Everyday the Fourteenth

If the water had been high enough we could have simply headed downstream from Konglor village and followed the Hin Bun River all the way to a small village where we could walk to route 13, the major north south artery of Laos.

Unfortunately for us the water level was too low to leave from Konglor so we set off at 6 AM by sawngthaew to retrace the brutal journey of the day before. Perhaps it was the fact that we already knew where we were going, perhaps we stopped less along the way, perhaps we went faster, whatever the case, the second time the road didn’t seem as long or as bad. We got dropped off at Ralph’s restaurant, ate some breakfast and then took a tuk-tuk down to the river with Bon’s cousin who was piloting the boat. We then piled four large bags, four daypacks and five people in a six meter dugout canoe. At least it looked like a dugout canoe, but it leaked like a sieve which leads me to believe there must have been a seam somewhere. Jackie and I traded off bailing to keep our bags dry.

The boat was powered by the ever-present-in-southeast-Asia long tail motor which is essential a lawnmower engine with a three meter pole extending out of it to which a small propeller is attached—perfect for navigating shallow water. And by shallow I mean sometimes a mere inch between the hull and the riverbed.

We passed through series of stunning valleys with jagged karst mountains on all sides. The dark limestone has a way of looking menacing and foreboding even in the glare of the midday sun. As with the untapped spelunking, there is a wealth of amazing climbing routes just waiting for first ascents from someone willing the brave the tigers and UXO.

The scenery was beautiful, but the sun baked our skin and the hard wooden planks on which we sat for five hours without stopping did nothing to help our already sore butts. In fact even two weeks later as I write this, I still have difficulty sitting on anything wooden for more than an hour. There is certain point at which even molded plastic chairs seem like luxurious padding.

We were dropped off in a small unremarkable roadside town and after paying Bon’s cousin we walked up to route 13 just as the sun was setting and plopped our bags at the side of the road. I will admit that our prospects for a ride did not look good. We bet on how long it would take and it was Jackie, ever the optimist, who got closest—a mere ten minutes. We barely had time to buy some oranges before a bus came to a roaring stop next to our bags. We threw our belongings on the roof and climbed over the various bags of rice and still flopping fish that are standard fare on any Lao bus ride. We didn’t meet them that night, but there was another western couple of the bus who later confessed to being deeply impressed that we were just standing at the side of the road in a town that doesn’t even make it on most maps. Of course the truth is our journey off the beaten path was anything but challenging, but naturally we didn’t tell them that.

Matt and I remained standing in the aisle most of the four hour ride to Savannakhet, which was just fine with me since I had been sitting for fifteen hours previously. Checking into a guesthouse in Savannakhet proved a surreal experience since the owner was watching BBC news; I hadn’t seen the news since I left Thailand almost six weeks ago. It was vaguely depressing to notice that while the names changed and the countries involved were sometimes different, the news was essentially the same, probably always was the same and probably always will be the same. Ofir and I flipped on the in room TV and watched some Mad Max, which, like the news, was essentially the same as last time I saw it, but Mad Max has a character named “feral boy” which is something the news generally lacks.

We spent the next day exploring Savannakhet by bicycle, but really there wasn’t much to see so we mainly sat in the room recuperating and watching movies. Early next morning we continued on to Pakse, but after one night there we didn’t see much point in staying. Jackie, Matt and I headed up onto the Bolaven Plateau to a small town named Tat Lo, which was essentially the same as Vang Vieng though slightly less touristy. Ofir decided to part ways and head down to the four thousand islands area since his visa was about to expire. We were sorry to see him go, especially me since I had been traveling with him for over a month by that point. Good luck Ofir, enjoy the rest of your time in Thailand.

Tat Lo was peaceful and swimming in the waterfall on a hot afternoon was very refreshing but the place didn’t really grab us. We decided to wait one extra day and see if Debi would indeed meet up with us again. The only remarkable thing that happened in Tat Lo was Valentines Day which we celebrated by, well, going to bed early and alone the way single people tend to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Jackie very thoughtfully gave both Matt and I paper roses and cigarette lighters which she found god knows where. And of course we had nothing to reciprocate with which might go a long way to explain why the both of us are single. But then again the day before, riding in the back of a sawngthaew we watched a young Lao lad on a motorbike try to give a rose to a young Lao girl on the back of another motorbike, which would have been terribly endearing except that she didn’t accept it. Sorry we’re such flakes Jackie, but you already knew that; this post is hereby dedicated to you. Happy Valentine’s Day.

As I mentioned earlier the idea behind going to Tat Lo was to find somewhere pleasant to wait for Debi to catch up, but Jackie was out of time and went to join Ofir in the four thousand Islands before her visa ran out. I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip Jackie and I promise I’ll visit you in Berlin. Matt and I were a little unsure what to do since we had told Debi to come to Tat Lo, but we didn’t like it much so we elected to head farther out over the Bolaven Plateau to the town of Sekong. It turned out that Debi was having her own little misadventure having flown to the wrong city in Thailand. So she had to catch an over night bus to Pakse, which despite the hilarity of it (never have your brother’s exgirlfriend book your plane flight, even if she is Thai), worked out perfectly when she met us the next night in Sekong.

Many thanks to Ofir and Jackie for the use of their photos; the first is Ofir’s and the one of us at the side of the road is Jackie’s.