Off to Laos!

We emerged out of the mountains and were relieved with a flat highway and civilization. We made it all the way to Chiang Rai, found a cheapy guesthouse, and headed out to find the local night market with street food.

Sadly, this night market was entirely geared towards foreigners, and the food lacked what makes food nice to eat, flavor. Brant ordered some Japanese tempura, and I nibbled some boring Pad Thai. The following morning, just when I thought we were going to finally make it to the Thai/Laos border, Brant's tummy hurt so bad he could barely move. So after debating taking a bus to the border, we decided to just wait it out. Brant rested for the day, and I wrote. 

Chiang Rai was an unimpressive place, nothing quiant or cute or interesting about it. Could be that we didn't have the right glasses on or something, sometimes cities are just like that. I mean if you flew into San Francisco and rented a car and decided to go for a drive through the city, you might end up hating one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I guess, in that case, the problem would be the car not the city, but you get what I mean. This is the only photo I took in the city:

By the afternoon Brant was able to walk around, and we decided that some food was probably prudent. Earlier that day I had found a nice local restaurant shack with no sign and yummy food made by an adorable old lady.  Brant tried to eat his pad thai, but ended up not being able to stomach anything. The old lady must have thought that Brant was just another hung over white guy, but she gave him some herbal stuff to put on some pressure points on his noggin. We went back to the hostel and watched a documentary. Around four, Brant finally ate his noodles and we went for a walk.

In the morning he felt like  normal, so we suited up and headed to eat a croissant at a local Scandinavian bakery. And it was good.

We pedaled to the northern border town of Chiang Khong, it was a hot sunny day, but the road was beautiful, full of rolling hills and farms. The mountain range to our right kept reminding us that we were headed to the mountainous region of Laos.

It was one of those rides where I daydreamed the whole way. I love it when that happens. When you can let the landscape pass like a dream, and you can pedal effortlessly dreaming up adventures. Where could we bike next? Where do I want to live when I go home? What do I want to study? What do I want to "do" when I grow up? All of these sorts of questions will entertain my mind for hours. On this particular ride I dreamt that I lived in Tomales or some other itsy bitsy town on the Sonoma County Coast; I dreamt that Brant and I lived in a farmhouse and I worked as a high school teacher teaching English and sustainable living classes, like an awesome home-ec class where we could learn to grow organic gardens, have a kitchen classroom, and perhaps have it so that students could earn a permaculture design certificate at the senior grade level. I just have this dream to expand garden curriculum to high school age students, that way you empower kids with practical living skills, skills that help prepare us for a more sustainable future. I know that our California education system is literally up shit creek, but it doesn't stop me from dreaming. I suppose I just want to be super involved in whatever community I put roots in. You know? In it to win it. I want to earn my space somewhere, I want to be an old lady in some place I have lived most my life. I want to travel, yes, but I want roots is all I'm saying.

Any who, we arrived at the border town, took out money to exchange for US dollars in order to buy a Loas visa the following morning. We navigated our way to the end of town to figure out exactly how to cross the following morning.

At the end of town was a hand painted sign for the "Papaya Village Guesthouse and Herbal Sauna." It was a ways away from the main part of town, so we thought we'd cruise down and see what the Papaya Village had to offer. In the middle of a riverside neighborhood, the papaya village was a mellow mellow spot. Presumably the grandmother of the compound showed Brant some of the very cheap rooms. For an extra two dollars we got our own adorable riverside shack with our own bathroom and porch. We took it and settled in for the night, sipping Laos beer on our balcony and eating fried rice; it was pretty blissful.

The following day we prepared for our river border crossing extravaganza. With our bellies full of coffee and noodles we embarked headed down to the river. First we had to fare the chaos of the Thai immigration lines, as you have to get your visa stamped as you exit Thailand. The line was giant and full of Chinese tourists on a 4x4 tour of Asia.

With our visas stamped we headed to the river bank and paid a driver to boat all of our goods over in a small wooden boat. Bikes on small boats are a funny sight. We sat there thinking about how fast our precious bicycles would sink to the bottom of the Mekong. At the other side, the Laos immigration office was a disorganized mess. It took an hour or so for both of us to balance watching our bikes while the other applied for a visa. 72 dollars later we had two 30 day Laos visas and we headed to find our second boat ride for the day.

Paved roads are not a common occurrence in beautiful Laos, so we followed another cyclist's advice to take a two day slow boat from Huay Xai to Luang Prabang.  We paid the extra bicycle fee and watched our precious cargo get strapped down to the top of the boat.

 As cyclo-tourists we get to avoid the hardships of transit, as it is often long, uncomfortable, and you become an easy target for scams because people know bus, train, and boat schedules; they know when and where you get off etc. But both Brant and I were pretty excited to take a boat ride down the exotic Mekong. Mind you it was long, but it sure was pretty. The Mekong is a big powerful river born in the Himalayas. Rocks jut out on either bank, beautiful beaches and villages offer a glimpse into another world.

The boat was full of travelers, and it was on this trek where we met two beautiful German midwives. I have a soft spot in my heart for midwives, like a child's idealization of a super hero or a fireman, I think they are the coolest. Sabrina and Marijke, only 24 years old, just finished their three year midwife program and took a five month celebratory holiday in South East Asia before heading back to start their carreers. I really enjoyed meeting them and talking to them about their experience at midwifery school and how they got interested in the career in the first place.

Brant and I played cribbage, listened to music, and mostly read our book, The Things They Carried. We purchased this American classic in Chiang Mai and began reading it out-load to each other. We figure that we should honor the atrocity of the Vietnam War before heading to Vietnam. The novel/memoir by Tim Obrien is often read in high school English classes, but both Brant and I had not read it, and man oh man it is well written. I think if you can read a book out loud, follow the storyline, and be mesmerized, somebody's done something right. Brant and I ferociously ate up the book.

On this two day trek, you have to stop to sleep in the sleepy village of Pak Beng, the halfway point. Here we were reminded why riding your bike as transportation is the best way to go. As the boat pulled up to the shore, the villagers raced down the hill to help carry passengers belongings, expecting a tip. The sun was almost totally down, so adding darkness to the mix made for no fun as we had to keep track of our unloading bicycles and eight bags. I watched our stuff as Brant raced between our pile and the boat trying to safely retrieve all of our stuff, but before he could get to all of it, locals felt obliged to carry our stuff to us, and then demand tip. When brant gave them a dollar or two for carrying one back 15 feet, three men began demanding more, five dollars, seven dollars. With this, I stepped in with my serious voice and demanded that they step away from us and leave. Five dollars would feed both Brant and I for two meals. We have never had any problems like this, but in this sleepy town that probably has not had a huge western influence till fairly recently, now has a bunch of white people every evening with money that tell you that your subsistence life is poor, what do you expect? It's easy money.

We found a crappy guesthouse and ate some delicious Indian food, and began to come to terms with the fact that we were in a different country. We had gotten used to Thailand, and for some reason because they are so close and similar we had to remind ourselves that were in fact somewhere different. Laos is definitely a poorer country, so it surprised us that food was nearly twice as expensive and not as good as Thailand. At least the Indian food was delicious.

We boarded our boat the following morning, and were excited for our evening destination, the beautiful city of Luang Prabang. The midwives saved us seats on the boat, and we repeated yesterday's festivities of cards and reading. Cabin fever, however, innevitably ensued. At least we were in an open airy cabin, but with so many people on one moving vessel, things are bound to be entertaining.

 

 My favorite boatride characters: the Canadian bro watering down his Beerlao to make it last, no bud light here. The lonely lady who brought so many snacks. Brant and I did not bring enough snacks for this nine hour ride and this lady, I sware, ate the whole time, and still had snacks to spare. But the nobel prize goes to the 3 middle aged Chinese dudes who sat in front of us. These guys almost drank themselves to death on the boat; they kept trying to offer crappy rice whiskey to any passerby. Brant took one swig and thereby lost at least one year of good health. After drinking down their bottle of liquor they proceeded to dwindle the snack bar of all the beer on the boat. Midway they pulled out laptops and started playing girls gone wild-esque videos blasting techno into all of our ears. It was a sad sad sight. I wanted to be like dude, do you know how desperate you look? Maybe join us for a bike ride, kill the beer belly, find true love etc. But spare us the bikini dancing girls.

 One English girl in front of us had enough and asked kindly if he had some headphones. He took the hint and closed the laptop. I think twenty minutes later all three of our don juans passed out. I tried to capture their drunken slumber but just as I took a photograph Mr. BikiniVideoMan opened his eyes to find me taking his picture. Woopsies.

 After 9 hours on the river, we arrived. This time no one hastled us to carry our belongings. We pedaled up the hill and found oursleves in the magical retreat city of Luang Prabang. Laos' French Colonization seeps out of every corner of this old city full of beautiful colonial architecture and french pattiseries. What a treat though it was. We ate a crepe, immediately ran into a Swiss cycling tourist, and found an amazing room at a swanky guesthouse for quite cheap. For under ten dollars we had a very nice room tucked into a garden and adorned with a beautiful ceramic bowl for a sink and other charming details.

 

 Our time in Luang Prabang was spent enjoying the blisses of a beautiful city. We ate well; we sipped espresso and finished job applications; I submitted a proposal for a presentation at the biennial conference for literature and the environment; we took photos of colonial French architecture; we walked along the riverbanks. We admired the lines of monks receiving morning alms.

Our two days went by fast, and we began to prepare for our departure and trek over the northern mountain peaks that lead to Vientiane.