Settling into the small double prop plane, Barbara and I took the opportunity to pool our resources and swap guidebooks -- my rough guide for her lonely planet. Thankfully it wasn't until after our rocky takeoff that I reached the section about air travel in Laos:
"Most Western embassies still have travel advisories warning against flying Lao Airlines. For some travellers, flying with Lao Airlines demonstrates bravado, but it's really not something you want to do if you don't absolutely have to."
I tried to push the warning to the back of my mind, and managed to do so.... until the pilot began our descent. My stomach lurched as the plane seemed to drop out of the sky. We banked from left to right like a drunken junebug and rattled violently through the worst turbulence I have ever encountered. I tried to make calm conversation through it all, but my white knuckles had a death grip on the arm rests and my heart pounded violently in my chest. When the plane finally screeched to meet the runway, it seemed as if we would never stop. Barbara and I sat paralyzed by the fear that the runway would come to an end before the plane was able to slow down. To our relief, the wheels eventually halted with an abrupt, rude, finality.
Gratefully, shakily, we wobbled off the plane. The tarmac was radiating heat, prompting queasiness. Fortunately, we were able to share a mini-van taxi with four other passengers and managed to reach Si Phan Don (4,000 islands) less than three hours later. A decrepit long tail motored us out to the island Don Det, where we would spend the next four days.
Barbara and me unwinding after the plane ride on Laos Airlines
Mekong reflections
Some of the most well travelled people I've met have described this as their favorite place on Earth. I couldn't agree more. Something about the beautiful scenery, combined with the kind friendly nature of the local people and the slow pace of life make this an undeniable paradise. Accommodations are rustic -- mostly just thatched bamboo bungalows hovering over the river on stilted legs. Most bungalows have a porch, complete with hammocks to enjoy the view.
Scenes from the bike paths: waterfalls, riverside bungalows, and traditional wooden boats
There isn't a lot to do, but that is part of the draw. A simple red dirt path rings the entire island. For one dollar you can rent a bicycle and pedal across an old railroad bridge to a waterfall, stopping to enjoy drinks and snacks at little homefront cafes along the way. Or you can rent an inner tube and spend the day lazily floating along the Mekong and observing the subsistence fishing and agricultural lifestyle of the local people.
Scenes of subsistence: fishing boats, inquisitive piggies, and pouty water buffalo
One morning Barbara and I were especially ambitious. After an early breakfast of banana pancakes, we rode our bikes to the southern end of a neighboring island -- an area rumored to harbor the last 50 or so of only 100 remaining Mekong River Dolphins. Humans have pushed these animals to the brink of extinction through unsustainable fishing practices (namely gill netting) and habitat destruction. This being the dry season, lower water levels provide a better chance of spotting the dolphins. At a tiny wharf we easily found a fisherman to take us out in his boat to look for dolphins.
Looking for Mekong River Dolphins
The long tail maneuvered around rocks and rapids as we watched the many species of birds along the river. Withing fifteen minutes we found ourselves scrambling off the boat and onto a little rock island in the center of the river. We saw the first dolphin within 30 seconds. Soon after we spotted a second, and spent the following half hour watching these graceful animals fish and play around us. Occasionally we could hear the wet sound of a dolphin exhaling nearby, or catch a glimpse of a sleek bulbous head dipping below the surface (Mekong River Dolphins resemble a grey version of their cousins the Beluga whale). Barbara and I left the site feeling exhilirated and especially lucky, as these dolphins are projected to disappear altogether in the next 20 years.
A much better picture of a Mekong River dolphin than any of mine (Thanks National Geographic!)
Like so many places in Laos, Si Phan Don is devoid of electricity, with the exception of a few riverside restaurants that run gasoline generators in the evening. This lends to the place a whimsical charm --as though it were frozen in time. Walking along the labyrinth of dirt paths at dusk, I caught glimpses of families going about their activities, illuminated in the soft glow of candlelight. With the exception of a few stray motorbikes, thier way of life has remained literally unchanged for hundreds of years. I think that's what made the place so special. In the absence of electricity, television, radio, internet, and so many other connections to the modern world, life takes on a slower, simpler quality. Here it is perfectly acceptable to spend an entire afternoon doing nothing more than listening to the rain from the safety of a hammock.
Perfecting the art of relaxation
One afternoon while lazily floating down the river in inner tubes, Barbara and I pulled into a shallow inlet to watch some little boys playing on a rope swing. We noticed a round object floating along with the current and spent a good five minutes deliberating whether it was a coconut or a bald man's head. Minutes later we watched a man downstream wade out to pick up the coconut -- he had obviously been pondering the same thing. The humor in the situation was inescapable. Where else would so much attention be spent on something so simple as a floating coconut?
It was a little sad to say goodbye to my new friend and that idyllic little island. After the guesthouse owner gave me a ride in his long tail to the neighboring shore, I shouldered my pack and sloshed my way up the slippery pier, once losing my balance and coating my side in a thick layer of slimy red mud. Like an overturned turtle I struggled to get up, and trudged through the morning market, pungent with the smells of ripe fruit and rotting fish. The "local bus" turned out to be a songthaew crammed full of local islanders, various goods, and a few stray tourists. An elderly woman across from me chewed betel nut and strung together the legs of live frogs she kept in rice bags strewn all over the floor. When the truck wasn't loudly rumbling along the rough, unpaved roads, the bed echoed with the desperate croaking of disgruntled frogs.
The frog lady
By the time I arrived at the Paskke airport nearly five hours later, so much dirt had coated my face that it looked as though I had mascara running down my cheeks. I cleaned up as best I could without soap in the airport sink, and braced myself for another flight on Laos Air -- this time to Cambodia.
