hellooo...

As I'm preparing for the next chapter in the tale of The Adventures of Karin, I recognize that I never really told you much about my travels last autumn..so, I am now.  Below are two tales that have stayed as sweet memories in my mind~ones that always make me smile.  I hope you enjoy them!!

love,

k~

It's always a strange sensation to have to be somewhere at a certain time when for days or weeks you haven't been aware of time except as the rising and setting of the sun.  And so, running behind the man in charge, we were quickly ushered onto the departing bus.  Laos, here we come.  After what seemed a reasonable amount of time to have reached the Laos border, the bus stopped and everyone got out.  Omry and I were given our bags with a friendly wave goodbye.  We looked at each other, shrugged, and one of us said, "It must be this way." 

We walked along the little road and crossed the little bridge, and then walked a little more.  In all, this was maybe ten minutes.  Along the road were a few buildings, yet nowhere did we see a sign that gave hint to a country border or an immigration office.  We meandered over the one shop that was selling a few general needs items, and asked, "Laos?"  The smiling Thai pointed to a little dirt road across the street that went down hill a bit steeply.   We thanked the smiling Thai and smiled as we walked down what appeared to be a driveway until we came to a building the size of a large shoebox with a grumpy looking man in a blue uniform inside.  Ooh, I thought, this is definitely a government office.  Great!  So he took our passports and stamped them, then tossed them back to us without a word.  We weren't sure what to do next, so we timidly walked toward the next, two-story shoebox and looked for an unlocked door.  Not to be found.  Beyond this building was a closed gate for boats seeking river access, and between the two shoeboxes was a long, precarious set of broken steps leading to the lazy river.  We looked back at the grumpy looking man, who was staring at us, expressionless.  Omry suggested we walk down the stairs, an idea that hadn't really occurred to me as having much to do with finding Laos.  But, with little other options presenting themselves, sure, let's check out the river.  Maybe have a picnic.

Lounging along the river were four or five happy men and five or six long, narrow boats that looked to me like double long (but no wider) canoes with outboard motors.  Now Omry seemed to know what he was doing, so I followed.  So helpful to travel with someone who's got ideas.  He approached the men, and soon we were balancing our bags and ourselves into a canoe.  The happy man cranked up the little motor and we puttered out into the motionless strip of murky water.  My thoughts about where we were going faded quickly as I enjoyed the view and the ride in our little boat.  Now, I didn't care where we were going.  Too soon, we docked on the opposite shore and bade farewell to our happy captain.  We walked up some steps similar to the others, and found a few little buildings at the top.  In a few minutes, we were talking with some good-natured fellows in blue suits, and working out photocopies and extra payments (it was Saturday, apparently, and they get overtime if you show up on Saturday).  Stamp-stamp, and we were in Huay Xai, Laos.

It's amazing how time escapes you.  After wiling away a few days in Huay Xai, we again had somewhere to be, and this time arrived without incident or even running.  Huay Xai is the northwestern border crossing from Thailand, and we were traveling south.  The best way to get from Huay Xai to all points south is by boat.  And although there is a fast boat, I can list only reasons why you wouldn't take it.  And so, we arranged tickets on the slow boat to Luang Prabang, a two-day journey.

The slow boats are long, wooden boats with faded paint decorating the sides and roofs supported by wooden 2x4s from either side of the boat.  Passengers enter by plank, which is propped just behind the captain's box.  There's headroom enough inside for the Laos and me, although taller folks may need to dip their heads just a bit.  Each side of the boat has a row wooden benches, almost Catholic church-like, with room for two people on each.  My immediate thought was, "Two days on that bench?  No way."  And I walked beyond the bench to the open floor in the back.  Omry and I set up camp with our bags against the low wall just below the windows.  When I say windows, I mean the spaces between the low walls and roof, split by the 2x4 support posts.  There's not any glass or anything like that.   We were joined in time by other people who gave up their wooden benches to sit on the floor, and were fortunate that this trip was mostly people and less cargo, so we weren't squeezed out of the primo seating by ducks and garlic.

And so our journey began.  Nothing to do, nowhere to go, just relax and read a book or look out at the jungle as we slowly puttered down the lazy Mekong River.  The jungle mesmerized me, and I spent hours just hanging out the window, looking at the explosions of green.  The land rose sharply from either side of the river, and the hills were draped in billowing trees and feathery vines that overgrew and draped the trees, hanging down again until reaching another tree, and rising again.  Countless big green monsters, with large, soft, fluffy heads with long, spindly arms draped in trails of long, soft green fur swinging high from front to back.  They walked on long, strong legs.  I remember the legs rough and brown with trails of soft green fur clinging and floating behind as they approached the bath below.  I can't be certain that I ever saw the trunks of the trees, so it's up for conjecture whether those legs were seen or imagined.  But in my memory of the Mekong Monsters, that's how they looked.  The monsters were gentle.  They plodded down the steep hills to sit in the lazy water, or perhaps to get a drink.  I didn't see any in the water, as it goes with seeing monsters, but I'm sure that was what was next.  Seeing the big green monsters feels the same in my heart as my greatest childhood yearning…I remember so clearly in thought and heart, from my earliest memories…that I wanted so badly to be able to sit on the little brick wall and talk with Grover about life.  And I wanted him to hug me like he did the other little kids.  I think Grover knows these big green monsters.  I think Grover's been to Laos.

Anyway, back to the boat, sometimes I had to tear myself away from the big green monsters to use the bathroom or have a little smoke.  This was in the back of the boat, and provided a nice diversion from sitting.  To reach the back though, you must first prove yourself worthy by crossing the Lair of the Roaring Engine.  Okay, I'm not one for heights, as it reminds me of my frightening ability to fall, something I'm good at even on stairs and occasionally on flat ground (remember: this is the girl who broke her foot crossing the street last year).  So, okay, the Lair of the Roaring Engine was not a particularly high place, but it was situated in such a way as to propel my mind to visions me falling into the raucous beast.  As I teetered along the 2x2 stick that served as a walkway past the Lair, the beast being easily three times my size, noisily carrying on about whatever ails an engine to mutter and clatter so loudly, bouncing up and down in all its nakedness with fans and sharp protrusions smiling at me menacingly.  Sure there was another 2x2 stick between me and the beast, presumably to be used as a railing, but I thought that one bump of the boat into a giant rock or one good wave, and I was its next meal.  The reminder that there was nothing even remotely similar to a large rock and that monkeys would fly before this river would see a wave was the only thing that got me through this test of self-confidence in balance.  Ah, the stress.

From time to time, the boat would stop along the river's edge and local people would come out to board, add eggs or garlic to the journey to Luang Prabang.  Omry and I took an interest in these villages, and tried to seek them out, including the ones our boat didn't stop at.  We finally worked out that they were set up along smaller streams that joined the Mekong.  In the largest one we saw, there were fifteen bungalows.  In one village, young girls met the boat to sell baskets of soggy river greens to the locals on the boat.  I admired (and breathed relief) that these girls and the two women helping them paid no attention to the tourists on the boat.  Unfortunately, however, one young tourist coaxed a girl over with a package of store-bought cookies.  He fed her a cookie with odd pride, and to a few other girls as well.  Soon, to satisfy their excitement over this snack-only attainable to them from outsiders-he tossed the entire package of cookies onto the shore.  Many more girls abandoned their work of selling greens and ran to share the treat, to the delight of the tourists.  When they finished the contents, one girl gave the package back to the benefactor.  He laughed and awed, commenting how cute it was that they thought he "needed" the bag back.  As I sat there thinking, "And how do you think they would get rid of that packaging?" along with my sad thoughts that arose from bearing witness to how local life is changed by tourism.  I just wanted to strangle the guy. 

We spent the night in Prabang, a tiny village accommodating overnight travelers down the Mekong, and I fetched our breakfast of rice cooked with sweet coconut milk in the local market in the morning.  Although our boat changed, it was essentially the same, and we enjoyed another day of ducks and garlic and Mekong Monsters.  I hope the slow boat experience can stay the same.  I hope 'progress' can move as slowly through Laos as the Mekong.  As I write this story, almost a year later, the images of the monsters are still fresh in my mind.  The sensations are still fresh in my heart and even the smile is still fresh on my lips.  I might make it back to Huay Xai.  I might make it back to putter down the Mekong again.  But if I don't, I'm so thankful I went.