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.