Laos: The Slow Boat Down The Mekong River (cont.)
We pass children, in clusters of three or four to dozens, playing on the beaches and in the water. Each group we pass stops, watches and waves. We stare with equal curiosity.
For eight hours we flow with the river past these villages, cliffs, and hills until we reach Pak Beng, the trip’s halfway point and our stop for the night. Our bodies are forced to make the quick transition from sedentary to nimble as we cross the precariously perched plank onto the shore. We are eager to explore life on land.
As soon as we crest the hill and arrive on pavement, the locals bombard us—luring us to one guesthouse or another. They try to carry our bags for us. The offers are overwhelming. The whole town is dependent on the Slow Boat passengers for a living. All of the boats stop here for the night, and the town is well prepared to meet our needs for the 14-hour layover.
After dinner, I go back to my guesthouse and prepare for the next day. I switch on the light and ceiling fan, grateful for the light breeze it provides. An enormous bed in the center of the room is the only piece of furniture. It is draped with a hanging mosquito net speckled with so many holes, tears, and rips that it won’t protect me from anything smaller than a medium sized bird.
I have grown accustomed to this type of accommodation and settle happily into my home for the night. I dive into the pages of a book. Suddenly the room unexpectedly plunges into darkness. I learn later that Pak Beng shuts off their electric generators at 9PM every night. Using the comforter for extra padding beneath me, I try to make the best of another hard mattress. This one seems especially uncomfortable. I realize that I am sleeping on a box spring.
And we are back on the river for the second day of our journey. In addition to a few dozen Western backpackers, the Slow Boat also carries a handful of local passengers from one village to another. The locals also seem to be using the boat to conduct business transactions. Unrecognizable species of dead animals are exchanged as we stop briefly at riverbanks. We pull up next to an anchored boat loaded with cases of Beer Lao, and the crew transfers several crates to our boat.
Though somewhat more subdued than the day before, the energy on the boat is still festive. With small talk behind us, conversations venture further. We speak of home lives and loves and adventures encountered on the road.
Our yearning for exploration has brought us all here. Each day we were exercising our minds with new languages, exciting our taste buds with new flavors and challenging our bodies with new climates.
During a second eight-hour day on the river, we teach our selves some remedial Laotian phrases and conduct taste tests of Beer Lao; and it does in fact live up to its reputation as the best beer in Southeast Asia. My standard for landscapes has been raised to a new level now as look outside and try to comprehend the staggering virgin hills.
When I chose my method of transportation down the Mekong, I hadn’t expected it to be one of the highlights of my trip. At the time, it was simply a means to an end. But by the time we reached Luang Prabang, the city became just another leg of a journey. Like this one, it would sometimes be uncomfortable, often beautiful, and frequently surprising.
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