Our trip down the Mekong was quite an experience! After spending Friday night in the border town of Chiang Khong, in northern Thailand, we crossed the Mekong River early the next morning with many other folks in long, low open motorboats. There was no dock. The boats had been pulled up on the sandy bank of the river. I felt like a refugee fleeing trouble as we scooted across the river in what seemed to be an overloaded boat. Luckily it was not far across, and I assured myself that I could swim that far in an emergency.
Getting ready to cross the Mekong from Thailand to Laos.
The few hours that followed gave us a glimpse into the apparent disorganization of a "developing" country. Going through the Lao immigration process took 4-5 hours. It was a mob scene, with hundreds of travelers from around the world trying to run this gauntlet at the small office on the banks of the Lao side of the river. Our passports were surrendered for scrutinizing to the anonymous and mute officials behind a barred window, leaving us feeling uneasy and unable to communicate. At least, unlike refugees, our lives were not held in the balance! Finally, after quite some time and scores of other applicants later, my passport was held up to the crowd silently from behind the window, while a sympathetic nearby tourist read the print and called my name. I paid the $35 fee and retrieved my passport. Bruce did the same. That was the first step!
The multinational mob scene at Laotian Immigration or 'what have you done with my passport?'
Suffice to say that, after more waiting and more scrutinizing by the police, we finally made our way through the town and down the riverbank to a "slow" - and LONG - boat. By this time, around noon, the two boats were jammed with travelers. Signs had forewarned us that there was no food on the boats. Not to worry, I never go far without my own supply of food! We also had heard that the boats might be rather primitive, with hard bench seats. Cushions were being sold on both sides of the river. However, we were pleasantly surprised to discover that the seats were similar to bus seats, with no extra cushions needed.
Bruce makes his way down to our "home-away-from-home" for a couple of days, our slow boat.
Each boat held about 70 passengers. Most were young foreign nationals, although a Laotian family congregated at the end of the boat, sitting on the floor where their small children slept, stretched out next to a brown, wrinkled little grandmother.
That first afternoon passed with a sense of adventure in the air. People chatted, drank their own stores of beer and hard liquor, read books, took photos of passing scenery. The boat, despite its name, was not exactly slow and kept a steady pace, slowing only to negotiate its way around rocky outcroppings with tricky currents. (The term “slow” boat is used to differentiate it from the “fast” boats, small motor boats that go extremely fast and are said to be quite dangerous.) The scenery along the riverside was very rural, with water buffalo walking in a single file along a path, reddish cattle resting in small groups, the occasional village perched high on stilts up on the side of a hill, small plots of land planted with crops, fishermen working alone or in pairs from small open boats, but mostly forests and hills of varying heights.
Water buffalo on the banks of the Mekong River.
A lone fishermen plying the Mekong River.
As the day began to fade away, we wondered how long it would be before we arrived at the small village of Pak Ben where we would find our own accommodations for the night. Before boarding the boat, we had succumbed to the offer of a pre-arranged room and had paid for it. We had been told to look for a man holding up a poster for "the Bunmee Hotel". Little did we realize that we'd be doing this on the banks of the river in the dark!
Bruce and I had planned that, when we arrived in Pak Ben, I would jump off and find the hotel guy, while he tried to retrieve our one suitcase, stashed away on the other boat, which hadn’t arrived yet. So, I was the first one to walk the narrow plank, set a little precariously on some jagged rocks. Our hotel guy was easy to find among all the others touting their rooms, including ours, now reduced in price from what we had paid! No matter, we had peace of mind for the afternoon, knowing that we had a room.
It all worked out well. I rode in the back of the pick-up truck with 8 or 10 other passengers to the rustic hotel perched on the side of the hill overlooking the river. Bruce arrived soon after with our suitcase. He had been offered marijuana and opium in the dark - but had declined! Our room was "serviceable" with a clean bathroom and a double bed but was missing the usual essentials, like towels and toilet paper. Ah, well, it was only for one night.
That evening we ate dinner on the porch of the restaurant overlooking the Mekong. Through the darkness, we could see a large bonfire across the river. We invited an “older” German couple (older than most other travelers, not older than us) to join us for dinner. I had seen them early in the day, she bossing him around in a frantic voice amidst the mob scene at immigration. They were calmed down by dinnertime, and we had a delightful meal exchanging stories. Despite the slightly scruffy surroundings, the food was delicious (chicken and cashew stir-fry. I’m sampling local versions everywhere).
Delicious pineapple crepe breakfast on the porch in Pak Ben, overlooking the river.
The next morning got off to a much better start, and we were ensconced on the boat early. The crowd of youthful vagabonds was quite subdued. The boat stopped at sandy ports along the river, distinguished only by a small group of Laotians gathered on the beach. As more and more people boarded, it began to feel like we were on a water-borne Guatemalan chicken bus where there was always room for one more passenger! Our craft became pretty tightly packed, with some luggage stored on the tin roof of the boat, just like the chicken buses! No chickens ever appeared, however!
Laotian travelers waiting for the slow boat.
The scenery was similar the second day. We saw villagers beating palm frond on the sandy banks, a young woman washing her long black hair in the river, kids swimming, a tiny regal goat perched on a promontory, bamboo fishing poles stuck in rocky crevices, waiting for their owners to put them into action. As the day wore on, more beer came out and voices rose. The backpacker crew began to play card games and charades. As we passed fishermen, I'd notice their slightly startled look and their gaze that followed us, returned by a few ship-board gazes, two worlds connected momentarily. For the most part, however, I had the sense of a western bubble floating downstream, oblivious to and totally disconnected from the centuries old life-style that was passing by.
Our mostly young boat-mates.
Just before we arrived in Luang Prabang, the boat pulled up onto a sandy beach and the Laotian passengers got off and were greeted by waiting relatives. We were a little alarmed when we saw the captain remove many tanks of propane gas that had been stored right under our feet!
The tourist stop was next, and was slightly more developed, with a long cement incline leading down to the beach where the boat was pulled ashore. Thankfully, it was not yet dark and we were able to get a tuk-tuk to take us to the Bellevue Bungalows, which had been recommended to us by Vicky and Simon. It had been a delightful, relaxing cruise on a small part of the mighty Mekong River, that is such an important presence in Southeast Asia.
The few hours that followed gave us a glimpse into the apparent disorganization of a "developing" country. Going through the Lao immigration process took 4-5 hours. It was a mob scene, with hundreds of travelers from around the world trying to run this gauntlet at the small office on the banks of the Lao side of the river. Our passports were surrendered for scrutinizing to the anonymous and mute officials behind a barred window, leaving us feeling uneasy and unable to communicate. At least, unlike refugees, our lives were not held in the balance! Finally, after quite some time and scores of other applicants later, my passport was held up to the crowd silently from behind the window, while a sympathetic nearby tourist read the print and called my name. I paid the $35 fee and retrieved my passport. Bruce did the same. That was the first step!
Suffice to say that, after more waiting and more scrutinizing by the police, we finally made our way through the town and down the riverbank to a "slow" - and LONG - boat. By this time, around noon, the two boats were jammed with travelers. Signs had forewarned us that there was no food on the boats. Not to worry, I never go far without my own supply of food! We also had heard that the boats might be rather primitive, with hard bench seats. Cushions were being sold on both sides of the river. However, we were pleasantly surprised to discover that the seats were similar to bus seats, with no extra cushions needed.
Bruce makes his way down to our "home-away-from-home" for a couple of days, our slow boat.
Each boat held about 70 passengers. Most were young foreign nationals, although a Laotian family congregated at the end of the boat, sitting on the floor where their small children slept, stretched out next to a brown, wrinkled little grandmother.
That first afternoon passed with a sense of adventure in the air. People chatted, drank their own stores of beer and hard liquor, read books, took photos of passing scenery. The boat, despite its name, was not exactly slow and kept a steady pace, slowing only to negotiate its way around rocky outcroppings with tricky currents. (The term “slow” boat is used to differentiate it from the “fast” boats, small motor boats that go extremely fast and are said to be quite dangerous.) The scenery along the riverside was very rural, with water buffalo walking in a single file along a path, reddish cattle resting in small groups, the occasional village perched high on stilts up on the side of a hill, small plots of land planted with crops, fishermen working alone or in pairs from small open boats, but mostly forests and hills of varying heights.
Water buffalo on the banks of the Mekong River.
A lone fishermen plying the Mekong River.
As the day began to fade away, we wondered how long it would be before we arrived at the small village of Pak Ben where we would find our own accommodations for the night. Before boarding the boat, we had succumbed to the offer of a pre-arranged room and had paid for it. We had been told to look for a man holding up a poster for "the Bunmee Hotel". Little did we realize that we'd be doing this on the banks of the river in the dark!
Bruce and I had planned that, when we arrived in Pak Ben, I would jump off and find the hotel guy, while he tried to retrieve our one suitcase, stashed away on the other boat, which hadn’t arrived yet. So, I was the first one to walk the narrow plank, set a little precariously on some jagged rocks. Our hotel guy was easy to find among all the others touting their rooms, including ours, now reduced in price from what we had paid! No matter, we had peace of mind for the afternoon, knowing that we had a room.
It all worked out well. I rode in the back of the pick-up truck with 8 or 10 other passengers to the rustic hotel perched on the side of the hill overlooking the river. Bruce arrived soon after with our suitcase. He had been offered marijuana and opium in the dark - but had declined! Our room was "serviceable" with a clean bathroom and a double bed but was missing the usual essentials, like towels and toilet paper. Ah, well, it was only for one night.
That evening we ate dinner on the porch of the restaurant overlooking the Mekong. Through the darkness, we could see a large bonfire across the river. We invited an “older” German couple (older than most other travelers, not older than us) to join us for dinner. I had seen them early in the day, she bossing him around in a frantic voice amidst the mob scene at immigration. They were calmed down by dinnertime, and we had a delightful meal exchanging stories. Despite the slightly scruffy surroundings, the food was delicious (chicken and cashew stir-fry. I’m sampling local versions everywhere).
Delicious pineapple crepe breakfast on the porch in Pak Ben, overlooking the river.
The next morning got off to a much better start, and we were ensconced on the boat early. The crowd of youthful vagabonds was quite subdued. The boat stopped at sandy ports along the river, distinguished only by a small group of Laotians gathered on the beach. As more and more people boarded, it began to feel like we were on a water-borne Guatemalan chicken bus where there was always room for one more passenger! Our craft became pretty tightly packed, with some luggage stored on the tin roof of the boat, just like the chicken buses! No chickens ever appeared, however!
Laotian travelers waiting for the slow boat.
The scenery was similar the second day. We saw villagers beating palm frond on the sandy banks, a young woman washing her long black hair in the river, kids swimming, a tiny regal goat perched on a promontory, bamboo fishing poles stuck in rocky crevices, waiting for their owners to put them into action. As the day wore on, more beer came out and voices rose. The backpacker crew began to play card games and charades. As we passed fishermen, I'd notice their slightly startled look and their gaze that followed us, returned by a few ship-board gazes, two worlds connected momentarily. For the most part, however, I had the sense of a western bubble floating downstream, oblivious to and totally disconnected from the centuries old life-style that was passing by.
Riverside scene
Our mostly young boat-mates.
Just before we arrived in Luang Prabang, the boat pulled up onto a sandy beach and the Laotian passengers got off and were greeted by waiting relatives. We were a little alarmed when we saw the captain remove many tanks of propane gas that had been stored right under our feet!
The tourist stop was next, and was slightly more developed, with a long cement incline leading down to the beach where the boat was pulled ashore. Thankfully, it was not yet dark and we were able to get a tuk-tuk to take us to the Bellevue Bungalows, which had been recommended to us by Vicky and Simon. It had been a delightful, relaxing cruise on a small part of the mighty Mekong River, that is such an important presence in Southeast Asia.
