Time for movement. We were leaving Chiang Mai, and Thailand, even though all of us were still praying for a different sort of movement. No big changes loomed ahead though, as Laos is very closely related to Thailand. Laos is still quite unique though, and its continued existence as a struggling third world country is contrasted against Thailands successful efforts to remove itself from such a distinction. Begging is much more common and Laos has a large army of cute kids peddling crap souvenirs and ugly jewelery. Roads in Laos are mostly unpaved, luxury is a cushion, and English is a skin color. Creature comforts be damned, it was time to rough it.
And rough it we didn't. Courting the frayed edges of consumer trust, a charming travel agent nearly sold us a beach front property in land-locked Laos but settled instead on a boat package to Luang Prabang. He unequivocally guaranteed comfort as it was his good mate who ran the show (Of course his mate did!) Every place was offering the same AYA service so we went with him as he was the cheapest and not because he was highly adroit at painting Hell in an appealing light.
The first portion of the trip was made in a sterilized bubble; a minivan decked out to maximise Western satisfaction, and please dainty derrieres. After my run of luck of late, I took no chances and wore the helmet that I had purchased to use with a push-bike back home. It was almost needed too as our driver must have thought he was driving an indestructible assault vehicle. He had a large arsenal of suicidal manuvueres but his coup de grace was overtaking a speeding ambulance with lights flashing; another act of foreigners pulling rank over the locals. Just because you drive a new car and don't own a meat clever, doesn't give any more legitimacy to the act of totally ignoring road rules.
The package included plebeians to help us do the terribly taxing work of border crossing. I was most upset there was no one to fill out my form and was on the verge of complaining when forced to walk a whole 50 metres down the road to our package hotel room. I mean, what exactly is my few measly dollars paying for anyway?
My 30 day Laos visa was approved on the spot, even though it was submitted with a 7 year old photo of a what looked like a completely different person. The guide book finally proved its worth by recommending the border fee be paid in US dollars. This I requested to do when the dude asked for baht and I managed to save myself $17.50 on the transaction. Imagine all the pants I could buy with that much money?
We passed up the meaty dinner provided and tracked down our own tasty Phad Thai, still called Phad Thai and not Phad Lao. We deliberately slept through our probably meaty American breakfast and only had time to grab a banana shake before being herded onto a long tail slow boat. Our agents promises lost all their gloss when his 50 capacity boat became entire village capacity, totally packed to the rafters with locals and travelers. With soft bums on hard planks, the 100 baht we paid for a cushion turned out to be the smartest purchase of the trip so far. Only smart purchase so far actually.
In the absence of breakfast, our snacks didn't last long and my gastronomic imperative chomped through 2 days food supplies in one morning. The boats kiosk fully catered to all chip, biscuit and beer cravings, although it was completely deficient in anything else that could be considered food. I bought a green packet of chips knowing that as a green ice-cream means wasabi and not peppermint, green chips mean seaweed flavour, not chicken. Pause to marvel at the extent of my cultural awareness!
As I stared out the window at the beautiful passing scenery, it dawned upon me that traveling is all about the journey rather than the destination for me. This explains why most of my posts are about the traveling aspect of the trip instead of what I do upon arrival. I have never been a big fan of 'tourist sites', and I have probably been to less of them this trip than I have been to pharmacys. Traveling is all about the challenges it presents rather than the photo opportunities that arise in the process.
7 hours in numerous contortions and we arrived at the mid point of the trip. Pak Beng, which strangely means 'half way' in Lao, was a place built specifically to meet the demands of stupid people with no idea about money or international relations, sort of like Canberra. A town totally catering for tourists, it had so few redeeming features that we beat the 10 o'clock end of electricity curfew and retired to bed after dining on tasty but suspicious looking curries.
All suspicions proved unfounded and another decrepit looking toilet, that still wasn't squat style, did not encourage any weight loss before boarding the boat. Slightly more roomy and less crowded, I still opted to take a tramadol to appease the whinging of my bruised and backed up rear end. All pain receded and the final part of the trip passed in a haze of mild euphoria, in part due to an end to the torturous but beautifully scenic boat ride. Motorcycles and boats are now on my list of modes of transport that never need to be ridden again; ever. At least we had made it to Luang Prabang and the next chapter of our adventure.
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