This place is perfect someone like myself (who loves antiques, vintage markets, thrift stores and junk shops) to explore. It is cornucopia of treasures - old typewriters, vintage teapots, Dutch clogs, a ‘casino style’ card machine, a mannequin adorned with flower garlands, old tv sets, a ‘wooden bicycle’ and a bust of a Thai politician (who he was I have no idea)...
I wander around (backpack and all) for a few minutes and - sure enough - I soon spy a terminal that says ‘First Bridge’. No-one speaks much English but the driver manages to communicate with me, in a haphazard way, that this vehicle is, indeed, setting off the border, in about 25 minutes…and for the princely sum of just under $1 I can hop aboard. Hop aboard I do and get out my book as the bus slowly fills up. I’ve been told that plenty of people in Laos have visas that allow them to cross this border easily (relatives on the other side or perhaps work contracts?) and by the time we pull out of the station, it’s pretty crowded...
It’s a beautiful spot, surrounded by limestone mountains, dense forests, caves and a lagoon, rice fields and picturesque views that will make you sigh. For those who love the outdoors, you could really settle in for a while - lush greenery, hiking paths, the Tham Pu Kham (‘Blue Lagoon’) cave with its reclining Buddha inside, taking a pricy ride up in a balloon at sunrise or, as I did, hiking a mountain trail one morning and kayaking down the river the next afternoon. ..
The station itself is enormous, modern, glittering, all glass and Chinese platform attendants (all donning masks) who - 15 minutes before your allotted departure - direct you to your assigned seat. The train’s exterior is glossy, with tinted windows and in some odd ways it reminds me of journeying by Eurostar from London to Paris, save for the faint smell of damp in my carriage! The doors slide shut, automatically, 30 seconds before departure and, bang on time, we’re off...
I’ve loved being here but I can’t help feeling uncomfortable because the cultural identity of this town seems to be in serious danger. At the beginning of my trip, I met a cool Dutch couple who’d been cycling around Asia for 18 months. They’d travelled all across Laos and seen the abject poverty. In their words, this place was nothing short of Disneyland. But money talks and as more and more people rock up in Laos, looking for a ‘unique travel experience’ this idyllic spot won’t be idyllic for much longer...
Asking what was wrong, she was told that they’d almost run out of rice, which meant they couldn’t serve customers. The only way to make sure they got through the evening was by buying more, but they didn’t have the funds. Could they borrow something from her? “How much did they need?” I asked Rachel. “20,000 kip,” she replied. “Just under a dollar. Of course, I subbed them. They took the money to another stall, came back with a huge pot of rice and soon they were back in business.”
Today tens of thousands of UXO (‘unexploded ordnance’ aka explosive weapons that did not detonate) remain, continuing to maim and kill people. As I wander the small museum, there are examples of these weapons everywhere - including ‘cluster bombs’. These exploded before they hit the ground, opening up and throwing out smaller bombs named ‘bombies’. Around 30 percent never exploded. And since these bombs are still live, 20,000 Laotians have died since 1973, with it being estimated two weeks someone in Laos is killed (or horribly maimed) as a result of accidentally stepping on a UXO…
On you wander and then suddenly, the first glimpse of water. Wow! Pools that are crystal, clear, a fabulous shade of turquoise, surrounded by lush greenery and plenty of shade. Geologists call this type of falls ‘travertine’ - a type of limestone formed when mineral-rich rivers, lakes and spring water evaporate). The water cascades down, from one to the next and it’s just staggeringly beautiful.
So much so that words don’t do it justice.
What am I doing? Exploring the Wats, strolling the streets and spying local school kids at play in their break, eating street food at the Night Market, exploring the backstreets close to the Mekong River…taking long afternoon naps in my guesthouse…reading up on the history of this little-known part of South East Asia….falling into conversation with locals and appreciating just how gracious, respectful and charming they are…wandering the night market and gazing at the brightly-colored lanterns…
Day Two was entirely different. It left me humbled and grateful. Humbled at the local Laotians who sat on the floor of the boat for hours, not once complaining. And grateful for what I have - the time and money to travel the world, a profession that I don’t just make money from but I actually enjoy and the sense of freedom - to be a solo woman, on the road, with no-one to hold me back and a credit card and stash of US dollars for emergencies…
If I’m honest, personally I’d have to say ‘yes’ to the boat ride. Despite all the difficulties, It was a great adventure. It gave me the chance to see life along the Mekong river- a chance you simply don’t get if you fly or drive across Laos. It was also a chance to ‘switch off’ from daily life because all I could do was read, nap, look at scenery, take photos on the boat and talk to other people. many people, like myself, engrossed in a good book…
Unlike yesterday, this day passes agonisingly slowly. My back aches and the seat is uncomfortable. It’s blisteringly hot outside and the humidity must be over 70%...there’s a little breeze but not enough. All of the elan of yesterday is gone, especially because we’re stopping constantly to let locals jump on and off. I offer the seat next to me - in the next few hours - to an old man, a young woman with a baby, and then a teenager who proceeds to call his friend over. The two of them plonk themselves down inone space and are soon spilling over into mine…
There are two kinds of seats on our boat - ‘luxurious’ padded and ‘hot polo’ wooden bench. I’ve lucked out and got one in the first category. They’ve been ripped out of big vans and they’re not just comfy but roomy- I can even stretch my legs out! All of our bags are placed in the hold and I also see locals loading their belongings onto the roof. At the front of the boat I spy a portly Buddhist monk in his 50’s, with three children, all in their saffron robes, next to him…
I arrive with moments to spare at the Chang Rai bus station and as I walk in I see the local bus pulling out. I stick out my hand and, amazingly, it stops, and the conductress pulls me on, along with my heavy backpack. It’s full of locals, and there’s only one other tourist - a guy called Liad who, as fate would have it, is also from Israel and lives not 4 km from me! We drive along a pretty well-paved road, passing paddy fields and palm trees, staring at small Thai farms and watch locals get on and off at villages along with livestock and huge bowls of noodles…
I feel no need to engage in tourist activities, such as visiting an (ethical?) Elephant Sanctuary or partake in a cookery class. I check myself into a great little place which is family-run and has comfy bedding and air-con (all for the princely sum of $15 per night) and spend my time walking in the backstreets, eating Pad Thai day after day from a tiny spot with a few tables where you point to the picture on the menu and an old woman proceeds to make it in front of you…
It’s a treasure trove, a veritable treasure trove of furniture, lighting, prints, sculptures, chinaware, household goods, toys, jewellery…and it’s air conditioned. I am entranced, wandering from booth to booth, staring at statues of Buddhas, china cups, a brass gramophone and a lethal-looking dagger…
I move to a far more residential part of the city, where there are almost no tourist spaces, and end up in a co-working space called Pillow and Bread, which really is a good place to get used to Thailand. I wander the streets aimlessly, stopping in the grocery stores to stare at local products. I eat at night markets, along with all the locals - I point to pictures of dishes that look like (or are marked vegetarian) and seem to end up eating well. …
I don’t have any Baht and rather than stand and queue to make an exchange, I try my luck with the conductor. I offer her two dollar bills (which is more than 60 baht) and she gladly accepts and tucks them into her little purse. The bus fills up and off we go. Almost one hour and 45 minutes later (the traffic is horrendous, not just because it’s Bangkok but also because it’s the morning rush hour) I’m deposited - as Moovit says - right where I should be.
That’s it. I’ve decided. A one-way ticket to Bangkok, courtesy of Emirates Airlines. From there, who knows? I’ll have a backpack, a day pack and my MacBook for writing; I’ll carry some cash and a credit card. I need nothing but the bare essentials - after all, anything I forget I can buy along the way. I am spiritually depleted but this, I am sure, is not permanent. And just like that, I understand I’m off on another one of my solo travels.
Krakauer is a fine storyteller and doesn’t shrink from difficult questions in this book - including asking whether anyone who puts themselves in such danger to stand “on the roof of the world” is actually rational. Because, let’s face it, climbing Everest isn’t for your average thrill-seeker - you’ll need $65,000 minimum and, quite possibly, a death wish...
