Laos Part 3 - Chiang Khong to Pak Beng

A brown-grey misty morning greeted me as I looked over the Mekong from the balcony. It was just before 6am. I knew the river was there, but all I could see was a blurry haze where the river would be. Trees along the banks gave the scene an almost eerie, surreal feel, like something out of a Stephen King novel.

Even with the heavy fog, the sun was already well on its way across the sky, but was just hiding behind the cloud. There wasn’t a breath of wind. Just standing outside felt like standing in light rain, but without getting wet; you could feel the moisture on your skin.

I showered quickly, ready for breakfast. The large group from the previous night had already eaten and checked out. The large restaurant at the guesthouse was empty, with a table of closhers at one end with what remained of the buffet. It was one thing to have not refilled the food, but the little that was left over was not even kept warm by the candles underneath the stainless steel plates. Not that this really impacted me, given I don’t eat meat or eggs, but there was little else apart from some thin, white, sliced bread, and a few slices of pineapple and melon. At least the coffee was hot and reasonably good.

Adisak, the operator of the Nagi of the Mekong boat, had left word with reception that he would pick us up at 8am. After our very average breakfast, there was ample time for a quick walk in the mist, as well as a re-pack of my case to put all that I needed for the next two days right on top. I wasn’t sure what the boat’s luggage situation would be, so I wanted the essentials ready for easy access in case I needed to transfer them to my day pack. Leaving my readied case at reception, I descended the three flights of stairs to river level. Once on the path that ran along the bank, the mist was so thick that I couldn’t see the water’s edge even though I was surely only a couple of metres from it. All buildings, trees, lampposts and fences were lost and smudged in the murkiness.

I returned to the hotel as Adisak and his driver arrived to pick us up. Our bags were carried to the back of the van as we chatted about the day ahead. The boat had 24 passengers booked, including 5 children. I was happy to hear that there seemed to be a good number joining us. I had read so much about the trip being run with 4 or 6 passengers. But that isn’t good for business. With the quiet season ending, more and more tourists would be visiting Laos and the amazing Mekong. Though, the idea of being one of a very few and having the boat almost to myself was very appealing.

Before being taken to the departure point on the Thai side of border, we picked more 4 passengers from another hotel just up the road. They were two retired couples from Western Australia: Mr R and Mrs S, and Mr J (with the same name as my Mr J) and Mrs L. We exchanged greetings and brief stories of where we’d been and how we came to be travelling through Laos. Straight away, I knew we I had met some excellent travelling companions.

The fog was starting to lift when we arrived at the border, leaving a smoky haze hanging over the view to Laos on the other side of the river. The border was comprised of a what can only be described as a wide, concrete, boat ramp, with two small, boxy, buildings standing across from each other; one served as the departure point for people leaving Thailand, the other as the arrivals lounge for people arriving from Laos. Both had a small, open-air area, covered with a simple corrugated iron roof for passengers to wait as their passports were checked at the departure point. We joined the other passengers already queued up for passport processing, chatting away with our new friends.

It took maybe half an hour to process our group, ready to cross into Laos. The earlier fog had almost completely burned off, leaving us exposed in the morning sun as we made our way to the ramp and onto the hardened mud banks of the Mekong. A small flotilla of long, narrow boats lined the shore waiting to ferry travellers across the wide, brown river. Adisak lead us down the steep bank. We carefully inched our way down to the boat and the little plank that served as the gang way. Thankfully, our boat had a little canopy that shielded us from the brutal sun. Once we were all aboard, Adisak wished us all a wonderful trip, and left us in the capable hands of Phet, the tour leader for the remainder of our voyage.

The crossing itself took all of a minute. It was funny watching us all scramble for our cameras and shoot away as the little boat sped across the current to the far side. Before we knew it (and before I had a chance to snap off many photos), we were disembarking on the Laos shore. Phet guided us to the Laos arrival area that looked very similar to the Thai border. We handed our pre-filled out visa applications over, with our passports, passport photos and $31 US dollars each. This is an interesting process. You hand over this very important document, without which you’d be totally f#@ked, to these guys, who seemed less than efficient (or happy with all us westerners descending on them), smoking and chatting in their little cube of a building, and had to wait, hoping that it would be safely returned.

Across the way was a little entrepreneur’s business, who understood there was a captive market just waiting to be had, with no (or at least little) competition. Many of our group went over to buy snacks, water, and other drinks for the boat while they waited for their visas. Phet had instructed us to keep an eye (and ear out) for your passport. Once they were processed, the border guards called out your name and held your passport up to the window for collection. I guess our passports were done in 20 minutes. But, as it turns out, we were almost first in our group to be finished. So I had a little time on my hands. I told Phet I was going to have a quick look up the road and wouldn’t be long, and walked up to check out Huay Xai, the little Laos town that was the counterpart to Chiang Khong. But after reaching the main road, and being accosted by what seemed to be every tuk tuk and taxi in town wanting to take me to the other boat port, I was not in the mood.

By the time all the passengers had their Laos visas issued it was mid morning. With the punishing sun almost overhead, we were quickly transported in a dodgy ‘jumbo’ (a jumbo is a type of tuk tuk that is an open-air minivan with bench-seats installed where the tray would be – similar to a song-thaew) to the other river port to where the boats to Luang Prabang depart. Huay Xia looked almost identical to Chiang Khong, but maybe bigger, with the same small featureless buildings, the boxy concrete shops, and backpackers hanging on every street corner.

The next dock was just around the bend from our arrival point, with another steep bank to negotiate down to our boat. Like before, more than a dozen, long, narrow, cabin boats awaited their passengers – but these boats were much larger than the border crossing ones. We all piled on, anxious to see where we were going to spend the next couple of days. Phet told us all about the tour, schedule, meals, and amenities, and we were quickly on our way. Most of the passengers introduced themselves. We found we had another young, Aussie guy, a few English couples, another Aussie man (originally English) with a young Thai wife, and two Dutch families with their 5 kids.

All us passengers were lined up along the boat’s windows as we departed Huay Xia, eager to get photos of the mighty river. There had been plenty of rain in the recent month, but the river level had dropped from its peak. Many horror stories are out there about the river being so low that the boats could not go all the way to Luang Prabang, leaving passengers stuck camping on the river banks and being ferried between towns on the back of trucks. But though the wet season had ended, there was plenty of water flowing downstream towards Laos. We had nothing to worry about.

We all settled in to our seats. The narrow long boat had sets of what were pretty much twin-bus seats opposite each other with a little table between, forming pods of four along both sides, and a narrow passageway ran between them. At the stern end, there was a uni-sex (clean and western-style) bathroom. A timber lined wall, and a few steps, separated the tidy bathroom from a little service area, with eskies (coolies-bins) full of cold drinks, and a few length-way tables set up for meals. Our bags and suit cases were all piled on top of each other at the bow of the boat, stacked just behind the boat’s captain’s chair. The Dutch families took up the few little pods of tables towards the front of the boat. We, and our new friends, occupied the row of seats along the port side of the boat, with a newly-wed English couple behind us. The others were along the starboard side. Somehow, Mr J and I lucked in and managed to occupy a ‘pod’ to ourselves. This meant my camera had its own seat – nice.

As we cruised downstream, we passed many whirlpools, submerged rocks, and shallow sandbanks. The Mekong does not run straight, but in a continuous succession of bends and curves. A new scene greeted me at every turn. Hanging out of the open window, I shot off the first of what would be 100’s of photos of the wonderful river bank and endless views. Every few hundred metres, a new landscape unfolded, quickly filling my camera’s memory card.

I exchanged travel tips with Mrs L, and we eagerly told each other all the storied we’d heard on TripAdvisor, TravelFish, and Lonely Planet. Now, I travel a little bit, but these retirees were seasoned travellers. Between them, they had a ‘day pack’ sized pack each, and there was one extra pack for sundries. I felt embarrassed that I had a small suitcase plus a day pack, which I actually thought was travelling light! Mr J and the other Mr J of our new-found friends both smoked, and throughout the two days, they were often found towards the stern, chatting.

After about an hour or so, the boat turned into shore. Phet announced that we were arriving to the part of the Mekong where it stopped being the Thai-Laos border and now is flowing solely in Laos. This was just a check point. Phet warned us about a group of local kids would board the boat trying to sell chips, sweets and drinks. Sure enough, as soon as the boat was within a few metres of the bank, about eight or nine young children filed on, each holding almost identical little coloured plastic baskets containing a few bags of potato crisps, a few cans of soft drink, and a few bars of chocolate. In single file, they marched up the passage each saying the same sales line, “Chippies, drinks, lolly”. Even though no-one wanted to buy anything, each child presented their basket to every table along the whole length of the boat in the hope that they would change our minds and buy from them, despite turning down every other child that tried before them.

Once each child had tried their luck up and down our boat, they filed off. Two more boats arrived while we were stopped. The troop quickly made their way to the next boat, repeating the process. They were all very polite, each with pleading looks that I’m sure have been well rehearsed on the dozens of boats that come through the check point each day. Watching as they prepared to board the next boat, there appeared to be fixed hierarchy; first the oldest girls, followed by the boys in order of height (and maybe age but it’s difficult to tell), with the youngest, smallest girl lucky last. She was adorable, with big brown eyes that filled her whole face. But they all looked well nourished, with clean clothes and footwear. I know the children in Laos are among the poorest in the world, but I was pretty sure that these kids were not going hungry.

Within a few minutes, our captain pulled away from shore to continue our journey down-stream. The way that the boat casts off and navigates the strong current is quite fascinating. First, the narrow boat is manoeuvred head first into the current, facing upstream. Next, it’s turned toward the middle of the river. Then, the captain puts the motor into neutral and lets the current take it, letting the powerful flow naturally turn the boat around. Once the boat straightens out in the middle of the river, the engine is re-engaged and we’re off at full speed.

For the next few hours, actually most of the next two days, I stared, gazed, and contemplated the ever-changing scenery. I was completely mesmerised soaking up every sight. Gently sloping river banks were frequently interrupted by giant boulders surrounded by turbulent rapids. Massive whirlpools sucked the muddy water into their vortexes, while quiet pools close to shore reflected the sky above. Vast sandbanks formed miniature beaches. In some places, the jungle extended right down to the river’s edge. But mostly, farms and rice fields lined the fertile land. Villages dotted the landscape. Here and there, single wooden shacks stood alone in the midst of huge fields, some perched near the top of the lush green hills, others almost at the edge of the river. In places, the river seemed framed either side by towering mountains. Wet season had ended leaving the countryside green and lush, with never-ending rolling hills, almost without any flat ground.

A million stories lay along the river; boys fishing with skinny tree branches and a bit of string; young children leading their buffalo down to the water for a wash and a drink, an old man patiently unravelling a birds’ nest knot in his fishing nets; a local in dug-out canoe navigating the rapid flow with a very long pole and a hand paddle; a small family of black, wild hog, darting in and out of the undergrowth trying to avoid being someone’s dinner, the village children splashing and chasing each other in a game of tag; farmers diligently ploughing their fields.

At seemingly regular intervals, a speed boat would buzz past in a flash of bright colours and spray of white water. These boats are an alternate way to get from Huay Xia to Luang Prabang. But instead of taking two days, these took about seven hours. They were open-topped, dingy-style boats with long tail propellers (not unlike that of the long tail boats commonly found throughout south-east Asia). Passengers wore motor-cycle crash helmets (or at least the smart ones did) and held on for dear life. Though it was never an option for me, after seeing the treacherous rocks and rapids of the Mekong, I would say you would have to have a death wish (or be a total thrill-seeker) to take one of these death traps. But alas, the steady stream of them rushing past in both directions meant that there were obviously many who felt it was a great option to get from point a to point b.

Along the way, we did pull in to a small town along the river. The goal was to get a glimpse into Laos village life. As soon as the village children saw our boat puling in, they scurried up the steep sandy bank to their families. Phet showed us through the village, pointing out various aspects of village and farming life. The older girls showed us how they the milled rice with heavy mallets as big as themselves, and probably heavier, that they used to pound the grain in large wood buckets. Large flat bowls full of chillies dried on low-hanging roof tops. Dogs (with a couple of adorable puppies) rested in the shade. With most of the other boat passengers, I wondered around trying to be respectful and friendly, but it felt like we were intruding, the children were curious and loved looking at the digital photos of themselves we took, but the adults were clearly none too happy about the interruption to their regular, quiet village day. The thing that made it tolerable to the villages (I’m guessing) was the large donation box standing at the entrance to the village as you came up from the river. Most of us placed a few notes into the box.

As the sun was getting low and the shadows long enough to extend the full with of the river, we approached Pak Beng – the half way point between the two major stops. To come into shore, the captain manoeuvres the boat in the same way as he pulled out from shore, but in reverse. The boat is steered toward shore at a gentle angle, at which point the engine is cut. The current then turns the boat almost completely around. Then the captain guns the engine against the flow to park the boat along-side the many other boats, all stopping at this midpoint town.

It was about 5pm as we clambered up the steep boat ramp to our hotel. Phetsokxai Hotel was very close to the dock, but up a steep driveway (review posted on TripAdvisor http://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g663544-d2274985-r120215753-Phetsokxai_Hotel_Pakbeng-Pakbeng.html#). Bags, dropped, it was off to see the little town before it got too dark. A single paved road curved uphill to form the main street, with rows of guesthouses all claiming to be clean and comfortable. Between the guesthouses and eateries were little stores selling goods ranging from pharmaceuticals to crisps (which turned out handy as we needed more flesh-eatingly powerful ‘deet’ insect repellent – this stuff will probably kill you if you had to use it every day – but it worked better than any western ‘aeroguard’ or other concoction).

Now came the moment – the moment I’d dreamt of since researching Laos on the travel forums – my first beer Lao – in Laos. I could have had one in Chiang Khong, or on the boat, but no – it had to be with my feet firmly planted on Laos soil that I had one. Phet had recommended ‘Sabaidee’ restaurant. So after walking all the way to the top of the hill and the end of the row of shops and guesthouses, we walked almost back to the bottom and took a table with a bit of a view over toward the river. 

J and I were the first guests in the restaurant. We ordered the inaugural beers with no intention to rush our first night in Laos. It was, after all, not even 6. Before long, Mrs S and Mr R and Mrs L and Mr J all turned up – lucky the table we had chosen accommodated us all. From there, the night became a feast of lots of Lao dishes and beer (with many vego options that were delicious). We all commented on how much we enjoyed the food. In the end, almost all the passengers from our boat came to the restaurant. With a few beer laos and great food, we were all merry, mingling and talking enthusiastically. Those that know me may find it hard to believe (not!), but we were the last to leave. Once the tables were cleared, we chatted with the owner over a beer and discovered he was sponsored by a family in Sydney when he was a child. Through the scheme, he received an high school education, which must have been important for him to be able to start and run his business. But here he was with a lovely family, a successful, ongoing concern, and a fine restaurant (IMHO) to boot – now I feel better about the children I sponsor – may they all be as fortunate and prosperous as this restaurateur.

We arrived back at our hotel to find some of the younger passengers from our boat sitting out the front with bottles of lao-lao (Laotian whisky), proceeding to get pretty plastered. Though part of me wanted to join, the other part had had enough beer lao to simply turn in. My tiny shoe-box room with the (what seemed) army surplus wool blankets and grey sheets awaited me. Tomorrow, another day of wondrous scenery awaited me, followed by Luang Prabang. - k

Laos Part 2 - Chiang Rai to Chiang Khong

So, I wasn’t sure where to start this part, but decided to begin with the trip that encompasses the itinerary arranged by Adisak, of the ‘Nagi of Mekong’. Let me just say how prompt Adisak was with all correspondence and arrangements prior to the trip as well as confirming all details prior to my departure. Note: Though this is part 2 of the saga that will be the reports of my Laos trip that included Chiang Mai, Laos and onto Kuala Lumpur, it actually is the first one to be written. Stay tuned for part 1 and the onward journey to down the Mekong to Luang Prabang, Vang Vieng and Vientiane.
We were met at Chiang Rai by a driver in a modern mini van. Adisak had booked the VIP bus tickets from Chiang Mai for us and advised us to get off at the first bus stop / terminal in Chiang Rai (quick word about the VIP bus – all I can say is that I wish airline travel was as luxurious and comfortable). The slap of the hot sun after that cool transfer stung my Melbourne-winter-white skin. Our driver (sorry – can’t recall his name) was looking out for us so we didn’t have to suffer the hot smart of sun for very long. Though he didn’t speak much English, he was courteous and helpful, carrying our bags and ushering us into the cool air-conditioning of the van. He opened a little esky (to all you non-aussies, a coolie bin or ice box) and motioned for us to help ourselves to a cold drink. As we sipped our drinks, I noticed he was on the phone. Next thing, he’s handing the phone to me. ‘Adisak’, he nodded, handing the phone over his shoulder to me.

“Hello Miss K how was your bus trip?” He chatted to me for a few minutes about the weather, the boat arrangements, and where his driver was going to take us. It was a great relief to know everything was under control. First stop was the White Temple. I had glimpsed it a few kilometres out of Chiang Rai, with its crowded car park full of big buses, and mirrored mosaics. Looked amazing...

So, it was a tourist trap – sure – why not? But my word, it was spectacular. A perfect blue sky framed the white, shiny facade, ornate and gaudy, ringed by its shallow moat. Concrete dragons swam in the water beside fountains along the walkway that lead to the entrance. Any illusion of a sacred, quiet place of reflection was quickly spoiled by the little guy at the end of the bridge leading to the temple holding a megaphone, sitting under a tattered umbrella, shouting, “Do not stop on the bridge! Do not touch ANYTHING! Lady! Do not touch! You,man! Do not touch! Walk quickly!” Between shouts to us tourists, he fiddled with his mobile phone and talked with the bus and minivan drivers across the road.

At the start of the bridge was a mass of sculptured hands; wretched and grasping, reaching up from the dark realms, symbolising hell. You must go through the hells of samsara before finding the ‘heaven’ of enlightenment. Along the whole length of the bright white bridge, tiny mirror tiles cast blinding rays, challenging the tint of my sunglasses. At the end, the dazzling luminous temple with its multi-layered gables, sculptured and ornate, beckoned.

Quickly slipping off my thongs (flip flops to the non-aussies), I stepped in to the slightly cooler interior and was surprised. Not by the modest white Buddha statue surrounded by a gold-gilded Buddha painting at the alter (well, in comparison to the many huge, gold, bejewelled, Buddhas often found in Thai temples). But by the murals. Initially, I didn’t know whether to be offended or not. But the more I looked, the more I found myself in absolute awe of how wonderfully the artists had captured samsara in all its guises: The massive Yama (lord of death) painted around the entrance doorway; 9/11 towers – one flaming and covered in smoke with a jet about to impact the second, satellites and spaceships, aliens and cyborg clones, Mr. Anderson 'al la' Matrix and 'The Terminator', ex-President Bush riding a rocket with Osama Bin Laden riding pillion; galaxies swirling, space shuttles launching, while gods, mythical beasts and asuras look on keeping company of comic book heros and modern day superstars.After many minutes examining the murals (with so many little details you really have to search for), I walked through to the rear buildings and around to the exit. Though I took a hundred photos, I was amazed and appalled by an ordained monk, taking photos of ‘the gold toilet’, which as far as I could tell -was the ladies toilet with some decoration (sorry I didn’t see the big deal – maybe I missed something). It looked a little – well – wrong; swathed in saffron robes, pointing the lens towards the women’s amenities, as ladies washed their hands... I should have taken a photo of him!
We probably spent over an hour there.

 After the temple, I took a few dozen more photos, used the afore mentioned golden toilet (which was clean and free with paper – but apparently the ones near the car park were not), and explored the few little shops and ‘cafes’. I bought a few postcards, the obligatory fridge magnet (and if you saw my fridge you’d know what I mean), and an iced tea. There are a few touristy souvenirs shops and places to eat. Our friendly driver was waiting with the cool, air conditioned van.

Next, we drove to Chiang Saen, or through Chiang Saen, to Sob Ruak – the Golden Triangle. It took maybe an hour from the White Temple. That first glimpse of the Mekong as you turn left at the intersection heading north-west-ish was so exciting. Within twenty minutes along a badly maintained road with a washed out bridge from the earlier seasonal floods, we were there. Yeap. Here we are. Another car park. A row of shops all selling the same tourist tee-shirts with that good old catch cry of the stall-holders, “Madam, look my shop”.

The main focus of the little town was the massive (I mean huge-a-mongous) Buddha. We paid the few bhat entrance fee and walked up the stairs to the observation point where you could look over the river to both Laos and Burma (Myanmar). I do know there was more to see in Sob Ruak, like the opium museum etc, but I was beginning to feel guilty about letting our poor driver sit there as we walked about. So we only looked around for a little while. I had long ago dreamt of the golden triangle being an outpost town, full of oriental drug lords and western outlaws, dusty laneways with working woman earning a living as deals went down in the shadows. Turns out, it was totally nothing like that – maybe I should have visited a few hundred years ago.

So after buying the obligatory tee shirt (still unworn in my bottom drawer), we drove back to Chiang Saen. Though our smiling driver didn’t speak much English, I managed just enough broken Thai and sign language to indicate that I wanted to see Wat Phra That Chedi Luang – a 13^th century UNSECO heritage world heritage site with a 58 metre chedi (or stupa). Our driver parked beside the crumbling wall of the ancient temple. By now it was mid afternoon and the shade of the large trees was very welcome. The humidity was relentless despite the respite from the scorching sun. No other farangs (foreigners) were there. It felt a little ‘Indiana Jones’ exploring an ancient city.

The main prayer hall was open on the sides with a low sweeping roof. Wonderful huge gongs stood at the entrance, which I struck with the heavy mallet (bliss-emptiness resounding in the ten directions of space) producing a deep resonating hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. The stall keepers looked up, clearly un-amused by the peace-shattering bang I had caused. My thongs again quickly off my feet, I said my prayers and my meek three refuges, before I explored the little shrines and statues within.

Outside, there were a few tiny stalls and a local school’s art studio, with a few older boys at the entrance keen to practise the few words of English they knew. “Halo. How are you? Fine, Tank you”. We walked around the back where a monk was giving a Dharma lesson to a group of young children. Unfortunately for us, the lessons seemed to be taking place around some ruins of other old temple buildings, so we didn’t want to interrupt them by barging through. We walked among slightly overgrown gardens toward the old chedi, where a number of men were dangling from rickety bamboo, scaffolds surrounding the old monument. A few shouts of ‘Oi’ and ‘Halo’, followed by laughs and what I guess was mused bantering that went something like (in Thai): ‘What are these foreigners doing here? Do they know what this is? Let’s wave at them. Hope they go away and leave us to our work”. I understand that the chedi housed, or had once housed, a relic of the Buddha and he may have wondered in the same green garden I was standing in 2500 years ago. I waved back, friendly smile, admiring the work they were doing on this holy stupa. This is a piece of Buddhist history. I said a quick prayer of gratitude and rejoiced in their good work and effort, and we returned to the artificial, but welcome, cold air of the van.

From Chiang Saen, we drove though some gorgeous country-side, stopping at “Huaisai view point’ that gave a beautiful, rural vista of the Mekong River snaking its way along the Thai-Laos border. But even before that stop, there were a hundred scenic lookouts, all with breath-taking views of rolling hills and rural villages.

Arriving in Chiang Khong was almost an anti-climax. Here was my dusty frontier town. A main road running parallel to the mighty flow of the Mekong, dotted with guest houses and shops. I eagerly looked out, thinking that a Thai Clint Eastwood, resplendent in spurs and poncho, would appear out of the shadows, as small children ran quickly indoors to their worried mothers, with the ethereal whistle from ‘The good, the bad and the ugly’ eching in the background. I loved it immediately. This border town. I had no doubt that stuff happened here that was beyond ‘Border patrol’.

We stayed at the Namkhong Riverside guesthouse (review already posted on Tripadvisor.com with photos http://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g1015984-d1201867-r120215468-Namkhong_Riverside_Hotel-Chiang_Khong_Chiang_Rai_Province.html) which was fine. Ok, maybe not so fine. We arrived, a little tired, ready for a relaxing beer to watch the sun set, only be told that the entire restaurant was booked out by a number of large parties, and we could not eat or drink at their restaurant (which – by the way – had a great vista of the river and sunset). Not even buy a beer or soft drink from the bar – nothing. Not to worry.

Bags dropped, toilet visited, face washed, and hair re-brushed, off I went to find a cool spot for a refreshing beer and food. Along the dusty, dirt road, there were signs in the distance to the left. It was maybe 4 or 5 o’clock with the deep orange sun sitting like a golden orb over my shoulder. I knew one thing, I had to find shade (and food - that’s two things... and beer that’s three – well you know, it was a long day). A guesthouse here, a local eating place there, little convenience store, roller doors of closed stalls, and nothing that seemed welcome to a hot, tied, washed out farang. A faded sign pointed down an even dustier side alley, stating there was cool beer and clean rooms. That’ll do.

On arrival, it seemed as though we had interrupted the owner’s afternoon sleep or something. But we were welcomed with a ‘sawasdee’, wai and a warm smile. I picked a shaded table close to the balcony overlooking the river. “Sawng chaing” (two beers) I ordered without looking at the menu, which were quickly provided. I didn’t see anything I wanted on the menu (mainly because there was nothing vegetarian) so we just ordered some freshly fried cashews with chilli and some fries. Perfect beer food.

A large group of Thai (or maybe Laos) men arrived to stay at the guesthouse. They were shouting and laughing with each other as they sorted out their rooms and who was sharing with whom. One waitress looked on amused by their comic display as she lazily sprawled on a chair with her legs dangling over the side. A younger girl, probably the first waitress’ sister, was talking loudly on her mobile phone below the balcony beside the river. A little further downstream, a large family with their two dogs had arrived for a late afternoon splash. The Mekong’s banks are lined with large sand banks that resemble beaches. The younger children were attempting to build sand castles while the older ones splashed each other playing tag. After playing with their masters, the dogs collapsed into the water to cool off. It was such a nice family scene as the sun bathing everything in gold rays.

Now that the brutal sun was below the rooftops, I was ready to walk. After being cramped up in the van (and the 3 hour bus from Chiang Mai before that) my legs were restless. I like walking. I walk a lot. People call me the walking freak. Readers of my previous trip reports (and those who will read the reports to come) will hear about my walking. I find it the best way to really get the feel of a new town or city.

A wide paved path ran along the river. Lots of little dirt paths and stone steps ran off to the side providing access to the brownish-yellow water of the Mekong. Old boats, weather beaten and neglected, dotted the grassy banks. Random chickens darted in and out, scratching and pecking for bugs and scraps. Locals rode their small motor scooters between the riverside path and the main road, buying fresh veggies and meat for dinner. We walked up and down and found that there were quite a few restaurants along the riverbank, unlike the main road. A larger one with tables almost on the path was earmarked for dinner. But first, a quick return to the hotel room to lacquer myself in industrial strength deet insect repellent. I never take anti-malarials and prefer the option of covering up and making myself as unappealing and unavailable to the blood sucking mosquitoes as possible. They carry dengue and other nasty diseases not just malaria, which you can not protect yourself against. Prevention is the only option.

The one thing I didn’t do on this trip was note the names of all the restaurants I patroned, and this one shall remain nameless. All I can tell you is that it was towards to outer edge of town, not far from ‘The Elephant Crossing’ hotel, down at river level with tables both at lower level and further back on a balcony, toward the kitchen. The hostess was friendly and I practised my thai with her (not very well as she didn’t understand me but laughed once she figured out what I was trying to say). The food; forgettable. There was nothing specifically vegetarian on the menu so I asked them to make a stir-fry of just veggies with some spices etc. But though it didn’t have any meat, it was swimming in chicken stock. I picked out a few bits that didn’t seem too drowned, but stuck with the plain rice, thankful for the yummy nuts and fries I’d had earlier.

By now, it was pretty much pitch black. The sun sets fast up here, unlike the lingering sunsets and twilight of home. After another beer, we set off back to the main road to see if the town had livened up any. Certainly, the lights of the motorbikes on the dark road gave the appearance of more traffic. Naked light-globes hung from shop porches. A few more stalls were open and roller doors had been rolled up revealing little shops or local eateries. Backpackers were wondering around, consulting their ‘Lonely Planet’ guides. Local children were running between shops trying to sweet talk the adults to give them some treats or money. Each passing motorbike stirred up the road dust, leaving swirling clouds that were illuminated by the next bike. Any light omitted by the weak shop light-globes was quickly consumed by the blackness of the night.

After buying some snacks at the mini mart, amusing ourselves with the antics of some drunken English backpackers who were trying to figure out what flavour each of the brightly coloured packet of potato crisps were, it was time for a last beer. We had an early start the next morning, with an 8am pick up to cross the border to start our two day trip down the Mekong into Laos.

Just a few steps from our hotel was one of the only ‘bars’ in town. It was run by a Belgium guy who had a Thai wife. It was a typical, generic, concrete box shop, with a small pool table where the shop floor would normally be and a simple timber bar in the far corner. A few local teenagers were trying to impress each other with their pool shots as the tired Thai wife ran back and forth with drink orders. Out the front, in the open dark night air, a couple of rows of outdoor furniture provided a spot to sit down and enjoy a cold drink. Before long, we were chatting to most people in the bar. One beer turned into a few. The drunken backpackers staggered in. A few older Slovenian flash packers were talking with the owner about the logistics and politics of having a Thai wife and business. The air had cooled slightly. My eyes were now too tired. It was maybe just on 9:30pm, and the Chiang Khong seemed to have only just woken up. But for me, it was time to sleep.