Unkie Herb

One of Asia’s poorest countries is also one of its most delightful. There is little to do in many of the places I visited, and I loved it. Petanque-playing (French bocce ball), hammock-swinging, temple-visiting, Beer Lao-sipping, the country seems to be permanently on a coffee break. After the manic, greedy harassment of Vietnam, the sleepy indifference in Laos was refreshing, to say the least.

The culture and language are very similar to what one experiences in northern Thailand, especially in the northeastern region known as Isan. Yet it was colonized by the French after Vietnam (hence the silent ’s’ in the name), giving it a certain refinement and a few French stereotypes such as baguettes and great coffee.

It is, unfortunately, not without tourists. In Vang Vieng, you’re confronted with non-stop Friends DVDs blasting Phoebe’s ramblings into the street until closing time - at several locations. Nothing pains me more than seeing young travelers who have ventured around the world wasting away their days in a beautiful country in front of brainless American sitcoms. The town also boasts a beautiful river lined with bars, caves and limestone cliffs.

At any rate, many people tend to fly through Laos, giving it a week or so in order to spend more time in the more reputable Vietnam or Thailand. Such a mistake. I overstayed my one month visa and I still consider going back. Outside of Myanmar, you will not find a more authentic country in south east Asia. Slow yourself down and enjoy it, you won’t regret it.

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First of all, click here to begin downloading the video. Come back to site and continue to read until you hear the video begin to play (you’ll hear me exhale), then go watch the video in the new window. 

I first heard about the experience while I was in southern Laos. Rumour of it was bubbling through the backpacker scene long before that but, like all good rumours, it was elusive and always popped before I could lay my hands upon it.

At the Reggae Bar on Don Det, however, a bearded backpacker from Vancouver Island informed me that he had experienced twice, and even if it were twice the cost ( which is currently $130 US for two nights, all inclusive) it would still be worth it. I cut him off as quickly as I could. Nothing was going to ruin this for me.

And so I made my way north. In Vang Vieng I met up with a Dutch girl who was eager for the experience as well, and so we (with some difficulty) managed to make a booking - be warned, it fills up quickly so book at least a week, more likely two, in advance.

We arrived in Huay Xai (hoo-ay sigh), a small town across the Mekong from Thailand, a day in advance, and spent the night partying with a crew of English, Aussies and Americans who had just completed the experience. We did our best to dissuade them from telling us too much information (or I did, anyway) but of course some of the incredible details slipped out.

Our experience, however, far outshone anything that could be recounted or explained.

Essentially, the Gibbon Experience is a three day, two night, jungle canopy experience. You live in one of five treehouses built in a forest reserve in extreme northwest Laos. In order to traverse the thick jungle, one straps into a harness, clips on a roller and zips along wire cables through and above the treetops. Because the region is mountainous, one can climb up the mountainside path, zip into a treehouse, zip across a valley to the mountainside, climb again, and zip across, climb again, etc etc. There are ten or fifteen ziplines in all. Some are small, ten or so meters above the ground and forty meters long. Others, such as the one in the video, are about three hundred and fifty meters long and cross valleys a hundred meters below.

My treehouse, number one, has four floors. It has three big beds, capable of sleeping nine if you’re friendly. The toilet is simply a porcelain squat hole thirty five meters above the valley floor. The whole structure is built between thirty five and forty meters up, in an epic fig tree. This thing is truly a guardian of the forest. We were very lucky to have arrived right as the figs were ripe, and so our home was surround by birds and half meter long giant squirrels during the days, and a whole crew of two meter long civet cats (think long, sleek raccoons) at night.

The project is designed to create tourist income for the minority villages in the region, thereby discouraging them from poaching, logging and farming in the reserve. It has the full blessing of all the villages and the Laos government. All the guides, cooks and maintainence workers are local villagers, and are learning English quickly and using their knowledge of the forest and its idiosyncracies to full effect. In order to begin the project, its foreign mastermind approached all the villages personally and requested they ask for permission from the forest. As the tribes are animist, they believe in the spiritual nature of animals, trees and jungle itself. And so the foreign dreamer and the local medicine man spendt a night together in each tree before treehouse construction began, meditating and asking for permission from the tree’s spirit.

Needless to say this is an unbelievable experience, something that is very likely impossible to pull off in most places in the world. There is almost complete freedom to navigate the forest by zipping or walking at your discretion, as the guides simply let you go where you will. Still, I found myself spending a lot of time sitting in the treetops and absorbing the sights and, most especially, the sounds of life on top of a jungle.

On our final morning, we heard the unmistakable, haunting calls of gibbons, those most acrobatic of apes. Feeling slightly stomach bugged, I still jumped into my harness and flew along several ziplines toward the whooping. I knew I was close as I slipped my roller off, standing on a platform in a tree, but other trees were obstructing my view. I clipped on and zipped again, turning myself as I flew across a valley. Far below on the valley floor I could see treetops moving. I reached the mountainside and swung my binoculars up to my eyes. Across the valley the calls ended, and I watched two black gibbons swing easily through the trees and disappear over a ridge. My whole group heard them, but I was the only one in the right place, at the right time, to catch a glimpse.

What an experience.

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After a few days in the jungle and a night spent with a hill tribe (rice whisky with the chief!), I now move off to live amongst the gibbons.

 I have two nights in the trees, more when I return…

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First of all, it’s pronounced “low” as in rhymes with “cow.” In Asian languages, ‘ao’ is used to spell out the sound we westerners use when we are hurt (”ow!”). It makes sense, because if you quickly say an “ah” sound followed by an “oh” sound, it results in that particular exhalation. In addition, the “s” is silent, as it was added by the French during colonization, and with all single “s” completions in French, it is not uttered.

Secondly, that’s pretty much all I have time for right now. I am somewhere in the backwards far north of Laos, only sixty kilometers from the Chinese border. I am going to do an overnight trek here, spending a night in a minority hill tribe village. Should be great.

I have been updating my maps frequently, and just recently revamped the “Maps, barber, maps!” page on the right sidebar. Check it out, along with the “Where am I now?” page. Both give you a glimpse into this region’s geography. Not sure about you, but before I started researching this trip I had never heard of “Lay-os.”

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Easily my favourite country so far. Unlike Vietnam and Cambodia, there isn’t as much “madness” when dealing with the locals, which is a wonderful thing.
In the south, the people are much the same as they have been for a hundred years. Televisions are slowly working their way into more and more homes, but in general subsistence farming is the name of the game. On Don Det (in the Four Thousand Islands), farmers have simply built restaurants and a few bungalows on their property. When one stumbles into the morning sun for a baguette and a coffee, one maneuvers through chickens, pigs, ducks and sometimes goats or cattle. I once disturbed a full grown water buffalo who was eating from the trash behind a bar. A little intimidating, they are.

I spent Christmas down there and had a fantastic time. With a large crew of people assembled at the guesthouse (from England, Holland, Finland and Germany) we met up with an even larger crew of people from around the island for the big pig roast. That afternoon, two large sows had been very noisily slaughtered out in front of the restaurant to big ovations from the tourists. Some people I met that night told me they were glad they weren’t there, but I figure that if you can’t watch an animal be slaughtered, you shouldn’t be eating it.

At any rate, it was a beautiful night with everyone in good spirits, and a phone call on the internet to my family back home was a highlight. I love you guys, happy holidays, everyone.

Moving north, the local people lost some of their traditional charm. Sarongs, headwraps and handmade clothing began to be replaced by jeans and t-shirts. Instead of “pay later”, I began to hear “pay now”. Little twists in the attitude of locals that stem directly from increased foreign presence. Still much more relaxed and peaceful than Thailand or especially Vietnam, there seems to be a divide between places north of the capital and those further down the Mekong.

Granted, I have not gotten off the beaten path yet in northern Laos. So far I have been to Vientiane (the capital), Vang Vieng and now Luang Prabang.

Vientiane is a small capital, only 200,000 people, and is very quiet and dusty. It reminded me much of Kingston (Ontario, not Jamaica), in that it is built around a charming old core town with a much less picturesque outer area. As well, distances and scale of the town are similar. I rented a motorbike and cruised around for two days, and really enjoyed myself. Dinner and Beerlao sunsets by the Mekong, and days spent in markets or cafes. There are also some wonderful sites around the city. With cement donated by the U.S. for a new airport, the communist government built a Paris style Arc de Triomphe (named the Victory Arch). Massive and excellently detailed, it can be climbed and offers great city views. It is affectionately known as the vertical runway.

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Well, I’ve only written a few words about this wonderful country, so I’d better get on it. I’ve been here now more than two weeks, and so have less than that remaining. Passed the halfway point and not a single photo posted. I’m slipping.

On my way south to Si Phan Don, Roland (from small town Holland) and I woke up at four thirty in the morning to make a mission up to a mountainside temple for the sunrise. We had to wake our guesthouse owner up to get the motorcycle from him, and we even disturbed some sleeping chickens. I didn’t think anyone could rouse before the Laos roosters, but we managed it that day. The thirty minute ride was painfully cold, perhaps around ten or fifteen degrees. I know that doesn’t seem bad, but I’ve been in subtropical (and now tropical) Asia for a year and a half, and so my relative temperature meter has been dismantled.

We reached the temple gates at five thirty, and were dismayed to find them closed and locked. Apparently the site doesn’t open until eight, and yet our guide (aka Mr. L.P.) informed us that the sunrise there was quite beautiful. Which dimension does our guide reside within where the sun rises just before the Price is Right comes on?

So we parked the bike and scrambled over the gate, trudging through complete darkness up a inclined stone causeway which dates back over a thousand years. Up some very steep and dangerous stairs a hundred meters or more to the temple itself, and still the eastern sky was only beginning to grow light.

And so there we were, perched on the eastern face of a mountain with a nine-hundred year old temple behind us, facing down into the Mekong valley with mountains behind, and a slowly rising sun shimmering on the river below. From the valley, the sounds of birds, frogs, bugs and farm animals chorused up to us. Roosters dominated, but cows added their bass bellowings to the orchestra. Countless fires, lit by the subsistence farmers to warm themselves and breakfast, filled the valley with tendrils of smoke, adding to the atmosphere.

When we left it was only 7:30, and so we hopped back over the gate, climbed aboard the motorcycle and began the much warmer ride back to town. A great morning.

 

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No, not Thailand’s (in)famous group. Not even Malaysia’s higher end bombshells. I’m in Laos, baby, Laos.

The islands here, unfortunately, are not situated in the sparkling waters of the Gulf of Thailand. Nor are they aligned along the azure coast of the Andaman Sea. No, instead, they are plopped square in the way of the mighty, muddy, magnificent (enter another m-adjective here) Mekong.

Now, one would expect that placing several thousand islands in a mid-river delta would waste the charm of island life. I mean aren’t the waters of the Mekong much too dirty and snake-infested for enjoyment? But then no one expected a bunch of hippies to show up, did they? And so, to no surprise, people are swimming all the time, and generally lazing around. I have joined the bandwagon on both fronts, lazing on a muddy river beach and splashing around in the river. After all, my shower water is pumped up from the shore directly, so what’s the difference?

This relaxed attitude about things like hygiene stems from a general attitude that permeates this place.

You can lie in the sun, burning all day long. Or try rolling in a hammock in the shade, enjoying the island’s greenery (it’s very green). There are only a few islands that are large and permanent enough for habitation, and only three with tourist amenities. Your days are spent on boats, bicycles, or your back, doing absolutely nothing. It is the definition of chill, and people from different countries and different backgrounds come here and find a common ground. That ground is known as a “hammock”.

The hippies are on to something…

 

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After a week of cool weather (high teens) and rainy, grey skies, I was beginning to ponder the vaunted weather of the region. As I exited my ride, a minivan packed with fourteen people for the four hour ride to the border, the sun suddenly burst through the clouds and things warmed up. Welcome to Laos.

Here, for the past few days, things have slowed wwwaaaayyyy down, and I am at peace once again. Here, sellers and motorbike drivers assume that if you wanted their business, you’d ask. Here, life races by at the same speed as the muddy Mekong, which - while huge - is not what you’d describe as “quick”.

Oh, and despite my glorious entrance, my first trip in Laos wasn’t so perfect. Packed onto a rickety tin can bus (of Korean origin) with forty other people, we set off from the border town. About thirty yards down the road, we stopped and twenty or so students climbed aboard. At nearly every cluster of stilted, wooden shacks, we repeated this clown car performance. A few people getting off, twice as many getting on. At one point, our bus with seating for forty had around seventy people on board. This is Laos.

I have made my way quickly down from the small provincial capitals of Savannakhet and Pakse (pack-say) to Champasak, which is a little village perched above the river. Nearby is an Angkor era temple which I will explore tomorrow at sunrise with a Dutch guy I met a couple days ago. I am writing this because after tomorrow I will make my way down to Si Phan Don (Four Thousand Islands), which I doubt will have electricity, let alone internet connections. It will, however, have two dollar bungalows with hammocks, and a whole lot of chilling.

Check the page “Where am I now?” on the sidebar for a Laos map.

So Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah if I disappear there for a while, and I will post again when I can.

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