Phillipe was on my slow boat to Muang Ngoi. I saw his tanned athletic body, short gray hair and sport glasses and thought, "Pity the souls that get him on their trek." Turned out one of those souls was none other than me.
Upon arriving in Muang Ngoi I strolled the main street inquiring about the various treks offered by the locals. Two days would be good, I thought (this would include one night in one of the more remote villages). Phillipe saw me looking and made his approach. "Are shou looking for a trek?"
Should I lie? No one else seemed to be bouncing around looking for a group. It would probably be good to get two in a posse before collecting quotes and information. Sure - I agreed to look around with him.
Before I knew it, Phillipe was concocting plans of his own..."I sink ve do not need a guide, no?" Long story short, I finally agreed to this half-baked plan and we agreed to meet at 7:30am (two hours before the official treks would go) to set off. I had a first aid kit purchased at REI. He had a compass. We had both made a "mental picture" of the map.
At dinner we met Albert - maybe one of the kindest travelers I have met so far. He seemed keen for a longer trek as well and soon became part of our adventure. We met for breakfast and all got baguettes for the road.
The morning was stunning. We started out past the primary school and village soccer field and were soon following a well defined path through lush greenery. We found the first stop (the caves) without a hitch. The trees opened up into a vast plain of rice fields which glowed golden in the sun with bluish-gray mountains providing an oh-so-scenic backdrop. Phillipe took his shirt off. I offered sunscreen. Nope - too much of a bronzed man after spending the last 9 months leading murky dives for the expat population in Kuwait.
Around 10:30am we arrived at the first village. The children were excited to see us, gathered round and wanted pens. I noticed that Phillipe's ankle was bleeding from a sharp spot on his sandal. He somewhat begrudgingly accepted first aid.
A small boy with a huge gash in his left foot sat down next to me pointing to the dirty swollen wound. I washed it the best I could without pulling out the rubber gloves or fearing some strange contractible disease. Some antibacterial gel and a band aid later, he was quite content to continue romping around the dusty village filled with chickens and third-world dogs.
After a bit of a visit and some spicy soup, we continued on to the next village an approximated 3 hours away.
About 10 minutes into the next leg of our journey we hit a river with no obvious extent ion of the trail. We walked a bit and saw a trail, but was it the right one? We took it and climbed a small mountain into more fields. No one seemed to be around. We kept going, but began to wonder if we had chosen the right path. The path got more and more overgrown.
We saw a family harvesting some sort of root vegetable. The boys steered us back telling us that we were going the wrong way. We continued...but, soon turned back and found the family again. The young girl spoke okay English (okay being used very liberally). She and the family packed up their goods and walked us back to the river where we had lost the track and pointed us in the right direction. We had lost 2+ hours.
Soon after we came across a fork in the road. There was a kind man to point us in the right direction...but was it the right direction? Did he know where we were going? I chimed in, "We only have 2-3 hours more of light. I think we should go back to the village, stay there and find a guide to take us tomorrow."
"No, I vill continue," Phillipe confirmed. Albert did not know what to do with this newly emerged, but inevitable clash of opinions. We brokered a deal - we'd hike another hour and if we thought we were lost, we'd turn back.
This solution was satisfactory for about 10 minutes until panic set in. I couldn't trust French Rambo (a perfectly suited name later used by Albert) to merely just turn around. Suddenly I couldn't breathe. Closely following, I couldn't hold back the tears. I could hear Phillipe in my head saying "Pussy!"
I knew where I was. I knew I could make it back to Muang Ngoi before nightfall. I knew that neither Phillipe nor Albert knew any better where we were going than I did. I knew I had to get out...and now. I announced my departure. Albert wavered, but decided that the rules of team dynamics insist that he go with Phillipe. I was in Muang Ngoi by dinner and booked myself with a guide the following day who would teach me how to fish with a net. Good fun.
After catching three fish of embarrassingly small size, I returned to Muang Ngoi. I went to the restaurant where I knew I would find Phillipe and Albert to hear their tale of adventure. Turned out, it was such a large adventure that they were not there to meet me. It would be another 24-hours before I would see them again. I started working out in my head how I would describe where I left them to the rescue party...if there was a rescue party.
In the end, turns out that they had gotten terribly lost (surprise!) and hiked and re-hiked several mountains with little success and much confusion. Albert sounded frustrated. Phillipe was jovial. I was relieved.
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