Cricket Season

It's cricket season here in Kratie, Cambodia. The kind of crickets that land without warning and can take off equally as fast. The people of Kratie - kids, young adults, older adults - can oftentimes be even faster. They spend whole evenings attempting to and capturing these big insects. They do it when they're not doing their real jobs, like manning a fruit stall or internet shop. Cricket capturers of Kratie even hang out on rooftops of buildings - open, flat space free of such obstacles as scooters or competition. When they see the cricket land, they'll pounce on them. If successful, the caught insect is usually stuffed through the mouth of an empty plastic water bottle, joining its friends and family members in a growing pile of writing and squirming. It's of no use though. The fate of these captured crickets is to a frying pan coated with oil. A pile of them at a time will be fried, tossed around until ready, salted, and served in a shallow bowl or sold in a plastic bag.

Scott and I got to try some at a small shop near one of the ferry landings just outside Kratie. We stopped to buy some cold drinks and a quick snack. The family there were munching on these cooked critters and kindly offered us some.Fried crickets are bite-sized, crunchy, and tasty - a perfect savory snack.

24 Hours Later

Now we're really south, as south as one can be in Laos. We're on the south end of Don Det, an island of Si Phan Don, otherwise known as 4,000 Islands, which border Cambodia. We're staying in a bungalow overlooking the Mekong, in which men and children throw castnets, set gillnets, and attempt other means of catching dinner. A bridge on this side of the island connects Don Det with Don Khone. Other than laying in hammocks on the deck reading, Scott and I also walked up along the side of the Mekong, jumped in, and floated back to our guesthouse - an activity I could spend hours doing.

Besides the fact that these islands inspire such low energy activity, Scott and I have a legitimate reason to be lazy - we traveled for 24 hours to get here.

Shortly after 11 am yesterday, we had to pry ourselves away from swimming in the refreshing river of Kong Lo, an awe-inspiring 7-kilometer cave, and walk back to our guesthouse for a noon checkout. Plus, depending on how it all worked out, there was a possibility of some traveling ahead of us.

As we walk out of our guesthouse all packed and ready, we see people loading up into a songthaew heading for Ba Na Him, the closest biggish village, so we jump on as well. It is around noon and we haven't eaten yet, but I assume sometime in the midst of waiting for public transportation, we will find a moment to scarf down food.

Shortly after pulling into the bus/taxi/songthaew stand in Ba Na Him, a huge bus pulls up and stops. It is headed for Vientiane, where we had come from the day prior. The bus is going in the wrong direction - north instead of south - but it will drop us at the junction where we'll find transportation south, so we jump on. By the time get to the junction, it is 2 pm.

There are a couple of restaurants at the junction and I am about to plop down at one of them and order when a man a man appears and says he has a songthaew going to Tha Keak - a town south. Since we don't know what other options south will present themselves, we jump on. During the ride, Scott and I decide we will try to get all the way to Pakse, which means finding another bus in Tha Keak.

Two hours later, our songthaew pulls into the Tha Keak bus station almost at the same time as a huge, filled-to-the-brim bus going to Pakse pulls in. We buy our tickets and cram our way into the already full bus packed with people, cargo on the roof, rice sacks, and at least four motorbikes in the aisle of the bus. Usually for people overflow, the busses have plastic stools to put in the aisle for people to sit on. With the scooters though, there is no room for the stools, so people sit on the scooters themselves.

The journey is crowded, uncomfortable, hot, and long, longer than we had anticipated. I had read the guidebook that Pakse was 6-7 hours from Tha Keak, putting our arrival into Pakse between 10:30-11 pm, late but not terribly late. Well, it isn't the first time the guidebook's been wrong. The trip takes 8-9 hours. Add that to 2 hours when the bus was stopped doing god-knows-what, and you have Scott and I arriving in Pakse around 3:15 am.

At this point, Scott's logic is that it's too late and not worth the money to get a guesthouse, so we find a gazebo to sit under and read. And wait.

Around 4:30 am, a tuktuk offers to take us to the bus station 8 kilometers away for a reasonable price so we hop on. We barely go 500 meters before we pull up to a bus going to Ban Nakasan - the jump off town for the 4,000 Islands.

Around 5 am, we find ourselves tired, a bit confused to be on an almost empty bus, but definitely heading in the right direction.

By 7:45 am, we're finally sitting down and eating a proper meal of noodle soup. With food in our stomachs, we walk the 3 kilometers in the morning heat to the ferry dock in Ban Nakasan. The ferry to Don Det is fast and painless. Once we arrive, we, again, walk the few kilometers to the other side of the island. By 11:30 am, we're both tired and sweating, but we're each laying in a hammock overlooking the Mekong, which makes the previous 24 hours totally worth it.

*

Now, it's night time. I hear the crickets and cicadas and geckos and the occassional scooter going over the bridge. I see the lights of Don Khone and the shimmering star-filled sky.

Kong Lo

Tonight we find ourselves in the village of Kong Lo, about a 7-hour bus trip from Vientiane. Kong Lo is the least touristed place we've been to in Laos. There are only a few guesthouses with attached restaurants and that's about it for tourist infrastructure. It's great, it's quiet, it's calm and such a refreshing change from the loudness of the capital. There are huge walls of limestone mountains surrounding the area.

After arriving in the early evening, we took a walk down the dirt road and entered the park where Kong Lo Cave is located - our reason for coming here. We walked to the mouth of the cave where a river runs into it. Scott took a dip in this clean green water and said it was the most cool he's felt all day.  Tomorrow morning we'll take a boat through the seven kilometers of cave.

For most of the busride from Vientiane to Kong Lo, the onboard TV played Thai karaoke music videos, all with a common theme of lost love with black-and-white flashbacks of the couple happy in the past. I had a good laugh trying to sing along to the karaoke and tried to get Scott to join in, but he just shook his head.

This is the most south in Laos I've ever been.

Happy Lao New Year ( or Saibadee Bi My)

After our attempt to get to Sam Neua, a town in the far northeast corner of Laos, failed, we had no choice but to return to Luang Prabang in order to head further south.

For this journey, Scott and I sat in the front of the songthaew with the driver. A songthaew is a pickup truck that has benches installed on the sides of the back as well as a cover, and is used as a passenger vehicle. Songthaews are used throughout parts of Southeast Asia and riding in one is a cheap, convenient way to get around when a bus isn't necessarily available. When we bought the tickets for the 3-4 hour journey, I requested the front for comfort (even though Scott was skeptical of its true comfort benefits), but it worked out fabulously since today was the first official day of the Lao New Year. What does that mean? Water. Bucketfuls of water being splashed at you by cheering, oftentimes drunk, wet young people on the side of the road.

Scott and the driver had the luxury of rolling their windows up whenever we saw trouble up ahead while those in the back had to fend for themselves. The passengers who moved around in an attempt to dodge the merrymakers got half as wet as the passengers who just stayed sitting in one spot; they got drenched. It was humorous for me to watch the groups of kids and adults on the street get ready and wind up and even more entertaining to watch those in the back of the songthaew scurry about. One tourist in the back lent his souvenir rice paddy hat to a local to use as a shield for her toddler son. By the time the rice paddy hat was returned though, it was in no longer worth bringing home.

People on the street had tubs and garbage cans filled with water, hoses, supersoakers, bowls of water, pots of water, anything to get others wet. Scott and I may have been spared for the three-hour ride back to Luang Prabang, but we got nailed even harder about 20 times walking from the bus station to a guest house - large containers of water poured down our backs, on our heads, in our faces - all with the intention of wishing us Happy New Year, or "Saibadee bi my" in Lao. We were drenched to our underwear, our backpacks were soaking. Pick-up trucks passed by full of equally drenched locals wearing matching t-shirts and cowboy hats, bass-heavy music filled the air. Those driving by in the trucks attacked those standing on the street - a reciprocity which seemed a lot more fair than how Scott and I got wished Happy New Year.

The whole of Luang Prabang was in a drunk water fight. Every few feet it was the same story.

Lao Hai

Our time in Nong Khiaw had many highlights - the hammock outside our room overlooking the Ou River, the glorious food, our walk to caves and a brief encounters with Lao leeches, a hike to the top of a mountain - but the best thing that happened was our time spent talking with Lao people.

Ever since we left Bhutan, we've been backpackers and tourists and with these titles comes an automatic wall between us and the people of the countries we visit. Scott and I have missed having normal conversations and interactions like those we had when we lived in Tanzania and Bhutan. I understand it, of course. As a backpacker, we're not necessarily giving anything back, we're not investing ourselves; we're just passing through, so why should anyone treat us as anything else? Almost all the places we've been to are very much on the tourist route, so the people of these cities and sites are accustomed to dealing with and seeing foreignors. There's a sense of the local people seeing through us rather than at us. Again, I don't blame them.

Nong Khiaw, a small town in northeast Laos, is still in transition. Guesthouses have existed there for several years but they haven't seen the influx of tourists that they'd like, that go to neighboring Muang Ngoi. In Nong Kiaw, Scott and I actually got to talk to Lao people, conversations that didn't merely revolve around prices or getting directions.

At our first dinner in Nong Khiaw, a local man named Arr (pronounced 'air') struck up a conversation after helping us order our food; the shopowner didn't speak English, or rather Scott and I don't speak Lao, so Arr was brought in to help with the interaction. In an accent I hadn't ever heard before, Arr told us about his job working with the local goverment and the health benefits him and his family get with that (which doesn't cover enough), the guesthouse his wife owns and his desire to see more tourists, and his everyday struggle to save more money and take care of his family. We talked with him for about 20 minutes before he went back to join his friends at a table filled with Beer Lao bottles and food. When Scott and I finished our meal, we said good-bye to Arr, who replied, "You're leaving already?" It was the night before the first official day of Lao New Year and while we would've liked to have intruded on Arr and his friends and drunk with them, we knew, with only Arr speaking English, it would've been more awkward for everyone than really fun, so we left.

At another dinner in Nong Khiaw, we started talking to a Lao couple from Vientiane. They had time off for the New Year and were traveling in their country for the occasion. Next to their dinner table was a big clay pot filled with a concoction of rice and coconut juice that had been fermenting for about a week. The couple was drinking the contents of this clay pot, which is known locally as Lao Hai, and, for the next hour or so, continued to offer Scott and I shots. The woman was a teacher and the man was a creator of museums. Through this job, the man traveled all over the world (including to far off places like Thimphu); he was due in Paris the following week. We listened to his stories, shared some of our own, and happily drank the Lao Hai. Lucky for us, this local drink is not very strong.

Pale Yellow Butterflies

Our second and final day in Luang Prabang was spent on bicycles – two grey girl bikes.

A nice, refreshing trip outside the city – 32 kilometers away – is to Kuang Si Falls. Ninety-nine percent of the tourists who visit the falls go by bus, minivan, tuktuk, or scooter. Scott wanted us to earn our dip in the waterfalls by biking the 20 miles there and the 20 miles back. Our last biking adventure in Bundi, India had gone well and was quite fun so I agreed. I was a bit nervous about the distance and the potential for hills, but Scott reassured me that we’d just go for a ride; actually getting to the falls would be a bonus. Plus, we were both interested in getting some real exercise. Any weight we’d lost while in Nepal has been gained back and doubled since arriving in Southeast Asia and allowing my eyes to dictate what we eat.

After biking through the initial morning traffic of the city, the road became quiet with only the occasional scooter or car passing by. There were small hills that I sweated through by pedaling and there were bigger hills that I walked my bike up, but through most of it all, I couldn’t stop smiling.

Overall, our bike ride took us through the old town of Luang Prabang, into the new, past small town after small town, past bight green rice paddies, wats, and, the best ever, through hundreds of flurries of white and pale yellow butterflies. We stopped only a few times on the way there for small water breaks and to pick up some street food. But mostly we watched the kilometer markers to Kuang Si Falls get smaller and smaller.
The falls themselves were quite beautiful, especially the pools of aqua-blue water. We ate a little food, took a dip in the cool water, and watched the sun bears kept within the park play and rest. I loved the feeling of refreshment, of the lingering coolness from the water on my skin long after we’d gotten out.

By the time we were leaving the falls, it was peak time for other tourists to arrive. We picked up the only two bicycles in the parking lot full of scooters and minivans and set out for another 20 miles.

Eyes Wide Open

It's lightning and thundering tonight in Luang Prabang, our second evening in this World Heritage city in Laos. The monsoon season isn't supposed to start until May but we've already seen some rain on this trip.

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When we woke up in Pak Beng a couple mornings ago, it was pouring. I was hoping the rain would let up before our walk to the boat at 8 am – it was Day 2 of our slow boat ride down the Mekong from the border city of Huay Xia to Luang Prabang – but it didn't. It was fine though. Scott and I haven't been walking in hard rain for a while (it never rained in India; it rained only a few times in Nepal) so it felt kind of nice to be in a rain jacket. The wetness seemed to add a little more excitement to the morning. We walked around Pak Beng for a bit in search of breakfast before heading to the boat. We got seated, munched on our sticky rice and sausage, and watched for the next hour as the rest of the passengers trickled in. They came on foot, by rickshaw, by van, in ponchos, in raincoats, carrying plastic bags filled with wrapped baguette sandwiches, Lays chips, bottled waters, and other snacks to survive the next eight hours on the boat.

For this second leg of the boat journey to Luang Prabang, the boat acquired three monks as passengers, which added a new dynamic. Locals kneeled to the monks as they stepped onto the boat and gathered around them to offer food. The monks remained surrounded for most of the day. From my seat, throughout the journey, I noticed the monks smiling a lot and spitting paan juices into a white plastic container. The foreign tourists, which the 70+ seat passenger boat was mostly comprised of, enjoyed taking photos of the monks, especially when the monks themselves were taking photos of the surroundings. Nothing like taking a photo of a monk taking a photo.

*

A lot has changed in Luang Prabang since my first visit with Rebecca in 2005. The change is mostly in the form of more (so many more) guesthouses, restaurants, shops, and tour agencies. Back then, Luang Prabang still had a feeling of a sleepy town. The streets were quiet. Restaurants weren’t overly done up. The town moved in a slow pace which extended to its visitors. Now, Luang Prabang is awake, eyes wide open, looking at tourism. Almost every inch of the old city is taken over by a business geared to tourists. It’s been strange to recognize some things but still feel like everything is new.

Speaking of new, the New Year is coming up in a few days. It’s celebrated in Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and I’m sure other Southeast Asian countries. In Thailand and Laos, the way the New Year is celebrated is with a massive water fight, something akin to Holi in India except there is more water and less colored powder involved.

To start the festivities a little early, small groups of people today were standing on sides of the roads dousing people on the street with large containers full of water. Some pedestrians got hit but people on motorbikes and bicycles were the main targets. Scott and I got a good soaking, but our clothes dried within a few mere hours of walking around. In this intense heat and humidity, getting drenched was not a problem. In the coming days, I expect the water attacks to get a lot worse.

Tigers and Orchids and Caves

These were the highlights of today’s motorbike ride through Mai Rim and other surrounding areas of Chiang Mai in northern Thailand. Scott and I made a big 80-kilometer loop in a rented red and black Honda Wave scooter wearing matching helmets. For just around US$ 7, or 200 Thai Baht, we had freedom on the road.

We ate a quick breakfast of pork buns, bought a lunch to go, and headed away from the old town (which is where we spent much of yesterday walking around touring temples; Chiang Mai has around 200 wats). 

Mai Rim, the next town over, is full of fancy lodges and built up tourist attractions like elephant camps, bungy jumping, snake parks, crocodile shows, and the well advertised Tiger Kingdom. All over Chiang Mai, there are photos of people cuddling with tigers, hugging them, ever rubbing noses with them. Scott’s theory was that the tigers are drugged. Today’s first stop on the motorbike journey was to check out what was up with these human-friendly tigers.

We were still able to catch some of the tiger action without having to pay the US$30 entry fee. By talking to a staff member, we found out that the tigers are not drugged. Through a breeding program, they’ve been raised since two or three months old to be with humans. They are trained by humans to pose for pictures, they get fed by humans, they get their poop scooped by humans. Everything they’ve done since they were babies and continue to do as they grow is with and near humans. Scott and I watched as a few tigers played in a pool, chased after a toy, reluctantly posed for pictures with paying tourists. We watched them behave as any house cat would (maybe not the pool part) except they are much bigger with huge teeth. And, in my opinion, they are much more handsome than your average house cat. 

Next stop was a hanging orchid garden where I oohed and aahed at more than a hundred different kinds of orchids. Orchids are works of art, the ultimate flower. 

After that stop, we passed up other attractions – a group of waterfalls in a National Park and the Botanical Garden – due to the entry fees and for the sake of time. We continued on the loop until we hit a road leading to the Pak Ou caves and Buddha’s footprint. These attractions were off a dirt road, had no entrance fees, and were devoid of other tourists – perfect. As a really nice touch, at the trailhead of the caves, there was a basket of flashlights to use and return. 

Our fourth stop of the day was at a waterfall. Scott and I were dying to take a dip in some cool water. For the entire short 1-kilometer walk to the falls, we heard the sky grumbling. Above us was blue sky, a little beyond though were dark grey clouds. We took a very small dip before rushing back to the scooter. Drops had just started to fall as we pulled into our final stop of the day – a roadside shop for cheap Chang Beer. We watched the rain fall over the road and the lush green surroundings for about 15 minutes before the sun broke through and dried up the road, making our remaining 20 kilometers back to Chiang Mai safe and smooth.

Heading North

In my mind I’ve always painted Bangkok in a bad light – chaotic, noisy, crowded. I suppose this has to do with my trips here back in 2001 and 2002. But on this return trip, Bangkok was none of these things. Instead it was orderly, clean, calm, no vehicles honking, and not all that crowded. Maybe it was because we stayed outside of the Koh San Road area, quite a ways away in fact. 

On top of being a welcome surprise, Bangkok was also, as I alluded to in the last post, a gastronomic heaven – hundreds upon hundreds of street food stalls selling all kinds of enticing dishes, from sticky rice wrapped in a banana leaf to all varieties of meat and seafood on sticks to steaming bowls of noodle soups, from rice flour desserts to lettuce wraps to mango shakes. I salivated over everything and tried lots. I’ve never eaten so well in a 24-hour period. I have a whole new appreciation for Bangkok and anxiously await our return in mid-May before we fly back to the States. 

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A 15-hour train ride to Chiang Mai turned into an over 17-hour train ride. Lots of long, lingering stops and slow trips between each station. And hot. It was likely the hottest train I’ve ever been on. We sat on soft seats with straight backs and the train car had fans, so almost all the passengers had their windows open, letting both the breeze and the dust to come in. Even though the train was long and hot and sticky and we hardly got any sleep – the train left Bangkok at 10 pm – it still wasn’t that miserable. The people watching was fun – passengers who stuck their heads out train windows, like dogs in cars, enjoying the rush of the night air; the ladies wearing loose plaid shirts who sold cut up fruit, fried chicken, rice, among other items; passengers who, despite the sign telling them not, sat in the area of the train car reserved for monks, disabled, and the elderly – as was watching Thailand’s quaint train stations pass by. The train ride should’ve been more agonizing, but for some reason it wasn’t. As I’ve said before, maybe after India, everything seems a lot easier.

Bangkok!

We’re here! After arriving around 8:30 tonight, two hours later than scheduled, Scott and I took the Sky Train from the airport into downtown Bangkok. We got off at Payathai and headed south toward an area – not Koh San Road – that had cheaper guesthouses. As we walked with all our bags in the 90 degree night heat, we passed various groups of street vendors selling all sorts of mouthwatering delights but Scott instructed, “Focus on guesthouse first. Then food.”

We walked a little farther than we thought we’d have to but found the Pranee Building on Soi Kasen San 1, a budget place. We paid for the room before seeing it which made me a bit nervous, but the room we have is great – working fan, toilet paper, soap, towels, and two bottles of water given to us when we checked in. None of these things are a given in India or Nepal budget hotels. In fact, toilet paper and complimentary water were a never.

We dropped our bags off and set out for a late dinner. It was past 10 pm by this time. We found a vendor selling pad see ew and I was in heaven. Flat, wide rice noodles – that’s daydream material for me. On the streets of Bangkok, they’re a dime a dozen. I can see my stomach expanding already, which does not bode well for fitting into a size 4 bride’s maid dress in May. Oh well. 

Observations & Thoughts from the Tribhuvan International Airport, Kathmandu

-  It just occurred to me that it’s April Fool’s Day and I can recall this day last year. My Bhutanese students tried to fool me all day but they weren’t good fools – more like, “You have dirt on your face,” and as I moved my hand to touch my face, they’d squeal with laughter and say, “April Fool’s Day!” as if they got me real good.

-  All the Nepali going abroad are men. When I looked at the long line of locals at the immigration line – a line a lot bigger than the foreigner line – all my eyes could see were males. The lucky ones. So many Nepalis long to leave their own country for money, for stability. I wonder – will any of their journeys end in America?

-  On our taxi ride from the Mustang Guest House to the airport, I got a little sad about leaving. The road we were on for much of the drive was getting torn up – as are so many roads we’ve seen in the past three months – so there was rubble everywhere. Rubble from the broken road, rubble from crumbling buildings, just rubble. It was a little past 7 am. Tea wallahs were doing good business, kids in Taekwondo outfits practiced their moves on a littered field, shops were opening up and beginning their work day. And it occurred to me that taking pictures of the mountains did not capture Nepal. I missed shooting the everyday stuff – the storefronts advertising ‘hygienic fast food,’ Nepali men wearing colorful Dhaka topis, or hats, that rest on the crown of their heads, small small children waddling about with seemingly no parental guidance, people drinking their morning tea out of small glasses.

-  Last night I was ready to leave Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal, but now I feel a longing to stay. Having left India and, now, departing Nepal, Scott and I are leaving the sphere of Bhutan – neighboring countries that can vouch for Bhutan’s existence because their own people live and work there, when so much of the rest of the world have no idea where or what Bhutan is. Leaving this area of the world feels like leaving Bhutan all over again. Scott reminded me that Thai women love the King of Bhutan and I reminded myself that Bangkok, our next destination, has become a major holiday spot for Bhutanese with money, so we’re not straying too far yet. But soon enough, as we continue to cross time zones and borders, we’ll be far, far from Bhutan. And that makes me nervous.