By Richelle
Monday 18th of September 2017
It would be fair to think that Laos is without a single road that runs in a straight line. Our bus swung around tight corners for just on 5 hours, both of us trying to sleep through as much of it as possible to avoid the ever looming threat of motion sickness. We passed through the greenest landscapes to date as we cut east along the northern areas of the country. At around 2pm, our mini van bus dropped us at the bus station - the standard 5 kilometres out of town - before we loaded into a tuk-tuk that pulled up alongside the coffee coloured Nam Ou river at the little town of Nong Khiaw. It was just our luck that a ferry was getting ready to depart, so we squashed onboard the little wooden boat, about 10 cm from the water's surface. Above, clouds rolled over giant limestone cliffs, while a sun shower swept across the valley. It took about an hour to make the 16 km upstream journey, enough time to render our legs and bums dead on the hard wooden benches. We disembarked with the help of a balancing beam and walked up the hill to the main road, which proved my previous assumption wrong in an instant. It was incredibly long, running the entire length of the town, and incredibly straight. We arrived at Verandah guesthouse and set up home in the cheap river bungalow. I had just put down my pack and gone to the bathroom when I heard a faint meow and Daniels animal greeting voice. ‘Is that a cat?’ I called from the toilet, ‘Yes, and she is really really nice!’ She was as lean as a whip, a patchy black and white complete with a tiny hitler moustache and her name was Nung Nung.
Daniels first words shortly after were ‘now, you can't cry when we leave this one okay?’ It's getting harder and harder to let them go.
After such a long travel day, we relaxed in the hammocks for a while before heading out along the main road for a Laos style dinner overlooking the pointy mountains with the river at their feet and thin fishing boats crowded along the shore. The light fell and the lanterns glowed as we shared green curies, noodles, vegetables and beer.
Being such a small town, we found the local people delightfully kind and talkative. First, we met Penny. She owns a restaurant near the boat dock and prides herself on handmade yogurt, homemade Indian and imported cheese. As we have discovered, most dairy products are a rarity in Laos, cheese in particular is one they don't even include in their vocabulary. So our faces brightened when Penny explained they had stock of a Mozzarella from Denmark and how much she loves Indian food - recently taking a cooking course in Thailand. Cheese naan, chicken tikka, vegetable masala and samosas are her fortay - without hesitation, we immediately promised to return and sample her fare. We are both craving the food of that wonderful place that feels like a lifetime ago.
Before the sun got too hot, we decided to venture along a red dirt road leading back into the mountains. During the Vietnam war, this tiny town lay along the route of the Viet Kong, providing access to the northern tip of the country and the river lifelines. Consequently, it was flattened by American bombs. Giant shells are now used as ornamental street art, and the cave that sheltered the village people still remains. We headed for the cave, passing the beginnings of this years rice harvest - the workers posing for a photo and kindly warning me of a giant beehive centimetres from my lens. It was a beautiful place, cool, dark and absent of any other tourist. We sat on the rocks in the crystal pond sketching away, the rock mouth provided shade overhead.
Our journey back was no less eventful, as we ran into a group of boys training a group of roosters for an upcoming cock fight. We tried to understand, but were left feeling disheartened by their complete lack of care for the animals well being.
As we wandered back to our bungalow we were ambushed by an inquisitive group of girls, one being the daughter of our guesthouse host. School was out for the day and each girl was dressed up with a handbag, a string of pearls and pink sandals. They followed us to our door, rushing in and jumping into the hammocks. It felt like that had done this a few times before. Through hand gestures, broken English and a touch of Laos, we communicated through giggles and the language of all girls under the age of 10 - nail polish. While they pointed to the chosen nails, I painted away. It was the prefect exchange for the medical treatment I had received a few moments earlier, when one of the girls noticed my foot bleeding uncontrollably. She recognised the work of a river leech - running outside and gathering a handful of furry leaves, crushing them and rubbing the liquid into the bite. Within 20 seconds it had stopped. She shoved an extra bunch of leaves into my hand, just in case it happened again. It took a bit of coaxing to get the group out of our room and our bags so we could go and get some lunch, but a promise of an afternoon river swim seemed to settle it.
Our time came to an end in Muang Ngoi just the way it had started, lying in a hammock, cat on lap, book in hand - only this time our bellies were full of Penny's delicious Indian and we were missing a 6B pencil - Daniel sure that one of those mischievous little girls had pocketed it, although all were unwilling to tell the truth.
The next morning we boarded the tiny boat back to Nong Khiaw. The local fishing/ferry boats are loud and uncomfortable contraptions, but they're highly manoeuvrable and slide across the river's surface with ease. We were onboard by 9.30 and pulling into the dock at 10.20am.
We wandered up the street in search of a guesthouse for the night, and stumbled upon - in Daniels words - an absolute steal for $5 a night. The rain was still falling cancelling our plans for a hike up the towering peaks surrounding us. Instead, we turned to balcony into a work space - updating the blog, reading, writing and drawing.