Thursday, February 21st, 2008
At the last minute - literally one hour prior to departure of our original train to Vientianne in northern Laos - we were sitting in our guesthouse chatting with Felix (author of www.mrpumpy.net, an infamous resource in the world of Asian cycling adventures and a great help to me in Bangkok when I was just taking the plunge) and made the first of now over a dozen major itinerary changes. Simone had a bag of ice balanced on her head and was holding a second bag on her right elbow. We were delirious with excitement, adrenaline and relief. We had learned our first big lesson.
Lesson #1: Bikes are itty bitty fish. The big fish don’t even notice such small nuisances, much less stop after taking one out. Driver always gets the points.
An hour prior, we were riding home from the bike shop and 10 minutes after mounting her shiny new ride, Simone was knocked off flat to the highway pavement by a minivan. Despite immense swelling, the development of a second elbow and colorful future bruising, she was happily okay. Between giggles and slow attempts at packing, we were discussing our route and felt the winds of fate pushing us east instead of north. We ate our northbound train tickets along with a delicious late night seafood dinner on the sidewalk of a busy street in Si Lom washed down with a bottle of white wine purchased from a nearby Irish pub. Indeed an expensive meal but with an enjoyable serving of freedom and surprise!
Lesson #2: Flexibility is key. Take change as a toast to good fortune - if you don’t see it immediately, look harder or have another drink.
We took an overnight train east to Ubon, Thailand and crossed the Laos border by bus arriving in Pakse, southern Laos, anxious and itching to start our Great Adventure. On the train journey we made our second major itinerary change. We decided that first priority would be to cover ground on the best cycling routes possible. Obviously, we must focus on the ride not the destination, even if this disrupts my romantic idea of creating long beautiful aerial curves across Southeast Asia which I originally found so exciting (see “My Original Plan” itinerary map, already defunct by day one).
The next morning we were cheerfully soaring south to Champasak, a village comprised of a quiet single red dirt lane lined with houses and a few guesthouses that attract visitors due to its nearby tranquil site of Khmer temple ruins, much like those at Angkor Wat with the addition of delicate wind-blown plumeria trees tucked along a small cliff but minus the noisy crowds. From the village, the ride out and back crossed several small wooden plank bridges, passed brilliant green pastures, livestock and chickens and clusters of small local homes alive with excited squealing children.
Lesson #3: Trust your transport, especially when you don’t have any better options (a much later bus journey proved this lesson was purely false).
In the early morning we headed further to Si Phon Don (”4000 Islands”) on the southern border of Cambodia, attacking a 100+ kilometer day straight south down the smooth but monotonous Route 13. The islands were reached by “ferry” which meant a large canoe like vessel in which we delicately balanced our two bikes, bags and ourselves for the short trip across the Mekong. To prove the surreal talent of these river men and our wasted energy in worry, a few days later when departing the islands we saw three large fully-loaded European KTM motorbikes being transported, each via two side-by-side canoes. I’m not sure if it was the feat itself or the owners’ nerves of steel that was more impressive.
The slow calm life on the southern islands was picture perfect. For $3 a night we had a clean simple room, cold showers, comfortable beds and a reliable rooster for an alarm clock in the mornings. The food was amazing - delicious rice paper spring rolls packed with fresh green herbs, spicy green papaya salad, steamed fish cooked in banana leaves with lemongrass, chili and herbs and perfectly sauteed squid with a heap of colorful vegetables.
Lesson #4: Stop, and appreciate your senses. Do nothing, feel everything. Rise with the roosters, sit in a hammock. Listen to boat engines hum and water ripple, watch kids in blue and white school uniforms pass by (enjoy that they have “better things to do” than bother with the tourists), hear pigs oink and healthy puppies bark, smell the moist red earth and dewy grass, feel the cool breeze, forget time… it doesn’t exist.
It’s an outstanding miracle that tourism and typical Laotian daily life have merged on the islands beautifully to create a unique space of respect and coexistence that is seldom found. Children go about their daily routine to and from school. Families tend to their animals and gardens beneath their large single room stilt houses. Boatmen ferry supplies and locals from one island to the next, and sometimes foreigners. Light filters through the trees, trickling down to the red soil and bouncing off the river. Sunset and sunrise are only a 10 minute walk away from each other. Tourists walk amidst the storybook land gently, careful not to break the spell.
We took a bus back to Pakse and began our next leg heading east this time to the Bolavan Plateau. Our first day out we climbed to the top of the plateau at 1600m to Paksong, a small nondescript quiet town. We visited two waterfalls: the first was a famous double cascade viewed from above on the grounds of a resort across a wide gorge, the second was a spectacular wall of water tumbling into a large accessible pool of cool mist and rainbows.
Lesson #5: Love, squeal, flutter, ENJOY! Let the child play. Who cares if you sound like an idiot (after a freefall flight from the highs of life when my conscious awareness returns I always know that I really do let maturity, elegance and reservations go)… Oh well, I accept.
We arrived at the top of the second falls after a long day of constant climbing and descended the long footpath to the bottom of the falls. Immediately our energy was revived and without thought, we stripped and changed to our swimsuits and dove in alone. Everyone disappeared. The waterfall was ours. The rainbows painted us in magic. The mist covered us in kisses. We climbed on the rocks, danced in the waters and bathed in the beauty. It was blissfully perfect. We were ruining the photographs of about 12 other tourists while we mindlessly enjoyed the crystal clear waters and pounding massage of the powerful falls. As I often do in times of bliss and excitement, I squealed with pure delight for an indistinguishable amount of time while overcome with joy (probably about 20 minutes of absurd behavior to the surrounding audience). That said, as we were climbing out and calming down from our amazing swim with nature, nine of the previously dry onlookers were gearing up for a dip (3 of which did so in their jeans and t-shirts)! We sold the experience well. Leaving, Simone got her first flat tire. It was exciting and we changed it still oozing with glee.
Lesson #6: Follow route directions, or at least read the big highlighted tips in a guidebook that say, for instance, ”make sure to take the right turn, or else you’ll find yourself making a big loop back to Paksong” before you sit down at the end of your long hard day in the same hotel room you left that morning.
The next day we left for our gradual descent into Tat Lo, another set of waterfalls rumored to be ”a very nice place to relax”. En route we encountered our first day of rough rugged terrain. Huge potholes, big loose rocks, frequent deep sand, surprisingly constant traffic, no single track or line to follow and all tough going - supposedly for 32k. But in our effort and concentration to stay upright, we paid less attention to our maps than was required. We realized it was possible that we missed a turn but we were unable to suck it up and backtrack the nasty roads for 10k. We decided to push on. (Perhaps you can see this going badly.) Two punctures later, Simone carrying her bike into one of only five villages we had seen that day in the course of five hours - yet less than a kilometer from where the last flat occurred. A man sitting in front of a small wooden house made a signal to help. Three men went to work on the tube while we sat exhausted on the entrance steps.
Lesson #7: When it looks like the situation stinks, look again - you might find that pigs are flying or that delicious banana cakes and frozen slushee drinks are being served at the hut where you stopped on a blazing hot scorching day in the only remote village you’ve seen in hours. Laugh at your good fortune. Take cake for the road.
Then the man told us we were heading to Paksong. We shook our heads pointing adamantly in the opposite direction, from where we came, “No, Paksong!”. It was completely futile, the locals always win. Indeed, we had been climbing for the last hour and I did register that that was suspicious. “How far?!” We drew pictures, we played charades, we made noises to communicate. We understood something between 15-30 kilometers further and we knew it would be straight uphill. One hour to dark. No where for lunch (or dinner) in this one-cow town. We rounded up 8 boiled eggs and ate them on a log outside of town with two banana cakes, exhausted, a bit nervous and not looking forward to our death march back to Paksong.
Lesson #8: Don’t sweat. When you need something, it’ll come along… out of the blue and just in time.
Several tough slow kilometers later, a man we played charades with in the village drove by and offered us a lift 10 km further to the next village. From there, we continued (which scratched our hopes that it was only 15km). Another ten kilometers later, I got a flat. I curse, I moan, I almost cry. Then I sit, breathe and start patching our old damaged tube. A couple on a motorbike stops and asks questions. He speaks the best English of anyone we’ve met all day. He watches, sympathizes with our situation and tells us it’s actually another 25km. “Whoa, excuse me?!” Right, forget the tire. Time to start hitching. Two minutes later a big empty truck stops. It’s the couple’s friend. He’s going to Paksong. They talk, laugh and discuss our predicament. We get a free lift in the back accompanied by one beautiful chicken on a string. We appreciate the animal. His people’s sacrificed offspring have provided us our main nutrients of the day. We arrive at sunset and check in to our same guesthouse.
Flat fixed. Back en route to Tat Lo for a second day, second try. Nine kilometers into the ride, I got another puncture. Our small pump was breaking the valves. Not good. I put on our last patchable tube and we realize we have a problem: a bad puncture track record, a very bad pump and no spare tubes. Investigation reveals that the only likely place to get a spare is in Sekong, a town slightly out of the way for our third planned itinerary. From the next town, we grab a bus and buy three not-perfect-but-we-think-they-might-work alternate tubes and take the following day off. But wait, what happened to those waterfalls?! Forget them, travelers, move on… Sekong has the feeling of a mountain town. Without really seeing the mountains you can sense that they’re near. The air is crisp, the colors brighter, the silence reverberates.
Lesson #9: When you have extra juice, share it. You’ll feel better for it. (And it really doesn’t hurt that much at all!)
The next day we donated blood to Red Cross at the small basic local hospital. It was an interesting experience (communicating and answering the standard questionnaire in French) and honestly, my first time to ever donate. Simone is a regular and I must say that it was her idea. We got a cakey snack and a free t-shirt (even better than home)! Sure, it was a funny thing to do on our “rest day” but those nurses are right, you really do FEEL GOOD when you donate. We spent the rest of the day eating random foods from the market… to replenish ourselves, of course.
Then, as if we had just set life’s karmic forces straight, we had the most glorious day of cycling from Sekong to Attapu, a lovely Laos village on the border of Vietnam. We modified our plan and decided to take advantage of a new border crossing and get on in to Vietnam. The ride was outstanding. Mostly downhill among the mountains that we could feel but not see the day before. We stopped for an iced coffee at a small roadside hut with a large family of curious onlookers and precocious stage-ready boys. We had a photo shoot as they imitated the models in the plastic advertising signs hanging on the walls. “Give me serious, yes. Now sophisticated. Okay, tough. Nice, now let’s see innocent. Great, way to work it.” We tried an unusual congealed coconut water treat. They blasted music and Simone and I danced our goodbyes. The road was a smooth black silk ribbon twisting through the green valleys, winding along the west side of a large long mountain crest and dancing underneath blue clear skies. Smooth sailing.
Lesson #10: Don’t try to get there; simply be there. Enjoy the details and the bits in between. Forget about expectations.
I am a mountain girl. I love the way the senses grow sharper in the mountains. Colors, sounds, smells - everything is heightened. We passed an outdoor classroom in progress - a roof supported by a dozen wood pillars, children sitting at benches and a teacher in front of a large chalkboard leaning against the front columns. We ate lunch at a string of remote outdoor food stalls. Delicious skewered barbecued chicken, hard-boiled eggs (a staple of our diet) and hot tea.
We left by bus the next day, driving through a large dense forested mountain range between Attapu and Kon Tom, Vietnam, walked across the border, basking in the glory of our cycling adventures in Laos.
I’ve definitely found a new love: bike travel. No matter where you are or what you’re doing, it’s touches the extremes. Never do I feel more alive than when I’m being pushed to a new limit… patience, fatigue, joy, concern, pleasure, boredom, freedom, fear, happiness, frustration… it’s all there, often changing completely from one second to the next. In travel, I seek freedom, adventure and new experiences. Cycling delivers all. I know of no better high than soaring through the world by your own power, feeling the wind, breathing the air and being surrounded by beauty. It’s also the perfect pace - slow enough to hear the “hellos” yet fast enough to change locations or chisel a new course in a day. Whether wildly lost and frustrated, unspeakably impressed and in awe or just plain tired, the intensity binds you to the moment. You can daydream, you can soar, you can fly. And in this, I feel the blissful highs of love. Deeply satisfied and alert, with no concept of time. Love for life, nature, freedom, flying, surprises, inner strength, power and timelessness.