The Laotian

Crossing the China-Laos border is an instant departure from the developed world . To mark my arrival, i was extorted out of $1 by the Lao border official, who politely explained that there was an extra fee for crossing the border on Sunday (I've completely lost track of the days, but i later learned that it was Saturday). From this point on, the pavement is regularly interrupted by bumpy patches of dirt, and the bus journey is regularly interrupted by the crossing of cows, chickens, and ducks, (one of which was involved in a nonfatal collision with our bus). Clinging to the highway are scatterings of small villages of thatched roofed huts, who all strangely have satellite TV. The prevalence of four wheeled vehicles on the streets decreases 10 fold compared to China, and the prevalence of children on the streets increases ten fold, (the lack of a one child policy is blatantly obvious). In China, a baby is usually never spotted without at least 3 elderly caretakers, while in Laos, its common for children to roam the streets in packs of 4-5 with no adult supervision. Its also not uncommon to spot groups of ten year-old's wielding machetes, or piled upon one another and zooming by on a motorcycle.

If I were reborn as a nation, I would likely be Laos. This is by far the most laid back place Ive ever been. I only spent 2 weeks in this little land locked nation of 6.5 million, and 40 of these hours were spent in transit, which is painstakingly slow here. So, needless to say, my understanding of the place is incredibly shallow. There were several things that remained consistent in my Lao experience. Every day began at a god awful hour thanks to the widespread existence of roosters, many of whom cluck to the beat of their own drum, with no regard to whether or not the sun is getting ready to rise. Each day was filled with gratuitous use of sahbaidee (hello), and concluded with beer Lao while watching the sun set into Thailand.
My first destination was Luang Prabang , a UNESCO heritage site and a tourist haven. The town is filled with temples, monks, and foreigners, and as a result, previously unimaginable western amenities such as Nutella! While leaving the city, I spotted a construction site, where government workers where drilling into the pavement of a closed off street. The scene may have been the same in any other city in the world, but here the work was being done with a hammer and a chisel - no heavy machinery in sight.

In route to the capital, I made the typical tourist stopover in Vang Vieng, which is world renowned for its drunken tubing. Tourists float downstream in inner tubes, passing a plague of bars blasting high energy music, where the locals persuade you to attempt all of the dangerous creations they've concocted like diving boards, water slides, and rope swings, which all deposit you into the dangerously low waters of the river. I later heard tourists swapping emergency room stories such as loss of teeth and broken bones resulting from these death traps in frivolous lawsuit-less Laos. Luckily i got in the river early and enjoyed what seemed to be a peaceful day, floating soberly down the river, passing water buffalo, with no drunken revelry or accidents along the way. Unfortunately, going to the stupid tourist place means being branded as a stupid tourist one way or another. In my case, the scarlet letter came in the form of a sunburn from hell. Falling asleep on the water in the midday sun, with my pale belly exposed, left the intersection of my stomach and waist looking like a slab of bacon. Besides this tragedy, the town of Vang Vieng quickly drove me away with an inexplicable cultural phenomenon. The town is littered with video bars displaying DVD's of shows such as family guy and the simpsons, in hopes of luring in tourist $'s. Unfortunately the most popular show of choice is Friends, which is played every waking hour of the day, volume blasting at full volume. I HATE FRIENDS!
The development of Laos is best described through my experience in the capital of Vientiane, which is roughly the size of Oakland. There is probably not a single structure over 50 feet tall, and the street lights are so few and far between that they're displayed on the city map. Any non major thoroughfares are non paved, which makes for a bumpy ride on a bicycle. Basically, Vientiane is a sprawling village. In a strange twist of fate, my visit coincided with a Sean Kingston concert, which was advertised wildly all over town. I went to the site of the show, which was in the parking lot of a huge shopping mall, to satisfy my curiosity as to what kind of crowd would turn up for such an event in Laos. Despite the reasonable $2.50 entrance fee, I decided to browse the mall instead, and departed with my musical values still in tact.

My Laotian experience concluded in the far south, in the land of 4,000 islands, which turned out to be my favorite Lao location. Here, accommodation includes mosquito nets, and electricity is only available from 7-10 pm. The days were spent lounging in a hammock, watching river life go by, and exploring the surrounding islands by bicycle. The island's claim to fame is being one of the few places to spot the rare Irrawaddy dolphin. I was able to catch a few fleeting glimpses of our porpoise friends, but the audible experience was the most memorable. After hiring a local teenage captain of a motorized canoe, which was taking on dangerous amounts of water during the journey, I was delivered to the place known as ''dolphin home,'' a stones throw from the Cambodian border. Here, I floated in the water and listened to the dolphins communicating under water, which was a bizarre and fascinating event. The only sound I've ever heard that i could compare it to is John Coltrane. For the duration of my 30 minute listening, the dolphins communicated at a steady pace, with no pause, which left me wondering what kind of schemes they were busy concocting.
All was seemingly well in paradise until a memorable but not so enjoyable transition into Cambodia...