In Laos: Learning Water Buffalo Speak

“Do You Speak English, Dude?”

“Yessssssss!” I did my best impersonation of the sports announcer who squeals “Goooollllll” when a player scores. If my bones weren’t so exhausted, I might have added a silly victory dance.

After a marathon of dubious public transportation on bombed-out rural roads, culminating in a rather rickety canoe ride, I had ...finally... arrived!

I was standing in paradise: Don Det, part of the 4,000 mile islands, in southern Laos.

The next day, I decided to stretch my tired muscles and explore. Instead of visiting neighboring Don Kong, I chose the opposite direction. A few minutes off the main dirt road, I stumbled into a fairy tale setting of gorgeous greenery. Seated on a plush throne, I was the resident Princess, surrounded by forests lacking human footsteps.

That was when I first spied him, grazing quietly. I giggled. Even though I was an urban dweller, I was not deceived by his stoic demeanor: cow tipping may work in some places, but I wasn’t going to try water buffalo tipping here.

So enraptured with his friendliness, I did not notice the smaller version of himself by his side. I took a small step closer. My foot mid-air, my moving form startled the baby buffalo. His fright threw his previously tranquil parent into uber-protection mode.

The blood-stopping noise is a sound I will never forget.

While I may not speak a word of “water buffalo”, I completely understood the enormous animal’s desire.

How do you reason with a ton of force who thinks you want to hurt its young?

The creature seemingly grew bigger and bigger. Normally, I like to argue. This was not a time for debate.

“I get it, dude! I’m leaving.”

To escape, I had to cross a rushing stream that smelt like sewage. Animals (and hardened criminals) the world over sense fear. I had to get away.

How could I exude calm I did not feel?

There was a tree trunk connecting the green bank where the angry water buffalo stood and the equally green bank, sans water buffaloes, where a lone hostel made its home.

Cirque du Soleil performer I am, unfortunately, not. Deeply inhaling, I tossed my raggedy backpack, over my shoulder.

Standing on the big branch, it did not budge.
“This is going to be easy.”

I imagined Olympic judges discussing my degree of difficulty. How should I take my bow?

The ominous noise roared. Again.

I shuddered and started to slip. Still fancying myself a gymnast, I struggled to regain my footing.

Splash!
Into the murky water I went.

Gasping for air, I swam quickly, searching safety on the opposite bank. My heart thumped from my near-death experience; I was choking on smelly water and reeking of sludge. I glanced back.

His now serene son beside him, the proud papa grinned at me.

We spoke the same language after all.