

After our twelfth night in our bungalow we rode the longboat back to Nong Kiaw. From here we got a bumpy bus ride to the city of Ouxay, four hours away. From Ouxay we bought tickets to our destination of Luang Nam Tha.

The bus ride was overbooked and, being some of the last to buy tickets, we were stuck on plastic chairs in the bus' isle. The road was mostly unpaved and winded down and up mountain passes. The plastic chair kept shifting underneath me and scooting so that my knees were pinched by the chair in front of me. In my weakened condition I tried to sleep. Jammed knees. Boxes falling on me from overhead. Plastic chair buckling on curves. A dog tied inside a grain sack under the seat, moved to the roof for more leg room. No air. Babies crying. I was really beginning to hate bus rides.

It was completely dark by the time we reached the town of Luang Nam Tha. We had no map and the bus station was in a dark area of town, so we hefted our packs and made our way through the unlit town in search of lodging. After walking quite a few blocks with nothing to see, we finally made a turn to a street with a few restaurants and guesthouses. We looked at one, frowned at the price but chose it anyhow, plopped our bags down and went for a meal.

Luang Nam Tha is listed as a National Protected Area. We had been excited about coming here since we had read about it in the guidebook. We pictured more looming mountains and rivers, streams and hiking paths to places even more exotic. We woke up in the morning, walked outside, looked around. Where are the mountains? we asked. We were on a flat dirty street claiming very little to no charm. Over the next few days we found the internet, but it wasn't working, tried to hire mopeds but they only had manual shift and neither of us had ridden before, tried to find the market and got lost before a helpful but a bit annoying young hilltribe man who wanted to practice his English leached onto us, and we were dissuaded by the guided trekking prices at the local tourist center. Given our bent for loving to go off and get lost by ourselves, we ultimately wanted follow that course. Somewhere between Nong Kiaw and here we had run out of mountains, So we would have to settle for hills and villages. There were a few waterfalls to hike to as well. All would have been good for our independent adventuring except for a recent story we had heard.

A few months previous a young man travelled here on his own. He had hiked solo into the hills. He didn't carry much with him for his journey and the guesthouse owners expected he would return that evening. He never returned. His body had recently been found in the river with rocks tied to his ankles. It was speculated that this young man had come across some illegal drug crops, been suspected of or caught taking some, and murdered. We asked the travel guide about this story but he pretended to know nothing about it, even though the flyer was posted right outside of his door. Murders like that can be bad for business I suspect, although it may increase guided trips as it discourages independent trekking. For us it just made the area even less appealing and we decided to head back to Thailand. There was, however, one redeeming find in this disappointing town. We found a nice little coffee house restaurant and were immediately struck by how wonderfully pleasant and amiable the owner was. This was a quality in severe depletion in this town. After talking to her we discovered she was from Thailand. We took this as an omen and, after our meal, went to pack our bags.

The next morning we were bound and determined to have seating that was not on plastic chairs on the 8 hour bus ride to the border. We got up early and were at the ticket counter by seven-thirty. Well, Leslie was anyway. I stopped at the coffee shop to have a double cappuccino. So yummy. When I got to the bus station, Leslie was waiting with bad news. The bus was full and we were in the isle.

"Not plastic chairs again" I groaned.

"Nope, not plastic chairs" she replied, her voice suggesting worse.

I looked at her with doomed interest.

"Plastic stools."

Leave it to say that this ride was doubly worse than the last and the misery was heightened by the overcrowdedness and lack of air. Nothing puts me in a crabbier mood than long, uncomfortable, hot, dirty, stuffy bus rides with impolite people. Leslie as always was wonderful about it. With long-suffering, we arrived in the border town of Huay Xai and decided to spend one more night in Laos before heading across the Mekong river back into Thailand.

Feb 11-14: House of Pain

thedukeoearl — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 11:21:00 GMT

February 11-14, 2007

A House of Pain

The next day Leslie returned on the afternoon boat bearing me thoughtful Valentine's Day gifts. I sheepishly didn't even know the4 date much less remember the holiday. We decided to plan a trek to some of the villages in the area for the next few days. We had been given a hand-drawn map of the area and villages nearby and decided to hike to them and stay in their guesthouses.

The first village was only an hour away, passing some great caves we had explored a few days previous. The path wound through dry rice paddies and through herds of cattle and water buffalo munching contentedly on dry grasses. At the end of the open paddy fields we reached the first village of Ban Na. There are two guesthouses in the village of Ban Na and we chose the one on the far end as recommended by a young Laotian working at our guesthouse. The reed-walled, stilted bungalow was simply furnished with a mattress on the floor and a mosquito net. The bungalows made a loose circle around the dining area and the view of the rice fields and mountains was spectacular. There was a deep feeling of peace and tranquility underlying the scene that relaxation was felt immediately. We spent time in the hammocks soaking in the pastoral stetting.

We were soon hungry by mid afternoon and tried to order from the menu. It went something like this.

'Hi. Can we order some food?'

'Yes' responded the pleasant smile of Kat, the proprietor.

We both had decided, as usual, on the same thing. 'We'd like two orders of fried noodles with chicken, please.'

'Oh, sorry. No chicken.'

'No chicken?'

'No. No chicken. Later. Chicken still walking.' She made a walking motion with her fingers.

I wanted to ask if it was crossing a road and why, but refrained myself. We ordered the noodles, no chicken.

As the afternoon wore on we met the other visitors to the village, all French. Now it is a common known fact among backpackers that France breeds the most unfriendly of travellers. This is not to be confused with the stereotype of Israelis, winning the award for being the most arrogant and aggressively intolerant people. In fact, there are many places now that won't even allow Israelis to stay in their guesthouses because of so many bad experiences. But while I have met some Israelis that did not fit this stereotype, I have yet to meet a Frenchie from whom I did not get something of a snub. We found no exception here. We had brief conversation, but none of the warmth that we get from other travellers. As a side note, I have met one person that I thought had finally broken my experience with the French. A nice, warm friendly woman with a heavy French accent. It turns out she was from Quebec.

For dinner we had all agreed that it was time for the chicken to stop walking and I was surprised that instead of ordering from the menu, we were served dinner family style. We all sat with anticipation around one table while they brought out bowls of sticky rice, cabbage soup, and chicken that had been hacked into small bony pieces and boiled. Each couple shared a bowl of each dish. What little meat we could find amongst the splinters of bone was tough and chewy. I wondered if the chicken had finally stopped walking from old age.

There was a wonderful conversation during dinner, all in French. This was insultingly marginalizing as they all spoke fluent English. I bought a bottle of rice whiskey called lao lao and tried to open the conversation by sharing it around. It might have worked had I spoken French.

After dinner the hostess made a campfire and we all sat under the stars watching the fire while the French drank my lao lao and refused to speak English. We knew it was time for bed when I asked for a touch more of my lao lao and they lied and said it was all gone. I'm not bitter. Nope.

The next morning we packed up and thanked our hostess, Kat, for the horrible overpriced dinner but otherwise very pleasant stay, except for company of the French that is, and were on our way to the next village for lunch. Kat recommended we stay at this next village as the one further up was not as nice for accommodation.

We saw many village people on the three hour walk to the village of Hoy Sen. They laughed at our shoes as we repeatedly stopped to take them off for the dozen or so river crossing. At the village we took a long lunch and realized that villages really aren't that interesting. They consist of a bunch of poor people living in dirty shacks with dirty animals wandering about. Perhaps the culture would have been more interesting before the atrocities of the wars. In fact, we saw very few older people in Laos at all. Maybe they couldn't find the pharmacies either (see Vientiane blog), or I assume that many were killed during the bombing years. Ten percent of all Hmong tribesman and women were killed during the war, and many of the others fled to Thailand.

Though the restaurant owner hoped we would stay in his bungalows, after a long lunch we decided to make the hour and a half (so our map said) hike up to the village of Kew Khan. Our lunch host reported that the next village was up, up, up. We boldly strode forth and walked through the village, completely missing our turn for the path to Kew Khan and went, unknowingly, the complete wrong direction through fields and paddies, across streams and over hedges.

Eventually we found someone to ask if we were on the right track, because there was no 'up, up, up' going on here. The Laotian, speaking no English and not humored that we were there, pointed to our left up to the mountains. Still ignorant to our trail, we trudged that direction through heavy brush and climbed up the side of a mountain, occasionally finding a winding trail to follow. We eventually found a large path and I felt secure that we had it now. We followed this for a bit, then the path seemed to split and I chose the more scenic route, thinking that would soon reconvene with the other path. When we reached the other side of the mountain and the trail disappeared into an old, overgrown slash and burn farmland surrounding us on the entire side of the mountain, I realized I had once again taken a more adventurous route. I then decided that, instead of backtracking, we would smash our way through the brambles and ascend the next mountain, where we were sure to come across the misplaced trail.

An hour later, dirty, hot and scratched, We finally gave up. We backtracked, walked fifteen minutes up the correct trail and I realized that we were now only about 200 feet above where I had given up hope and turned around. Leslie was, as usual, a good sport about the whole thing and we laughed about it and continued up, up, up.

Our one and a half hour journey ended up taking us about four hours as we finally hobbled, exhausted and grimy, into the village of Kew Khan. The village was located at the top of one of the smaller mountains and surrounded by the other taller ones, all dense with jungle.

Our first introduction to village life was in watching two little girls of maybe seven and nine practicing Karate Kid style flying jump kicks on some of the village cattle. Little piglets ran from us as we approached the village fence. Over the fence, we looked about the village. Dirty little children were everywhere. Kittens, puppies, down fluffed yellow chicks, but no grown ups of any species to be seen. I felt like I was in a Lord of the Flies epic.

Eventually, a youth of about fifteen strode forward beneath the setting sun and asked if we would like accommodation for the night. We smiled and nodded in assent and followed him to one of the stilted houses in the middle of the village. We realized, as he invited us into a residence, that there were no guesthouses in this village and we would be having the good fortune of what is known as a 'home stay'. I looked in the home and, once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, realized I was staring at a grandmother sitting in her bra. I smiled awkwardly and the boy motioned me in.

We were soon relaxing on reed mats as night darkened around us. Leslie went off for a shower, which was a community water pump and entertained a lot of curious onlookers. She modestly kept herself covered as the village men looked on with toothless grins. She became quite popular as she dispensed shampoo to all the other women having their nightly wash. The villagers, we found out, use laundry soap to wash with because they can not afford shampoo and body soap. An evening with real shampoo was a luxury for them. I followed Leslie's return with a cold wash of my own in the last bits of twilight and then collapsed back into our host's house. I was completely exhausted. Much more than I should have been for what we had done that day.

Dinner was prepared and served for us and I struggled to stay seated upright and eat it down, being overwhelmed with fatigue. Boiled greens, fried eggs and sticky rice made up our dinner. I never did grow fond of the sticky rice. It is a special type of rice, a bit denser in grain than steamed rice, and is eaten by taking a large pinch from the basket and rolling into a ball with your palms, and dipping it into whatever juicy food you are eating. I guess part of my hesitation was that I never really felt like my hands were clean.

Half way through dinner I had to take a break and rest. I wasn't feeling well at all. Within an hour I had a full blown fever and, bed mats rolled out, went directly to bed to spend a night in the delirium of a high fever, constantly woken by barking dogs and a house of roosters directly behind us. I felt very fortunate that I was not getting sick with dysentery as the toilet was down the ladder, around the other side of the house and past a fairly ferocious dog.

We were up early in the morning (not that we had a choice with all the roosters and other noisy pre-dawn village goings-on) and decided to cut the trip short, given my ailing condition. Looking at our rudimentary map, we were an hour and a half walk from the village of Hah-sah-pey on the river, from which we could get a boat ride back to our bungalow in Hmong Noi.

We left by seven, refusing offers of breakfast. We had a few oranges left over and figured we could eat those and in a few hours, when we were back at our bungalow, we would indulge in a good breakfast.

I don't know about the plans of mice, but my plans quickly did go awry. Leslie had the forethought, against my insistence, of buying two liter-bottles of water for the trip. I thought we didn't need that much but she insisted. We were told to make sure we took the left trail when the path splits. The left one goes down, the right one goes up, we were reminded as we left. We gave the thumbs up, said our thanks, and marched our way right past the start of the trail. The boy ran after us to redirect our steps. We waved and were off again.

Twenty minutes later Leslie said, "I think this may be the left trail we should take." I did not agree. It wasn't really a fork, the right trail was going down as well, and there was a large stick across the trail usually meaning wrong way. We continued on. We found a fork, left path going down, the right going up. Through my fever I beamed with superiority and gave Leslie the 'told ya so' look. She shrugged her shoulders and as always, good naturedly walked on. And on and on.

The trail went down to a gully about an hour later, was steep and eroded, making for a very tedious and difficult descent. We crossed a stream and continued back up and around the mountain until we came to a woven reed symbol on the path with a sort of effigy burned underneath it. Think of the Blair Witch Project and you will understand what we saw. We had been warned of this sign. It means 'no trespassing' or we will boil and eat you. Or something like that. I sat down and hung my feverish head. We decided, either courageously or stupidly, to continue through anyway. We could see between the mountains to the valley where we needed to be. We continued skirting around the mountain through slash and burn farm land, all the while watching the valley far below us. Finally, hot, hungry and rationing water, we realized we couldn't get there from here. Leslie's path far back must have been the right way. She didn't gloat a bit, though she had earned the right.

We backtracked to that trail (mysteriously the dissuading stick was now gone) and eventually came to the bottom of the valley, where the trail seemed to end at a stream. I sat down to rest. Looking down the stream I noticed that a path skirted the bank a few meters and then plugged back into the stream. I got up and followed this. The trail emerged again farther up. I called to Leslie and we splashed downstream for half an hour. Leslie had a bad feeling. This didn't feel right, she said. We should have looked more carefully for the trail when we got to the river. Given my feverish condition and acquiescing to her previous navagatorial victory, I agreed to go back and look for a more seemingly appropriate path. We returned. We looked. There was no other alternative. Wading downstream was the only option. Back down we went, on and on, for hours. Now and again the trail would pick up out of the water and cross overland before plunging back it the stream. Hours later we got on land and stayed on dry trail.

We passed through an orchard and saw a man tending to the land. We made sign language to ask how far to Hah-sah-pey. Thirty minutes he told us. Great. The end is near, my pain nearly over. We finished the last of our rationed water under the hot afternoon sun. Half an hour. We trekked on. Fifteen minutes later we saw a shack near to the path. Leslie went to ask the residents if they had bottled water and how far we were from the village. No water... and thirty minutes. I hung may head and determined that Hah-sah-pey (now pronounced 'house of pain') was a geographical oddity and was half an hour from everywhere. Except Kew Khan of course. It is only an hour and a half from there.

At this point, due to fever, hunger and dehydration I lost track of time. We eventually came to the village. Our hour and half quick journey had taken us nine hours and not only had we missed breakfast, but we had missed lunch as well and it was nearing dinner time. Had we reversed our previous two day's walk it would only have taken us five hours.

We sought out a vendor and, finding one open in the busy school yard, we bought sodas and fruit drinks. They had no bottled water. Sitting on a bench in front of the vendor stand, we were surrounded by twenty or so tribal children staring at us with awe and curiosity. Leslie looked at the bottom of her pants. Having been wet from the long stream wade, they picked up a mass of dirt and debris half way up her calves. "I'm so dirty" she remarked through her exhaustion. I looked up at the children surrounding us, the filthiest little bodies I have ever seen in my life, and bust out in delirious laughter for about five minutes.

We got an hour longboat ride back down to Mueng Noi. Even through my exhaustion and illness I was impressed and amazed by the scenery of the river. The mountains with their jagged kirsks loomed over us in impenetrable might. Huge rock formations and mysterious caves remained half hidden by brush and water, tempting the daring to explore.

We passed canoes of village youth who tried unsuccessfully to keep up with our motorized longboat. A cold rain began to fall. I crouched into a ball to preserve my body heat. Eventually we were climbing the long stairs back to our bungalow and I immediately flopped onto the bed asleep.

My fever continued for the next few days as we rested and recovered. Feeling better but not in full recovery, we decided it was time to move on. We had one last place that we were excited to see before we journeyed back to Thailand.

Feb 5: On Safe Sex and Village Life

thedukeoearl — Mon, 5 Feb 2007 11:18:00 GMT

February 5-17, 2007

On Safe Sex and Village Life

Having had enough of urban living we took a bus north and east to the small village of Nong Kiaw. The most impressive aspect of this little village was the enormous concrete bridge that spans the Nam Ou River, rising hundreds of feet above the water during the current dry season. We enjoyed an evening beer standing on this quarter-kilometer long bridge and took pictures of the sunset. Or at least what little we could see of it through the constant ambient smoke from the slash and burn culture for which Laos is known. We also watched a very mangy and timid dog eat a pile of vomited rice from the road. It seemed a bit surreal to be there.

Two stories emerge when I think of our one night in Nong Kiaw. The night's accommodations and our visit to the caves. I'll start with the night.

We had settled for the first accommodation we saw. We were not picky as it was only for one night, had its own bathroom (nothing near as nice as what you are picturing -whatever that may be) and it was only $3 a night. Our hostess was a nice chubby old lady and we just couldn't say no. We later wished we had. The rooms were all lined in a row and the top of the connecting walls were open for ventilation. The walls were terribly thin and the open tops made all talking necessitate a whisper. Or so it would for a decent person. The room next door, late in the evening as we were settling down for a quiet night's read, became occupied by two Laotian men. They were loud and boisterous and soon we found out why. They had hired a prostitute for the night to share between them. The laughing and all the other noises that eventually came unmuffled into our room was what you would imagine. We finally fell asleep (simply because THEY finally fell asleep) and were again awaken to the mountain chill of the pre-dawn hours by happy singing and sounds of spanking and laughter and unnecessary banter. A yell in no amiable terms to the point of please be quiet escaped my grouchy morning mouth. Surprisingly they did quiet down a bit. We were glad to know that they practised safe sex but extremely unhappy to find this out by discovering later that they had tossed their used condom through the partition and sloppily onto our floor.

Story number two. Before taking off the next day for a boat ride to a village north of Nong Kiaw, we made a 45 minute walk to a series of caves that sounded interesting. For a dollar between the two of us we hired a guide of 15 years to show us the caves. He spoke little to no English but this, with a little help from the guidebook, is basically what we came to understand.

Between the years of 1964 and 1973, the USA's CIA turned the country of Laos into an undesignated battlefield, against the stipulation of the Geneva Accord of '62 which recognized the neutrality of Laos and forbade our military presence. North Vietnam did the same. The war in Laos was completely secret and there was not even a name for the operations and was referred to as the 'other theater' and air force and CIA agents were turned civilian to pretend to be legally present. The US had trained the Hmong villagers to fight the communist influence and the North Vietnamese were determined to destroy their centers of power. There were no rules of engagement as were found in Vietnam, so we could indeed bomb indiscriminately. In the nine years we were carrying on this secret war, we flew over half a million sorties, one and a half times the number in Vietnam. We dropped an average of one plane load of bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a day for nine years at the cost to the US taxpayers of $2 million a day! By the end of the war, for every inhabitant in Laos we had dropped over a half-ton of ordinance . This does not even include all the herbicides and Agent Orange dumped on the country. Given all this information, Laotians remain the most relaxed, friendly and smiling people in all of Southeast Asia.

Heading to the caves we crossed a rickety bamboo footbridge and a few dry rice paddies. The first thing our guide pointed out was the craters left over from the bombing raids thirty years ago. We climbed up a long flight of wooden stairs and entered the mouth of the cave. This cave had been a safehouse for the Vietnamese during the war and it had areas labelled hospital and radio room. We were shocked to find out that at its peak this small cave housed 7,500 Vietnamese.

After walking and climbing through this cave, our guide took us on a seven or eight minute walk to another cave and we almost laughed when we saw the sign for the Luang Probang Bank. During the war the bank had moved its operations to this cave of deep and narrow passages, and going through it we tried to picture the working day of the bankers as we squeezed through the tight passes to rooms with signs denoting 'accountants office' and 'loan officer'. Imagine coming to a dirty bat-filled cave to make you daily deposit! (of course, there probably would not have been any bats at the time as the Laotians seem to have a large appetite for eating them!)

On the walk back we encountered several dozen school children laughing and talking as they walked down the road on some sort of unchapparoned field trip. What struck us as a little disconcerting was that every one of the children was wielding a long handled, long bladed knife -what passes for the local machete. I laughed as I thought how these boys probably got in trouble if they DIDN'T bring their knives to school. A big difference from our public schooling! A few of the boys stopped to ask for pens which we unfortunately could not produce. The boys skipped away and I was tempted to yell after them not to run with those knives.

A few hours later we and our bags were boarding a narrow longtail boat and heading up the river towards the unmotorized village of Mueng Noi Nua.

The river opened up to the most gorgeous scenery with hazy mountains surrounding the river and empty sand beaches lining the shore. Every now and then we would pass herds of grazing water buffalo that seemed indifferent to our presence. We passed several small thatched-roof villages and laughed while small naked children jumped from rocks into the river. At one point the river became swift with rapids and the boat pulled onto a beach. We walked up the shore a kilometer so that the unladen boat would not scrape the shallow rocks.

Mueng Noi itself was over a high bank up from the river ascending a very long flight of cement stairs. I found out later that in the rainy season the river is so high that the stars are completely covered. The village consists of one dirt street, a dozen or so guest houses, vendor stands, a few quiet restaurants and plenty of ducks and chickens. At one end of the village was a unobtrusively placed monastery, near the other end was a large football field. We saw a sign immediately at the top of the steps for a bungalow with use of hot water. Knowing this a rare commodity, we checked it out. The water was solar heated, best used in late afternoon and there were three simple bungalows and a restaurant with a large balconied patio on the bank looking down over the river. They had electricity but only between six and ten at night. We settled in for $2 a night and took a walk around the town.

For a few days we stayed quiet, reading books and enjoying the view from the restaurant. We had left our passports in Luang Probang to get an extension on our visas so Leslie, needing to take care of some business over the internet, took an overnight trip to the city while I continued practicing the recline position.

As soon as Leslie's boat got around the bend in the river, she reports that it started taking on water and sinking. They pulled to the shore and bailed the water out, but mutiny arose and the passengers refused to get back on the boat and demanded another. The driver refused and told them if they didn't want to go, they could walk back and pay again for the next day's ride. This was obviously not an option as there was no path through the dense jungle and the swim back across would be long and with swift current. Also, given Leslie's uncomfortability with water, it looked like getting back on the boat was the only option. It is a 45 minute journey down river back to Nong Kiaw. It took them more than five hours. They missed the connecting shuttle bus to Luang Probang. They all refused the seven hour boat trip continuing down to the city, so they piled into the back of an 8-person tuk tuk and, along with luggage and a floor full of rice sacks, they took off for the 4 hour journey back to the city. I think she said there were 19 people total in that tuk tuk. I was so thankful that I had not gone!

Feb 2-5: Luang Probang and Poop Salad

thedukeoearl — Mon, 5 Feb 2007 11:15:00 GMT

Luang Probang

February 2-5, 2007

Endive a la Poop

Some bus rides are just long and uncomfortable. The ride from Vang Vieng was definitely one of these. After about eight hours and a long wait for repairs when our bus's brakes failed on the winding mountain road, we arrived in the Unesco World Heritage city of Luang Probang.

Luang Probang was a ghost town when the country opened its borders to tourism in 1989. Now it is a quiet but busy city that thrives on tourism and in that context, has gotten to be quite pricey by Laos standards. To complain about two people paying $10/night for a small but nice room with private bath and hot water seems silly by standards back in the states, but we were not in the states and fumed a little about that being the cheapest place we could find. We accepted it, however, and stayed in this quaint little city for four nights. Much of our time here was spent on the internet uploading pictures to our web site. In the evenings Luang Probang's main street turned into a huge but sedate and gently lit night market. Many of the vendors were tribal women selling their hand made wares. We were tempted to load up on souvenirs and gifts, but thinking of carrying them for the next few months dissuaded us.

Most of the restaurants in the city were expensive, so we were very happy to find a street buffet where you could pile up a plate with vegetarian food for a half-dollar. We decided to hire a tuk tuk with a few other travellers to take us on a forty-five minute drive to an enormous waterfall. The waterfall was indeed impressive and we hiked up the cascading levels. We even got to see a few bears and a tiger that lived in enclosures there. They had been saved as cubs from the poachers who had killed their parents. The tiger was especially awe-inspiring. The visit was great fun until we met up with our companions at the arranged time and discovered that our prepaid tuk tuk driver had left us stranded. Fortunately we could catch rides with other tuk tuks, but having to pay twice did make us grumble.

One second hand story about Luang Probang had to do with the confluence of the two rivers that meet right at the city, the Nam Ou and the Mekong. The story was that just below this confluence was an enormous pipe extending from the city. From this pipe was streaming all the foul effluence of the city. The content's give-away was the bright pink toilet tissue commonly seen in this country. (That is, if you see any at all.) So if this stream of raw sewage going directly into the river were not a distasteful enough picture, the real groaner was the sight of a woman washing lettuce in the river just 200 meters downstream.

Vang Vieng: A 'High'light experience

thedukeoearl — Fri, 2 Feb 2007 11:00:00 GMT

About Vang Vieng...

Vang Vieng as a town is not for everyone and doses should be personalized. Most of the restaurants in town carry two things: a blaring television and a 'Happy Menu.' Some of the restaurants play nothing but episodes of 'Friends', some only 'The Simpson's.' Never a selection of both it seems. Some specialize in movies and have large selections of DVD's.

Now the 'Happy Menu' is something that strikes me a bit curious, as drugs are not legal in Laos. Nevertheless, from this menu one can order 'happy pizza', 'happy shakes', or if you just want to forget the food part, just a rolled joint. In addition there are mushroom shakes and several varieties of opium consumption. Needless to say, save for the blaring tv's, this is one of the most laid back and quiet, or dazed at least, towns you will find.

Back at our guesthouse there are a few other things of interest. First are the kittens. Two very cute kittens lived on the grounds and they were small enough to fit through the window bars. I would wake up laughing many nights to find a kitten sleeping on my chest. It was most precious.

In addition to constant kittens, every morning was like a visit to Old McDonald's farm. It would start with the roosters crowing in the neighbor's yard behind us, and continue in competition with a pig snorting as if in extatic consummation. Add to this a baby being yanked from a peaceful sleep and crying for hours, the chopping of wood for the morning fire and subsequent smokeout through our reed walls, the pounding of rice for flour, the bells and mooing from the cows, dogs barking and constant noise coming from the mouths of the Laotian family living there, whether singing or arguing. We were up by seven every morning I think.

Jan 18: Off To The Mountains!

thedukeoearl — Fri, 2 Feb 2007 10:47:00 GMT

Vang Vieng

January 18 - February 2, 2007

It was time to leave Vientiane and head north. After getting out early enough for an unhurried cup of coffee, we were surprised at our guesthouse owners sudden affability and helpfulness at finding the right bus station to carry us on our merry way to the small tourist town of Vang Vieng. We had heard mixed reviews about this spot but were determined to give it a look.

Vientiane, it turns out, has two bus stations. One for local buses and one for VIP and 1st class air con transport. They are on, she told us in broken English while pointing to the map, opposite sides of the city. The former being on the western side and the VIP on the eastern. She pinpointed the locations on our map. She then began to win us over to the idea of taking the VIP. This took little persuasion as we had been told firsthand accounts of the Laotian intolerance to motion and the subsequent vomiting that frequents the hot and dirty winding rides through the mountains on the local buses.

With a generous window before departure time, we agreed to walk the 25 minutes to the eastern bus station. Hot but at ease we reached the bus station and saw only local buses. We walked up to survey the timetables and were hailed with the frequent 'where you go?' call of a tuk tuk diver. The hack was made obvious. The woman had switched the bus stations to the economic benefit of this all too willing, helpful and informative tuk tuk operator. We were helpless to his ride and agreed to a fair price to the far away bus station on the opposite side of the city. We were whisked away with speed back along the same route we had sweatingly walked minutes ago, but were a bit confused when we stopped at a travel agent exactly behind the guesthouse we had recently left.

'You wait here for bus'

No, we go to the bus station'

'No problem, come inside. You get bus ticket here.'

'We paid you to take us to the bus station.'

'Yes, bus come here. No problem.'

So that is how we had the great fortune of meeting Quin and Rachel. We bought tickets, waited for the bus and in an hour or so, we were told to grab our bags and walk about 5 minutes to find our bus resting lazily in the shade of a large tree. We boarded the bus, ergonomically designed for those travelling without knees, and sweltered in the heat for a bit while we waited for the air con. Across the isle from us sat an extroverted Aussie and his girlfriend. He took immediate interest in our mosquito swatter. He picked it up but before appropriate warning he touched the wire electrodes and let out a loud yelp. Having done that ourselves we knew the painful shock it gives and through that shared pain and subsequent laughter we became fast friends.

With our new friends Quin and Rachel we left the bus and, after flipping a coin, decided to cross the bridge away from the city of Vang Vieng and toward the mountains. We found residence in a guesthouse called Maylyn's with comfortable enough accommodation in a beautifully landscaped yard with a tremendous view of the mountain kirsks that loomed over the river valley. The room was a simple layout of a bed and a fan and metal security barred windows. The walls of woven reed reminded us that the neighbors on either side were not far away at all, as we gigglingly found out the middle of the first night. Bathrooms were off the porch and shared. All this luxury for the price of $4/night. The community area/dining room was nicely set up with two long community tables and a window that looked like it was once used as a bar or reception area.

It was dark by the time we signed in and there was a gruff older looking man at the table eating a famous Thai banana pancake.

'How's the banana pancake here?' I inquired cheerily.

Now, take a second to prime your voice to meet Joe. In the very back of your throat make an 'errrr,' loud with a low rumble, like an engine needing a tune up. Squint one eye like a pirate and talk in a muddled Irish mixed with Australian accent through that 'grrrr' noise. You have just met Joe.

'It's not a banana pancake, It's a pineapple pancake' he scolded.

'Ah. Well, how's the pineapple pancake then?' I was trying to be friendly, but moreso, I was thinking of ordering one and wanted a quality review first.

Joe hovered over his food protectively. 'Well I don't really know how to answer that, as its MY pancake!'

I decided to leave Joe and his pancake alone, but soon found out Joe was the owner of this fine establishment. His favorite expression seemed to be 'oh yeah, right', keeping true to the grumble and accent of course.

In the fifteen days we stayed with Joe, we got to know him quite well. When we met him he had just returned from his first overnight trip up in the mountains. In the six years he had been living there not one other group or person had endeavored or accomplished such a feat without a local guide.

Jan 29-31: Jungle Trekking Laos

thedukeoearl — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 11:12:00 GMT

January 29-31

Vang Vieng: Search Party, Anyone?

About ten days into our Vang Vieng stay and after saying farewell to our departing Aussie friends, Leslie and I decided to head back into the mountains for a few night's adventure. We grabbed few light blankets for the cold nights, our packs and a few other essentials and made sure to tell Joe exactly (approximately) where we were going and that we would be back on the third day. I told him and his workers a deliberate, 'we will be back on Wednesday', and we set off through town, picking up food and a machete and a ride north back to where Quin and I had crossed the river. The plan was basically to follow the reverse route Quin and I had taken, except this time to have proper supplies and to finally summit that mountain, and to hopefully find a trail down the other side instead of a bushwhack.

The first night we spent in the mountain-surrounded valley across the river and through the pass. We had planned to camp, but now seeing the hidden valley in daylight we realized the problem of this endeavor. There were several cow droppings on every square meter of ground here. The Hmong tribe owns this land and are responsible for both the cattle grazing as well as the sharp-leafed grass crops growing up the foothills.

We met the caretaker of the land and, with use of sign language, he invited us to stay in their guest cabin for a few dollars. He even helped us start a fire and spent some quiet time around the fire with us sharing our food and laughing at failed attempts to communicate.

The morning came after a long night on the hard shack floor and we were greeted by the Hmong women coming to work in the fields. They all wore an easy smile and had an air of contentment about them, though they had on clothes that had more holes than stitch and seemed as if they might disintegrate off their bodies at any moment. They came and warmed their hands over our morning fire and enjoyed laughing at us. We never did figure out what was so comedic.

We headed up through the reeds on the path Quin and I had come down, only this time we had to add a steep climb and the heat of mid to late-morning sun. We pushed through the discomfort. It was noon by the time we reached the end of the abusive grasses at the top of the foothills and got into the jungle. I confidently chose our trail and we continued for some time. After a while nothing looked familiar. Of course it didn't look familiar! I had come down it exhausted in the pitch black of night! But, I was secure of my decision to take the right hand trail and not the left.

On we continued until reaching a point where lumber had been milled en situ and the jungle floor was covered with sawdust and wood scraps. Searching, I could not find where the trail continued. We looked for a while, had lunch, and looked some more. No luck. Dead ends, all our attempts. Nothing to do but to go back and take the left-hand trail.

Some trails are made for pack animals, some for just walking. I am convinced this trail was made as a joke, it was so steep. I expected to pass some trickster hilltribe men await with menacing grins. But, it was a trail and it was going towards my summit so we continued up. I would rest every ten minutes or so to let Leslie catch up and would literally be looking straight down at her as she climbed the trail.

After what seemed a long time of climbing we finally reached the high point where the trail wound around the far side of the peaks and came down the back side. This trail did not lead to the ridge saddle as I had hoped. I had mixed emotions at this awareness. First, I was baffled at what could have happened to the trail Quin and I had come down. Surely we should have crossed it. Second, I was glad that this trail was going the right direction and we wouldn't have to bushwhack our way down. Third and ultimately, given the late hour and need for water, I realized I would never actualize my dreams of sitting on top of that damn summit.

The trail descended steeply for hours and the sandy path crumbled under our feet so it was as much of a sliding descent as walking. About five in the evening we were beginning, just beginning mind you, to level out a bit from our steep descent when the trail crossed a dry tributary bed. I knew that stream would lead to the main riverbed Quin and I had come up, so I decided to turn off the path and onto the stream bed. The lighting became dark and eerie as the dense jungle surrounded us and the sun was preparing to set. Our stream bed emptied out onto a smaller branch of the main river that Quin and I had been up. I walked up a bit and found some water. I walked down a bit and came upon the frame of an old Hmong hilltribe's shelter and, the sun being nearly set, we decided to call it home for the night. I set myself to the duty of collecting the large banana leaves to cover the shelter frame and for our ground cover. Leslie set herself to collecting firewood for our overnight jungle experience.

The jungle at night is not a quiet place. We kept the fire going for a while but soon drifted off to sleep in our banana leaf lean-to. Soon the noises of birds and insects and who-knows-what started a chaos of noise that raised the neck hairs. When in this situation you find yourself concentrating very hard. 'Okay, that was a bird... that was a monkey I think, that... I don't know what the hell that was...!' and one begins to panic a bit. The duration of panic, I believe, is complimentary to the amount of nights one has spent alone in the naked wild world. I, for instance, having recognized only a few of the sounds, realized I wouldn't know everything out there, and that was okay, and I went to sleep. For a short while anyhow. Leslie on the other hand only had a few nights experience with nature at its darkest hours. She dealt with it pretty well for a while until we heard this piercingly loud unnerving screech very near to us in the darkness. She was doubly scared as I returned the shriek back to whatever it was, without any warning to the already terrified Leslie. Her poor little heart. It must have been beating so fast. As soon as I let out my territorial yell, the something that screamed so loud, that large something, took off across the jungle floor away from us, breaking large branches as it went. Soon I was sleeping again. Until a branch broke in the dense night.

Nudge, nudge nudge.

Whispering: "Did you hear that?" Another nudge. The jungle was closing in on her.

"What?" I asked sleepily.

"That noise. Something's out there."

I listened. Another snap of a branch. "Hmmm" I said. "Sounds like they are coming for you. Goodnight." I rolled over. For some reason this didn't seem to help.

"You want me to screech again?" I tried to sound sympathetic.

"You think it would help?"

"Its worth a try" I let out a yell.

"JESUS! You could have warned me this time!"

"I thought I did."

We listened for a few minutes. I drifted off again.

Another snap.

Nudge, nudge.

"There's something out there..."

"Hey Leslie?" I started.

"Yeah?" she whimpered.

"Its a jungle. There are lots of things out there. Its where they live." For some reason this seemed to calm her, as if she had never thought of that. We soon settled back to a night of much needed sleep, silently ignoring the blunt river rocks stabbing at our backs.

We woke early the next morning and prepared the fire for morning coffee and breakfast. An hour later, full, packed and refreshed, we resumed our journey back to the guesthouse. It didn't seem so far away. Just a bit down this side stream bed to the main one, down that and through the cave and then we're almost home. Well, as it turns out, boy-boy teams go much faster than boy-girl teams. But I admit, it was tough going. After the previous day's exertions we were not completely fresh going into this day and the going was not really walking, more hopping, scrambling and climbing.

Every now and again I would stop and look around. This place was so magnificent. The river, now dry, had cut this gorge into the mountains and on either side, the mountains towered over us at immense hights, rising hundreds of meters above us. The river itself would only be about 10 meters across and the boulders that made up the riverbed were massive and the waterfalls running over them would be magnificent to see, had there been water. I was, however, consciously thankful that no water did flow now as there would be nowhere to go and we would be just more debris washed away, like the branches and trees that were jammed in the rock crevices from the force of the water.

Eventually, in late afternoon, we came to the cave. We slowly clambered down the 15 feet and got through the cave, another new experience for Leslie. Being on familiar ground now and easier going with the rock scrambles, our moods became lighter and our pace quickened a bit. The sun set on us as we came down the remainder of the stream bed and it was well dark by the time we reached the main road, two kilometers from Joe's famous banana pancakes.

A few minutes down the road we saw a light and heard the engine of a motorbike. It passed us, then turned around back towards us. We stood, curious. It was Joe, our guesthouse owner! Joe had been worried about us all day and had driven down to look for us. He had completely forgotten when we said we would be back and had even formed a search party for us, to start looking in the morning. Silly Joe! Nobody had ever been out for two nights before and with it getting so cold at night he just didn't think we would do it. I think he felt a little silly after we reminded him of our original plans but we were touched by his concern and we told him so. He, of course, told us he was just worried about his business. We were grateful for his concern nonetheless.

After 15 nights in Vang Vieng we begrudgingly realized that it was time to move on. We said our fond but sad farewells and left after breakfast for our next adventure.

Jan 25: The Epic Quest

thedukeoearl — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 11:04:00 GMT

January 25, 2007

Vang Vieng:The Epic Quest

The day after our kayaking adventure, Quin and I decided to go on a manquest. As in, a quest that men do, not one in search thereof. Our quest took us up the same riverbed and through the cave of days previous, and then the adventure began. Quin had a topo map and a compass and a place he wanted to reach, to summit the mountain looming above us. As always I was in for the adventure.

The bouldering got tougher after the cave but still progress was much faster than with the girls. I yelled in frightful warning as I watched Quin step on both sides of a 5 foot long bright green snake with a triangle head. I might not have noticed it had it not struck at Quin's leg and frantically slithered into the jungle. We found out later that this was a very poisonous snake. No harm was done and we continued up the riverbed. Ten minutes later Quin was falling four feet down off a boulder, landing on his hind quarters. He had put his hand in a crevice to climb up and had rested it directly on another snake. Again, although he injured his pride a bit in the fall, no damage was done. Quin was quite jumpy at a shake of a stick for about 15 minutes. Its funny to hear a tough Aussie curse.

I guess it was about three in the afternoon that we decided to leave the riverbed and make our way through the jungle. This made our going much slower. We had just found some needed water in a stream. Our poor planning had not prepared for enough of anything, really. We then decided that the summit is up, so that was the way we must go. Up.

Every now and then we would find what seemed like a trail, which would disappear quickly into dense jungle. Quin would look at the map and compass, consult me, an onward we would go. We had to punch our way through the most dense and impenetrable jungle growth imaginable. Sometimes the slope would be so steep we needed rope (which we didn't have). Some of the climbs were so crumbly that every handhold needed to spare ones life from a deadly fall would crumble and landslide below us. Large rocks would pull straight out of the side of the earth as we clambered to higher elevations. At one point, I was stretching desperately for a foothold across a precarious gap when our third snake sighting slithered onto my only footing option. Needless to say I fell. Stupid snake.

We never really started getting worried until it was past five and the sun was beginning to set. We were going straight up the side of the mountain, punching through bamboo, stinging nettles, briars and stickers, wrestling with the growth, taking two steps and wrestling again beating it down, stomping it, moving up. The cline was probably near 60 degrees. We looked at each other and the map and realized that our goal was closer than going back, and we plodded on towards the unattainable summit, figuring we would come to a ridge eventually.

We finally crested the ridge at sunset. We plodded around a bit until finally finding a trail that seemed to run the saddle between peaks and ventured up the path a few minutes until it hit us. We would be stuck on top of this mountain after dark and were expected back in one hour. We had passed a Hmong campsite with fire pit and len-to frame and seriously considered a night up there. Male stubbornness took over, as well as realizing it would be below 10 degrees Celsius at night and we had nothing warm, no food and no water. We made a quick search before the sunlight was completely gone and found a nice but incredibly steep trail going down the mountain on the other side. We happily trekked for hours down the steep descent of trail past another much needed trickle of water and then eventually entered a slash and burn clearing beneath the mountain's jungle. Here the cursing stated.

Past a nice open descent of the slope beneath the jungle we entered farm land and the crop was Elephant Reeds. These reeds hung completely over the trail and had razor sharp sides that sliced at our faces and bodies as we passed through. Without exaggeration, it took us two hours to descend rapidly through this madness. In the dark, it was the thing of nightmares. Quin, being quite a bit taller than I, had a much worse time with the reeds and was continually slicing his face and eyes. At the same time his headlamp kept going out from a previous moisture issue. Its funny to hear a tough Aussie curse.

Finally, past the reeds we came to an amazing valley surrounded by mountains on all sides. The map showed that there should be a pass we could go through and get to the river near the point we had started our kayak adventure. After going the wrong way several times we finally found a small trail climbing a bit but then passing through about a ten-meter gap in the mountains and descending once more until we reached the river.

At this point, we had not had a meal since lunch and water was in short supply as it had been most of the day. The soles of my shoes had fallen off. I had hot spots all over my feet, my gashed knee (from kayaking) was throbbing worse than it had all day. We were both wearing dozens of scratches, cuts and punctures from all the brambles and foliage we had pushed through. Quin was murderously irritated after the reeds and headlight issues, and now we had to cross a 30 meter swiftly flowing rocky river in the dark in bare feet while keeping our small daypacks including cameras, dry. And once we did, we were home free. That is, after another 10 kilometers by road back to the town.

Gingerly and laboriously we made it across the river, found a trail, crossed a few dark rice paddies, found an unlit dirt road, followed it a few kilometers, pausing to wave a nervous hello to the Laotian man on the bike with the big rifle, and got to the main paved road. We waited for a ride of some sort to come by. Having no luck there, we walked a few more kilometers to a village where we found four young Laotians drinking beer and listening to music. We ingratiated ourselves to them, got a few sips of suds and then bought a ride on the back of a moped for the remaining 8km into town.

Back in town we counted our money, gobbled down a pizza and beer and limped the kilometer back to our guesthouse. Our ladies were waiting, a bit lubricated by gin and tonics, but happy to see us alive. It was midnight by the time we had returned. We never did get to the summit of that damned mountain.

Jan 24: Vang Vieng...Blood and Guts

thedukeoearl — Wed, 24 Jan 2007 10:57:00 GMT

January 24, 2007

Vang Vieng:Blood and Guts

The traditional and popular activity in Vang Vieng is to drift lazily in a large innertube down the Nam Song river. This 'sport' was one of the first draws to Vang Vieng becoming a tourist town. It was cheap and eventually riverside bars began popping up as stopping points for the drifters.

During this dry season the river was quite low and thus the current was very slow, and we decided as a group to rent kayaks rather than tubing down the river. This turned out to be a wonderful idea and we got to start farther up the river and see more of the gorgeous scenery.

A few hours later we ran into the 'tubers who all cried out for a tug. We stopped for a bit at one of the bars catering to river flotsam and were entertained by the zip line swing that sped at dizzying heights above the water, dropping those of us with the guts brave enough to tempt the fates from several storeys above the water. I will just say two thing about it. Fear and pain. But it was fun nonetheless.

The only other unexpected excitement on our trip was playing around with Quin and Rachel's kayak and ending up getting t-boned and flipping. This would have been fun had Leslie not been terrified of water and not a swimmer, and had the current had not been exceptionally swift at that particular point in the river, immediately sweeping my knee into large rock, gashing and bruising it deeply. Soon enough we were back on our kayak and drifting along again with no more problems than a busted and bleeding knee and a grumbling and fearful Leslie, who had been sure that life would be lost in the catastrophe. Spirits were soon up again as we continued down the gorgeous scenic river with mountains and kirsks looming powerfully above us.

Jan 20: Vang Vieng:The Crew Goes Hiking

thedukeoearl — Sat, 20 Jan 2007 10:55:00 GMT

January 20, 2007

Vang Vieng:The Crew Goes Hiking

The hike from Maylyn's followed the dirt road for a few kilometers, turned right on a smaller road which passed through a local quarry and quickly merged with a dry riverbed. The riverbed is followed upstream and becomes increasingly more challenging as the boulders get larger and transversal more slow and complicated. This was as much a climb as a hike.

Leslie and I, Quin, Rachel and a young Finn made this hike the next day and our goal was a cave about six miles away. Quin had picked up a topographical map of the area in Vientiane and had a compass, so we felt in good hands as we began our hike. We hiked, climbed and heaved for three hours up the boulderous stream bed until we finally stopped to rest.

Without realizing we were 200 meters from the cave, some Hmong hilltribe rat-trappers told us the way forward was impassable and that we must go around by an impossibly steep trail that eventually was lost in a mess of bamboo mountainside all chopped down and impenetrable. An hour and a half later we were back at the same point on the riverbed and exhausted from pointless exertion.

We three males of the group decided to press on while the female two would wait and rest, gossiping and doing their nails no doubt.

The climbing did indeed get much harder, but we were not daunted and continued the short distance to a most impressive cave. We did not turn from the riverbed, we followed it straight into the solid rock mountain.

The first traverse into the cave was an eight foot ledge tediously ascended by a makeshift stick ladder. Once over this we came to a room with a pool of water that must be either side-traversed or waded carefully. Past this is another deeper pool with a trickier traverse. Then you get to a long stream of clearer running water that once entered, becomes the darkness expected from being in the bowels of a mountain. Headlights on, we continued through the cave another 200 meters to a cathedral ceiling opening to the other side of the mountain. Between us and this exit was a sheer wall about 15 feet high. Leaned against it were two poles and as I came to it, I found Quin struggling to shimmy up this poor excuse for a ladder. Listening to his grunting and heaving, I explored a bit and found that, to the right of Quin's exertions, a vine had been secured from the top of the ledge. I swiftly ascended and a surprised Quin, struggling at the top of the poles. He gave an astonished look to see me above him. Its always funny to hear a tough Aussie curse.

A few days later Leslie and I and the Aussie couple spent a half day rock climbing up 60 meter cliffs. Again we were fortunate to have Quin with us as he works as a rock climbing instructor and we did not need to pay for instruction. This was Leslie's first time rock climbing outdoors and after an initial intimidation she was scaling the walls like a spider.

Jan 15-18: Enter Laos

thedukeoearl — Thu, 18 Jan 2007 10:43:00 GMT

Vientiane, capital of Laos.

January 15-18, 2007

The cool of the morning was quickly fading as we approached the Friendship Bridge and into Laos. The $35 transaction for our visas went smoothly and we walked a few hundred meters north expecting a grand walk across a wooden expanse of rickety transversal over the Mekong River. Not only did we progress to find that it was a bus ride rather than a walk, there was no wood involved in this kilometer long concrete overpass similar to any such highway engineering. Hardly the small quaint villiagesque river crossing we had expected. Nevertheless, we gleefully boarded the bus and quickly disembarked on the north side of the river in search of a taxi to Vientiane, the capital city of Laos.

There are few things that put me into a panicked squirm. Sinus evacuations in my soda realized after consumption, a large hairy spider crawling on across my stomach, monkeys lunging at me with barred teeth dripping with E.Bola and Chlamydia. Upon entry into our mini-van taxi, I realized one more.

Mosquitoes, it is well known, carry many transmittable diseases that range in affect from fever to death. Malaria, Dengue Fever, Japanese Encephalitis and other lovely micro-organisms that gleefully render very bad days to the probiscusly initiated. It was with this in mind as I slid into the mozzy aviary that was our ride for the next 20 minutes. The hungry buzzing of a population ranging in the hundreds of pestilent airborne virus dispensers. I was renamed Grasshopper by a cheery English chap as I snatched a handful of them out of the air. Leslie had a better idea. The electric zapper racket. She quickly retrieved it from the bags and by the time we reached our destination, we stepped from the van with crazy eyes and wild hair, but full of victory and conquest. The van was now mosquito free and we emerged uninfected.

The first order of business when arriving at a destination is to find suitable lodging. One that is fitting to the budget, clean, acceptable mattress, and has some defence against rogue mosquitos. This is not always the easiest accomplishment especially when arriving in a big city where prices are higher and the choices more spread out. City lodging also is built on smaller plots, meaning it must be built up rather than out. Building up mean stairs and for some reason, the only room available is always on the fifth floor. With luggage secured weightily on our backs and daypacks worn reverse on the front, we clamber up these flights of stairs occasionally professing our religion to see a room that is usually either too crappy for our comfort or too posh for our budget and so we move on, refusing to disrobe from our packs for fear of some wild-haired thief lurking in a dark corner who will dart forth and snatch our packs by the time we reach the second stair. Needless to say, we are very relieved by the time we find the right place.

Occasionally, as was the case here in Vientiane, our wills are not so heartened for the cause and we will either splurge for the convenience of not having burning thighs or like now, settle with a budget decision to suck up our internal protests at a immaculately unclean, unfriendly, windowless, stuffy, fluorescent lit, dirty walled hole on not only the top floor of this fine establishment, but the floor where stairs were too much of a chore to build and something of a permanent ladder conveyed you from the floor below. The shared bathroom at the end of the hall was reminiscent of our recent van in occupancy and the facility was inconveniently without a seat. Still, we were happy with just having the decision made and did our best to turn the hole into a home.

Vientiane, it can be said, is the most relaxed and laid back national capital in the world. The western influence is seen mostly in the restaurants, aside from the obvious motor vehicles, paved roads and architectural influences. We were almost ecstatic to find a little Swedish bakery with both pizza and salami sandwiches and engorged ourselves in glutinous bliss. Actually, we don't find there is terribly much else to do in these big cities but to enjoy fine dining. Over a few days, we found the Thai embassy and, being forwarded on another trek to find the Thai consulate, secured a 2 month visa for re-entry into Thailand. We got a few books from a used bookstore and enjoyed a large cup of real coffee at a posh little cafe.

The most blaring difference to us between Vientiane and Phnom Phen in Cambodia, aside from extremely chill versus extremely frantic, was the lack of pharmacies. Cambodia had several per block. Vientiane had none in sight. We took off to find one, Leslie needing back pain meds from looking at too many 5th floor rooms. We were not met with success until traversing the city streets for nearly two hours. Either Laotians are an extremely healthy people or just have secret medical supplies stashed out of sight of the canvassing foreigner. We found what we needed and threw in a few extra rounds of cyproflaxin for good measure and prepared to probe the depths of Laos the next day.

Jan 9-14: Heading North To Laos

thedukeoearl — Fri, 12 Jan 2007 10:29:00 GMT

January 9-12, 2007

From Buriram we boarded the train for a quick uncrowded, bench-seated ride to the city of Khorat. We had planned to stay overnight in this city, walking from the train station an hour to our selected hotel. Arriving finally in front of the hotel on our urban trek, we both had the feeling that we would rather continue on to the little town of Phimai rather than dwell in big city life. We walked past the hotel, looked at our guidebook's simple map, and walked the wrong way to the bus stop.

Four blocks later, we were getting the feeling that we had gone the wrong way. We checked the map again. I had looked at it wrong. I flashed a guilty smile and we backtracked to the correct road. We inquired of a few locals and were pointed down the correct street to the bus terminal. We had been carrying our luggage now for several hot hours and were getting a bit worn. We walked with great relief past all the parked busses and to the ticket window.

"Two tickets to Phimai, please."

"Where you go?" English did not come easily from the attendant.

"Phimai" I spoke a little louder so she could understand me.

"Oh, no. No heeah." She shook her head.

I almost repeated myself even louder, but then realized she heard fine, just the bus wasn't here.

"The bus isn't here?" I tried to understand.

"No. Phimai bus, Bus station two." She waved with her hand, the kind of wave one gives when you are talking about something far away.

We made sure that we understood the woman correctly, got directions, consulted the map and began walking again. Eventually we came to eight lane traffic and had to cross. We walked boldly without slowing as we had learned in Cambodia. Eventually we came to a bus stop and the bus we wanted happened to be there so we hopped aboard, taking a seat at the back of the bus. We were glad to finally rid ourselves of our packs and rest our legs.

The ride on the local bus was nice and easy. As usual during stops, vendors selling foods or drinks came through the bus. I noticed one Thai man was selling fat Thai sausage on a stick. I cringed, remembering a bad experience with a raw one quite a few months back. In front of us, an older anglo gentleman perked up and told the vendor he would like ten of them. I was impressed at his appetite for such a thin man and at the same time wondered how long this ride really was. We soon struck up a conversation with this man who, it turns out, was Swedish but living in Thailand. I remarked that he must really like the Thai sausage and laughed at his reply.

"Oh, no, no, no, I can't stand them!" he said with a surprising amount of disgust and passion.

"No?" My puzzled look kept him going.

"Oh no, I get these for my dogs! Oh they smell so horrible, I can't stand them." He squinched his nose and looked away.

As we found out, our new friend had ten dogs he was lovingly looking after. He then began telling us of his sick dog who he did not think would be alive when he got back. He had a point when he told us that he had given the dog to his gardener to 'euthanize' due to its chronic suffering. There were no veterinarians within a distance he could take the dog. He then speculated that the dog would be euthanzed with a shovel or something. Before he finished his story he was openly crying about his poor pet. We consoled him with empathy of loosing our own pets and felt compassion for this caring soul. His stop was halfway to Phimai and, though we felt for him, the mood was much lighter after he got off.

We reached Phimai and hefted our bags once more, looked at our map, picked a guesthouse and headed, once again, the wrong way. A few block down a nice woman stopped her bike and, speaking fluent English, asked us where we were going. We told her the name of the guesthouse and she set us in the right direction.

The only way we could discern that our accommodation was indeed a guesthouse was the sign and a desk among the clutter. Other than this, it just looked like a junky house. We found a woman to show us a room up some steep and narrow steps and hesitantly booked it. We had carried our bags far enough that day and this would do. That was, until we realized that our room, uninsulated boards, baked in the hot afternoon sun and that we were sharing a room with countless mosquitoes and a noisy bat. We moved to a nice hotel the next day.

Phimai is a town built around a cultural and historical park. Inside this park lie the partially reconstructed ruins of one of the Angkor era temples just as we had seen in Cambodia. The grounds were well kept and manicured. I found this detracted from the feel of antiquity of this thousand year-old ruin. We paraded through nonetheless, snapping photos as is we didn't already have thousands just like them from Cambodia.

The rest of our time in Phimai was spent at the small unimpressive night market and at a laundry mat. Overwhelmed with excitement, we figured it was time to move on.

January 12-14, 2007: Buses and Trains North

We got the bus back to Khorat and then had a long hot wait at the station for the next train north to the city on Kong Kaen. The train was packed with Friday commuters and we were stood in a huddle for several hours before some seats opened up. We met a Thai woman who had married a G.I. during the Vietnam war. He was killed during the war but she still received benefits. She had moved back to Thailand from the US because dental work was too expensive in the states and her military benefits had been cut.

Eventually the sun set as the train slowly emptied and we moved to other seats near our bags. We then had the misfortune of being joined by a frantic mother and an endlessly screaming baby. The mother's other child was sitting in boredom while the baby wailed. We cheered him up with some chocolate covered pretzels. Soon an elderly Thai woman came over and said something in Thai and was handed the baby. I couldn't understand the Thai but figured it was something like, "I've had twelve of these. Let me show you how its done."

We got to Kong Kaen around nine and hired a tuk tuk to take us to our selected guesthouse. He delivered us directly to the wrong place and took off before we had time to realize it. We hefted our bags and marched wearily to the correct guesthouse. We got a room, went for sidewalk food, swatted mosquitoes for late night sport and tucked ourselves into bed. In the morning, uninspired by this city, we packed, went for breakfast, and hoisted our bags again for the walk to the bus station.

Our bus turned out to be very nice, air conditioned and roomy. We headed out, showing off our mozzy swatter by ridding the bus of stowaway pestilence and relaxed in comfort. Soon the bus, not being fully booked, pulled to the side of the road and we were told to get on another bus, crowded and humid. We were sitting right in front of a line of orange-robed monks and I was suddenly self-conscious of my desire to search and destroy any mozzy life forms. We sweated the rest of the way to Nong Khai, border city to Laos.

Or should I say we almost made it to Nong Khai. We were dropped off on the side of the road three kilometers from town where several tuk tuks lined the shoulder. We found that it is common practice to put bus stops and drop off points far away from destinations so as to benefit the tuk tuks and to extort money from stranded farang. We spoke with the drivers, defended our right not to pay anymore to get to our destination and walked off up the highway the three klicks to our guesthouse. Of course, this guesthouse was full so we continued our journey to find one that was acceptable.

Nong Khai wasn't a bad town. We found some cheap places to eat and a huge indoor market that stretched about a mile along the banks of the Mekong. As we were eating lunch one day I noticed that across the street there were huskies walking around. We went over to investigate and found a Siberian mother in a cage nursing four tiny puppies. There was one other husky tied up and we started speaking to the owner, though he spoke no English. He showed us a magazine picture of a prize-winning Siberian Husky male and then disappeared for a minute to return with two of the cutest balls of fluffy puppy ever seen, the show dog was the sire. They were so big we thought they must be Malamutes, but he insisted they were Siberian. They were gorgeous. They were for sale each for $700US. Leslie went nut over them. I felt bad for them being in this climate, but then realized I had gotten both my snow dogs in Southern California and had no place to judge. We thanked the man for showing us the dogs and walked on our way. After a couple of nights in Nong Khai, it was time to leave Thailand again and head into the unknown lands of Laos.