It's nearing five o'clock and I am finding myself in Dien Bien Phu, an old site of the successfull uprising against the
French which ultimately lead to withdrawal of the collonial power and freedom for the Vietnamese. I have just finished a tour of the
cemetary, the only landmark in this otherwise unimpressive town, and am contemplating whether to leave the country today or not.
One more look around and the decision is made. So I mount my bike and off out of town we go. 40 kilometers to the border and a bit over
an hour before sunset. It should be plenty enough to reach the other side.
At least so I think until I am good twentyfive kilometers into the journey and all signs of civilisation give way to the all
encompassing jungle. I pass a road marker confirming I am on the ride track just as I am starting to have doubts.
The road ascents higher and higher and with every 100 meters of elevation looses 10% of the asphalt cover. Soon enough I am left with
what is for major part a dirt track botched with heaps of gravel that make my front wheel fly all over the place. But I adjust the
speed, kick in the lower gear and accompanied by the high pitch of the growling engine I go on.
The green jungle is starting to turn yellow with the late hour as I pass a rather rundown sign for a village five kilometers to the
left. - I am quite reluctant to repeat the experience from two nights ago when after going out of my way to give a man a lift I had to
search for a campsite in the dark and failing to find one had to continue for another twenty kilometers on an awfully dusty dirt track
to have to settle for a night on a pile of gravel on what was a road building site. If the border will be closed by the time I get there
I will at least have somewhere to come back to. -
After another 8 kilometers on this excuse of an asphalt road I finally reach the top of the mountain where, to my immense surprise, lies
a modern looking large two story building housing the customs and the border gate.
As I park my Minsk a young and fine looking official gets out and greets me with a smile. He follows with the traditional 'where are
you from', etc in quite a good English.
The border is luckily still open and will be for another fifty minutes so all seems to be well. I wait for a good fifteen minutes for a
customs official to declare my minsk for export and pass the time entertaining group of guards that have now surrounded me with my new
google phone.
The passport control is a piece of cake and with another thirty minutes left I take off towards the Laos checkpoint.
The nice newly paved road again disappears after a kilometer and the remaining five are driven on a rough dirt track.
When I finally make it to the other gate it is already dark. The first Laos village is 10 kilometers away which in slow speed should be
no problem to reach even in the dark whatever the road conditions are.
But that is not meant to be as I find the Visa post completely deserted and have to call on an officer to go and find his relevant
peers. After a good twenty minute wait a young man in civillian clothes and a rather unsteady walk appears to inform me of the fact that
the road ahead is closed until ten am and so is now the border.
Before I have the chance to note that I have been waiting here for twenty minutes which was well within the boundaries of opening hours
he suggests that I can stay here overnight and sleep somewhere in the office.
Wow, the border patrol works quite differently here, I am truly stunned.
I kindly refuse the offer and after pointing at my bike I draw the shape of a tent in the air. All is understood and I go off in search
for a good spot for the night. After finding one I turn to a little canteen with loud music pouring out to ask for a drink but turn out
invited to a dinner with all the officials present, including the doctor and the head of the border post. Since none of them is on duty
we spend a good three hours drinking beer Lao style - three half full glasses are passed around and a random trio of participants down
it in one go after toasting to whatever seems to be worth toasting to; generally good health and all that. At several occassions I feel
like I can't do anymore since I am toasted with more then the rest of the group but I manage to go through it all with my dignity
intact. I do however depart the company in a slightly sad state and wake up in a similar one after forgetting to hydrate before going to
sleep.
All packed and with my Laos Visa in the pocket I find myself on the road into Laos. Or whatever they call roads here. When I thought the
way towards the border on Vietnamese side was bad I had another thing coming: the road here is literally just being built and I have to
make way for the bulldozers to clear out and climb over the heaps of soil that are yet to be rolled flat.
After crossing a river with no bridge around, stalling and pushing my bike a few times because of the amount of mud stuck under my rear
mudguard I finally make it to Muang Khua, the first proper Lao town. The seventy kilometers from the border took only
four and a half hours.
Kevin, that is his name, a fourty odd year old expatriate has been living here with his Laos fiancee for over six months. She is a UN
employee so I get to learn about their influence in the region ranging from opium growth replacement programs to helping building
schools and infrastructure.
I do not inquire as to what exactly he means by a fiancee after he tells me he spend last 10 years in the region having
'fiancees' all over Southeast Asia. Apparently though they got engaged - I can only assume so as to make their living together
more pleasing to the lady's family. In the eye of the Lao law however any physical relationship between a man and a woman is
prohibited until the couple is married. This, strangely, holds true for both the Laos and the falang (white). At any rate
before I depart to find a spot for the night which turns out to be quite near to the river I get a tip and directions to visit a very
authentic village in the nearby mountains which is on one of the UN programmes for poppy replacement and sofar sees no tourist traffic
at all. It is supposed to be a truly beautiful spot and it is thus my plan for the following morning.
I leave the town around nineish and follow a rather deserted asphalt road for about 40 kilometers before stopping in a village to ask
for directions. I am sent up the hill on a dirt track and after another 20 kilometers of dusty landscape I park my Minsk on a mountain
top at a UN plate near the entrance to a village. It is not the village I am after but I fancy a short stroll after the forty minute
bumpy ride.
As I am unpacking my camera to take a few photos a woman in her fifties comes to me. After we exchange hellos she points to her foot to
a rather ugly cut that is yet to be healed. She looks at me and points at my luggage. Seeing so much UN traffic here she must assume I
am UN personnel too. So I dig into my backpack and take out my medkit and send her off to wash the wound.
By the time she is ready to apply the antisepic spray we are surrounded by a dozen children and a few other adults including an old
woman with bloated neck. Once I patch the first woman's foot and let her take my hands into hers in gratitude she points to my
antiseptic and then to the tumor on her neck. Her eyes are pleading for help but I have nothing to give to her. The initial excitement
from helping someone is all but gone and I am feeling really awful for not being able to do anything. I stroke her arm and appologise
warmly before getting up. Another man comes to me and points at a scab on his daughter's shoulder. It seems to be healing nicely
from what I can tell so I just nod and push my way out of the circle. I shouldn't have played a doctor, now I can see that. Luckily
noone else comes to seek my 'expertise' and after inquiring which way to go to get to Hong Lerk I am finally on the way
out waving back to the crowd.
About a kilometer or two I am forced to stop to help a clearly drunk but very congenial man to take his motorcycle out of the bushes
just above the precipice where he parked it unintentionally. We shake hands and I watch him take off in the other direction. Better
luck this time, my friend.
After a few minutes I make it to the village entrance. It is surrounded by wodden fence, something I have not seen before, and I have to
climb a set of 'stairs' to cross onto the other side.
I feel like a proper alien as I am making my way though not really knowing whereto exactly. I have been told by Kevin to seek the
village chief - naibaan in Lao - and that is precisely what I am planning to do.
When I notice a woman near one of the houses on the left stareing at me quietly I ask for naibaan and not until I repeat a few
times with different tones am I pointed the right direction.
As I pass through the older villagers observe me quietly. Young children run screaming at the sight of me. A man standing by calls on
his older sun to take me to the chief when I stumble across a crossroad and have no idea which way to continue.
Now I am followed by a pack of dogs which like me even less and I have to turn around constantly to make sure my ankles are not being
chewed on.
When I finally get to meet the chief I am quite surprised at how young he looks. He speaks no English and I no Laos so I repeat the only
two words he might understand: Kevin and Muang Khua using my hands to draw a connection. He does not seem to grasp
that Kevin is his alleged friend from the town and I am beginning to have doubts as well but he understands where I am coming from and
why I am here. That is good enough and when he suggests I stay in his house for the night all is on the right track. I go back to my
bike to fetch my guidebook and map so we have something to talk about. Unfortunately I have no phrasebook this time and the few phrases
in the guidebook are insufficient for even the most basic of conversations. We however still manage to go though the origins and family
stuff and I learn he's got a wife of the age 25, himself being 34, and has got two kids. Two are enough he gestures when I suggest
when there are more coming. When the silence becomes somewhat ukward again we turn to some more lao-lao (local rice whisky) and
I suggest a walk around the village.
And so we walk around with him trying to explain to me where what things are and I, understanding half of it, give up trying to inquire
more and pretend I understand. Relationships are happier that way, so much I've learned on my travels sofar. I do however get to see
where they plant their rice, where the kids play and learn, where people go to pray and where they are building a dormitory for the
future tourists. I smile at the privilege of being the first and wonder whether any good will come out of this for the villagers. They
seem to be so happy in their own secluded way of life and I cannot see any joy coming out of a bunch of westerners with shiny cameras
running around and taking photos of anything that moves. I am being very subtle in my camera work and choose not to take photos of
people. Not the ones I do not know and not too much anyway. I feel like an intruder enough as it is!
The kids are still running away at the sight of me but are curious enough to follow me when I am not looking. The second half of the
village tour sees a trail of a good dozen of kids running back and forth each time I turn back and around.
The view from the top of the hill onto the other side is magnificent. A wide valley and mountains on the horizon..
I am back in the house just in time for supper which is at this point very much welcome. We eat upstairs, that is me and the chief -
everyone else eats on the groundfloor. I am the guest who came to see the village chief afterall. The food is uberdelicious.
Three different kinds of fish pate with basil, mint, garlic and lime. We eat raw mint and some other green leafs dipped into a chilly
sauce (fantastic) and as the side is the laos-home sticky rice which is eaten from a ratan bowl with bare hands.
After dinner the whole extended family moves upstairs for entertainment and I do my best to provide some. I take out my laptop and
present them the photos of the places I've been in the past 8 months. Mongolia seems to fascinate them the most and upon seeing the
camels they all exhale in surprise and disbelief.
And so the day finishes on a merry note and around nine o'clock when we all depart to our respective beds. I am staying in the
'living room' and sleep on one from the row of mattracess with the two other left unoccupied. I do not feel bad about taking
someone else's place anymore since their hospitality would prevent me sleeping anywhere else anyway.
The morning starts early, before six o'clock when it is still dark. I sleep in a little bit not to pressure the hosts with their
hosting duties so early in the morning and get up with the first sign of light. The cocks are quite persistent at this hour and the last
thirty minutes can be hardly called sleep.
After breakfast I pack up my stuff and head on since the chief is going on some business out of the village anyway. I shake hands with
the family and the chief's parents, take the one and only photo as a memory and depart to my motorcycle. After getting it all ready
for departure I go on for a little hike in the surrounding hills to make the day start the right way.
As I walk I contemplate on the value of tourism and cannot bring myself to believe that the village will benefit from this in any other
then financial way. The UN is basically extorting them in exchange for financial aid. But then again money spent has to be money earned
and with poppy production now banned this seems like the only one legitimate way of bringing the community out of poverty. After my
somewhat paradoxical visit - not doing the touristy thing I felt like the ultimate tourist - I can only hope that whatever the
UN has got planned will be well thought through and executed carefully so as to not break the delicate balance that holds this secluded
community together.
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