It is precisely thirty-one days before Cambodia’s parliamentary elections (which occur every five years) and there is not a soul in Phnom Penh that does not know it. At 5:00 this morning, Shanti and I heard cars and trucks going by our apartment blasting fuzzy music from loudspeakers. Fairly certain it wasn’t a mobile wedding (or funeral), I put my thinking cap on and realized the “election period” – I think that’s official terminology – starts today.
By the time I got to work this morning, Sam Rainsy Party (the main opposition) supporters were gathering in the park outside my office. Truck after truck (Internet news sources say hundreds of vehicles in a row) after moto after moto with SRP supporters in white hats and t-shirts, waving flags and banners with the SRP candle logo poured into the park area blaring Cambodian music and announcements from oversized loudspeakers. It was incredibly loud and distracting. The rally, which continued to gain supporters throughout its duration, lasted about forty minutes before supporters marched down Sihanouk Blvd, clogging traffic on an already over-congested thoroughfare (It is also worth noting that the municipality of Phnom Penh issued a statement to ban such processions yesterday). Though relieved that I could stop staring out the window in amazement and get to work, I soon realized that this was not in fact the case.
For the better part of the morning, processions of various parties – FUNCIPEC, the Human Rights Party (HRP), Cambodian People’s Party (CPP - the ruling party) – descended on the parks surrounding our office, departed and returned within an hour. A vicious cycle of noise and distractions. My co-workers tell me it will be like this every day for the next thirty days until the actual day of elections. How am I supposed to get any work done? And how am I supposed to get through each day without consuming an entire bottle of painkillers to dull the throbbing pain from the incessant noise? Only the next thirty days will tell…
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Back to Kampot
On Monday about two weeks ago I headed to Sihanoukville for a week-long staff retreat. Though we were staying within a five minute walk of the beach, the weather was horrendous for the entire week, save one afternoon when the rain held off for long enough for a pick up game of soccer on the beach. So instead of sticking around Sihanoukville for the family portion of the retreat (Thursday night to Saturday), I headed for Kampot on Friday morning for a weekend of relaxing and eating.
The two-hour minibus ride along the coast and with Bokor Mountain in the background was beautiful and uneventful. We arrived in Kampot town shortly after ten and I began wandering around looking for a moto. For once, there weren’t any to be seen. As I walked away from the river towards the market, it started to rain. Finally finding a willing driver, I headed back towards the river in the direction of Les Manquiers, our guesthouse for the weekend. Once outside of Kampot, the road immediately turned to slick red mud. After a few kilometers of bouncing along, we came to the guesthouse, behind an iron fence and amid much greenery.
The setting was beautiful. Two large wooden houses, a few gazebos and a series of about eight wooden bungalows with thatch roofs lined the river amid beautiful gardens and large mango trees. I checked in for the group of about fifteen that was expected to show for the weekend, and was shown to a three-person bungalow with a wonderful view of the river and Bokor National Park. Immediately after unpacking, the pace of everything slowed considerably and in the best way possible. Relaxation took over in a way I had not yet experienced in Cambodia. I read for a few hours on the porch while it absolutely poured before returning to the main house for a delicious plate of fried rice with shrimp, some bananas, and some phenomenal banana pastries hot out of the oven. My hearty meal was followed by an equally hearty nap.
At around 5:00, most of the crew for the evening, mostly NGO-types, arrived. They settled in and then we all met at one of the gazebos that stuck out over the river for the first of several consecutive happy hours. Over the course of the evening we cleaned them out of big bottles of Beer Lao, about twenty bottles the size of forties. By 9:00, an unbelievable array of food was brought out: salad, shrimp, fish, pork tenderloins, and fruit for dessert. With excellent food and drink (and decent company) we hung out late into the evening.
Radios blaring at full volume. It was 6:00am and a parade of fishing boats headed upriver for a day of fishing. I wasn’t ready to be awake yet, but it didn’t seem like I had a choice, so I popped my head outside. It was gorgeous. The sun was rising behind the bungalows and its glow covered the river, the brightly-colored boats passing by, and sections of the mountains beyond. I threw on shorts and a t-shirt and walked down to the river to enjoy the beautiful surroundings.
After going back to sleep for a bit, I headed back to the gazebo to read. A long table was set and I joined one of the others for a beautiful breakfast spread: fresh baguettes, jam, marmalade, peanut butter, chocolate spread (even better than Nutella), fruit salad, fresh orange juice, coffee, and tea. We sat for hours as others straggled from bed for breakfast, to read, and to chat. By late morning, and after several days of sitting around in Sihanoukville, I was getting a little stir crazy. The rain had stopped and it appeared it wouldn’t start up again for a while, so I took a kayak out and up river. As I fought the deceptively strong current, I passed a wedding and a school and came upon some mangroves. It was incredibly creepy paddling into them – it was deathly silent and there was no sign of activity of any kind. I paddled deeper and deeper until there was nowhere else to go but back, half expecting a snake to lurch towards me at any instant. I continued upriver until it looked like it was going to rain. Not until I started going downriver did I realize how strong the current actually was. It took a fraction of the time for me to get back that it took me to go upriver.
When I returned, most people were in the exact place that I left them. A few people jumped in the river to swim, and to our amusement, went nowhere despite their best efforts to swim against the current. By the time we had our light lunch we were joined by a few more people. We spent the afternoon reading, chatting, napping, and sipping on glasses of red wine. Pretty rough day.
The wine flowed into the evening and I taught the minority of men to play cards (one of the few redeeming qualities of the retreat was learning to play Cambodian-style cards). We played until we were presented with another phenomenal meal. Again, heavy on seafood, with fish, shrimp, and a delicious dish of beef and fresh green beans. And again, we talked late into the evening.
We slept in late on Sunday and were again greeted by a wonderful breakfast. We reluctantly packed up our stuff and drove off to Kep for lunch. Though none of us were hungry, we stopped at one of the seaside shacks that have made Kep and its crabs famous. We had some delicious crab with Kampot black pepper (supposedly the best pepper in the world) as well as some squid with the same pepper and honey. Not a bad way to end a wonderfully relaxing (and delicious) weekend.
The two-hour minibus ride along the coast and with Bokor Mountain in the background was beautiful and uneventful. We arrived in Kampot town shortly after ten and I began wandering around looking for a moto. For once, there weren’t any to be seen. As I walked away from the river towards the market, it started to rain. Finally finding a willing driver, I headed back towards the river in the direction of Les Manquiers, our guesthouse for the weekend. Once outside of Kampot, the road immediately turned to slick red mud. After a few kilometers of bouncing along, we came to the guesthouse, behind an iron fence and amid much greenery.
The setting was beautiful. Two large wooden houses, a few gazebos and a series of about eight wooden bungalows with thatch roofs lined the river amid beautiful gardens and large mango trees. I checked in for the group of about fifteen that was expected to show for the weekend, and was shown to a three-person bungalow with a wonderful view of the river and Bokor National Park. Immediately after unpacking, the pace of everything slowed considerably and in the best way possible. Relaxation took over in a way I had not yet experienced in Cambodia. I read for a few hours on the porch while it absolutely poured before returning to the main house for a delicious plate of fried rice with shrimp, some bananas, and some phenomenal banana pastries hot out of the oven. My hearty meal was followed by an equally hearty nap.
At around 5:00, most of the crew for the evening, mostly NGO-types, arrived. They settled in and then we all met at one of the gazebos that stuck out over the river for the first of several consecutive happy hours. Over the course of the evening we cleaned them out of big bottles of Beer Lao, about twenty bottles the size of forties. By 9:00, an unbelievable array of food was brought out: salad, shrimp, fish, pork tenderloins, and fruit for dessert. With excellent food and drink (and decent company) we hung out late into the evening.
Radios blaring at full volume. It was 6:00am and a parade of fishing boats headed upriver for a day of fishing. I wasn’t ready to be awake yet, but it didn’t seem like I had a choice, so I popped my head outside. It was gorgeous. The sun was rising behind the bungalows and its glow covered the river, the brightly-colored boats passing by, and sections of the mountains beyond. I threw on shorts and a t-shirt and walked down to the river to enjoy the beautiful surroundings.
After going back to sleep for a bit, I headed back to the gazebo to read. A long table was set and I joined one of the others for a beautiful breakfast spread: fresh baguettes, jam, marmalade, peanut butter, chocolate spread (even better than Nutella), fruit salad, fresh orange juice, coffee, and tea. We sat for hours as others straggled from bed for breakfast, to read, and to chat. By late morning, and after several days of sitting around in Sihanoukville, I was getting a little stir crazy. The rain had stopped and it appeared it wouldn’t start up again for a while, so I took a kayak out and up river. As I fought the deceptively strong current, I passed a wedding and a school and came upon some mangroves. It was incredibly creepy paddling into them – it was deathly silent and there was no sign of activity of any kind. I paddled deeper and deeper until there was nowhere else to go but back, half expecting a snake to lurch towards me at any instant. I continued upriver until it looked like it was going to rain. Not until I started going downriver did I realize how strong the current actually was. It took a fraction of the time for me to get back that it took me to go upriver.
When I returned, most people were in the exact place that I left them. A few people jumped in the river to swim, and to our amusement, went nowhere despite their best efforts to swim against the current. By the time we had our light lunch we were joined by a few more people. We spent the afternoon reading, chatting, napping, and sipping on glasses of red wine. Pretty rough day.
The wine flowed into the evening and I taught the minority of men to play cards (one of the few redeeming qualities of the retreat was learning to play Cambodian-style cards). We played until we were presented with another phenomenal meal. Again, heavy on seafood, with fish, shrimp, and a delicious dish of beef and fresh green beans. And again, we talked late into the evening.
We slept in late on Sunday and were again greeted by a wonderful breakfast. We reluctantly packed up our stuff and drove off to Kep for lunch. Though none of us were hungry, we stopped at one of the seaside shacks that have made Kep and its crabs famous. We had some delicious crab with Kampot black pepper (supposedly the best pepper in the world) as well as some squid with the same pepper and honey. Not a bad way to end a wonderfully relaxing (and delicious) weekend.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Just Another Day in Phnom Penh
Faithful readers: let me first apologize for the long delay in this post. I was (unfortunately) at a staff retreat all last week in Sihanoukville and in Kampot for the weekend. I also (even more unfortunately) had to move back to my apartment and out of the house sitting gig, so I’ve been busy with that.
Anyways, about two weeks ago my boss’ wife, Leah, invited me to join her and some others on a trip to Celliers d’Asie, a
Sharing a tuk-tuk with my boss and Erin, we headed for Celliers d’Asie, a few kilometers from the main part of town and under the
As we waited for the rest of our entourage – my boss’ wife and two other middle-aged couples – Dominique showed us some descriptions of the wines we would taste. Once the others arrived, Dominique, who is French in all the best ways, disappeared and reemerged with half a dozen bottles of wine and array of tantalizing victuals including bread, brie, blue cheese, ham and pâté. He informed us that since my boss’ wife is such a good friend (and, I assume, such a good customer) we would not only get five-star treatment but discounts on his normal prices. In fact, the price list even had a column for “special Leah prices.”
Just a brief aside on how small the world and Phnom Penh are: Erin sat next to a woman named Anne, who was not only from Buffalo (like Erin), but went to school with Erin’s childhood babysitter (still an incredibly close friend of Erin’s family) and it is highly likely that Erin babysat Anne’s niece and nephew. When they are both back in
We started with a handful of white wines, mostly of the chardonnay and sauvignon blanc varieties. Once six bottles were opened and nearly drained, we switched to red, tasting a few shirazes, cabernet sauvignons, merlots and a pinot noir. I was quite surprised at the high quality of wine we were tasting for such a seemingly low price; of the eleven bottles that Dominique opened for the eight of us, none was more than $16.
Early on in the tasting process Erin and I realized that we were comparatively inexperienced wine tasters compared to our companions, not that it mattered much. As the wine continued to flow, with less and less being poured into the bucket provided, we all became experts on the flavors of our wines – fruity, sharp, oaky, acidy, peppery, hollow, full, etc – as well as on our long-forgotten French, much to the amusement (and perhaps chagrin) of Dominique. It was tremendously fun though seemingly quite out of context; it was as if the setting for Sideways had been moved from the wine valleys of
The icing on the cake, if you will, was the “dessert” Dominique shared with us. He opened a $150 bottle of cognac that was so smooth and tasty that I was immediately transported to my mansion (perhaps thirty years in the future) with myself sitting in a stiff but expensive-looking chair in my red silk smoking jacket and sipping this cognac.
As we wrapped up, three hours and far more inebriated than after we started, I ended up with two bottles of merlot (at $8 a pop, not at all pricey, but certainly more expensive than the $2.50 table wine Shanti and I are used to) and Erin with a bottle of South African wine. We stumbled outside and headed home to leftover Indian food and bed, even though it was not even nine o’clock. I am coming to realize more and more to expect the unexpected of
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Laos Part VI: The Journey Home
After nine days of travel and countless adventures and misadventures, it was time for us to head back to Phnom Penh. Easier said then done. Though we were expecting a long day, we were not expecting it to be as long as it was.
At 8am we were picked up on Don Khone by a wooden longboat, which took us back to the bustling village on the mainland. From there, we were directed to a transport stop rife with about twenty backpackers. We settled in at about 8:15, assuming we were to leave shortly. We didn't. Finally at 9:30 we began to load up two minivans with backpacks and backpackers. The half hour shuttle to the remote Voen Kham border crossing was uneventful. At the Laotian side of the border, we needed to get an exit stamp and pay a $2 "processing fee" (double the usual $1 because it was Sunday). Since my Lao language skills weren't exactly up to snuff, I had no way to refute the charge, but I vowed not to give a penny to the officials on the Cambodian side of the border.
Once we had all gotten our stamp and paid our $2, a process that took no less than thirty minutes, we walked the half kilometer across the border to the Cambodian checkpoint. Since Shanti and I already had our visa we were able to go straight to customs, unlike our traveling companions who all had to get visas. The customs official scoured over my passport, my
Cambodian visa, and all my other visas (for no apparent reason) and then calmly asked for a dollar. "Aht mien loi," I said (I don't have money). He chuckled a bit and let me continue on. Since I was one of the first to go through, everyone after me was able to repeat the same words to avoid paying the unofficial fee. After about forty-five minutes we were all through. But we couldn't leave yet. Not only were we waiting for our transport (the minibuses we took to the border did not cross it), but we waited for a few other backpackers who were coming to the border via a different vehicle; there simply weren't other options for them.
Finally we were off to Stung Treng, presumably the location where we would be split into different transport going to different places (Phnom Penh, Siem Reap, Kratie, etc). When we arrived at a restaurant a few kilometers from town, we unloaded all our stuff from the bus and were told that we had an hour for lunch.
Two hours later (it was now 2:30pm), we finally started loading the one bus that was going to take us all to our destinations. The bus - not even full-sized to begin with - was missing half of its seats. I have no idea where they were, but they had simply been removed and replaced with wooden boards stacked three feet high. Luckily, Shanti and I had been pushing the man in charge (Mr. Model of Inefficiency himself) to get things moving for a while and were able to climb onto the bus early and claim real seats. About a half dozen other souls were not so fortunate.
Leaving Stung Treng - which we knew to be at least eight hours from Phnom Penh - a bit after 2:30, we were not happy campers. We made our way south slowly, stopping to drop people off in Kratie and to let all the backpackers get out and smoke. When the driver tried to get them moving, they completely ignored him. Oh, backpackers. As much as fun as it was to listen to their stories about doing drugs and finding themselves, it was not exactly the kind of crowd that Shanti and I wanted to share a confined space with for an extended period of time.
At about 6:00pm we stopped for dinner in Snuol. This was bad for two reasons: 1) it meant that we were taking the roundabout way to Kampong Cham from Stung Treng through Snuol instead of along the Mekong and 2) it meant that we were still at least five hours from Phnom Penh. We had a bit of food and clamored back onto the bus.
Deprived of stops every thirty minutes, our traveling backpacker companions started smoking on the bus. Shanti politely asked them to stop to no avail, even after loud coughing noises. Then, using a tactic known as a "white lie," she informed them that she was asthmatic and that the smoke was bothering her. Did they stop? No. They finished their cigarettes and a half hour later moved to the back of the bus to smoke there.
Shortly before 10:00pm, we dropped a few poor souls in Kampong Cham. They were going to Siem Reap, but would have to wait until the next day to catch a bus there and waste another day traveling as Siem Reap was still five hours away. Onwards we went, finally finally arriving in Phnom Penh at nearly 1:00am. We tried to talk to the bus driver to get him to drop us at (or near) our house to no avail. We caught a tuk-tuk and crashed hard, cursing the inefficiencies of Cambodian transport and the fact that we had to be at work in seven hours. I can safely say we will probably never cross that border again.
At 8am we were picked up on Don Khone by a wooden longboat, which took us back to the bustling village on the mainland. From there, we were directed to a transport stop rife with about twenty backpackers. We settled in at about 8:15, assuming we were to leave shortly. We didn't. Finally at 9:30 we began to load up two minivans with backpacks and backpackers. The half hour shuttle to the remote Voen Kham border crossing was uneventful. At the Laotian side of the border, we needed to get an exit stamp and pay a $2 "processing fee" (double the usual $1 because it was Sunday). Since my Lao language skills weren't exactly up to snuff, I had no way to refute the charge, but I vowed not to give a penny to the officials on the Cambodian side of the border.
Once we had all gotten our stamp and paid our $2, a process that took no less than thirty minutes, we walked the half kilometer across the border to the Cambodian checkpoint. Since Shanti and I already had our visa we were able to go straight to customs, unlike our traveling companions who all had to get visas. The customs official scoured over my passport, my
Cambodian visa, and all my other visas (for no apparent reason) and then calmly asked for a dollar. "Aht mien loi," I said (I don't have money). He chuckled a bit and let me continue on. Since I was one of the first to go through, everyone after me was able to repeat the same words to avoid paying the unofficial fee. After about forty-five minutes we were all through. But we couldn't leave yet. Not only were we waiting for our transport (the minibuses we took to the border did not cross it), but we waited for a few other backpackers who were coming to the border via a different vehicle; there simply weren't other options for them.
Finally we were off to Stung Treng, presumably the location where we would be split into different transport going to different places (Phnom Penh, Siem Reap, Kratie, etc). When we arrived at a restaurant a few kilometers from town, we unloaded all our stuff from the bus and were told that we had an hour for lunch.
Two hours later (it was now 2:30pm), we finally started loading the one bus that was going to take us all to our destinations. The bus - not even full-sized to begin with - was missing half of its seats. I have no idea where they were, but they had simply been removed and replaced with wooden boards stacked three feet high. Luckily, Shanti and I had been pushing the man in charge (Mr. Model of Inefficiency himself) to get things moving for a while and were able to climb onto the bus early and claim real seats. About a half dozen other souls were not so fortunate.
Leaving Stung Treng - which we knew to be at least eight hours from Phnom Penh - a bit after 2:30, we were not happy campers. We made our way south slowly, stopping to drop people off in Kratie and to let all the backpackers get out and smoke. When the driver tried to get them moving, they completely ignored him. Oh, backpackers. As much as fun as it was to listen to their stories about doing drugs and finding themselves, it was not exactly the kind of crowd that Shanti and I wanted to share a confined space with for an extended period of time.
At about 6:00pm we stopped for dinner in Snuol. This was bad for two reasons: 1) it meant that we were taking the roundabout way to Kampong Cham from Stung Treng through Snuol instead of along the Mekong and 2) it meant that we were still at least five hours from Phnom Penh. We had a bit of food and clamored back onto the bus.
Deprived of stops every thirty minutes, our traveling backpacker companions started smoking on the bus. Shanti politely asked them to stop to no avail, even after loud coughing noises. Then, using a tactic known as a "white lie," she informed them that she was asthmatic and that the smoke was bothering her. Did they stop? No. They finished their cigarettes and a half hour later moved to the back of the bus to smoke there.
Shortly before 10:00pm, we dropped a few poor souls in Kampong Cham. They were going to Siem Reap, but would have to wait until the next day to catch a bus there and waste another day traveling as Siem Reap was still five hours away. Onwards we went, finally finally arriving in Phnom Penh at nearly 1:00am. We tried to talk to the bus driver to get him to drop us at (or near) our house to no avail. We caught a tuk-tuk and crashed hard, cursing the inefficiencies of Cambodian transport and the fact that we had to be at work in seven hours. I can safely say we will probably never cross that border again.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Laos Part V: Si Phan Don
Having safely escaped from the crazy owner of Mi Thuna guesthouse, we headed south for Tha Khek, about three hours from Na Hin. The ride was fairly uneventful, save the cute, old sawngthew driver, who clearly took a liking to us. Once the passenger in the front seat cleared out, he let us sit up there and tried to converse with us in Laos and impress us with high-pitched Laotian music.
We got to Tha Khek in late afternoon and checked in to a backpacker guesthouse for a few hours to rest, shower, and eat. Realizing we hadn't eaten anything all day, we were quite hungry and chowed on healthy portions of western food and big bottles of water. After a shower, a nap, and a quick Internet check, it was off to the bus station for us.
We took a night bus from Tha Khek to Pakse, another welcomely uneventful leg to our journey, and arrived at about 6:30, where we were immediately transported to a sawngthew to go to Si Phan Don, Four Thousand Islands. A few hours later and we were in a bustling village on the banks of the Mekong at the widest point on its 2,700 mile journey (during the rainy season it spreads across over eight miles). We plopped our packs in a motorized longboat and set off for Don Khone, a slightly less touristy and backpackery island than the more popular Don Kong and Don Det.
As we made our way to Don Khone, it was easy to see why the area we were in was called Four Thousand Islands, especially as the rainy season was just starting and water levels were fairly low. Our captain was skilled at dodging in between shrubs and trees that poked above the surface, sometimes going right over the smaller ones. It was almost as if a forest was growing at the bottom of the river and the amount of the forest that showed itself depended on the water level. It was quite impressive.
As soon as we arrived on the banks of Don Khone, we were greeted by "Papa," the proprietor of Some Chin's Guesthouse. We checked out the bungalows and for just $5 and decent quality, they certainly met our standards. Before exploring, we settled in and took a lovely and much-needed nap. When we woke up and wandered around a bit, we were quite pleased with our selection. The island was beautiful and quiet, with only a few other tourists around, and presented a good mix of western amenities (like guesthouses and restaurants) without it feeling like tourism had overwhelmed the culture or traditional village life.
Wandering around, it was hard to ignore the former colonial French presence, which left a bridge to Don Det and several classically styled colonial buildings in its wake. We grabbed a delicious lunch near the bridge - Shanti finally got some of her Lao coffee - and strolled around a bit more before returning to our guesthouse to read and play cards. Again we were greeted by Papa who excitedly informed us in his broken English and with not just a hint of lao-lao on his breath that we were invited to join him for a barbecue. "Fish - no money. Lao-lao - no money. Beer Lao - money." We eagerly agreed to join him.
We watched a beautiful sunset over the Mekong, a Beer Lao at our fingertips, from the deck of the guesthouse and then retired early for the evening.
We climbed out of bed and through the mosquito netting fairly early the next morning, borrowed bicycles from Papa, and set off to find breakfast. With the cuts and scrapes on our arms and legs it was a bit tricky to maneuver across the bumpy dirt path, but eventually we made it through the main village on Don Khone and to the waterfalls of Li Phi beyond. Though supposedly not as impressive as the Khon Phapheng falls a bit further south, we were impressed nonetheless. Even though the river was at just about its lowest point, water cascaded powerfully over large rocks and trees through a number of canyons in all directions. Falls like Li Phi made it very clear why hydropower is all but taking over the Mekong, with little regard for the environment or the effect it may have on countries downriver.
From the falls we headed down to a small, secluded beach of sorts where a fisherman returned to shore with a pretty good catch. Eaten by mosquitoes, we didn't stay on the beach long. We headed back to the main village and across the bridge onto the southern part of Don Det. It was a pretty quiet set of stilted huts and a few guesthouses and restaurants. The highlight, was certainly the smiling pig fast asleep in the mud.
After a delicious riverside fruitshake, we returned to our guesthouse and settled on the porch of our bungalow with our books. Within a few minutes, Papa came over to inquire if we were still
interested in joining the barbecue, reminding us "Fish - no money. Lao-lao - no money. Beer Lao - money." We said we would join him in a bit by bicycle, but apparently we had failed to understand that this was a journey made only by boat. So we grabbed a Beer Lao and our cameras and joined Papa in his wooden longboat for a journey into the unexpected.
Despite having a had a bit of lao-lao already (in fact, we all took a departure shot), Papa was an expert navigator. After about fifteen minutes of dodging shrubs, debris, and a few rapids, we pulled into an inlet. Two old Laotian men grinned at us, either because they knew we were about to have fun or because they knew we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.
Once the boat was tied up, we followed Papa, plastic beach bag complete with lao-lao and spices for the fish, across rice paddies. We paused for another shot of lao-lao. Ten minutes later we finally came across the river and a beautiful, raging, waterfall. Papa scurried down the steep bank to inquire if there was any fish to be had, but returned only with a fish about the size of my pinky. Still flopping around, he handed it to me to carry for no apparent purpose and we continued down the river.
As we followed him through the forest and the river, over slippery rocks and all else, we noticed an array of elaborate wooden ramps and baskets across the river, all for catching fish. Papa goaded us to cross a narrow and rickety log bridge with nothing but raging rapids below. I didn't want to cross it before drinking any more lao-lao and I certainly didn't want to cross it after. He offered a hand, but we politely refused. Disappointed, he went across to gather fish and friends. When he came back, he again urged us to cross, pointing and saying "waterfall" while mimicking the motion one makes when taking a picture. Though we couldn't be convinced, there was plenty of fish and lao-lao to be had. Both delicious. Well, the fish, barbecued right in front of us, was delicious, the lao-lao was strong and made for an incredibly enjoyable afternoon.
Even with more lao-lao in his belly, Papa was an excellent navigator. Upon our return, we again settled on the guesthouse deck as the sun set, this time with some company in the form of a few Canadians and Dutchmen. There is nothing quite like kicking back with a Beer Lao and watching the sun set over the Mekong. Unfortunately, our journey back to Phnom Penh started early the next morning, so we retired early, satisfied that we finally got some time to relax to enjoy the true pace of life in Laos.
We got to Tha Khek in late afternoon and checked in to a backpacker guesthouse for a few hours to rest, shower, and eat. Realizing we hadn't eaten anything all day, we were quite hungry and chowed on healthy portions of western food and big bottles of water. After a shower, a nap, and a quick Internet check, it was off to the bus station for us.
We took a night bus from Tha Khek to Pakse, another welcomely uneventful leg to our journey, and arrived at about 6:30, where we were immediately transported to a sawngthew to go to Si Phan Don, Four Thousand Islands. A few hours later and we were in a bustling village on the banks of the Mekong at the widest point on its 2,700 mile journey (during the rainy season it spreads across over eight miles). We plopped our packs in a motorized longboat and set off for Don Khone, a slightly less touristy and backpackery island than the more popular Don Kong and Don Det.
As we made our way to Don Khone, it was easy to see why the area we were in was called Four Thousand Islands, especially as the rainy season was just starting and water levels were fairly low. Our captain was skilled at dodging in between shrubs and trees that poked above the surface, sometimes going right over the smaller ones. It was almost as if a forest was growing at the bottom of the river and the amount of the forest that showed itself depended on the water level. It was quite impressive.
As soon as we arrived on the banks of Don Khone, we were greeted by "Papa," the proprietor of Some Chin's Guesthouse. We checked out the bungalows and for just $5 and decent quality, they certainly met our standards. Before exploring, we settled in and took a lovely and much-needed nap. When we woke up and wandered around a bit, we were quite pleased with our selection. The island was beautiful and quiet, with only a few other tourists around, and presented a good mix of western amenities (like guesthouses and restaurants) without it feeling like tourism had overwhelmed the culture or traditional village life.
Wandering around, it was hard to ignore the former colonial French presence, which left a bridge to Don Det and several classically styled colonial buildings in its wake. We grabbed a delicious lunch near the bridge - Shanti finally got some of her Lao coffee - and strolled around a bit more before returning to our guesthouse to read and play cards. Again we were greeted by Papa who excitedly informed us in his broken English and with not just a hint of lao-lao on his breath that we were invited to join him for a barbecue. "Fish - no money. Lao-lao - no money. Beer Lao - money." We eagerly agreed to join him.
We watched a beautiful sunset over the Mekong, a Beer Lao at our fingertips, from the deck of the guesthouse and then retired early for the evening.
We climbed out of bed and through the mosquito netting fairly early the next morning, borrowed bicycles from Papa, and set off to find breakfast. With the cuts and scrapes on our arms and legs it was a bit tricky to maneuver across the bumpy dirt path, but eventually we made it through the main village on Don Khone and to the waterfalls of Li Phi beyond. Though supposedly not as impressive as the Khon Phapheng falls a bit further south, we were impressed nonetheless. Even though the river was at just about its lowest point, water cascaded powerfully over large rocks and trees through a number of canyons in all directions. Falls like Li Phi made it very clear why hydropower is all but taking over the Mekong, with little regard for the environment or the effect it may have on countries downriver.
From the falls we headed down to a small, secluded beach of sorts where a fisherman returned to shore with a pretty good catch. Eaten by mosquitoes, we didn't stay on the beach long. We headed back to the main village and across the bridge onto the southern part of Don Det. It was a pretty quiet set of stilted huts and a few guesthouses and restaurants. The highlight, was certainly the smiling pig fast asleep in the mud.
After a delicious riverside fruitshake, we returned to our guesthouse and settled on the porch of our bungalow with our books. Within a few minutes, Papa came over to inquire if we were still
interested in joining the barbecue, reminding us "Fish - no money. Lao-lao - no money. Beer Lao - money." We said we would join him in a bit by bicycle, but apparently we had failed to understand that this was a journey made only by boat. So we grabbed a Beer Lao and our cameras and joined Papa in his wooden longboat for a journey into the unexpected.
Despite having a had a bit of lao-lao already (in fact, we all took a departure shot), Papa was an expert navigator. After about fifteen minutes of dodging shrubs, debris, and a few rapids, we pulled into an inlet. Two old Laotian men grinned at us, either because they knew we were about to have fun or because they knew we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.
Once the boat was tied up, we followed Papa, plastic beach bag complete with lao-lao and spices for the fish, across rice paddies. We paused for another shot of lao-lao. Ten minutes later we finally came across the river and a beautiful, raging, waterfall. Papa scurried down the steep bank to inquire if there was any fish to be had, but returned only with a fish about the size of my pinky. Still flopping around, he handed it to me to carry for no apparent purpose and we continued down the river.
As we followed him through the forest and the river, over slippery rocks and all else, we noticed an array of elaborate wooden ramps and baskets across the river, all for catching fish. Papa goaded us to cross a narrow and rickety log bridge with nothing but raging rapids below. I didn't want to cross it before drinking any more lao-lao and I certainly didn't want to cross it after. He offered a hand, but we politely refused. Disappointed, he went across to gather fish and friends. When he came back, he again urged us to cross, pointing and saying "waterfall" while mimicking the motion one makes when taking a picture. Though we couldn't be convinced, there was plenty of fish and lao-lao to be had. Both delicious. Well, the fish, barbecued right in front of us, was delicious, the lao-lao was strong and made for an incredibly enjoyable afternoon.
Even with more lao-lao in his belly, Papa was an excellent navigator. Upon our return, we again settled on the guesthouse deck as the sun set, this time with some company in the form of a few Canadians and Dutchmen. There is nothing quite like kicking back with a Beer Lao and watching the sun set over the Mekong. Unfortunately, our journey back to Phnom Penh started early the next morning, so we retired early, satisfied that we finally got some time to relax to enjoy the true pace of life in Laos.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Laos Part IV: Na Hin and Tham Kong Lor
Frustrated with our experience at the travel agency and ready to move on to our next destination, Shanti and I headed for the Luang Prabang airport to get back to Vientiane. We stumbled upon a tuk-tuk at a standstill with a passenger inside; the driver offered a lift anyway. Our company to the airport was a fascinating Turkish character who had just opened a guesthouse and we just happened to be interrupting his downtime with his favorite driver. He spoke with a thick accent and in a sing-song voice as he offered cynical observations of life in Southeast Asia. The next leg of our journey was off to a good start.
After a quick overnight in Vientiane, we set off for Na Hin, a small town a few hours south and a bit inland from the main road. To get there, we took a bus to the crossroad that headed inland, hopped out, and joined about ten others in the back of a converted pickup truck, or sawngthew as they're known locally. As we headed inland, the scenery became more and more beautiful, as jagged limestone cliffs reached out from flat farmland to touch the pale blue sky. Unfortunately, our view was obstructed a bit by being in the back of the pickup.
We arrived in quiet, remote, and beautiful Na Hin in early afternoon and got a room at Mi Thuna, a guesthouse highly recommended by Lonely Planet. We were hoping to go to Tham Kong Lor cave - a monstrous cave 300 feet wide, 300 feet tall and five miles long with a river running the length through a limestone mountain - that afternoon, but we were a bit short on time, so we borrowed bicycles and went into "town" to look around. In a small tourist information center, we inquired about getting to the cave. We were told there were only two ways to go: to rent a moto at 100,000 kip (about $11) or to take a sawngthew at 11am and spend a night in a village. We didn't have time to do the latter, so we opted for the former, but went looking around for a cheaper place to rent a moto. We spent the afternoon just relaxing. Playing cards, reading, and enjoying the sunset over the limestone mountains along with an extremely popular Beer Lao.
We woke early the next morning and set off on a moto rented from the owner of the guesthouse. The road was new and the scenery was gorgeous. A valley of electric green rice fields flanked on every side by lush and jagged limestone cliffs. About halfway there, and driving through a village, a chicken jumped into the middle of road, practically underneath the front tire of the moto. My natural instinct was to swerve and avoid it, but on the gravel road, we instantly skidded out.
It all happened in the blink of an eye and, even now, I have trouble recalling what actually happened. The first thing I remember, after making sure Shanti was ok, was practically the entire village swarming around us to make sure we were ok, to move the moto out of the road, collecting the peg that had broken off (the one the passenger puts their foot on), and running to get a bottle of UN-issued iodine and cotton balls. We both had some pretty good scrapes, but thankfully, nothing more serious. We cleaned ourselves off with the iodine, cotton balls, and the antiseptic wipes we had and pondered whether we should return to Na Hin or go on to the cave. After a short discussion, we decided on the cave.
We set off slowly, but hopeful that the cave was going to be worth the trouble. After about forty-five minutes (at about 8:15) we arrived in front of a sign indicating we were indeed at Tham Kong Lor. But there was no one around save a few kids who were chatting, fishing and swimming. Neither our paltry Laos, nor our slightly more advanced charades were able to get us any information about where to find a boat and a guide to lead us through. Though a bit concerned that no one was around, we enjoyed the beautiful pool at the caves entrance and used the opportunity to clean ourselves off a bit more.
After about fifteen minutes some men appeared with professional looking headlamps and wooden longboats. We followed them on a short hike to the entrance of the cave and then descended down a set of steps carved into the limestone. We watched another pair of boatmen, drag their wooden longboat into the cave over a waterfall. As we descended into the cave, down carved limestone steps, guided only by the light from the cave entrance and a weak headlamp, bats swirling around our heads, it got much cooler. We arrived at the boat as our guides were charging the batteries of their headlamps in the near pitch black. And then we were off.
The boat moved slowly through the cold, shallow, water. Only once we rounded a bend that put us completely out of sight of the light of the entrance, did we really begin to appreciate the magnitude of the cave. The echo of the boat's motor, the sound and feel of water around us and the beams of headlamps flashing left and right were the only things to prevent us from thinking that we were not in a cavernous bottomless pit. Of our two guides, one sat in the front, navigating; when he noticed shallow water, he would point either left or right, in the direction of deeper water, instructing our other guide, at the back of the boat, which way to go. As it was, we still had to get out and walk a bit, not the easiest thing to do in a fast flowing river with a slippery and rocky bottom in limited light.
At one point, we stopped, following one of the guides up a steep and slippery limestone embankment. He led us a dazzling display of stalagmites and stalactites. On our way down, I pointed at a spider I saw under the guide's headlamp. He grabbed a rock, darted over to it, made some sort of a biting symbol, and then smashed it with a dead-on throw of the rock. Turns out it wasn't a spider, but a fairly poisonous scorpion. Lovely.
We carried on simply in awe of how big the cave was and how small we felt. After over an hour of near total darkness, we saw a light in front of us. Before we could exit the cave, though, we had to pull the boat up a small waterfall. The first time failed miserably as the boat filled completely with water and had to be let downstream so it could be emptied. Once we did emerge, though, Shanti and I both gasped in awe, much to the amusement of our guides. It was tremendously beautiful.
We floated upstream for a few minutes, enjoying the surroundings, before heading back through the cave. Despite the moto accident, this was definitely the highlight of the trip thus far and well worth the trouble. Absolutely beautiful and off the tourist track enough that it felt, to an extent, as if we were discovering the cave for the first time.
We moto-ed back to Na Hin without incident, that is, until we got there. The Mi Thuna guesthouse owner was not there, but her daughter saw our scrapes and asked if we were ok. We replied that we were, but that a small piece of the moto had broken off. A few minutes later her mother returned and was livid even before we had a chance to explain ourselves. She had no concern at all for our well-being, immediately launching into a tirade about how we were bad moto drivers and that we drive too fast. We apologized and offered to cover the cost of repairing the part, up to 50,000 kip or $6 (something we knew would cost about $2 in Cambodia). When she asked for 500 baht (an odd request, as the baht is Thai currency), about $15, we refused and she became increasingly irrational.
I was too worked up to go with her into town to a moto shop, so I asked Shanti to go instead. They came back twenty minutes later, neither looking very happy. As Shanti tried to explain what had happened in town, the woman continued to yell and scream, not even offering us a chance to explain what we were willing to do to make amends. Let me first say that numbers in Laos are very similar to Khmer, so Shanti and I can understand them quite well. So at the moto shop in town, when the estimate when from 30,000 kip (about $3) to 50,000 (for which a receipt was written) to 60,000, Shanti knew exactly what was going on. A new 50,000 kip part was fitted, but supposedly it didn't fit quite right though it looked ok to Shanti), so they assumed a new piece would cost 120,000 kip (interestingly, about the same amount as 500 baht...). Shanti flat out refused to pay that much and, as a result, got yelled at in front of the whole town by the crazy guesthouse owner.
Once back at the guesthouse and being called "bad people" (in another context, she may have called us "sharks"), we decided it wasn't worth arguing any more. As she stormed off, I put 50,000 kip in her office and we left to catch a sawngthew. Tens minutes later, still discussing the matter as we wound back through the mountains, a moto rapidly closed on our pickup truck. It was the guesthouse owner, screaming like there was no tomorrow. She cut the sawngthew off and flat out refused to accept our 50,000 kip, shoving it into the pickup. Satisfied she had made us feel (and look) terrible, she drove off with exactly what she deserved: nothing. At least in my opinion, if she wasn't prepared to accept a reasonable price, she didn't deserve anything at all. All that we could hope for was that our next stop, the ultra-chill Si Phan Don (4,000 islands) would be just that - and no more crazy people.
After a quick overnight in Vientiane, we set off for Na Hin, a small town a few hours south and a bit inland from the main road. To get there, we took a bus to the crossroad that headed inland, hopped out, and joined about ten others in the back of a converted pickup truck, or sawngthew as they're known locally. As we headed inland, the scenery became more and more beautiful, as jagged limestone cliffs reached out from flat farmland to touch the pale blue sky. Unfortunately, our view was obstructed a bit by being in the back of the pickup.
We arrived in quiet, remote, and beautiful Na Hin in early afternoon and got a room at Mi Thuna, a guesthouse highly recommended by Lonely Planet. We were hoping to go to Tham Kong Lor cave - a monstrous cave 300 feet wide, 300 feet tall and five miles long with a river running the length through a limestone mountain - that afternoon, but we were a bit short on time, so we borrowed bicycles and went into "town" to look around. In a small tourist information center, we inquired about getting to the cave. We were told there were only two ways to go: to rent a moto at 100,000 kip (about $11) or to take a sawngthew at 11am and spend a night in a village. We didn't have time to do the latter, so we opted for the former, but went looking around for a cheaper place to rent a moto. We spent the afternoon just relaxing. Playing cards, reading, and enjoying the sunset over the limestone mountains along with an extremely popular Beer Lao.
We woke early the next morning and set off on a moto rented from the owner of the guesthouse. The road was new and the scenery was gorgeous. A valley of electric green rice fields flanked on every side by lush and jagged limestone cliffs. About halfway there, and driving through a village, a chicken jumped into the middle of road, practically underneath the front tire of the moto. My natural instinct was to swerve and avoid it, but on the gravel road, we instantly skidded out.
It all happened in the blink of an eye and, even now, I have trouble recalling what actually happened. The first thing I remember, after making sure Shanti was ok, was practically the entire village swarming around us to make sure we were ok, to move the moto out of the road, collecting the peg that had broken off (the one the passenger puts their foot on), and running to get a bottle of UN-issued iodine and cotton balls. We both had some pretty good scrapes, but thankfully, nothing more serious. We cleaned ourselves off with the iodine, cotton balls, and the antiseptic wipes we had and pondered whether we should return to Na Hin or go on to the cave. After a short discussion, we decided on the cave.
We set off slowly, but hopeful that the cave was going to be worth the trouble. After about forty-five minutes (at about 8:15) we arrived in front of a sign indicating we were indeed at Tham Kong Lor. But there was no one around save a few kids who were chatting, fishing and swimming. Neither our paltry Laos, nor our slightly more advanced charades were able to get us any information about where to find a boat and a guide to lead us through. Though a bit concerned that no one was around, we enjoyed the beautiful pool at the caves entrance and used the opportunity to clean ourselves off a bit more.
After about fifteen minutes some men appeared with professional looking headlamps and wooden longboats. We followed them on a short hike to the entrance of the cave and then descended down a set of steps carved into the limestone. We watched another pair of boatmen, drag their wooden longboat into the cave over a waterfall. As we descended into the cave, down carved limestone steps, guided only by the light from the cave entrance and a weak headlamp, bats swirling around our heads, it got much cooler. We arrived at the boat as our guides were charging the batteries of their headlamps in the near pitch black. And then we were off.
The boat moved slowly through the cold, shallow, water. Only once we rounded a bend that put us completely out of sight of the light of the entrance, did we really begin to appreciate the magnitude of the cave. The echo of the boat's motor, the sound and feel of water around us and the beams of headlamps flashing left and right were the only things to prevent us from thinking that we were not in a cavernous bottomless pit. Of our two guides, one sat in the front, navigating; when he noticed shallow water, he would point either left or right, in the direction of deeper water, instructing our other guide, at the back of the boat, which way to go. As it was, we still had to get out and walk a bit, not the easiest thing to do in a fast flowing river with a slippery and rocky bottom in limited light.
At one point, we stopped, following one of the guides up a steep and slippery limestone embankment. He led us a dazzling display of stalagmites and stalactites. On our way down, I pointed at a spider I saw under the guide's headlamp. He grabbed a rock, darted over to it, made some sort of a biting symbol, and then smashed it with a dead-on throw of the rock. Turns out it wasn't a spider, but a fairly poisonous scorpion. Lovely.
We carried on simply in awe of how big the cave was and how small we felt. After over an hour of near total darkness, we saw a light in front of us. Before we could exit the cave, though, we had to pull the boat up a small waterfall. The first time failed miserably as the boat filled completely with water and had to be let downstream so it could be emptied. Once we did emerge, though, Shanti and I both gasped in awe, much to the amusement of our guides. It was tremendously beautiful.
We floated upstream for a few minutes, enjoying the surroundings, before heading back through the cave. Despite the moto accident, this was definitely the highlight of the trip thus far and well worth the trouble. Absolutely beautiful and off the tourist track enough that it felt, to an extent, as if we were discovering the cave for the first time.
We moto-ed back to Na Hin without incident, that is, until we got there. The Mi Thuna guesthouse owner was not there, but her daughter saw our scrapes and asked if we were ok. We replied that we were, but that a small piece of the moto had broken off. A few minutes later her mother returned and was livid even before we had a chance to explain ourselves. She had no concern at all for our well-being, immediately launching into a tirade about how we were bad moto drivers and that we drive too fast. We apologized and offered to cover the cost of repairing the part, up to 50,000 kip or $6 (something we knew would cost about $2 in Cambodia). When she asked for 500 baht (an odd request, as the baht is Thai currency), about $15, we refused and she became increasingly irrational.
I was too worked up to go with her into town to a moto shop, so I asked Shanti to go instead. They came back twenty minutes later, neither looking very happy. As Shanti tried to explain what had happened in town, the woman continued to yell and scream, not even offering us a chance to explain what we were willing to do to make amends. Let me first say that numbers in Laos are very similar to Khmer, so Shanti and I can understand them quite well. So at the moto shop in town, when the estimate when from 30,000 kip (about $3) to 50,000 (for which a receipt was written) to 60,000, Shanti knew exactly what was going on. A new 50,000 kip part was fitted, but supposedly it didn't fit quite right though it looked ok to Shanti), so they assumed a new piece would cost 120,000 kip (interestingly, about the same amount as 500 baht...). Shanti flat out refused to pay that much and, as a result, got yelled at in front of the whole town by the crazy guesthouse owner.
Once back at the guesthouse and being called "bad people" (in another context, she may have called us "sharks"), we decided it wasn't worth arguing any more. As she stormed off, I put 50,000 kip in her office and we left to catch a sawngthew. Tens minutes later, still discussing the matter as we wound back through the mountains, a moto rapidly closed on our pickup truck. It was the guesthouse owner, screaming like there was no tomorrow. She cut the sawngthew off and flat out refused to accept our 50,000 kip, shoving it into the pickup. Satisfied she had made us feel (and look) terrible, she drove off with exactly what she deserved: nothing. At least in my opinion, if she wasn't prepared to accept a reasonable price, she didn't deserve anything at all. All that we could hope for was that our next stop, the ultra-chill Si Phan Don (4,000 islands) would be just that - and no more crazy people.
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