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Northern Thailand and the Slowboat Down the Mekong

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OK, the kids were not fish, but, like piranhas, they hunted in packs, were fast and violent, and left nothing but the skeletons of a plastic bag. As we disembarked the slow boat, a group of kids surrounded Jess, who was holding our supply bag (including Minesh’s precious Oreo cookies). They pushed and prodded, and before we knew it, they were ripping the bags to shreds, taking everything, including our garbage. It was a shocking display of violent desperation, and not the Laotian welcome we were expecting. By the time we found a guesthouse, we were so spent we failed to notice the rats, peering at our belongings with their beady little eyes. Bong offered us opium the way your grandmother might offer you tea. Not tonight, thanks. Downstairs we ate incredible Indian food to candlelight, because the town of Pakbang hadn’t seen power in over a week. The shared bathroom was flooded with cold water (I hope), the toilet seat splintered. After five minutes of being serenaded by a young Laotian guy with a stained white vest and an off-tune guitar, I gratefully excused myself from the patio and went to bed. At least the holes weren’t too big in the mosquito net that covered my bed (I’m not taking malaria pills). Within seconds the GONG! started. Steadily, methodically, loudly, painfully. It did not stop for seven hours. By morning, the rats had attacked Tara’s nose in her sleep, eaten Jess’s sweater, and ripped a hole through a German guy’s backpack looking for peanuts. Several pigs had also been slaughtered, because the squeal-GONG!-chant-scurry-GONG! fandango turned out to be a tribal ceremony in which several pigs ceremonially departed this realm for the next. This incredible racket didn’t seem to bother Bong much, but then his name is Bong after all.

Red-eyed and freaked out, we ran to catch the boat (spending another night in Pakbang would be too much to bare). A few minutes late, we raced on board and of course, it decided to go nowhere for an hour. At least we had muscled some seats with a flattened pillow away from the loud engine at the back. This boat also had bigger window slots and you could actually stand up on it. So Day Two began, slowly drifting along the rapids towards Luang Prabang, which could take anywhere from six to ten hours. With no supplies, we were hungry and tired and uncomfortable. Yet by the time I arrived in Luang Prabang, I had once again discovered the radiant source of happiness that only hardcore travel can deliver. As the late afternoon sun set across the Mekong River, the jungle glowed with life, villages in wooden boats waved from their fishing boats, and the boat gently drifted along water that resembled the silver colour and the smooth texture of mercury. A warm, sun-dried wind flooded the boat, and camaraderie lifted spirits. We passed a Buddhist cave carved into a mountain, giggling half-naked kids playing in the sand banks, beautiful mountains and lush green thicket. The warmth of life, a sensation I have felt at key moments on my journey, had my hair standing on edge. Every traveller on board felt the magic (even if they could not feel their asses). And that’s why we put up with rats, and GONGS!, and slaughtered pigs, and poverty piranhas, and ass-busting two-day boat journeys.
When the going gets tough, you’re onto something special. So just keep going.

The slow boat arrived in Luang Prabang, and, high on life, a new adventure in a new country was about to begin.

Samsara Restaurant
Luang Prabang, Laos

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