With the course over, we asked Brecht if we could stay an extra day or so to catch up with our own computer work. The morning after we had scheduled with our friend John, of Wild Rose Yoga, to visit their new business venture, a house boat yoga/relaxation retreat on Mae Ngat Reservoir in the middle of Sri Lanna National Park. Leaving late, we pedaled hard to our destination only 20 kilometers away, with the last one being straight up the dam. However, when we got to the spot that John had pointed out on the map all that was there was a spillway structure, with the boat launch visible on the other side of the mile long damn. He called moments after our arrival confirming our concern. Hopping two locked gates and avoiding paying the parks entry fee, we found John eating breakfast in a lakeside restaurant, waiting for the boatmen and other guests.
Once the carload arrived, we boarded the longtail boat with our fried rice lunch in tow (in five layers of packaging as usual). Unlike our normal conceptions of outboard motors, these boats look more like a car engine mounted to a 3-D pivot with a long protruding shaft coming off the back with a proportionally small propeller on the end. After just a few hallow coughs the engined roared and we were off. Passing many other houseboats, some guest houses, and modest fishing shacks we continued to one of the far more remote coves of the lake.
Swelling in front of us was an immense bamboo structure with sweeping rooflines emulating those of Buddist temples. This is what the men are working on and is to be their breezy yoga studio that will serve as a center piece of their floating oasis. Once on board things began two slow down. The men fired up the generator and got to work. The two french women began tinkering with the various potted plants. Lauren and I gazed and wandered. At one point John invited me to the top of the new structure and so we pulled ourselves up amongst the bamboo, some of it scafolding some of it structure, gently feeling for the stiffness of each member before giving it our full weight. Bamboo is an amazing building material, flexible but stiff and lends itself to beautifully elegant lines.
Once down we spent the rest of the afternoon sitting, reading, swimming and generally relaxing. Work continued till about 5:00 and we rode the boat back into the sunset. By the time that we got to our bikes it was getting dark and we prepared to travel by our wits and head lights. Previous to this I found a route back that would be about half the distance compared to how we arrived. However, road conditions were unknown and this lead us through spillways with water of unknown depths and dirt roads with no other lights than our own. The waters turned out to be easily fordable and our lights plenty bright to return us safely to our permaculture paradise.
We planned to spend one more day at Panya writing and applying for future jobs, but with plenty of distractions and more time needed than originally anticipated this quickly turned into two. Everyday Brecht would prod us on to stay another. We would always reply by saying that we love it here, but it is time to go.
Finally, noon on the fourth day after the course, we were able to break ourselves away after performing our first water test at Panya. It was sad, but the road ahead was calling us and it was time to go.
The day was incredibly hot, and we immediately felt the fact that we had not ridden significantly in over two weeks time. Every rise felt like a mountain pass, and sweat came out of every pore depositing salt all over our skin. After a mere 20 kilometers we had to stop and get some food and a cold drink. It was a little disheartening to feel so out of shape, something that we hadn't really experienced in the last four and a half months time. After a total of 50 km we decided that we needed to stop, so we settled on a town whose only accomodation was a small temple.
I approached the only monk around, who was helping an unmasked welder with some construction, and handed him a pre-translated letter requesting a place to stay. The monk was all smiles and showed us to the reception hall where we were to sleep. So for the first time in about a month or so, we inflated our sleeping mats and prepared for bed.
The next morning we made a valiant effort to get out early and beat the sun--before it beat on us. Unfortunately, the sun was unbeatable and the heat was felt through the entire day. Eventually, we made it nearly 50 km to Phrao. Here we ate lunch, and printed our newely translated water questions at a coffee shop. It was then that I asked Lauren if she was interested in visiting the Cal Poly EWB project in a village to our east. She agreed that it was a good idea, and I proceded to try and figure out exactly where it was. After browsing the documents that had been forwarded to me by the previous club president, I found a phone number of a NGO representative in Thailand.
I gave it a call. A young girl answered and I asked for Joni, she said that Joni was actually "Johnny," her father, and he was at church in Chiang Mai for the next hour. I left a message with her and waited for the return call.
When an hour passed, I decided to call again, this time Joni answered. I explained who we were and that we were interested in visiting the Cal Poly project. I tried to explain where we were and that we intended to cycle there. "Motor bikes?" he replied and I said, "No pedal bicycles." Shocked, he said that we were indeed brave and were in for an adventure. I would not understand the magnitude of this statement for about 16 hours.
Over the phone he tried to explain the landmarks that we would pass before we would reach the town of Mae Tam, where we should call him again and he would have our arrival to the village all planned out. I thanked him and we were on our way towards the mountains.
I guess they aren't called a hill tribe village for nothing.
About two kilometers out of town, I decided that my tires were too low pressure to climb the mountain ahead, so I paused to air up all of our tires for maximum hill climbing efficiency. The grind began, first modestly then suddenly with a consistent, what seemed to be 10% or greater grade. This would be the first times on our trip so far that I would visit gear one. Before long I realized that my front tire was actually losing air. Based on Joni's phone description I figured that the call point couldn't be to far away and I decided to nurse the tire instead of repairing.
Once I had done this about two or three times, it became apparent that there was nothing but up ahead of us. I caught up with Lauren, who was stopped and chatting with a Norwegian man on a motor scooter. It was indeed time to repair the dang flat.
Deploying the kickstand and removing the front bags in haste, I listened to the Norwegian gentleman warn Lauren about the drug smuggling activity in the area ahead. While I was getting a whiff of the rubber cement for the patch, the stranger told us his own story of buying a tainted soda, then getting busted by the police on his way home. Patched, gassed, and re-packed we thanked him for the advice and continued the grind.
Up and up and up, it seemed to go on forever at a thigh burning incline. As dusk was approaching, we came across a small village and decided that we better give Joni a call, as we were hours later than he had estimated and still no sign of the fabled Mae Tam.
When he answered the phone, I explained that we had just passed the town of Sam Li, and we had been climbing for hours. There was a pause on the other line...
"Oh" he said, sounding a bit surprised, "I thought that you were coming from a different direction."
Apparently the mountain that we had nearly crested was not in the route that he had described over the phone. He told us to keep going and that he would call the head man of a local village to meet us and give us a place to stay for the night before continuing on.
"Does that sound alright?" Joni inquired.
I informed him that I could not think of a better idea, and we continued to grind. About 20 minutes later a truck passed us and a man on a cell phone wearing some awesome green velvet pants got out. As we approached he held out the phone saying only, "Joni." I caught my breath took hold and answered, "Hello." Joni gave me the run down and we followed the head man, Sam, back down the hill to the village that we had passed half an hour earlier. It ended in a sharp 25% upgrade before arriving at Sam's house.
It was a beautiful traditional style stilted teek house, and we dropped our bags in the large, and sparcely furnished common room. Once we were set up we were called to "Gin cow," which simply means eat rice. The kitchen/eating house had a beautiful porch overlooking the valley below. Sam's wife had made us dinner, but we ate alone as Sam watched. We thought this as good a time as ever to hand Sam our water and sanitation questionnaire. He looked it up and down, nodding occasionally, before handing it back to us. It was unclear whether he could read it or didn't understand that we would like hime to fill it out. So we finished our meal without anymore prodding.
Afterward Sam led us down past the community church, which was Christian, to a view point near another house. Two curious young women peered out from behind the door before coming out and joining us. They pointed out the faraway lights of the cities that we had passed through earlier in the day. When we were comfortable with each other's company we decided to let the young women give our questionaire a try. They accepted and filled out the form by porch light with much giggling. This would be our first water survey, bringing some small sense of accomplishment.
We headed back towards the house and found that our separate sleeping accommodations had been set up in the main room in our absence. We brushed our teeth, and I performed a water test before drifting off to sleep.
The next morning we awoke to a chorus of roosters and other exotic birds, time was skewed as this house, like many others in Thailand, does not have actual glass windows, but rather shutters, shrouding us from the morning's light. Before we knew it it was time to "gin cow" once more and scurried over to breakfast.
Once again we ate alone. As I took my last bite Sam's wife instructed me with some waving and hand signaling that Sam wanted me to take a phone call from Joni. I walked to the only corner of the yard that got reception and I received my days instructions. Sam would drive us up the ridge to a rendezvous point where we would be met with a man on a motorcycle who would lead us to Huai Nam Khun, the location of the Cal Poly Projects.
When the signal cut out, promptly ending the phone call, Sam signaled that it was time to leave.
We gathered up our things and threw them in the bed of the pickup truck. The tailgate slammed and we crawled into unfamiliar territory, the seat of a car. Again we went up past the place we had been met the night before and kept going. At the ridge-line we made a hard left onto a concrete road up further still. One turn later the road conditions degraded significantly into a heavily rutted dirt road, hardly passable by two vehicles. We were beginning to wonder if we would need the biking outfits we were now wearing at all.
Coming into an area cleared for agriculture and inhabitation, we approached a makeshift gas station in the center of a new village, far from anywhere at a fork in the "road." Sam exited the vehicle, and we quickly followed suit and began to unload the truck and load up our bikes. Sam called Joni again signaling me over to talk.
Joni told me that we would follow the gentleman on the motorcycle to Huai Nam Kuhn, stopping at his village approximately halfway for a lunch that was being repaired. I asked if we needed to pay Sam anything to compensate for gas, food or general hospitality.
"No," replied "accept the hospitality, you are about to enter really beautiful country."
I accepted, handed back the phone and thanked Sam profusely with "Kop kuhn kup" for all of his generosity. He nodded re-entered his truck still wearing those epic velour pants, and drove off in the direction from which we came.
We threw our legs over our bikes, our guide offered to carry some of our weight, stoically we refused and followed him up through the village.
Immediately the road was yet again steeper than anything else that we had encountered. Up up UP then in half a kilometer we turned into a school yard. Confused we dismounted in the swarms of small school children dressed in their uniforms. We were approached by the headmaster and the school's English teacher from across the yard. They greeted us and told us the brief history of the school, a royal project. We showed them our questionnaire and they gathered some pupils and whisked us into an administrative office.
The young girls sat down pensively, and looked the sheet over. As an example we showed them the one from the night before and they began to scribble away. The whole time another hip, and oddly out of place, individual snapped photos of us and some other children brought us coffee and cake. This entire affair was a bit strange, but we were glad to finally have some opportunities to find out how people deal with water and sanitation in extremely rural areas.
In parting, the headmaster told us that there were three "quite difficult" sections in the 18 km ahead. We shrugged it off, how much worse could it get. Leaving the school yard we were greeted by more, you guessed it, UP. Pausing briefly at an overlook of the town, the guide took our picture, while we could still muster a smile.
Ups, despite disbelief, just kept getting steeper and more rutted. Before much time had passed we were pushing our bikes up the steeper more rutted hillsides. Our guide got in the habit of riding to the top of a steep section, then sauntering down the hill to help Lauren push her bike up to the next plateau. Down hill sections also became increasingly impassable, and Lauren with her less treaded tires often had to walk as I rode down the short steeps. It took us 3 hours to get the 10 km to our lunch time destination.
This village was about as remote as I have ever seen and will probably never be visible on any map. It might have had 20 or so inhabitants, not including the chickens and pigs. However, aide had reached this location as well, and there was a beautiful adobe daycare center filled with naked babes lining up for their showers. Upon inquiry I was told that it was built by a Canadian, and resided just below the community's Christian church. When we entered the dimly lit cooking house of our guide, he offered us water from the tap, I was skeptical, but Lauren just drank it up. I proceded to use the Steri-pen to ensure its safety.
After lunch we asked our guide and his friend if they could fill out one of our water surveys as well. They worked on it together and I prepared to perform yet another water test, which would determine whether or not Lauren's gulp would prove potentially hazardous.
Embarking on our last 8 km, we again headed up, stopping briefly to investigate the village's storage/sedimentation tank on the hill above. The road just kept getting worse and seemed to go up for ever. Eventually we were amongst pine trees and a flowering poinsetta, a strange sight. The last kilometer was all down, but too rutty for Lauren to confidently ride with her heavy load. So she not only got to walk up the hills, but now she got to walk down--bummer. As the mountains shadow cast over us the village finally came into view. Our feeling finally went from that of punishment to exhilaration, we had finally made it.
We weaved through town to the dormitory where the head man, Mudi, of the Huai Nam Kuhn Village, resided. Again I was handed the phone to talk to Joni. I told him that we could not have been happier to have made it in one piece and thanked him for arranging the wild journey that we will now carry with us for the rest of our lives. I hung up and immediately inquired about a shower, something so simple as this has rarely felt so good.
That evening we once again had dinner prepared for us. We sat and spoke to Mudi about our plans and asked if he could show us some of the Cal Poly drinking water projects in the morning. He agreed but said that first he had to see the children off to school before he would be ready at 9:30. This was music to these two weary travelers' ears, and on that note we slipped off to bed.
The children woke with the roosters at 5:00, and due to our rooms proximity to the wash/ prep area, our morning was not that restful. We managed to keep our eyes shut till 7, before going out for breakfast. Carefully placed next to our seats was a diagram of the Cal Poly slow sand filter system, with an accommodation price list on the back. Included on the list was the 300 baht/day cost for a guide. Mudi informed us that our guide had called him saying that we didn't pay--oops! We felt like such jerks for misinterpreting Joni's previous statement. At 9 we packed a backpack and headed out following Mudi to the first of the 4 projects that we would visit that day. After only a few hundred feet it became apparent that Mudi had poor eyesight and the going would be resultantly slow.
We spent the day peering in tanks, looking at piping, and talking to locals and system operators. When the dust settled 2 of the 3 systems that were to be operating were not and the third had a leak at the inlet that threatened its operation. The forth system at the school had long since been replaced by a government installed reverse osmosis system, and was completely overgrown. The Cal Poly EWB team had been at the sight in June and are scheduled to return again in December. I sent them a damage report and intend to document my findings and impressions on our developing
Thirsty Cyclists web page.
The next morning we headed down the hill towards Chiang Rai. It was another steep and rutted road, alternating between concrete and dirt for 15 or so. We were thankful to be going down instead of up, riding instead of pushing, and to have good brakes. At the bottom we never would have guessed how excited we would be to see flat road. Lunch was enjoyed while watching Thai coverage of the US presidential elections. What a(n electoral) landslide! We motored down the remaining 70 km to Chiang Rai, stopping only for a coconut outside of town. Once again we felt in shape.
 |
| The Guide |
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.
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.
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. 
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. 
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. 
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.
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. 
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. 
