LAOS (4)
897
Kilometres – 33 Days2
September – 5 October 2016
VOICEOVER
FLIP-BOOK
Prologue
Laos unfolded before
me like a country suspended between breaths—unhurried, unassuming. I crossed
into it with no grand plan beyond the simple truth that I had time—thirty-three
days of it—and a road that would eventually stretch into 897 kilometres of
quiet discovery.
The Mekong was my
first companion, a broad, slow-moving presence that seemed to set the rhythm
for everything that followed. Its waters carried stories older than memory, and
as I cycled along its banks, I felt myself slipping into that same ancient
tempo.
I didn’t yet know
that Laos would test my patience as much as it soothed it. That visas,
documents, and bureaucratic detours would weave themselves into the journey as
insistently as the river’s curve. That storms would arrive without warning.
That the road would offer both frustration and grace in equal measure.
A Gentle Interlude on the Road to China
Crossing Into the Quiet Country Nang Khai, Thailand to Vientiane,
Laos
I awoke refreshed as the
rhythmic clattering of the train's wheels lulled me into a deep slumber. By
seven o’clock, I stepped onto the platform at Nong Khai station, rested and
ready. A three-kilometre jaunt led me to the
inviting doors of Mut Mee Guesthouse, but with nothing else left to explore in
Thailand, I eagerly loaded my mobile home and
headed for the Friendship Bridge.
Crossing the border into
Laos was a breeze; sunlight glinted off the Mekong as I
pedalled the short 25-kilometre distance into Vientiane, the capital unfolding
in soft, unhurried tones. My first stop was the Chinese Embassy—forms
collected; expectations adjusted. A two-week wait for a visa was not what I had
planned.
With little choice, I found a room at the Dhaka Hotel, a
place that whispered of bedbugs, but after a quick spray of
insect repellent, I figured it was better to unpack than sleep on the pavement.
In the spirit of
exploration, my first priority was to get local currency and set up a SIM card.
As I strolled toward the riverfront, I suddenly heard someone call my name. To
my surprise, it was Ernest—a familiar face from the past! We cracked open a
couple of beers and caught up, sharing stories, the
kind of easy companionship that travel sometimes gifts without warning.
Vientiane - Days That Drift Like the River
A week drifted by with the slow rhythm
of the river. I moved to Christian’s apartment—a WarmShowers host from Germany
whose immaculate condo overlooked the Mekong. I had a room to myself, a quiet
refuge, though I suspected my traveller’s chaos tested his tidy sensibilities; let’s
be honest, I wasn’t quite in that league!
North Along the Mekong’s Gentle Curve – Vientiane to Ban Noa
(105 km)
The 19th was marked on my calendar as the day I could
collect my visa, but that was still a week away, and adventure awaited! I
hopped on my bike and rode upriver. The Mekong’s vast expanse unfolded before
me, a winding ribbon of beauty as I gradually made my way along its banks,
passing through charming rural communities. The joyful calls of children,
“Sawadee, falang!” (Hello, foreigner), mingled with the sweet sounds of
cowbells and the bleating of baby goats, filling my heart with cheer.
The scenery was nothing short of spectacular—typical
Laotian cloud formations floating majestically in the sky, with low-lying fog
teasing the peaks of distant mountains, creating an exquisite backdrop for my
ride. As I pedalled along, indigenous markets popped up, showcasing a humble
selection of banana hearts and bamboo shoots. The first part of the journey
unfolded along a smooth, flat road, but before long, it transformed into a
narrow, winding path that twisted through quaint settlements, where I dodged
chickens and piglets who seemed all too curious about this foreign traveller.
Every curious gaze I met told me I was off the beaten
path; this area wasn’t frequented by “farangs.” The delighted giggles of
children echoed in my ears, and I couldn’t help but smile as playful dogs
darted into their yards.
After riding 105 kilometres, a guesthouse near Ban Vang caught
my eye—my first sighting of accommodation all day! I figured it was destiny and
decided to make it my overnight stop. The charm of the place was amplified by a
basic restaurant across the road, serving delicious noodle soup, cold beer,
water, and sodas—exactly what I craved, even if the bed felt like sleeping on a
rock. But who was I to complain? I was in Laos, savouring every moment of the
journey!
Rough Roads and Small Reckonings - Ban Noa to Guesthouse
(50 km)
As the first light of day broke through, my morning took
an unexpected turn. I hopped out of bed and, to my horror, found myself
stepping straight onto a scorpion! It turned out that the unfortunate creature
was already dead, but the pain still sent me dancing around the room, clutching
my foot like a woman possessed. Thankfully, I had heard that Laos didn't boast
any deadly scorpions, so after a brief moment of panic, I pushed aside my worries
about blurry vision and palpitations.
Soon after departing Ban Vang, the road transformed into
a bumpy dirt track, and the ride became a slow, exhilarating trek. With each
dangerous incline and daring descent, I manoeuvred around potholes, all the while
taking in the breathtaking views of the distant mountains and the shimmering
river that marked the border with Thailand. I couldn't help but imagine the
smooth, paved roads just across the water—it felt both tantalising and
frustrating.
Along the route, villages
were few and far between; the occasional buffalo looked up in surprise as I
whizzed past. It wasn’t long before I realised a pressing email about an apartment
purchased warranted calling it a day. Knowing
I’d need internet access and a printer—luxuries not guaranteed on this stretch
of road it was best to return to Vientiane. In
retrospect, I might have rushed my departure from Vientiane.
A Return Through Rain and Red Tape
The crows of roosters and the chatter of hens woke me
from my slumber, nudging me into action. It was time to take a bus back to
Vientiane and tackle the essential tasks that awaited.
The early morning ride to the bus stand was a delightful hubbub,
filled with life. Children dashed off to school, farmers set off for the
fields, and women bustled through market stalls, while others made their way to
temples—a vivid tapestry of daily life in rural Laos.
At the taxi stand, communication barriers melted away;
the driver understood my request without needing to exchange a single word.
After loading my bike, I enjoyed a steaming plate of noodle soup while I waited
for the minivan to fill up. As the rain began to pour outside, transforming the
roads into muddy rivers, I settled into the van, feeling an odd sense of
comfort in the chaos.
By the time we reached Vientiane, the familiar streets felt
almost comforting. I returned to Mixok Guesthouse,
ready to dive into the whirlwind of tasks that awaited me. Each step felt like
a part of an adventure—one that I was determined to embrace, even amid the
challenges.
Vientiane-Waiting, Wandering, and the Weight of Paperwork
As I signed and scanned the necessary forms, afterwards I
took a detour to the old city wall—a fragment of Vientiane's past that few seem
to notice. Originally flanked by three brick walls, the city was laid waste by
Siamese troops in the mid-16th century, leaving just a sliver of history
behind. Standing in front of the remaining section, I felt as if I had
uncovered a hidden gem, enjoying the quiet presence of a site most people know
nothing about.
Next, I ventured to Buddha Park, a place unlike any
other. The park is an eclectic blend of reinforced-concrete Buddhist and Hindu
sculptures, each a fascinating creation that beckoned attention. Among them
stood a colossal reclining Buddha, a sight to behold. This surreal park was
crafted in the late 1950s by an artist who was part priest, part monk, and part
guru, mingling the philosophies of Buddhism and Hinduism in his own quirky
style. His artistic journey took an unexpected turn when he chose to flee Laos
for Thailand, disillusioned with the communist government’s ideologies.
A Visa in Hand, a City in Pause
The morning dawned with excitement as I finally collected
my long-awaited Chinese visa. With that hurdle crossed, I immersed myself in
the busy work of copying documents that required certification. A quick stop at
a hairdresser spiced up my look—I felt like a new person. However, my search
for a Notary Public to certify my passport copy quickly spiralled into a
frustrating quest. Despite the daunting task, I soon learned that my options
were limited; without a South African Embassy in Laos, finding someone who
could assist and speak English proved to be an uphill battle.
The Bureaucratic Spiral
Packed and ready to leave, an email arrived from the
attorneys: seven more documents needed to be signed. My frustration simmered.
For two weeks, I had stressed the urgency of receiving everything by the 19th.
Now, on the brink of heading to China, I faced a serious
dilemma.
The disconcerting reality was their apathy; they were
indifferent to whether I missed a bus or incurred extra costs. A successful
transfer meant they didn’t need to prioritise customer service, so they charged
exorbitantly for their lacklustre assistance—no wonder I was fuming!
At 9 AM, I made my way to
the Office of the Supreme People’s Prosecutor, hoping to find a Notary
Public—this turned out to be neither quick nor cheap. Afterwards, I landed in
an internet café to scan and send off those vital documents. By late afternoon,
I returned to the Mixok Guesthouse, begrudgingly paying for an extra night and
hauling my bags upstairs. Time felt like it slipped away from me, forcing me to
revise my plans. The northern chill now seemed ominous, and I decided it was
better to cycle to China through Vietnam, exploring the vibrant south coast of
China instead. The adventure continued, and one thing was clear: my journey was
far from over! The road, as always, would decide.
Back to the Open Road
Mixok Guesthouse had wrapped me in its warm embrace, but
as my laundry spun and dried, a pull in my chest nudged me toward adventure.
"Are you leaving us?" the cheerful chap at reception asked, his smile
gleaming with genuine curiosity. I couldn’t help but grin back—every departure
felt like a reunion with the open road.
Pedalling away from
Vientiane, I revelled in the thrill of watching the city shrink in my rear-view
mirror. Each rotation of the pedals felt like a small rebellion against the
ordinary. A quick stop at a bustling baguette stall filled my bag with
deliciousness. Even though I had traversed this route not long ago, the
landscape captivated me anew. The road south unfolded gently. I rode alongside
schoolchildren who giggled as they matched my pace. Women in conical hats
balanced their wares on shoulder poles; elderly women wove brooms from dried
grasses; markets brimmed with baskets, mats, and clay stoves. A man on a
motorbike rode past with goldfish in plastic bags, their orange bodies
flickering like small lanterns, ready for a new home!
The day turned out to be a
delightful mix of warmth and easy riding. By late afternoon, I reached Thabok
and found a modest guesthouse—simple, quiet, enough.
Buffalo Paths and River Ligh
As I set out, the cheerful shouts of “Sabaidee falang!”
from small children punctuated the day, while surprised adults looked up, their
curious faces echoing the familiar question, “Where you go?” I waved and
smiled, knowing the details would mean little to them. The skies were overcast,
and I braced for the anticipated rain that, thankfully, never came.
Cycling through this rural wonderland, I became enchanted
by images of ladies leading buffalo to lush pastures and fishermen sitting
patiently in long, slender boats, awaiting a bite. The rice fields glimmered a
vibrant green under the cloudy sky, a breathtaking backdrop to the laughter of
kids gleefully jumping into the river below.
Then, I caught an effortless slipstream behind a
two-wheel tractor—talk about a game-changer! Riding alongside at a steady 20 kilometres
per hour, I felt like I was gliding on the wings of the wind, making great time
toward my next destination.
Finally reaching sleepy Pakkading after biking 100 km and
was pleased to find an excellent guesthouse nestled at the confluence of the
Mekong and Kading Rivers—serene and pristine, a perfect spot to rest after a
day of exploring.
Storms, Stomach Aches, and Small Mercies
I awoke to a light drizzle, which was a bit unsettling,
especially since my stomach had decided to join the chaos. Navigating the
landscape with dampened spirits, I wished for clearer skies. Though it wasn't
ideal, nature insisted on keeping things interesting—after all, when could a
cyclist ever escape an unexpected bush stop in the rain?
Fortunately, the clouds relented around midday, though
the overcast skies still offered a gloomy backdrop to my ride. Not long after
lunch, dark clouds loomed menacingly ahead, and I hesitated just a few kilometres
from my destination, questioning if I’d make it before the heavens broke loose
again.
And then it happened: a torrential downpour drenched the
landscape. Seeking shelter among a gaggle of motorbikes, I huddled with other travellers,
holding my breath until the storm passed.
When it finally eased, I continued
toward Ban Thangbeng. Aomchay Guesthouse appeared after 100-odd kilometres, just
as the clouds darkened again. After a hot shower, I wandered to a small eatery
where the simplest ingredients transformed into a meal of surprising depth—one
of those dishes that lingers in memory long after the journey moves on.
Markets, Myths, and the Great Wall of Laos
The morning ride to Thakhek was bright and easy. and the
morning couldn’t have been more perfect! The sun broke through the clouds,
casting a warm glow that made every pedal stroke feel invigorating. As I cycled
along, I unexpectedly stumbled upon a traditional market. What caught my eye
was not just the vibrant colours and bustling atmosphere but a shocking display
of wildlife for sale. It felt wrong—even illegal, considering the furtive
glances of vendors as they hurriedly hid their wares beneath tables. I couldn’t
resist capturing a few sneaky shots of this surreal scene: a baby deer peeking
out from beneath a cloth, a curious cat-like creature, and a bizarre assortment
of animals, including iguanas, squirrels, and even what I guessed could be
guinea pigs. The fish were equally mysterious, adding to the market's oddity.
As I approached Thakhek, I made a spontaneous stop at the
Great Wall of Laos. This natural wonder took my breath away. Formed by
geological fissures, it resembled a massive human-made structure and was
steeped in local legends. Some believe it dates back to the Sikhottabong Empire
in the 19th century, serving as a defensive barrier, while others claim it
functioned as a dike to protect against flooding. The possibilities sparked my
imagination!
Once I entered Thakhek, I found a charming place to stay
right along the riverbank. True to my routine, I made a beeline for the market
in search of local flavours. The vibrant sights and scents promised an exciting
culinary adventure!
Mud Roads and Hidden Buddhas
Today unfolded like a mini-adventure as I ventured deeper
into the wonders of Thakhek, setting my sights on the famed Buddha Cave. Armed
with my camera gear and a heart full of anticipation, I waved down a tuk-tuk,
ready for a ride that promised to be anything but ordinary.
I had chosen not to cycle, swayed by whispers of
treacherous roads, and those whispers turned out to be spot-on. The “poor
condition” label was a gross understatement! The tuk-tuk lurched and bounced
over potholes, sloshing through muddy puddles like a boat navigating stormy
seas. At one point, it felt like I was part of an off-road expedition,
including a little push from me to get through particularly sticky patches. By
the time we arrived at the cave, I was a tad messy, but exhilaration trumped
all.
The entrance fee was a modest 5,000 Kip, and they offered
the option to rent a traditional Lao skirt for the same price. However, I opted
for a sarong, feeling more comfortable with my choice. The real twist awaited
me inside—after navigating the muddy trek, a prominent sign announced that no
photographs were allowed. Talk about a buzzkill!
But the cave held a
compelling story of its own. Discovered in 2004 by a farmer on a bat hunt, it
housed 229 bronze Buddha statues believed to be over 450 years old. Legends
whisper that they were hidden away during the Thai ransacking of Vientiane,
part of a royal collection tucked safely underground. While I gazed at the
awe-inspiring Buddhas, the haunting history echoed within the cave walls.
The story lingered with me as I made my way back to town, my wallet lighter but
my curiosity satisfied.
Rain
Trails and River Towns
The next leg of my journey surged forth as I rolled out
on the river trail. This path, lined with vibrant fishing communities, sent
waves of serenity through me, yet I soon faced the challenge of its fading
presence, disappearing into the wilderness. Determined, I discovered a minor
path clinging to life along the river—my trusty guide through this rugged
landscape.
As I pedalled on, the dirt track buckled and turned into
a game of dodge-the-pothole, and then, as if scripted, storm clouds gathered
ominously overhead. The sky unleashed a downpour that made me seek shelter, and
I watched the world turn murky through the rain-soaked canopy. Time stretched
as I waited for the storm to ease, and eventually, as daylight began to fade, I
slinked into Savannakhet after 125 km.
Immediately, I found myself drawn to the buzz of the
night market, eager to soak up local flavours and sights. The following day was
refreshingly straightforward as I tackled the Vietnamese visa application—a
simple form, an effortless win! With my paperwork sorted, I embraced a day of
leisure, diving into the overwhelming task of sorting through my ever-growing photo
collection. The heat was sweltering, but with every image organised, I felt one
step closer to capturing the essence of my journey.
Vientiane - The Long Detour of
Documents
Ah, September—a month that tested my patience more than I
anticipated. As an Aries, I was thrilled to bid farewell to its chaos, but the
lingering effects of Mercury retrograde had me feeling like I was navigating a
maze blindfolded. Communication? An absolute mess! Picture a frustrating wait
for essential paperwork like my Chinese visa and legal documents dripping in
like a leaky faucet.
Then came an email from Savannakhet—more signatures and
verification needed. Ugh, why is finding a Notary Public with an English stamp
like hunting for a needle in a haystack? I rose early the next day, fuelled by
a sense of urgency, and hopped on a bus to Vientiane. Little did I know that
this trip would feel like an epic journey; we rolled in after 17h00, well past
my hopeful return time!
With my Laos visa expiring soon, I
rushed to extend it. The next morning, I returned to immigration, then to the
courthouse, where I waited for officials to finish a meeting. Eventually,
everything was stamped, signed, and DHL-ed. I allowed myself a cold beer at
sunset, grateful the tide seemed to be turning.
Savannakhet - Lost Bags, Found
Kindness
At 10 sharp, I was back at the immigration office,
triumphantly picking up my Laos visa extension before racing over to the bus
station, eager to return to Savannakhet. The bus finally rolled in just past
21h00, and I felt a rush of excitement for the adventure ahead.
I woke up early the next day, ready to grab my Vietnamese
visa, only to have my spirits deflated—I’d forgotten it was a Saturday! But
Savannakhet had its charms. A small town with a rich history, it was lovely
wandering the old quarters where century-old buildings whispered tales of the
past, offering perfect backdrops for sunset photos. The riverfront was alive
with vibrant food stalls, a fantastic spot for a bite to eat and a chance to
practice some photography skills.
But horror struck! As I meandered through the night
market, I suddenly realised: my handlebar bag—my beloved camera bag—was
missing! My heart raced; not only was it precious to me, but it held my
passport, critical documents, and all my bank cards!
In a panic, I retraced my steps (visions of applying for
a new passport loomed large in my mind). I first checked the old quarters, but
it was a bust. Then I rushed back to the lively riverfront—and there it was,
sitting right where I'd left it! My bag was surrounded by people enjoying the
sunset, a small oasis of serenity amidst the chaos.
I marvelled at how many
places one could leave a bag in such a bustling area and return to find it
untouched. I quickly thanked the bystanders who were blissfully unaware of the
drama unfolding, then rushed back to the night market, where I’d left my beer.
Miraculously, aside from a bit of melted ice, my drink was exactly like I’d
left it. In that moment of relief, Laos, I thought, was
a place where one could still lose a bag and find it again.
Toward the Border, Through a Landscape of Memory
Hurray! After much anticipation, I finally bid farewell
to Savannakhet and set my sights on the Vietnamese consulate, arriving bright
and early at 7:30 AM to collect my visa. The atmosphere was a mix of excitement
and nerves as I stepped inside—only to be greeted by a friendly face at the
counter. He dated my visa from the moment I collected it, which was a pleasant
surprise.
But just as I was revelling in my small victory, I
emerged to find my phone utterly lifeless. Panic set in for a moment, but I
headed to the nearest Samsung office, praying for good news. The culprit turned
out to be a faulty memory card—a simple fix! Phew! Filled with relief, I pedalled
away from the bustle of the city and toward the Vietnamese border.
On my journey, I stumbled upon remnants of a turbulent
past: one of the old war relics from the infamous "Secret War." It
was a haunting reminder of the CIA's covert operations in Laos from 1961 to
1975, where 2.1 million tonnes of ordnance fell over the land. The statistics
were staggering—260 million unexploded sub-munitions still litter the
landscape, a testament to the legacy of conflict. Thankfully, organisations
like COPE in Vientiane are working tirelessly to provide rehabilitation
services for those impacted by this history.
The rest of the day was marked by a lighter mood. As I
cycled through the lush scenery between the Mekong River and the Vietnam
border, I could see that life here pulsated with nature. The
countryside softened the weight of history. Rice paddies shifted from green to
gold, signalling harvest. After 115 kilometres, I stopped at a roadside
guesthouse, grateful for rest.
Mist,
Mountains, and the Last Long Ride
The day marked my last day of cycling in Laos, and it
felt bittersweet. The landscape remained as enchanting as I remembered from my
travels seven years ago, echoing the rural charm of Africa. I watched as
bare-bum kids dashed about, laughing and playing with old tyres, while
delightful aromas wafted in from nearby homes where women cooked over open
flames. Chickens and goats roamed freely, and with every village I entered, the
familiar calls of “falang, falang” from the children welcomed me.
Serious-looking mountains loomed ahead, yet the road
gracefully twisted around them, making for easy pedalling. As it was rice
harvesting season, women dotted the roadside, selling bundles
of dried bamboo slivers for tying rice, and mist clung to the valleys. I met
two cyclists—rare companions on this route—, and we chatted briefly before
parting ways. Near the border, another small guesthouse appeared, and I settled
in with a bowl of noodle soup.
Ban Dong, Laos – Lao Bao, Vietnam – A
Quiet Crossing Into What Comes Next
A short but exciting 20-kilometre ride brought me to the
border, where a swift stamp in my passport welcomed me into Vietnam with a
30-day stay. The small village of Lao Bao awaited just down the road, and I
decided to explore a bit before fully diving into this new chapter. I found an
ATM and withdrew 3,000,000 dong—quite the haul at the exchange rate of 22,000
dong to the dollar! After that, I picked up a new SIM card, ready to stay
connected as I continued my ride. Excitement buzzed in the air as I anticipated
what lay ahead in this vibrant new country.
Epilogue
My last morning in
Laos unfolded with the same understated grace that had carried me through the
country. A short ride to the border, a stamp, a nod, and suddenly the road
ahead belonged to Vietnam. Yet as I pedalled toward Lao Bao, I felt the weight
of departure settle gently on my shoulders.
Laos had been a
lesson in patience and presence. In the art of waiting—sometimes willingly,
sometimes not. In the quiet resilience of rural life. In the way landscapes can
mirror one’s inner state: mist lifting slowly from mountains, storms arriving
without warning, rivers moving at their own unhurried pace.
It had been a place
where I lost things and found them again. Where strangers kept watch over my
belongings without knowing it.
As the border receded
behind me, I carried with me the softness of the Mekong, the laughter of
children, the rhythm of wheels on quiet roads, and the unexpected calm that
comes from surrendering to a country’s pace.
Vietnam awaited—but
Laos lingered, like a gentle echo.
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