French Rambo

World Lesson #439: Don't be bullied by a middle-aged, tanned and toned, athletic French diving instructor who has something to prove.

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.

Muang Ngoi

From my journal: Nov 8, 2007

One can only get to Muang Ngoi by boat. You can get as far as Nog Khiaw by bus (about 3.5 hours from Luang Phabang), but the last 1.5 hours must be done by "slow boat" down one of the most picturesque rivers.

Falangs, or foreigners, only started going to Muang Ngoi within the last 10 years. The "crowds" are an even more recent development in about the last 2. The difference: more bungalows and a phone line for emergencies and to let loved ones know you are staying longer. Other than that, it's still a small riverside village surviving on subsistence farming...okay, and tourism these days, but even with the influx of visitors (give or take 25 a day), Muang Ngoi has not lost its magical core.

There is one main street lined with basic shops bearing hand painted signs. The street stretches about 200-300 yards and is packed dirt overrun by chickens, ducks and other assorted fowl. There are no motorbikes or cars, no Muang Ngoi t-shirts, no 5-star (or even 2-star) restaurants, one hot shower and electricity only from 6pm to 9pm when the generators are turned on.

Some disciplined travelers visit for their planned handful of days while others get lost in the ambiance and stay months. There is no sense of time in Muang Ngoi and no real compelling reason to leave. I went for 3 days and ended up staying 5 (a relatively short extension by extension standards).

Trekking to more rural villages, learning to fish with nets, meandering through rice fields, picnicking by the riverside on table cloths of banana leaves fill the days quite adequately. Reading, writing, strolling up and down the "main strip" can keep even them most antsy traveler occupied. I feel like I've done nothing and everything at the same time. It feels good. I think I should go before I get stuck here.

The Bowling Alley

Everything in Laos closes at 11:30 by law. All residents, temporary and permanent, are meant to be at their "registered location" by midnight. However, just like anywhere else in the world, where there is a will there is a way.

For late-night revelers in Luang Prabang, that will leads one to the bowling alley. Nope, it's not a bar with a clever name - it's a bowling alley, complete with shoes (that no one wears) and state of the art electronic score keeping and ball returns.

While I am only an average bowler at home, in a Southeast Asian alley populated mostly by nationalities that were not raised on bowling birthday parties and did not have to turn to the sport for entertainment as minors not allowed at the bars, I was pure brilliance - "el dudarino" in the flesh (for those Big Lebowski fans).

I think I'll stay here a while.

Luang Prabang, Laos

Luang Prabang is one of the only places in the world that you can wake up hungover and robbed and still love the world and humanity.

I had shared a taxi from the airport with 3 Irish girls and a New Zealander. Arriving late, many guesthouses were full and the pickins' very slim. Luckily, we all found accommodation along the same road.

My particular room was $3...and *may* have been worth it for its offerings. It was the cheapest room I've had yet, but also felt like it. The bed was lumpy, the fan was dusty and the door was a large piece of plywood held shut by a hinge and small padlock on the outside and a small sliding hinge from the inside. It would do for one night.

The ladies and I ventured out and tried the local offerings, namely Beer Lao - the tastiest beer in Asia by reputation and in fact. The night was fairly uneventful otherwise and we made our way back to our street behind the post office. I came back, slid the hinge across and fell into a deep slumber.

Around 7am I awoke with the door swinging open freely. I quickly closed it and looked around. My money belt had been sitting on top of my backpack (dumb...I know). I had just stocked up on $900 USD to carry through Laos where banks are few and far between. PANIC!

Credit cards - check.
Passport - check.
Money - $20, $40, $60, $80, $825, $826, $827...

I had been robbed - not blind, mind you, but robbed nonetheless. I looked up and the door I had just shut had once again swung open. Mild headache/hangover aside, I could not blame the Beer Laos, just my poor door latch that obviously was prone to wiggling loose with the slightest tremors common in the fairly rickety 2-story abode. It felt shitty and scary, but compared to some stories I've heard (like being robbed by a cyclo (read: bicycle taxi) driver with a machete), I got off easy, only about $50 in 10 dollar bills were gone.

This is the kind of thing that could ruin not only your day, but spoil a city. Not Luang Prabang. I stepped outside and was rejuvenated - healed by the magical spirit of this town. The streets were quaint, the people friendly. Monks in brightly colored orange robes roam the streets. Horns are used only when absolutely necessary. Vegetation is lush. Vendors leave you alone (for the most part) until you approach them. The air is fresh and the pace scrumptiously sleepy. Every moment is pregnant with positivity.

That said, I may be an optimist, but I'm not stupid. I upgraded to a $6 room in another guesthouse with a door that has a proper doorknob and lock. Perfect.

Laos Airlines

I arrived at the Hanoi airport early for my flight to Luang Phabang, Laos...too early. Laos Airlines only has 4 flights a day and one rotating check-in station. Nothing was posted. I became worried. I soon found the one screen that displayed the right information. Everything would be okay.

An hour and a half before the flight I got in line - a line of 2 other parties. I patiently waited, checked-in and proceeded to my assigned gate in the International terminal. No one was there. I became worried. About 25 minutes before the departure time an announcement was made and a small line appeared. Everything would be okay.

We filed through the gate onto a bus that would take us to the plane...all 14 of us. I hadn't taken any motion sickness medication. I became worried. We arrived at the plane (an ATR 72 for those aviation fanatics, an 80-passenger propeller plane for those not as versed in planes). Everything would be okay.

The 14 of us boarded and sat grouped together from rows 8 to 11 - very weird. No one else boarded and our plane scheduled for 6:25pm took off at 6:10.

The plastic interior of the plane shook a bit more than normal. I read the in-flight magazine to distract myself. The magazine was littered with blatantly improper and sometimes uninterpretable English such as, "Boat Racing Festival on the NamKhan River in the World Herritage City Luang Phabang on 11 Sep 2007. How to funny let' s go and touching yourself." I hoped that Laos Airlines employed better pilots than copy editors. I became worried...but laughed out loud.

The flight was an hour. Not very eventful other than a small meal - one of the only airplane meals my very forgiving palette has ever turned away (except for this strange little purple cake thing). The landing was dark and fast as we took a sharp dive to avoid the mountains, but make the landing strip. Everything was okay.

Luang Prabang, Laos

Luang Prabang, Laos is the type of place you can wake up and realized that you've been robbed and still walk outside and feel a sense of magic.

Reflections on Vietnam

Vietnam is a destination recommended for any history buff or beach lover, culture cravers or nature nerds. There is something for everyone.

The biggest "something" that I'm taking away, however, is a real respect for the human spirit and its ability to forgive and a sadness stemming from the blatant inability of my own government to learn from the past. A few of my thoughts...

From 1959 to 1975 an estimated 3 to 5 million people lost their lives in Vietnam. About 63,000 US troops were killed to protect American interests and limit the spread of Communism. One hundred and twenty billion dollars were spent on the war.

Today as capitalism is alive and well on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi, I am left wondering if it was worth it. While one might argue that an internal struggle to unify a country long divided was unavoidable, I found very little that justifies the escalated warfare, increased hardship and extreme number of casualties caused by American intervention. A natural political evolution brought peace, prosperity and capitalism to Vietnam, not American troops.

If we only knew then what we know now...

We can't change America's actions from 1959-1975, but we can salvage something positive by becoming pupils of history rather than propaganda. Instead 3,806 US troops have died in Iraq since 2003. Civilian deaths are estimated to be over 650,000. And if Bush's request for an additional $196 billion dollars is approved, total spending will exceed $600 billion by next October (all of this happening as he vetoes $35 billion to provide healthcare for 10 million American children and underfunds alternative energy research).

The similarities with what we did in Vietnam are shamefully clear.

Those who know me know how I feel about the war, but at the risk of sounding redundant - let's work for peace and perhaps put that $196 billion towards renewable energy research instead.