Laos: Part 2
LAOS | Monday, 2 July 2007 | Views [624]
Conveniently, a tuk-tuk was waiting at the top of the riverbank when we emerged from the water, but a handful of us boycotted his "outrageous" $1
per person rates and walked (though we hadn't the slightest clue where we were). Following the river was a grand idea, and on our aimless but
certainly southern route somewhere, I ran into a stray sandal. My search for its partner led my eyes towards the middle of the road, where we noticed
motorcycle carnage. There were two motorcycles lying on the ground head-to-head, a few more sandals, and broken flowers strewn everywhere, as
though they once made up a bouquet. It was a curious sight though - there wasn't a soul to be seen, and the motorcycles could only be spotted as
other motorcycles passed by sporadically. Being the Nosy Nelly that I am, I approached the scene and by the only light for 500m along this part of the
road I could see two large pools of deep, red pools of blood. But there were no drops anywhere, as though the accident had been set up. It was
completely undisturbed but there were still no authorities and furthermore, no spectators. It was altogether creepy.
The sound of Friends in the distance affirmed that we were headed in the right direction. I returned my tube, and paid a hefty $2 fine for its late
return, and as I was on my way to...nowhere really, I didn't know where my sister was and wasn't quite sure where to wait if they returned. In the
middle of my contemplation, I was interrupted by France. If France was here, then where were Jessica and Graham? I borrowed money from Rory, who
happened to be passing by us on his bicycle as we discussed what to do, and shared a pad thai with France at the Simpsons Bar in the hope that Jess and Graham would come strolling by. Craig joined us sometime later and we decided to form a three-person search party. We wandered the riverside for some time,
then just as we strolled down a random side street, who do we see stumbling out of a random bar, both shirtless, broke, tubeless, scratched-up, and
one (Jess) bare-footed, but Twiddle-Dee and Twiddle-Dum...Jessica had somehow mastered being passed-out while still standing and was waving backwards
and forwards in struggle to appear awake, and Graham was, well, hungry.
Piecing together both accounts, which consisted of small clip-like memories, it seems that they ditched their tubes when they decided to head back to
town and instead of taking the beaten path, trekked through a patch of thorny bushes, climbed a fence, and from there on, no one remembers
anything.
Since Graham had lost his dry-bag, we took him back to our place for a good night's sleep on the floor. But bedtime didn't roll around for Jess and
Graham until AFTER a round of Thai boxing outside of the room where they knocked a plant over and crashed into the door a few times. It was strange
that these two apparent crushes should be knocking each other around, but kind of endearing in a way.
A few days later, after one spent playing pool, eating, and watching movies, Graham was to depart for Luang Prabang. But after he left, Jess was, like
myself, mostly tired, but noticeable down which I thought rather odd. We moved back to Phoudindaeng from Vang Vieng into a cheaper guesthouse just
up the road from the farm cafe and I prepared to go solo with Rory up to the school to teach English classes. Jessica isn't the sort who enjoys
teaching or kids that much anyways, but when the next day rolled around and she still wasn't too keen to work on the farm, I realized that she her spirit was a little broken with her funmate's goodbye.
We spent the morning mudding the walls of the inside of the farm's seed bank with Ong-Gel - a project aimed at collecting organic seeds in order to
encourage the growth of organic food by local farmers and in case of a bad season - and when lunchtime arrived, Jessica insisted on jumping off one
of the nearby platforms (which I interpreted as being one of the rope swings) and wanted me to film it. So I sat there, busily talking to one of the
students who worked at the jump during the day with his family, and when I looked into the viewfinder to locate Jess, I saw that she was climbing up
this enormous pole! At this point, I didn't have much control over the situation and could only curse and think of what my parents would do to me
when they found out that I'd let her do this...obvoiusly she made it out alive, but the film commentary is NOT pretty.
A sudden downpour chased us from the jump back to the farm cafe, and when it ended, I returned back to the farm while Jess showered for some one-on-one
with Ong-Gel, with his limited English, where I probed him about Laos culture and enjoyed fresh mango with Pih. English classes were on the
schedule for me again and I convinced Jess to come along because the kids had been asking about her whereabouts. Our first class had welcomed us
with a series of pointed questions (more like statements), beginning with an enthusiastic, "HELLO!"
"How - ah - you!"
Then "What - is - yuh - name!"
"It - is - nice - to - meet - you ____!"
And "Wheh - ah - you - from!"
Then the students would clap. And at the end of every class, a few of the students, some 5 years old, some 17, would come to us and shake our hands,
then, "Thank you, Teacher!" and, at the end of our final class, it was "Good luck to you!" and I wished them, "Sohk dee" good luck to them.
We prepared for our final day at the farm, working on the seed bank again, then met Rory in town for a farewell lunch before hopping in the back of a
pick-up truck, or sawngthaew, dressed up like a tuk-tuk but bigger, bound for the country's capital, Vientiane.
We managed to score a windowless, freshly painted room in a central guesthouse on the Mekong River that had 6 hooks on the wall, two beds, and
no table, but it was $5 and we were laughing. Our most critical discovery in Vientiane was made on the following day's wanderings: the Scandanavian
Bakery. Think: quiche, cheese croissants, chocolate brownies, egg sandwiches, and air-conditioning in 35 degree heat on a breezeless
day...on this day, we'd decided to cover the city's monuments, temples, and various other "must-see" sights. In our mildly dehydrated state, we were
slow-paced with the heat and becoming increasingly accustomed to Laos time as every minute rushed by us with a wave, a thumbs-up, and a "sabaidee!"
("hello!").We do love those minutes...
Our last stop was at the Laos National Museum - incredibly insightful on the country's recent past and, at the time of our visit, home to a temporary
exhibition on the Dutch explorer, Van Wuysthoff, and his diary accounts of a 17th-century tour of Laos. On our way out of the top-floor exhibit, my
quietude was interrupted by a man's comment to me on the horrors of Laos' political past. This man was George, and the conversation carried on
between the three of us until the museum's closing. Once standing outside the gates and the conversation had now moved onto the topic of his business, which
he had recently sold, he decided that it was a long story to tell and suggested that we grab a drink somewhere and continue the chat.
Over JoMa's own lemonade, George continued to tell the tale of how he became a multi-millionaire with his invention of the Triton Workbench. He had a
good score of energy at the age of 57 and clearly enjoyed telling us his tale. And we were more than happy to lend an ear to his
story-telling, figuring that we were likely to learn something about him and possibly about life over the two hour conversation. Break: JoMa is a cafe,
resembling something like a Starbucks, offering various treats that would otherwise be hard to find in Laos, but the great thing is that the
employees get paid twice the regular wage and many of them are former child prostitutes who have been rescued by the opportunity to work. Any tips
made are matched by JoMa and this money is distributed as the community needs it. For instance, one of their current recipients was a family who received
$10 a week from JoMa so that they would not have to sell their 11-year-old daughter into prostitution. So that not-so-cheap spinach croissant goes to
a very worthy cause and overall, I was immensely impressed with the whole operation. Back to George, he invited us to join him for dinner which we
eagerly agreed to. Basking in endless roquefort-filled dishes, wine, and seafood, this French restaurant made for a tasty treat for Jess and I both
and by the end of the night, I was convinced that the man at least rivalled my longwinded style of story-telling. From his Palace of Yum in Byron Bay,
as he has affectionately named it some time ago, to his aversion to marriage because of his friend who spent more time planning her wedding than the
Allies did before an invasion, we "discovered" George. And for anyone who's interested in a work-free, financially stressless life, George wants us to
put the word out that after having convinced three of his previous ladies to have terminations, he would like an heir, so...girls? Anyone??
There were wisdoms too, and to be able to speak to a man who had succeeded incredibly at some things in his life and failed miserably at others was a
lesson in itself. George wasn't exactly travelling modestly and when you think that between the 3 of us we struggled to break $50 at dinner, his
hotel rate of $90 was lush. We went back to George's hotel to drop him off and he wanted some company while he drank tequila shots and smoked a
joint. Another generous invitation to us for dinner at the same restaurant ensured us all good company once more and great food.
Jess and I spent $1 the next day. A local bus dropped us off nearly 30km outside of Vientiane at the Buddha Park and we wandered the grounds for a
few hours, even managing to make friends with a group of young monks who wanted to practice their English - a common weekend activity for those
confident monks who seek out foreigners for a simple chat. The monks walked with us around the statues and carvings and when the time came to leave,
one of the monks who spoke English reasonably well said, "Good luck. I want to come with you..." He became shy when he said this and with a hesitant, but
wide grin he blurted out, "I love you." Whom he was speaking to exactly, we weren't sure, but, once we'd gone our separate ways, we muttered between
ourselves awkwardly that he MIGHT not want to be throwing that one out so freely...We spotted the boys riding their bikes into their temple on our
way back, but other than this and a woman with a shaved head, wearing a nude, silk, strapless bra, high-top pants and carrying a paint roller, the bus
ride was largely uneventful.
Our dinner with George played out much the same as the previous night, just one table over and two new dishes for dipping into, and when it came time
to pay that bill (we covered the tip this time at least) and walk those stairs back down to reality, we heard some bass. When we arrived in the front
room of the restaurant on ground floor, we found a big French-Laos man, who turned out to be the chef and owner, dancing to Black Eyed Peas with a
sheesha in one hand and a craft of homemade wine in the other. Apparently the restaurant had closed up before we'd managed to get out, and as that
last few patrons, we were invited to join in the festivites. A whole lot of wine and salsa dancing later, Jess and I left George behind flirting with
a freshly-separated woman whom he now thinks may be a princess - a real one - based on an article he read about a woman with the same strange last name,
and made way for our lovely lime-green gem just a 5-minute walk away.
We had been somewhat conned into buying a VIP bus ticket for the overnight ride to Pakse, in southern Laos, but decided, in the end, that if we were
going to splurge on anything, this would be it . Okay, honestly, I can think of a few more worth causes (i.e. my tastebuds) but being picked-up from
our doorstep and complimentary dinner sounded luxurious. On our way to the southern bus station, we saw a crowd of people standing around a body, and
coincidentally, the same flowers that I had seen strew all over the street in Vang Vieng near the motorcycle crash there were similarly lying all
over the road. It was dark and difficult to get a proper look at the situation, but it was clear that there had been an accident and the man was not in
good shape. What irked me most, besides the fact that I had never seen a dead person before (presuming that he was infact dead), was that the crowd was
doing just that. Crowding, watching, but not doing anything. Later in the week, I recounted what I'd witnessed to an Englishman living in Laos and
he informed me that usually, if there is so much as a remote, but clear sign that the victim is alive, he will be lifted into a passing car or
motorcycle and taken to the nearest hospital, and if it is clear that he is dead, everyone just waits for the police to arrive at the scene. This must have
been the case.
The VIP buses were easy to spot with most of them wearing a theme on their exterior painted in neon colours: ours was Under the Sea. We were
fortunate not to be on one of the buses that also had sectioned, neon aisle lighting, but the vinyl roof and pink tassles lining the windows in lieu of curtains
didn't exactly exempt us from being in the tacky category. Nevermind, it was a bus decoid of Asian music videos, but with reclining chairs, free water,
a bathroom, and...seat numbers. The driver seemed quite adamant that we sit in our assigned seats despite its being half-empty, so I took a seat next to
a young Israeli, Uri, who I'd met on the tuk-tuk ride TO the bus station. He was very enthusiastic and, as with George, I found myself on the ear side
of the "conversation" more than the voice side, but again, I was interested in what he had to say. Uri was knowledgable about his country and, as rare as
it may be, he was also extremely open about his mandatory army experience and his company's station during the most recent war with Lebanon. At 23,
Uri had been recalled for the end of July this year, but travelling abroad apparently excuses him from this "duty." Uri lives in a kibbutz, has seen
elderly women with numbers tattooed on their arms here, and constantly probes his grandmother to relay to him her experience in Israel during
WWII. Relatively in the dark about Israel, I was more than intrigued with his life there but as 11pm rolled around, the bus was dark, its passengers asleep,
and his voice still booming with excitement, I tried to sway my head into a sleep. However, the 1am bathroom break had Uri awake and ready to
talk...and as everyone else quietly nodded off again, I was engaged in a conversation again.
The sunrise was spectacular and a frequent occurrence on the Bolaven Plateau. We were transported to the appropriate bus station in those wee
hours of the morn, from where we planned to locate transportation to Tadlo. Tadlo was a place of interest to us only for its cheap elephant rides, but
was essentially a small village situated 2 hours outside of Pakse and amidst the dense rainforest that blankets this flat southern region of Laos and a
number of impressive waterfalls.
The bungalows at Tim's Guesthouse rang in at a steep $1.50 each, but from here we had access to Tim, an odd English-speaking Lao man who randomly
oscillated between being reserved and unsociable and animated and friendly, and also arranged treks and elephant rides from his establishment. We
arrived here at 10am and did nothing for the entire day but look forward to the next meal, managing to locate a cheaper menu for dinner than the one
at Tim's, and enjoy the silence. Ahh, the simple life.
The following morning, we returned to the same restaurant up the road for breakfast with a couple of girls we'd met the previous evening. I had
forgotten to take my malaria pill the night before and brought it with me thinking that I should take it sometime soon. Without thinking, I took the
pill as soon as I had purchased a bottle of water and washed it down with an advil to quell a slight sinus headache that had erupted as the cold that
had been festering in my nose and throat worsened. Not long after sucking back this disagreeable concoction, a certain flavour invaded my mouth, a lump
rose in my throat, and I began to feel dizzy. As that lump became braver and braver, I gulped down more and more water, but by the time I could think
of nothing but keeping the lump down, I excused myself from the table and created my own spewtiful waterfall. Leave it to a doctor's daughter to
make THAT mistake... Apparently no one had noticed this public display of stupidity or its results, so I just sat back down at the table with the
girls and opted not to mess with their appetites by mentioning it.
Since I was feeling just fine, we decided to go through with the day's plan to ride elephants in the morning and trek through the isolated, obscure
trails that would lead us through crop fields and villages in the afternoon. By the end of the day, Jess wanted a Dumbo to call her own and I wanted
to delay taking my malaria pill again...we had dinner with the Englishman who works in Vientiane, Damien, who told us of life in Laos for him. His
neighbour is a 65-year-old specialist who works for the public hospital for just $1 a day and essentially supports his family by running a small
clinic out of his home which sees hundreds of Dengue fever patients weekly during the wet season. Although he knows what his talent could earn him elsewhere
in the world, this doctor feels a duty to his own people and for this quality he is rare. He informed Damien once that 95% of motorcycle
crashes, whose many victims he sees, are the cause of alcohol. In a country whose culture is so simplistic, it is not surprising that Lao Lao is the most
popular choice for wasting away the day. The women are kept busy for the better part of their days and are constantly pregnant while doing so, but
it is very common to see the men lying in their hammocks sleeping or sitting around a table with other men from the village drinking Lao Lao.
The next morning, we were destined for Champasak, a kilometre long village 30 km south of Pakse and once the capital of a Laos Kingdom. It can only
be accessed by crossing the Mekong River and only boasts a small set of Pre-Angkor temples that once was home to the King of this Kingdom. We
plonked ourselves down in the nearest guesthouse to our drop-off point, which incidentally happened to belong to the friend of one of the
drivers...but it did have an unbeatable riverfront restaurant whose deck protruded into the air, hovering 20 feet above the Mekong and offered its
patrons the choice between chair and hammock, whatever suits. The owner, though part of the scheme that landed us there, was quite a character.
With his bulging belly, "Chuckles," as we named him between ourselves, laughed heartily and willingly at absolutely anything said outloud and ran his
business completely shirtless.
We rented bikes the next day and rode 8 km to the ruins of Champasak, Wat Phu, on bicycles that seemed only suitable for a time when Marcia Brady
might bless its shallow frame and cushy seat with her presence and place her packed lunch in its front-loading basket. The temples were a nice preview
of what we figured Cambodia's Angkor temples would be like and we soaked up the solitude that we had here knowing the Angkor would be a far cry from calm,
nevermind quiet. From our balcony that night, which offered us a 180-degree view of the opposite side of the Mekong, we watched a battle ensue between
blasts of sheet lightening across the river, then suffered its wrath when it moved to our side by midnight, momentarily causing a blackout and so close
to us that it sounded like gunshots.
With little reason to stay in Champasak any longer and without much time to spare, we rode a transport tuk-tuk back into Pakse so that Jessica could
make one last trip to the bank. When she'd been gone for nearly 2 hours, my nerves started brewing and just as I was about to lug our packs onto a
tuk-tuk to go into to town to find Jess, a short Laos man wearing a t-shirt that read "Paris," thick glasses on his small face, and a navy blue beret
on his head approached me and told me a few random things that only kept me distracted long enough for Jess to turn up. He assisted us in finding a
ride down to the Four Thousand Islands, our last stop in Laos before journeying into the Kingdom of Cambodia.
There were two other "falang" (the Laos term for foreigner) aboard our tuk-tuk riding the bumpy road to the departure point for Dondet Island and
the four of us took our sandals off and climbed into a very unfit-for-Triton water "chariot." Our docking was, just as at the other side, a wet one,
and once we'd made the short climb up a sandbank, we arrived on the island community's main hub and eastern path, sandy and dotted with afew
restaurants, simple guesthouses, and two bars. It had been recommended to us that we stay on the Sunset Side of Dondet, so we kept out eyes peeled for
an apparently obvious sign that read, "Sunset Bungalows." The 200m path that led us west was lined with tropical plants and tall bamboo fences - the
only thing that distinguished one property from another - on our right and rice paddies on our left. Tena's Guesthouse won our business with its $1.50
waterfront bungalows. Although the thatched single-room stilt-house bungalows were fanless and literally only big enough for a double bed, it
would only ensure that we would not waste any time inside. Plus, the hammocks hung at each bungalow deck provided just one more place to rest
should the minimal room space cramp your style or your legs.
It was on Tena's balcony restaurant that we met a group of mixed nuts - not the ones with shells but the crazy variety: Croyden's-own, Ross, Nick from
Ontario, Frenchman Yoshi (we are still unsure of his given name, however, when we inquired about his name being Yoshi, he explained, "My friends
gave dis to me. I am like deh dinosaur, you know, deh green one wid deh big nose." How flattering...), and Tomoko from Japan. We soon got into the
swing of things on Dondet, literally, I didn't stray far from my hammock for the remainder of the daylight hours on that first day until it was "Beerlao"
time, which took us to one of the two bars for whiskey buckets and gained us a few more frends until the generator was turned off at 11:00.
The days were lost to me while I was at the Four Thousand Islands and time was only as relevant as a polar bear might be in Kashgar. When the rooster
called, I woke up. When the sun set, I watched. When I felt hungry, I ate. And when the generators were turned off, we bought candles, brought out
the headlights - yes, I wasn't the only one with that brilliant idea - and sometimes just relied on the lightening to keep the party blazing.
There was absolutely no agenda and so our days were unstrictly motivated by simple wants and needs and it was a great experience that is difficult to
create at home where all of those things that are supposed to make life easier instead make it more complex. Knowing how special our Dondet
experience would be made it easy to appreciate, and the fact that Laos' tourism industry is booming guaranteed us that Laos would not be the same
Laos we knew in even as little as two years. Our 2006 guidebook prices had for the most part doubled by the time we arrived at some of our
destinations and Laos is becoming increasingly popular - I can only hope that the reason WHY we all love it so much will be the reason WHY it will hopefully thrive sustainably. Unlike the rest of South East Asia, as I understand it to be,
Laos is the cleanest third-world country I've ever set-foot on and all of its tours and treks are based around the idea of ecotourism, so I have
high hopes that Laos will maintain its appeal in its isolation and small-town feel but also manage to prosper economically.
While an internet cafe and new guesthouse were popping up along Dondet's main sandstrip, the island still runs on generators between 6:00pm and
10:00-11:00pm, which was the only time that we had light in the complete darkness that encompassed our green gem come nightfall. There were no
streetlights - well, no streets, really, not even so much as a stray light beam on our way home from the bar, and when you wanted to use the
internet, an employee would invite you to sit down for 5 minutes, jump on his motorbike for the 100m ride to the generator, power it up, ride back, and
after wiping the sweat off his brow, did that thing that we so take for granted - pushed the On button. There. Just like normal.
The land was extremely fertile in Southern Laos, and with the exception of a few business owners who ran guesthouses and restaurants, most of the
population tilled the land and we had arrived just in time to see the rice being picked finally. It was a strange realization: I had arrived in China
when the rice was being planted, and not having realized that time had passed, an entire season had infact come and I was now watching it go, on
its way to gone...while narrow, sandy paths traced the perimeter of Dondet, the island's flat interior could only be navigated using paddie paths,
which were shared between bikes, cows, and monks alike.
On one such sunny day, after we collectively decided that three consecutive days of playing cards, eating, drinking, and reading would render us true
sloths, the 6 of us rented bikes and travelled the only "road" visible on our Turbo Fairy-brand bikes. The bikes here were exactly the same as the
one Jessica and I had rented at Champasak and weren't exactly made for off-roading. Okay, we weren't off-roading, but there were no marshmallows
in THIS Rocky Road. Surprisingly, we didn't suffer any flat tires between us, but everyone, except for us Lin sisters with our terribly good fortune,
stopped regularly to remount their bike chains. We crossed a bridge to the island just south of Dondet, Don Khon, and rode three slow and painful
kilometres down an even bumpier road to a village before we were informed of our whereabouts. We had cycled all the way to the bottom of Don Khon and
had missed the turn-off, just 500m from the bridge, to the waterfall that we were originally seeking out.
Our voyage back from that white-water-rafting-worth waterfall spurred our stomachs to speak up, so we grabbed a bite to eat in Don Khon's small
riverside community at a restaurant just below the bridge. We were shattered by the time we returned the bikes just before dusk and most of our asses
were raw by this point! Overall, an amusing day, enhanced by a nice light over the paddy fields on our way back, and topped by a stunning sunset.
Personally, I had hoped to have the opportunity to employ the locals' traffic warning system, which consisted of monotonously saying, in an
appropriate volume when approaching "pedestrians" from behind, "Beep, beep." We didn't run into anyone else and the only people who passed us on those
narrow paths were on motorbikes, so alas, I resolved to beep whenever I could, bike or no bike.
There was one particular luxury on Dondet, brought to us by the makers of all foods exquisite...they were doughnuts made by a Frenchman who had
materialized this grand (and lucrative when you've got starving backpackers frequenting a small, isolated area) idea and spent his days cycling the
circumference of the island with a metal box full of doughy goodness. It was on our first night on Dondet that island veterans, Ross and Nick, waved
the Doughnut Man our way, thus introducing us to these cane-sugar-covered, chocolate, and chocolate banana delights. And they were so gratifying and
sweet, not because I was unusually deprived, but because this man had talent! After this first encounter, we waited for the Doughnut Man. We
waited one day. On the second day, we saw him but were too late and he was all sold out. By the third, and last full day of our island time, we were
driven to chase him down, wanting to catch him before he even set to baking and guarantee him that he could sell at least a dozen doughtnuts to us if
he would find us this time. We wandered the fields in search of the guesthouse where the baking happened, and eventually stumbled upon it when we spotted
his bike with its tin box on the back leaning up against a bamboo fence.
We rushed up the stairs excitedly and..."No doughnuts today." "But why?!?!" we all demanded.
"Well," he started, arms crossed lazily across his chest, "We got a dead guy in a house [he pointed vaguely south] and we're gonna burn 'im in a field
today." We all looked at each other, and as we discussed our confusion after leaving him, we had all misinterpreted this as meaning that some guy when out to
the field and got burnt so badly he died. We asked him again, "What...?" "Yeah, we got a dead guy, he died, and he's in a house down there, so we
gotta burn him today. So yeah, no doughtnuts." Oh, a funeral. Moreso, a cremation. A fine description, Doughtnut Man,
fine description...when we asked him if he'd be baking tomorrow, he just shook his head and laughed. It would be a while, presumably. By this point in
our desperation all of our day's hopes and plans were revolved around the doughnuts and eating the doughnuts, and of course, now we were
unexpectedly doughnutless. Euker was a close second of fun things to do and we spent the entire day playing it, only breaking once during the daytime to pick up
tickets into Cambodia for our next-day departure, and then leaving Tena's deck after sunset to play cards at the other bar, the one we hadn't yet
been to.
So, just 3 days away from exceeding our 30-day visa, that inevitable day arrived, that day we'd dreaded for so long: the day we'd have to say
goodbye to Laos, to our hammocks, and to easy living. Although the south was exceptionally cheap and we were well under budget the entire time we were
on Dondet at just $5, we also had not wanted to end up with leftover kip, as it's entirely useless in the rest of South East Asia unlike the Thai Baht.
So ultimately, we were a little tight for cash EVEN at $5 a day, pathetic really, isn't it.
Laos was extremely easy to travel in. We could communicate in English virtually everywhere we went, even in the most remote of regions and if
you wanted, your transportation could always be arranged by a travel agent. Even on Dondet! In some respects though, the whole ease of the travel aspect
made the "travelling" much less amusing exciting - the less confusion and frustration, the less memorable. So I've found myself, in spite of
everything, looking forward to returning to China for two more frustrating weeks at my trip's end JUST so that I can be relieved by my plane journey
home! Laos can be more "rough" in terms of transportation, but getting to and from is simple. That said, we welcomed it after stressing in China for
two and a half months and my time in Laos has so far been one worth recounting but more importantly, one worth reliving (and with prices like
they are down here, realistically...).
8am: Ross, Jess, and I departed by ferry, then van, and tuk-tuk to the Laos-Cambodia border...
Sad, but excited, and still with lots of love,
Katie
