Done

It was as painless as one could hope for. An easy flight from Luang Prabang, Laos, to Bangkok. I had to check my bag for the small plane, something I never do. The smiling Lao folks asked me if I wished to check it all the way to Seattle. Bag free for three transfers? Not have to pass customs at Bangkok? OK, I'll risk it.

Real chocolate in Bangkok. Expensive tea. An easy connection onto Eva Air and on to Taipei.

I drew a great seat mate, an American returning from two plus years in Cambodia. We blabbed all the way to Taipei and right up to our respective gates. Easey-peasy. Four hours is nothing.

A quick transfer onto the long flight, Taipei to Seattle. Eleven hours. So, eat the meal, pop an Ambien, sleep for six hours, wake up, eat the food, land. That's it.

Now, I am back on the freezing waters of Puget Sound instead of the warm chocolate of the Nam Ou. Literally on the Sound, as I take the ferry from Seattle towards the Fortress.

It is going to be a frosty walk home from the ferry dock to the homestead formerly known as the Fortress of Solitude.

Full circle. I walked to the ferry outbound. It seems only fitting.

Lagon

It is time to board the jeep, the first stage of the long trek back to Seattle.

I fly from Luang Prabang to Bangkok, then switch to EVA Air and fly Bangkok to Taipei. After a short layover in Taipei, I continue on to Seattle, arriving 5:45 PM Pacific Time. That's about ten minutes after I leave Bangkok, by Bangkok time.

24 hours of traveling in ten minutes time. Pretty cool trick!!

Ok, shoulder the bag.

Sent from the Borg Device

Bad Luck

If you are a member of the Akha Hill Tribes in Laos, giving birth to a set of twins is not a good thing.

In the Akha tradition, a set of twins, born to a village family, brings very bad luck to the entire village. There are serious consequences.

Tradition dictates that the infant twins are killed. The family that the twins were born to are banished to live alone, in the jungle, for three years. All of the livestock owned by the family are destroyed, as are their buildings.

After the three year banishment has expired, the family may move back into the village and resume normal life.

I do not write about this to pass judgement, but only to note the existence of this fascinating, yet seemingly brutal, custom.

Like many hill tribe traditions, the ban on twin births is fading as the more modern Lao culture permeates hill tribe practices. It is, however, still adhered to by some village groups in Northern Laos.

There are many different tribal groups in Laos, as well as across much of SE Asia. Over the last two journeys, I have been to Akha, Hmong, Khmer, Black Tai, White Tai and Khmu villages, as well as others. There are a dizzying array of tribal languages, divisions and subdivisions, cultures and beliefs. Animism mixes with Buddhism and ancestry veneration to create a mosaic of religious belief.

One unifying quality that I encountered in every village was the unfailing generosity of the people I met, even in villages suffering extreme poverty.

I will be very happy when I next have the opportunity to visit a Lao village.

Last Supper

This is the last Lao dinner for this journey. Khone's red curry is a thing of beauty.

I have been invited back to teach English in the community. It is a nascent dream, but it's strength is building.

In the meantime, I have to master Lao, with all it's frustrating tonality. But that only requires expending the effort.

Disparity

Here is todays luncheon feast. What you see is Lao BBQ with vege and sticky rice. Purchased at a small street stand, unfrequented by falang, this repast set me back 27,000 kip, about $ 3.50 US.

Later in the day, espresso drinks for two, in a Euro cafe in the old quarter, came to 47,000 kip.

Lao people don't frequent the Cafe.

Rules

Over time, I have developed a few rules for rough travel. Here they are, so far:

1) Always carry a bandanna. It's a dusk mask, sun shade, hat and bandage, all in one.

2) Take your shoes off on the boat. You may have to swim.

3) If all the locals are getting off the bus to pee, you should too.

4) Ziplock bags. If its important, use two.

5) Any recommended guest house will likely be full. Deal with it.

6) If you haven't paid the money yet, no one will leave you behind. If you have, they might.

7) Unless you are an Englishman or a mad dog, carry a hat.

8) Dirt is organic.

9) Never carry all your money in the same pocket.

10) First-Aid kit. Have it and you won't need it.

11) Carry a seat cushion, the little Therma-Rest kind. Trust me on this.

12). Keep your camera strap around your wrist or neck. Thieves. Water. Heights.

13) Drink two litres of water every day.

14) Zip all zippers shut right after you open them. Really. Especially those zippers on the cool "secret" pocket of your explorer type shirts and pants. You know, the one with your passport in it.

Secrets

Even a busy little tourist Mecca such as Luang Prabang has oases of solitude. Last year, I found this shady nook in the back of a seldom visited Wat. Today, it was particularly lovely.

The Jeep

There is comfort in some constants, I suppose. I love new places, fresh journeys, and exotic flavours. Yet there is the occasional anchor of the known, which is reassuring.

Khoun's old jeep is a good example. It is the real thing, a leftover from the Indochina War. We both love it, even though it requires a bit of tinkering, and on one trip the exhaust fell off.

When I got off the boat yesterday evening, Khoun's wife, Khone, picked me up in the "new" jeep, a 1962 Range Rover. While very, very cool, in and of itself, I was hoping the old jeep was still extant. Fortunately it is.

This morning, Khoun dropped me off in the Unesco portion of Luang Prabang for my final day. I will see the old jeep again.

Penultimate

It is the morning of my last full day in SE Asia. I am back in Luang Prabang, where everything is easy. It's not Lao, and it's not Europe. It is a synthesized version of a colonial Lao that no longer exists, and a safe tourist village.

One can fly into LP from Bangkok, spend a week in very expensive spa resorts, and then fly on to Chiang Mai. This constitutes having "done" Laos.

I have to do my part. I have a half million kip burning a hole in my pocket. No, really. Kip are worthless outside of Laos. It is wallpaper money. You cannot exchange it outside of Laos and you cannot spend it outside of Laos.

So I am going on a little shipping spree. Very little, actually, because 400,000 kip is about $ 50. But I suppose, even in LP's well-healed environs, I can find a little prezzie for myself.

New Home

This is my new, palatial bungalow. The last place I will lay my head, for this trip, besides an airplane.

Home Again

Khone scooped me off the streets of LP and, in the clattery '62 Range Rover, we drove out of town to Khoun & Khone's Guest House.

My old bungalow is being re- built.

Luang Prabang

It is time to say goodbye to river travel, at least for this journey.

Mekong

This is one of the full sized Mekong passenger and light utility boats. I have now come full circle on the river, following my trail of last year.

Luang Prabang, the famous Lao tourist playground, lies on hour down river. This is my last stop.

The End

Suddenly, there were the cliffs opposite Pak Ou, where the Nam Ou joins the mighty Mekong.

This was the end for the Nam Ou. I have traveled every kilometer of the passenger service available on the river. I will miss it.

Aboard

All the nice falang, back aboard the boat.

We did manage to scrape bottom a half dozen times. On the lower part of the river, the boats are slightly bigger and have steel hulls, albeit thin steel.

Not Afloat

In three or four weeks, boat travel on the river will stop until the rains start in late May or June.

For now, the cute falang only have to walk for fifteen minutes. Good thing, because it was hot. Way hot for farang.

On foot

The river level keeps dropping as the dry season continues. The end of the "cool" season is ending and the HOT season is beginning. Believe me, "cool" is only relative to really-unbelievably-hot.

We finally came to a stretch of the river that was unnavigable with a full load. All falang ashore to lighten the load.

Nam Ou

The Nam Ou, all rivers being "Nam" in Lao, is pronounced like the English "Sue" without the "s".

It has been a wonderful highway for me, showing me much more of the heartland of Lao than any actual roadway could.

At every bend, there is another beautiful scene. Here is just one.

Last leg

Fortified with a great brekkie, I set out on the last leg of the trip up and down the Nam Ou.

Nong Khiaw fades as we head downriver.

Important

The most important meal of the day, Lao style. Omelette, fresh vege, sticky rice, chili paste and Kaffee-Lao

Repose

The view from the world's best hammock.

Rescue!

I dragged my bike down to the beach as a river boat pulled up. I waded in to help him and asked for a lift. No, he was going up river, not down. But he pointed up river to show me a speck of a boat heading down. We both hailed it in and, hallelujah, it turned in.

The boat was one of the fancy ones with bus key seats. Falang boats. There was only the pilot and one western woman. Yes, down river. But as I started to load the bike, I had to wait for a conference. The boat was a chartered tour and the one westerner the queen. She td the pilot I was ok, and in moments I loaded the bike, helped him push off, and jumped aboard.

The woman was aptly named Frangelic, a Belgian. She was an older traveller, well healed, and on a private, pre-booked tour. She was, indeed, my angel, and I told her so. She was very amused by the whole thing.

It took us almost 40 minutes to reach Nong Khiaw. I realized that I had ridden three quarters of the way back upriver to Muang Khiaw. The shade of the boat canopy and the river breeze were a pleasure beyond description.

The plan worked. It is better to be lucky than good. I gave the boat pilot a big tip, since the ride was paid for, thanked my angel profusely, and headed off to my bungalow for the best shower of the trip.

Village!

And then I was there. And done in.

At least there was a clinic in the village, in case I keeled over as I felt like doing.

Sans Ferguson III

The ride between Ban Nal Duang and Ban Phayong was tough. On the last rolling kilometer down into the village, I realized it was going to be tougher riding out. I was feeling like an old man. No matter how long I have been here, I am still from the Northwest, and more accustomed to rainy rides and cold.

As I rode I to Ban Phayong, I chewed on a new plan. I would ride all the way to the Nam Ou river and try to hail or hire a boat to schlep me back down river to town.

There was a small village store in town. Iced tea in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, I quickly became the center of attention. It was Lao only, or sign language.

I found the right road to the river, the correct pronunciation, and a vague idea of how far it was. A boat was possible, and a few of the local guys offered extraordinarily high starting bids to take me down to the next village and find me a boat.

We talked, and I drank and showed pictures on my I-phone, which always help communication. Then I saddled up and cast the die for plan A. I did not think I could make it back to town on my own.

You would think it would be downhill to a river, but you would be wrong. Up and over each rise, I just saw another valley and another rise. It was, frankly, an ass-kicker.

Finally, I spotted a cluster of buildings and a real downhill run.

Sans Fergusons II

It was a simple plan. Ride West on Route 1, find the dirt road North to the villages of Ban Nal Duang and Ban Phayong, and enjoy exploring.

I rode out Route 1, which, despite it's grand name, is a tiny paved road without center lines, fog lines or much else. It runs between karst mountains and the river, and is gorgeous.

I passed through a few larger villages, made a few false turns, and finally saw the dirt road heading North , complete with new power poles. In Lao, electrical lines mean there is something up the road.

The morning mists along the river vanished as I rode up steep hills on the powder fine dust of the road. The heat of the day came on like an oven door clanging open. But the countryside was beautiful and the road was headed in the right direction. What could go wrong?

The road, which had already been climbing steeply, began rising and falling in steep pitches as it traversed the shoulders of the mountains that lie between these villages and the river. Long grades turned into sharp rises with 20% grades. The short downhills were too rough to get much of a run at the next uphill.

I was feeling light-headed when I reached the first village, Ban Bal Duang. There were two westerners there, on a trek with a guide. They were all a little surprised to see me.

The villagers generously allowed me to fill up on water. I slammed almost a litre and filled my bottle for the next leg. It was getting really hot now.

I had ridden about 10 kilometers on Route 1 and another 10 in the dirt. Such a short distance.

Sans Ferguson

I walked over the bridge above the Nam Ou, heading for Nong Khiaw proper. My plan for the day was renting a mountain bike, and exploring the countryside farther afield than I could on foot.

I had an idea of the local area, and I had a good look at the highly detailed map outside the bike shop.

What could go wrong?

The Play's the thing....

I believe that Shakespeare was correct when he wrote "All the world's a stage, And all the men and woman merely players."

Long days on the river, with the Lao jungle flowing past, provide ample time for reflection. Reflection, coupled with the force of a journey undertaken, are a powerful thing. Clarity or confusion can be the result, depending upon what of oneself has been brought along on the sojourn.

The third act of my life comes to an end. Sometimes, a playwright needs only three acts. Over this, the Player has no control. Vladimir and Estragon only received two. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern received three, for all the good it did them in the end.

Selfishly, I hope for a fourth. But there are no guarantees. But, as the obligation and attachment of my own Act III fade, I claim whatever scenes remain.

On the river I wrote:

"I may die any day. I feel some of the attachment fade, and I am happy. I want to smash the remaining desire, even the desire for life itself. That desire feels like binding chains."

Again, selfishly, I would like a few more scenes, if for no other reason than an all-consuming curiosity to see how the tale plays out. I have always loved a good story. Once gone, I will disappear into deserved obscurity and be forgotten, but the tale has been a good one, I think.

However long or short, the next act is mine. It is my wish to live as I want, laugh as I want, and embrace the play with all of the fearlessness I can possibly muster.

Without exception, the script is a Tragi-Comedy. This life is so absurd as to be cosmically hilarious, and, in the end, all the players die. Thus it is, and thus it shall be.

Amidst the Acts, there exist such moments of beauty. These are the precious, ephemeral scenes that transport us, if only we can take the time to see them. I claim the time to do so.

In "Dido and Aeneas" Purcell wrote, for Dido's Lament:

"Remember me, But Ah!
Forget my fate."

Or, as MS Barbery writes....

"Remember me, remember me,
And Ah! Envy my fate."

Good Advice

This is a sentiment I wholeheartedly agree with.

Legacy continued

I want to add a postscript to my previous entry about the legacy of US cluster bombs in Laos.

In Laos, unexplored ordnance continues to maim and kill Lao people. The incident I spoke of in Muang Ngoi, where a local villager was critically injured by a US bomblet, was not an isolated case. This maniacal legacy of an illegal, undeclared, and supposedly secret war, still threatens the Lao people. It is a daily, and deadly, risk of everyday rural life here.

Thousands and thousands of Lao men, women, and children have been killed or horribly maimed by cluster bombs. These senseless casualties are, of course, in addition to the thousands of Lao who were killed or wounded during the actual bombing campaigns, throughout the course of the Indochina War.

So, I urge you to get involved. If you are a US citizen, write your Senators and urge them to push for US participation in the United Nations land mine treaty efforts. Regardless of your citizenship, contact COPE in Vientiane. This great organization employs victims of cluster bombs to manufacture prosthetic limbs for other victims of unexplored ordnance. COPE uses local workers and local materials to keep costs low. They are good people dealing with a daunting task. They could use your support.

Fergies

The Fergusons in full array.

This was the entrance area for the cave, which served as a shelter for the local villagers and a base for the Pathet Lao during the Indochina War.

This was also the spot, upon our return trip, that we negotiated the terms of the Fergusons' employment.

Right to left, Phang, Pom, and Dai - or - V, VI, IV.

Fergusons

Meet Dai, Phang, and Pom, hereafter known as Fergusons IV - VI.

I left the dirt road in the village, following the signs and the clear pathway towards the cave. Before I had gone three hundred meters, I could see the Fergusons heading across the fields, clearly in pursuit of yours truly.

They had seen their mark, and I was it. These were my guides, irrespective of the fact that I needed no guide, they had only one headlamp between them, and I was packing the only water.

But guide me they must, as Phang (Fergie V) made clear. Across the field and through the forest we went, sometimes with their guidance, sometimes with mine.

We climbed to the first stopping point, a former Pathet Lao hidden checkpoint. The huge stone overhang protected us from the sun, and the villagers from bombs. The Fergusons were winded from the climb, so I waited for them until they were able to resume .

We scaled the rest of the steep climb and then entered the cave. I was now guiding the Fergies, showing them stalactites and stalagmites. I explained what silica was and how the water deposited it to creat formations. The lesson was in Lao and English and lots of pantomime. They had "silica" down pat.

Nong Khiaw

The town isn't much to write home about, but the backdrop is pretty spectacular.

Farewell

A last look down the stairs to the Nam Ou from Muang Ngoi.

The next stop down river is Nong Khiaw. They have roads there.

Drawing to the straight

As I wander the paths and back roads of Laos, I keep happening upon fragments of playing cards. It has happened with enough regularity to be worthy of remark.

Just before I left Muang Ngoi, I found the entire hand, assuming we are playing five card draw.

Looks like they were drawing to the straight.

Critters

All the creatures of the field, forest, and jungle gotta eat.

So, too, our small friends the leeches. Imagine my surprise when I removed my boot and found a bloody sock.

Clever little evolutionists, the leeches have, in their saliva equivalent, both a local analgesic and an effective anti-coagulant. You don't know you are bit and you don't stop bleeding. Cool!

Farming

Agriculture, Lao style, as it has been for millennia.

Jungle

At the far end of the valley, past the village of Huay Bo, I found a small trail that led up the mountain and into the jungle.

No photo can capture the complexity of the visual and aural sensations that one experiences here. The light is muted in ever-changing bars of shadow and shafts of blinding sun. There is no foreground or background with which to register sight and location.

Those things that are within reach are a vivid mosaic of growth, decay, movement and death. Orchids, rotting stumps and roots, exploding growths of every creeper and vine imaginable, all competing for the filtered, life giving sun. And all are growing on the collective remains of the dead, lying in thick layers on the jungle floor.

Sounds are muffled, omni-directional and spooky. Life is all around, moving and calling. One hears life in the jungle far more than one sees it.

Trekking

Just a fancy name for hiking, I set out on my second day of "trekking," leaving Muang Ngoi while the mists still hung in the valleys.

Legacy

Far too common, in eastern Lao, is the sight of cluster bomb canisters being used as fencing, building material, or water troughs.

This pair of cluster bombs was dropped on Muang Ngoi by the United States. The Pathet Lao were active in this area during the Indochina war. Despite the fact that the US was not at war with Laos, the US managed to drop enough ordnance on Lao to make it the most bombed country on earth.

In addition to targeted bombing raids, launched from US bases in South Vietnam, the CIA, and its proxy forces including Air America, flew countless raids from secret airbases inside Laos.

Besides targeted bombing, Lao was also the dumping ground for B-52 bombers returning from raids over Hanoi. US pilots had standing orders to drop any remaining bombs on Lao "targets" as the bombers returned to their bases in South Vietnam. If a US bomber couldn't find targets in North Vietnam, or the weather prevented a bombing run, the planes simply turned West and South and dumped their lethal loads over the Lao landscape.

Much of this ordnance was in the form off cluster bombs. Hundreds of bomblets were contained in each canister. As the canister was dropped, it opened up and spread its deadly little seeds over vast areas. By US military estimates, at least ten percent of these toy-ball sized packages of death did not explode. Still deadly, they lie all over Lao, needing only an unsuspecting step, or curious little hand, to explode, maim and kill.

Back in Muang Ngoi, my Lao cafe host told me that in 1995, a villager, living less than a 100 meters from where we were sitting, had been critically injured by a bomblet. The thirty-odd years since it had been dropped on Lao had not reduced it lethality.

And now, almost forty years after the cessation of the war, the harvest of war continues. There are still, by UNESCO and COPE estimates, vast numbers of unexplored ordnance scattered across huge swaths of Laos. At the present rate of removal and disposal, UNESCO estimates it will take a minimum of 250 years to clear the UXO that everyday threatens the safety of Lao People.

When hiking here, one stays on a clearly beaten path, or takes grave risk by stepping off.

As a footnote: The United States still has not signed the proposed International treaties on the use of land-mines.

Comfort

Six hours of hiking yielded two caves, two villages, and a scramble up jungle creeks and waterfalls to an amazing little hanging valley.

Home again, home again, to the comfort of a bungalow. There is nothing quite so secure as a night spent slumbering under mozzie netting.

This was also the best bed in Lao to date. Best be asleep early though, for the roosters go off at five AM, the monks start drumming at six, which causes a second domestic avian cacophony. The monks drum again at seven AM, which seems to be the signal for all village animals to copulate.

Between the village dogs, cats, pigs, chickens, geese, ducks, cattle, goats and water buffalo, the sheer fecundity of the village critters borders on the improbable. It takes Louie Armstrong's classic, "Let's Fall In Love" to new levels of public display.

Landscape

Worthy of a painting, mist cloaks the karst peaks that surround the valley, which is filled with fallow rice fields, now dry for the season.

Karst

The landscape of the Nam Ou valley is dramatic and beautiful. Sheer karst upheavals produced amazing cliff faces.

Power

Most Lao villages that are not near major roadways are also off of the electrical grid, such as it is. Even provincial capitols, such as Phongsali, have no power between ten PM and six AM, grid or no grid.

Isolated villages, which is to say most villages, find other ways to generate power.

This photo shows a village hydraulic generator. When the water level is manageable, this creek is channeled, via crude wooden sluices, into a bamboo pipe. The generator is seven by a propeller on a shaft in the pipe. It is sort of like an electric outboard motor in reverse. The wires are run on bamboo poles back to the village.

The wires are strung just high enough to be above the heads of Lao villagers and just low enough to snag unaware farang.

In the rainy season, all of this had to be removed or it is washed away. Until a few months ago, this was a waterfall.

Thams and more Thams

An half hours walk East of Muang Ngoi are several caves, out of the larger of which flows a sizable creek.

With my trusty headlamp, I gave the first cave a good go. I explored about 300 meters, without getting too crazy. Without real gear, this was as far as I cared to go solo. There are multiple chambers and levels, and always the sound of the creek. According to a Dutchman who has probed the creek run, the two caves are connected and it is possible to transit from one entrance to another.

Much as I was tempted, I will have to take his word for it for now.

Vittles

The Lao villagers count far more on what they can harvest, hunt, or catch, rather than what they can buy. Everything that walks, flies, slithers, slinks or swims is a potential food source.

Small creeks are often dammed for the season, and fish weirs placed to gather finny food.

In June, the next wet season will wash most of these dams away. The end of the monsoon will find the farm harvest taken in and dams and fish traps replaced.

Routine

If asked "What do you DO when you travel?" my honest response would have to be that I walk, and I eat.

Muang Ngoi is an ideal place to walk. Within 200 meters in any direction, the small town quickly gives way to the Lao countryside. Steep mountains blanketed with jungle, flat valleys of rice fields and all bisected by the Nam Ou, make up the terrain.

I was blessed with the promise of a cool (for Laos), misty morning, and kilometers to walk before I slept.

I set out for several outlying villages and caves, as the morning mists and accompanying humidity played tricks on the senses, with alternating sensations of chill and mugginess.

End of day

The sunset over the Nam Ou and it's karst mountains.

Fire

One of the newer cash crops for Lao villages is latex rubber. While synthesized rubber is used for most everything in the modern world, some things require real latex.

The manufacture of condoms requires vast quantities of latex. Latex still gets harvested by slicing the bark of rubber trees and letting them bleed into a catch plate. Laos supplies lots and lots of latex, milked from rubber trees that are replacing native jungle.

To clear the ground initially, and to weed the stands of rubber trees, the Lao people use fire, as they have for millennia.

Just outside of Muang Ngoi, I came across this rubber tree stand, recently denuded of understory by the use of fire.

At this time of year, in preparation for the rainy season, Lao villagers are readying new fields.

Lao, and everything in it, smells of fresh woodsmoke.

Tham

Which still means "cave", whether inside or out. This one was about 250 meters deep and basically a single chamber.

Risks and Rewards

Sometimes, halfway through a course of action, one has a moment of clarity (yes, thank you Jules).

After I stowed my gear at the Ning-Ning guesthouse, I headed to the trail for the Pak Noi cave. The climb is steep, scaling sharp rocks and crazy bamboo ladders and scaffolding. A fall from anywhere would result in human julienne fries on the jagged karst mountainside.

Hence the moment of clarity. Climbing, alone, this cobbled together vertical obstacle course, it occurred to me that my tenuous hold on this mortal coil depended on an unknown group of Lao villagers.

As luck would have it, I lived to blog another day. The view was, indeed, spectacular.

Tham

Which means "cave", in Lao.