I’m feeing a bit reckless and have decided to take the slow boat up the Mekong River from Huay Xai (a dusty little border town that few stay in for more than a night) to Luang Prabang.
It’s a two-day journey, about eight hours a day on the boat, broken up by a night in Pak Beng, a tiny village half way along. This is a trip beloved by backpackers and I do have a backpack - however, now in my 50’s, it’s been a while since I’ve done something this intrepid. Of course, I could take a mini van up the highway to my destination, but what would be the fun in that?
I’ve ordered my ticket via the guest accommodation in Huay Xai (they take a fee of course) but it involves a truck ride down to the pier. We all have numbered tickets - mine is 40 and I’m hoping that it’s not too far to the back, where the engine is, since I would prefer to arrive at my destination with my hearing intact! Climbing down the crumbling stairs to the jetty, clutching my day pack and a bag full of water and food, I can’t help but think it’s going to be a bit of an adventure.
I am not wrong.
There are two kinds of seats on our boat - ‘luxurious’ padded and ‘hot polloi’ wooden bench. I’ve lucked out and got one in the first category. They’ve been ripped out of big vans and they’re not just comfy but roomy- I can even stretch my legs out! All of our bags are placed in the hold and I also see locals loading their belongings onto the roof. At the front of the boat I spy a portly Buddhist monk in his 50’s, with three children, all in their saffron robes, next to him. At the back, there’s a small counter selling Laotian beer, pot noodles and instant coffee! This is better than I thought - and all for the princely sum of $25!
We’re supposed to depart at 9.00 am but, just as I’ve been told, that doesn’t happen and it’s almost an hour later that we pull out. All the backpackers seem to bein high spirits, laughing, joking, swapping stories about their journeys on the South East Asia circuit. I talk for a short while with the Italian guy sitting next to me but both of us quickly fall silent and begin staring at the scenery outside and the lives of the people who live alongside the river and up the hills.
I am entranced. The views are extraordinary - whilst the Mekong itself is a murky brown color, all around are lush green hills and limestone rocks. Occasionally, I spot a few tiny houses high up (sometimes wood, sometimes tin), or a small boat in the distance with a couple of locals, perhaps out fishing or traveling onto the next village.
By the time we’re a couple of hours into the journey, a calm has settled in on the boat - people have taken out their earbuds and are listening to music on their phones, they’re reading novels, playing cards in pairs, even painting watercolors. Even the Americans behind me, who’ve chattered incessantly about absolutely nothing since they sat down, have fallen quiet. Periodically, the boat engine cuts out because we’re pulling into a local village, to let someone on or off.
There are no piers or jetties, it’s all very ad-hoc and you see people on land throwing bundles at the crew, who catch them deftly then find a place for them on this pretty full boat. Large boxes and sacks go on the roof, other items on the storm. Later, when I go to the back of the boat (where the French are hanging out smoking and the British hanging out drinking Laotian beer) I see a box with some chickens in.
A few hours in and it’s hot - and I mean hot. It’s easily 35 degrees but the humidity is brutal. The sun is burning intensely and people are napping now. I alternate between staring at villages, boats, the water and dipping into my crime fiction novel (the ‘Harry Bosch’ series, penned by Michael Connolly, is nothing short of wonderful and a great way to pass the hours). We chug chug chug along, and I feel more at peace with myself than I’ve been in months.
Before I know it, we’ve arrived in Pak Beng, our half-way point where we’ll spend the night. The day has passed quickly but I’m not particularly tired. Our packs are hauled out of the storage area and we strap them on and climb up stairs to a dusty road where pick-up trucks are waiting to take us up a hill to our accommodation. As long as I have a bed with clean sheets, a shower and a hot meal, I’ll be thrilled. And I’m not disappointed either - accommodation is basic but functional. I order breakfast for tomorrow, a lunch box for the boat then sit at a table, overlooking the Mekong, scribbling in my journal.
If I knew what lay in store the following day, I would not be so calm…
To be continued…