Old Hwy 13

From Vientiane we headed south in pursuit of our next big destination, Vietnam, with only one pit-stop in between, the climbing camp that our new friends Mariejke and Sabrina had told us about. With 350 kilometers ahead of us we ventured back on to trusty dusty, HWY 13.

 The sun scorched us for three days. At one point, Brant had to pull over because he felt sick from the heat. We hadn't felt this dry since Kansas.

We decided to lay low in a little village for an hour or so and let the sun set just a little before finishing the day's kilometers. We sipped cold soda water and ate sticky rice underneath the safety of shade. Locals gathered round as we pulled out the cribbage board for a needed game. An hour later the sun was much more bearable, and we ventured forward to the next little town to find a guest house for a good nights sleep with air conditioning.

On the fourth day we made it to Thakek, a large-ish town on the Mekong River. It was Thanksgiving back at home, so Brant and I stopped at a small cafe and enjoyed the blisses of modern cities: internet and espresso. We "topped up" our cell phone money and called our families. We got off the phone and dreamt about the taste of turkey, mashed potatoes, pecan pie with whipped cream, and most of all, a good glass of California red wine...

After running all of our "errands," we headed east on HWY 12 to the Green Climbers Home, only 12 kilometers away from the city. The road plunged us into the mountains we had been gazing at to the east for the last 300 kilometers. Winding around limestone towers, along a river valley, we found a little wooden sign on a dirt driveway for the climbers home. We followed the road into a small valley encased by huge spires of limestone and jungle, and here we found the little climbing oasis.

We approached the hub of the operation, a restaurant/cafe on stilts with a traditional Laos thatched roof. We had hoped that our friends were still here, but seeing as they would have been there for a week at this point, we tried to not have our hopes up. I took off my shoes and headed up the stairs to the cafe. And man was I excited to see my two friends sitting and enjoying their lunch! Sabrina and Mariejke freaked out as much as I did, and they immediately decided to stay an extra day to spend time with us.

Brant and I picked up a menu; as we scanned the delicious options, our eyes lit up. Laos just isn't the culinary meca that Thailand is, but this menu of delicious curries and mango with sticky rice looked good and was good and made our bellies happy for two days.

The girls were still here because the camp is absolute magic. An oasis for adventurous go-getters. Beyond being a climbing playground it boasts a giant cave that you can swim through. After eating, we all headed straight to the cavernous swimming hole and jumped in.

Refreshed, Brant and I set up our tent for the first time in Asia. Excited that the tent didn't smell after two months in it's bag, we got ready to climb a few routes with Mariejke and Sabrina before dark. It felt super good to climb again.

That night, over dinner, Mariejka and Sabrina taught us a new card game called "Shizam," and man-oh-man it is fun. Many hands later, Brant and I were addicted and we'll be happy to teach anyone when we go home.

The following morning the camp was in a sweet morning haze. Everyone woke and sipped coffee and read books for a good hour before heading out to the rocks. The girls lead a few climbs for all us. It was Brant's second time climbing, the first earlier this trip in Virginia with George. He kicked butt too. I am excited to climb together when we go home someday.

After our lunch break, Sabrina and Brant took the bicycles to town. Brant went to buy watermelons (literally) and Sabrina went to send an email.  And Mariejke and I went for a swim, and then headed out for two more climbs. 

In an effort to climb something a bit more challenging we asked a resident staff to lead a route for us. After climbing this route, there was no one around to lead except for us, and the climb we wanted to try was a 5C.  Mariejke didn't feel comfortable leading it. I thought about it for a second. I hadn't lead anything since I was in New Zealand. But I felt up to the task.

It was the hardest route I had ever lead. Dripping with sweat at the top, I was so excited I had challenged myself to do it. It also reminded me how nice it is to have good girlfriends and made me miss my crew of fantastic ladies. The whole experience was reminiscent of my trip to New Zealand with Danielle, Megan, Melanie, and Christy: staying at a climbing camp and nestling into a small community away from home. It all felt good.

We said goodbye to our dear friends the following morning, ate one last delicious breakfast, and packed up our mules in preparation for our last ride before reaching Vietnam. We had planned on heading further south in search of the more popular border crossing from Savanhaket, but we found out that HWY 12 was recently paved and less populated and beautiful. Perfect? So we ventured east, loving the road, the beautiful landscape, and the small villages.

More Mountains

As usual, we found ourselves widdling away the morning trying to blog, route plan etc. Never catching up as much as we would like. This morning however we woke up early enough, with assistance from the 4 AM monk drum session outside our window, to see the famed precesion of monks. By the time that we had packed up our belongings, only several minutes after the 10 AM checkout, we stopped by Benneton's Bakery for one last authentic French croisant. Here we encountered the Swiss cycle tourist again.

"Your still here?" He quipped, " I would have figured that you would be in the mountains by now."

We aknowledged our late departure and informed him that we had downsized our days ambitions from 120 km to a mere 25, just to get out of town. Just as I thought that we might leave, we began the wild goose chase to find a Laos sim card for Lauren's phone. I was becoming visibly irritated by our technological tether by the time we finally found the appropriate telecom office and forked over the equivalent of $8.75 (70,000 KIP) for a months worth of data service. Acting quickly Lauren found us lunch, making it apparent that my frustrations were at least partly driven by low blood sugar.

Just when I thought we might actually leave, we passed by the World Vision International office (WVI) (another aid organization), and Luaren suggested we stop and inquire about a translation service. Concurring that this was a logical decision, we stopped yet again. Inside the Loatian women told us that the english speaker was at lunch and would return shortly, so we waited outside. When he pulled up, it was a gentleman that we saw earlier at the bakery with his tiny child, both times on a bicycle. He told us that he could not alocate staff time to such a project, and that the Loatian government would not allow them to aid terrorists...er I mean tourists. Just then a english speaking Loatian employee said that he could do it in his spare time, and just as we exchanged e-mails he slipped in "what's in it for me?" So we slipped him a five and finally slid out of town.

Highway 13 is the major north to south highway in Lao, but it is no larger nor better maintained then a two laned country road in the states. This is due in part to the fact that only 6.5 million people live hear and that 80% of the population consists of subsistence farmers. The main commerce on this road is definitely tourists. Winding 25 km out of town weaved us through valleys to the base of the mountains along the Kahn river where we found a guest house amongst the bamboo shacks. Lured by screams of children I went for a dip in the river before dinner. Rivers here can swell to 10 times there dry season flow leaving large loamy banks that locals us for their own kitchen garden. Conveniently close to water and fertile with flood deposits and quite a lovely scene.

Our evening walk was strafed by rain, and some how we had lost one of our umbrellas on our previous moutain adventure, leaving us wet. In the untouristed areas croisants and other western foods are no longer available, leaving us with few options other than noodle soup. "Please hold the processed pork balls" (these are balls of pork not the balls of the pig). Walking back to our bed we were assured that we were the only westerners in the village.

That morning we went out for more noodle soup, and I got an opportunity to use our stove to make some hot coffee. What a treat. Within minutes of departing we were crawling up the steep mountain grades. I again found myself making it down to gear one as we ground away towards the mountain's crest. This went on for several hours through the mist, and after 20 km or so we were headed down again. The descent was amazing with sweeping turns, million dollar vistas and very little traffic. At the base of the hill we crossed a river and I saw the first of what would be many commmunity stand pipes (centrally located water taps) funded by World Vision International. Across the valley's river our rest was cut short as we embarked on yet another sustained steep climb.

Nearing the top after another couple of hours our hunger had grown insatiably. Stopping we crawled over to an abondoned highway market and noshed through our stash of banana chips. It was another gruelling 20 minutes before we would reach a restaraunt. There were several VIP tourist mini vans parked outside, indicating that this was a common stop over, and of course translated into higher prices. We shrugged, perused the translated menu and ate our lunch in silence, watching the other falang (white westerners) eat and smoke and the chickens fight over there cast their offs.

Just moments down the road we realized just how close we were to a town of significance that even had a guest house.This is about 70 km from Luang Prabang, and we be an ideal stopping place if you left early enough. However, we had only gone 45 or so km and we needed to push on another 55 to Pokuhn. There were a few more significant climbs and descents, but most of the afternoon was spent on the undulating ridgeline dotted with remote villages. We spent about an hour riding in the rain before dusk and we still had another 16 km. These episodes are very challenging and fog Lauren's glasses instantly. Just before the deluge let up, she installed her contacts with some sweat salt putting her in incredible pain. Perfect vision really is a blessing. As the sun went down we passed a pinacle just as a dynomite blast sounded off sending rocks cascading, shocked we continued on.

Fully enveloped by the blackness we could see and be seen only by our bright dynamo powered lights, thank goodness for these. Feeling the weight of our burden more significantly with every pedal stroke we were driven only by the promise of a bed and a shower. On the last uphill we were passed by motorcycles coasting with the engine cut in the other direction with no illumination what so ever. Suddenly, no more than 200 m from our final destination Lauren's tire went instantaneously flat. Using the light of a nearby government installation we stripped the bike of its load to find a hole in the tire almost large enough to stick your pinky through. Swapping tubes and inflating the tire, I determined that we would have to install the spare tire in the morning to prevent premature flatting down the road, but for now we needed a guest house.

At Pokuhn, which isn't much more than the intersection of highways thirteen and seven, we were greeted by two or three different guest house options, but quickly settled when we were given the thumbs up by some westerners eating in the restaurant below. Another Spaniard approached me and explained that he too was touring, on a folding bike, but in the other direction. He reassured me that the next day would be almost entirely downhill, and our late arrival made him nervous, we would not see him the next morning. While unloading the bikes the couple that had waved us in began asking about our trip. They were french and had merely gotten off the bus here to enjoy the mountains in the abscence of tourists. We immediately hit it off. Lugauge in hand we dissappeared to find our bed and shower. The room was without windows and the shower without heat, which was really dissappointing as it was surprisingly cold outside. We returned washed and dawning long shirts and jackets and pursued dinner with our new french friends. The food was bland, but the conversation was lively and they shared a pineapple for dessert for which I brought our knife. With our bellys full, my eyes began to close and we hurried to bed.

We rose early in the abscence of light and I proceded to install our spare tire on Lauren's bike and make coffee. When the Frenchies stirred we offered them some of our real coffee, a luxury in these parts, to repay them for the pineapple from the night before. Everyone left satisfied and we departed into the mist.

Not before we had escaped town I saw a Loation traveling in the other direction yielding an AK-47 across his chest. I was a little taken aback but not entirely surprised given their communist roots. The days ride was spectacular, and thankfully largely down hill. Even in the valleys beneath the looming range from which we descended were filled with limestone outcroppings that seemed to defy gravity. The lower we got the larger the towns, the bigger the houses and the more rice was being harvested leaving a brilliant contrast of the golden fields against the lush green mountains. Compared to the highlands, this seemed like a land of plenty. Just before reaching Vang Vieng, and infamous party spot for travelers, we became intrigued by a sign for an organic farm restaraunt just down a small dirt road. Hesitating only because of the detour, we went for it.

Bumping down towards the river we passed and adobe youth center inclusive of classrooms and a library and just as we rounded the gate we were greated by our German friends that we met on the boat. This unplanned encounter was almost too serendipitous, as the girls said that "if [they] were to see the cyclists again, it would be here." And here we were. It was a joyous dinner and we decided to head back to stay at their hotel for the evening. Everyone dawned bikes and we headed into the Cancunesque Vang Vieng. The city itself was filled with flashy hotels, street vendors yelling at everyone to buy their wares or food, restaurants all with floor seating and a large TV playing family guy, and of course many young backpackers roaming the streets, some scantly clad, which is a big no no in Laos. Our hotel was cheap and we were happy to see the girls, but we would head out in the morning.

With our pattented late start resulting from a lovely breakfast with our friends where they told us that they would be in a camp just outside of Thakhek for about 5 days, we decided to split the remaining 155 km to Vientiane into two days. Our path continued to become more populated with more and more guest house options as the mountains disappeared and the landscape become flat. We holed up in a nice guest house for the night and met the owners daughter who spoke surprisingly good english and told us she has been living in San Diego for the last years, working and going to community college. I can only imagine transitioning to a country where your native currency almost has no value, aproximately 8000 kip/1 US$. The town had little to offer and we only ventured out to find food, which is always an adventure when no other westerners can be found.

The next morning we broke out our camp stove and made oatmeal with coconut milk for breakfast, what a treat, and managed to get out pretty early. The last 40 km of our 70 km day were heavily trafficed, polluted and un-scenic. The Sabaidee's were drowned out by poorly opperating diesel trucks and busses and the muffled by the callers dust masks. So we held our breath and kept riding trying to get to the capital Vientiene. Upon arrival the first thing that we did was locate the sister bakery to that in Luang Prabang and munched on some croisants.

As far as capitals goes, Vientiane is a pretty mellow one. Still not too many people are buzzing around on motor bikes like in Bangkok. What we did find will hanging around to catch up on writing and apply for Vietnamese Visas, were a significant number of touring cyclists. The day we arrived while we were looking for accomodations, we ran into two French cyclists riding Surlys. We had seen them riding out of Luang Prabang and we recounted the hills. That evening we ran into a Loatian living in the USA but visiting family whom we had also seen leaving Luang Prabang. We also talked about the hills beneath the communist and Loatian flags, and he said that at 71 this will probably be his last tour. Later that evening we found 3 people gawking at our bikes and we started conversation, all three were German, and all three rode Rohloffs though they were two separate groups. When I was getting my Vietnamese visa at the Embassy two days later I ran into a Hungarian couple riding recumbents fitted with, you guessed it, Rohloffs. We ate dinner with the last two sets of cyclists, exchanged stories and tips, but unfortunately were all headed in different directions.

Germans

Hungarians (Photo by them)

From Vientiane we could see Thailand, and we both agreed that we missed it and even thought about returning briefly on our way to Thakhek. Alas double entry Visas were not available and we would have to pay the $35 again. Sigh. Rejuvinated and with Vietnam Visas in hand it was time to leave again for the Laos country side where noodle soup (pho) and sticky rice are our only food options. Thailand, we will return again for your deliciously spicy and diverse cuisine...

Loas Mountain Children "Sabaidee" 

View from our hotel in Vientiane