TManTrek.Com: Terry Lynch's Trip Around the World

Laos is a beautiful country that is just now emerging from the isolation the communist powers instilled in the 70’s. Tourism is just starting to trickle through in the last few years, which is the reason the people have not entirely fallen victim to the seducing whore that is the all might dollar (or that everyone claims its become). It also means the infrastructure is in chaos, so a simple trip from point A to B may result in a suicide mission not far off from what was experienced in Cambodia.

The Laos currency is the ‘kip’, and the exchange rate is roughly 10,000 kip to $1 USD. The largest denomination tends to be a 5,000 note, so a quick trip to the Bureau de Change (ATMs don’t exist) I found myself with a virtual stack of bills. Needless to say I felt like a drug dealer with my pockets bulging with cash, so I immediately formed an entourage of homies to protect me from “da man”. Word

Eighty percent of the population in Laos lives in the countryside, so the cities are not a choking metropolis likes its close neighbors. My first stop was the capital Vientiane.

Vientiane is an extremely laid back city for Indochina, and when I say laid back I mean its empty and there’s really nothing to do but indulge in some token French bakeries. Lots have changes since Paul Theroux summed up Vientiane appropriately circa 1975 "The brothels are cleaner than the hotels, the marijuana cheaper than pipe tobacco, and opium easier to find than a glass of cold beer". That was when the city catered to the CIA and Air America pilots - now the brothels are guesthouses, the opium dens are bars, and you can enjoy a larger pitcher of cold beer for around 80 cents.

One highlight of my brief visit was to the Victory Arch at the entrance of the city. The arch, which symbolizes the communist rise to power (and eventual isolation), was build mainly from concrete “donated” by the U.S. Government. What I mean is that Uncle Sam supplied concrete and finances to build an airstrip for bombing runs over Vietnam. The Laotians detoured the cement trucks under a different motivation.

My next stop was Vang Vieng, a backpacker paradise where one traveler I met indicated he “wasted” two months there (I would find out why this was later). Feeling up to an adventure, I booked a third class bus ticket in order to save some cash and seemingly share the ride with some live poultry. As I took my seat I was being approached by an elderly women grasping two wailing chickens by their feet. I begun to panic realizing that she would probably end up sitting beside me, but instead she passed and two lovely Dutch girls took the seat. Their names were Ine and Femke, and we would eventually travel for the next month together. Well, the truth is they were stalking me.

During my initial stroll down the street I bumped into a Korean man that shared the bus from Hanoi with me. He only knows how to say ‘You nice guy’ in English, but somehow communicated that he was making dinner and invited me along. There were more comrades from the same bus there, so we enjoyed some Korean food and drank far too much Lao Lao. After dinner we decided to hit some of the bars, and en route the Korean man decided to hold my hand and scream “You nice guy!” for the remainder of the evening. From what I experienced in Asia, India, and even Africa, its customary for hetero men to hold hands in public – and supposedly a great sign of respect if a Westerner receives this gesture. Problem was I was initially paranoid, perhaps from too much Lao Lao or my thought process from living in San Francisco too long. I soon realized that he wasn’t going to relinquish my hand, and it wasn’t until 2am when the “You nice guy!” comments stopped and Korean man decided to stumble home. I ventured back to my guesthouse and was greeted by the owners’ son. He summoned me into a back room and produced a duffel bag full of Hashish.
“Very Good Sheeet!” he kept on repeating in broken English. I told him I was high on life but thanks for the gesture. I soon began to realize how one could “waste” two months here.

The next day I joined a group for Kayaking and caving. The latter is not for the closterphobic, as you barrel down an underground river with the cave’s ceiling inching to ten or so inches from the river’s surface. Actually the best part of the entire day was a brief visit to a tiny village on the banks of the river. They had a pet monkey that took an interest to a big-chested British girl. The monkey would repeatedly climb up her arm and yank down her tank top fully exposing her HUBES (Huge Boobs). Her boyfriend didn’t appreciate when I kept repeating “Good little monkey”every time he performed his task. I’m actually considering getting a pet monkey and teaching it this trick.

Luang Prabang is the religious center of Laos, and represents an actual fork in the road for travelers. If entering from the south, one can either take a 2 day barge up the Mekong to the Thai border (a speedboat only takes 4 hours but it averages one death a month due to accidents), or a bus up north along the dirt roads towards the Golden Triangle. Specific sections of Northern Laos, Thailand, and Burma form a triangle which produces the most heroin in the world (supposedly). I decided on the latter, and Ine and Femke headed in the same direction.

The famed “Bus Ride From Hell” is one of those traveling episodes that reminds travelers its not about point A and B, but rather what happens on the journey between two points. We were looking at a 10 hour overnight trip, and it started with the bus being 3 hours late. I squeezed into the seat and my knees were violently sticking into the seat back in from of me, bad sign. Then a women approached with two kicking and screaming roosters and sat behind me, another bad sign. The gentleman sitting to me right was handling a burlap sack that kept moving and eventually ‘meowed’, strange sign. Then a naked little girl, less than two years old, approached me. She stopped next to my seat, pointed to me and said something that sounded like “Guweoo” – then proceeded to urinate on the aisle next to me, a really bad sign.

The absolute worse was when the bus driver climbed aboard and began to do the worst thing possible. Bus drivers have a tendency to blare THE WORST MUSIC IN THE WORLD AT AN INTOLERABLE VOLUME to prevent them from falling asleep at the wheel. I am always respectful to their culture and music, but this music is unbearable. It’s a computerized version of bad karaoke, throw in a keyboard and some senseless wailing and you’re a popstar! So basically, I was crammed in a tiny seat with roosters to my back and a cat in a sack. It smelled of pee and the crap music meant no sleep for me. Thirteen hours later we reached Luang Namtha, after two breakdowns and my attempt to jump out the window.

The hill tribe trek in Northern Laos was cool, more Lao Lao and a free massage upon entry. Another perk to the trip was our hottie cook who enjoyed bathing (with a sarong on) although not minding spectators.

The entrance to the village was a sacred archway, and if a white person were to touch it the village would have to sacrifice a pig in order to cleanse to village of tainted white man coodies.

In the village we were greeted by the chiefs’ brother who shared some local songs with their guests. When it was out turn to belt a tune I had a brief dose of stage fright. The only lyrics I could remember were from “Sweet Home Chicago” and Snoop Dog’s “Gin and Juice”. Needless to say I got a standing ovation, especially when they heard the lyrics “I got bitches in the living room getting it on, and they ain’t leaving til six in the morning”.

Enter Mike Hutchings, aka Hutch, aka Hutch Daddy, into the picture. I was also looking forward to return to Thailand with its phenomenal food and no more long hauls with sacked felines. I was scheduled to meet Hutch in Chang Ri (Northern Thailand), which meant one last pickup ride to the border. It was about 100 miles to the border, which meant an 8 hour truck ride over unpaved road and through rivers. I say “through” rivers because bridges don’t seem to exist. Trucks literally go into a river at a designated crossing and hopefully make it across. The scheduling for these types of trips have a simple rule, as soon as the trucks are full way beyond a sane capacity, they leave. Ine, Femke, and I were late arrivals so I ended up in the back of the cab. The seat in from of me was occupied by a towering, 5 foot tall Laotian man.

Meanwhile, the 6’2” chesty American was in the back with his knees touching his chin. Throughout the entire trip, the midget in front would guard his precious seat. Even during our numerous stops to cool the brakes, Webster would not budge just in case I would make an attempt to steal the seat.

We finally reached Huay Xia, and a short boat trip across the Mekong we found our way back to Thailand. Ahhhh Thailand, home of smiles, sweet curry, and a dirty French man with a mullet on the back of a moped with a transvestite. (2 pictures of French man with mullet)

Thailand Revisited
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