While yesterday the boat was filled out predominantly by tourists, today we are only a handful, with locals occupying the rest of the seats. There are two orange monks, women feeding babies on rugs in the middle of the aisle, and we stop many times to pick up and drop off others - sometimes a man will ask to be dropped off at a rock, onto which he leaps from the boat as it's practically still moving. At one stop, next to a huge smoke-vomiting factory, a curious mix of highland minorities climb on board. One man is wearing an ornately embroidered traditional tunic, another has brought his rooster with him, which he keeps tethered to the side-rail for the rest of the trip. It's a fine, majestic creature which stands on the rail elegantly, chest puffed out, scarlet comb proud on his head, glossy emerald tail feathers shaking in the river breeze.
The back of the captain's jacket reads 'Endoscopy Team'.
I realise we're now going along the Thai/Laos border. The landscape becomes much flatter, there are signs of large-scale agriculture, the jungle thins out and disappears completely; hell, I even see power lines for the first time.
We climb up one more steep, sandy bank to arrive in Houayxay, a border town and the final destination of our two-day boat trip.
I find my guest house and walk up and down the main street. Elephant happy pants are everywhere on this backpacker trail. Groups of girls walk through town with identical, loose-fitting trousers which they bought for a rip-off at some night market. I understand they're comfortable, I understand they might seem cool to you and your friends on this trip, but personally, I can't bring myself to wear them. If I'm not okay wearing something in public at home, I won't wear it here.
I eat a simple, cheap dinner, for I still can't taste anything - just sweetness and saltiness - and when I get back to my hotel there are three locals sitting out the front, two are playing guitar and singing Lao ballads, and the other summons me over.
"Hey, Mr. Falang! Sit. Sit. Here.", he hands me a bottle of water.
I take a wary swig, and, as I had presumed, it's local rice moonshine. Without stopping his playing, one of the others laughs as I grimace post-swig, "haha..Lao whiskey!".
I go over the road and bring back a couple of longnecks, I figure it's my last night in Laos, I should have a few BeerLao to mark the occasion.
The one not playing or singing is covered neck to toe in hand-made tattoos (quite tasteful ones at that), his fingernails are painted red, his cheeks are pock-marked, his finger boasts a large gem-studded gold ring, and he's obviously quite far gone on his Lao whiskey (called 'LaoLao' colloqually).
"Hey Mr. Falang! You from Australia? I Lao. I Mr. Lao!", he enthusiastically gestures. "You in Laos. I look after youuuu. Good good. You want marry-warna? I get you marry-warna, opium, Ya ba. You want? I have 10 kilogram marry-warna. I take care of youuu", he tells me. That's right, the golden triangle. I'd forgotten.
I don't buy his 10 kilograms of marijuana, but I do stay a while, drinking LaoLao and beer, chatting, and admiring Mr. Lao's jungle log which he has varnished and prepared himself and is obviously so very proud of. "You want? Byoooooteeful. You buy? Look, look, byoooteeful", he says as he props the log up on the table and strokes it up and down, running his tattooed fingers along the grains and imperfections of the dark timber.
A Thai reggae number the three sang out the front of my hotel
 |
| The boat, feat. rooster |
 |
| Mr. Lao and his log |
No comments:
Post a Comment