It took us three days to get to Luang Prabang, just as we had planned. The getting there, however was nothing like we had planned. As we sat at the bus station after being told the next 3 hourly buses to Chiang Rai were sold out, I reflected on how quickly plans can go awry. If we didn't get to the border by 6:00 pm, we would trapped on the Thai side and be fined $30 for overstaying our visa. Not the end of the world, but not a good start.
Thanks to the help of a monk we met on our eventual bus, we made a speedy trip across Chiang Rai to the other bus station, and immediately found a bus leaving for Chiang Khong. Three hours more and it was another touk touk ride to the river crossing, where we hopped in a boat to Huay Xai and made it to Laos immigration at 5:30. Whew!
The question Morgan and I had been wrestling with was whether to take a 10 hour bus to Luang Prabang or a two day, 6 hour per day slow boat. There was also a fast boat that made the trip in a single day, but it was basically a soapbox derby car with a car engine strapped to the back, so we passed. We had heard that the boats can be pretty packed, and the overnight town is pretty shady, but we hate arriving in a new town late at night, and who can pass up a boat trip on the Mekong? Boat it is.
The boat was scheduled to leave at 11:00am, so we got down there at 9:30 and bought tickets. We bought sandwiches for the ride and $1 pillows to sit on (knowing we would leave them on the boat in the end). We got on the boat at 10:30 to find a seat, but we didn't start moving for another 2 hours! This was a good indicator of how the boat ride would go.
The bench seats on the boat were completely unsittable; the backs seemed to be at about a 60 degree angle from the seat, thus dissuading any attempt at comfort. Fortunately we found a stack of plastic lawn chairs in the back, and settled right in.
The Mekong followed the Thai-Laos border for the first hour of our trip, and we saw lots of signs of development: barges, dump trucks of coal on sand bars, logging, etc. Then the river meanders back in between the mountains and most signs of human activity disappear. Every so often we would see a Buddhist wat (temple), a few people fishing, or groups of people that appeared to be panning for gold. Otherwise it was just water, sand, rock and jungle. Naturally speaking, it was much more interesting then our Mekong trip 1000 km downstream in Cambodia.
It's impossible to share such cramped quarters with other tourists and not get to know them. Behind us sat 4 older Canadians from Prince George, all teachers or retired teachers. With us sat Chris, a 28 year old Australian living in London (who had been with us since the Chiang Mai bus), and across from us sat some younger folks from Holland and England. It amused me to realize that we seem to relate better to people 30 years older than us than we do to people 3 years younger than us. Another sign I am turning into Calvin's dad, I suppose.
Around 4pm we stopped at a small fishing village while locals poured onto the boat to sell us sandwiches, fruit and Beerlao. As quickly as they came, they went, and we were on our way to Pakbeng. I was not looking forward to Pakbeng, as positive attributes were hard to come by in the descriptions. People said to keep valuables close, and one traveler on the Lonely Planet forums described it as "kind of a wild west town." I wasn't keen on getting into it with anyone at the local saloon.
Fortunately it wasn't a problem at all. About 5:30 the boat pulled up to a beach and we were told we would have to walk 10 minutes around a shallow section of the river, where we would then re-embark. Then it became clear that we needed to take our bags as well, because we were actually getting onto a new boat. With one gang plank for us and our sister ship (about 150 people in all), you can imagine how efficient it was to get off all the passengers and luggage, when much of the luggage had been placed underneath the floorboards with benches on top. I got off and started waiting for my bag to turn up. A few of us realized that the boatman were going to be no help in this process, and so took it upon ourselves to unload. I stood at the edge of the water while another traveler tossed backpacks to me. Once I had unloaded the packs of Morgan, Chris, and myself, I waved goodbye. "You're on your own now!" The first signs of savagery were starting to set in.
Based on the general rule of calculating travel times outside of western society, I figured our "ten minute walk" would take us between 20-25 minutes. It took 40, and it was no walk. It was a hike over sand and rock, and it included one creek crossing. Granted, Morgan and I would've been much faster if we were not waiting in a line for people to get past the tricky parts. We're fast walkers. Not Isaac Hurst fast, but pretty fast. I also had the mystique of the hippy backpacker destroyed in my mind. I always thought that they were in-shape outdoors types, but this is not necessarily true. Just because they are dirty, skinny, and trendy (we only have the first 2) does not mean they are capable of walking on uneven surfaces. To the Dutch and English guys who had been drinking heavily, they must have seemed even more uneven!
As you can see from the pictures, the sun was quickly setting, and though we weren't even close to Pakbeng, the rumor began to circulate that we would be sleeping on the boat. After we got into the boat of our choosing and secured a spot next to the Canadians, I went out to look around. We were moored downhill from a very small village, and it seemed the entire community of 40 men women and children had come down to meet us and sell us foodstuffs. The sun dropped down for good, the sand began to feel cool against my feet, and it became clear that the rumors were true. I had read previously that the boats could not safely travel in the dark.
As I walked across the gangplanks back to our boat (the last of four), I caught the end of a conversation between a large young Englishman and a boatman. "We have to stay the night on the boat? Oh, you're just joking. I should push you in the river for that!" The boatman then exhibited one of the greatest nervous laughs I have ever seen.
On the boat we had fried rice and Beerlao for dinner, and Chris and I played Euchre against the Canadian men. Around 10pm we made space to sleep sardine style, and we eventually drifted off as Dutch techno drove out my last remnants of compassion for my fellow man.
We got going again at first light, and this is where things got ugly. Chris, Morgan and myself created a nice personal area on our clean beach mat, with room for people to walk around to the bathroom. When the party crew returned from the beach in the morning, they sat across from us, slowly creeping into our personal space. My passive aggressive side was about to burst as their garbage and clothes spilled over into our area, where we had neatly tucked everything out of the way under some benches. Since we weren't swimming in our own filth, the spaces between out legs became the path to the bathroom, and we were forced into less and less comfortable positions as the hangovers set in and the party animals crashed. This was or territory, and they were invading it!
I know this is a long post, probably my longest ever, but I must diverge on a point of historical and cultural differences. A thousand years ago, the culture in SE Asia was quite advanced. In Europe, we were digging in the mud and dying of the plague. There are many reasons for this, hygiene not the least among them. As is the custom in many SE Asian homes, we removed our shoes on the boat, shook the sand off, and wiped our legs off. When going to the bathroom, we carried our sandals to the door, wore them inside, and again removed them after finishing our business. This was important because a thin pool of water was a constant presence in the bathroom.
In this manner, had others followed suit (and some did), the boat would have remained a very clean and habitable environment. In reality, people trudged wet sand in their nasty Tevas, sweaty socks rubbed against my ankles, and on the return trip from the bathroom what toilet juice that didn't get dripped on my exposed legs was stamped into the floor between them. It took about 5 minutes for us to realize that if we wanted our beach mat to make it to Vietnam in any kind of sanitary condition, it needed to go away immediately.
Clearly savagery had fully set in, but it was ok because we arrived in Luang Prabang a mere 11 hours later. We passed the time with reading, talking, playing cards, napping in the fetal position, and passive aggressively vying for square footage. The last two hours were the best. As the sun set people began to move around, snap photos, and converse with the anticipation of arrival. It was a beautiful evening, and the approach to the city was spectacular. No out of control development, no sky scrapers, no billboards. From the river you can't even see the buildings!
Today Morgan and I were discussing whether or not we would take the slow boat again. It would be a tough call, but if we had any of you with us, the answer would definitely be yes!
