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Mar 11 - Ban Lung to Don Det - Like a couple of geriatrics, we crawled out of bed. In addition to general post-hiking stiffness, we'd got quite badly sunburnt on the river the day before, while waiting for the guide to pick us up, so we limped around cursing him for a while. Kim, who manages the Tribal Lodge, had sorted out our tickets to Don Det, so we packed up our backpacks again and went up for some breakfast. The minibus arrived bang on time at around eight-ish, and we set off. It was almost unbelievable to think that we'd been in Cambodia for a month already, and that this was our last day here.
A couple of other guests from the lodge were joining us for the trip - a French couple who were really nice, and a strange little Austrian guy with a guitar and a lot of seriously worthy opinions. The driver made a couple of stops at other hotels, and finally we were set to go, with nine people in an eight-seater, which wasn't too bad by Cambodian standards. Or so we thought! A few miles out of town, we stopped at a small house, to squeeze in three soldiers, which made it a bit cosy, and then - just to show there's always room for one more - picked up passenger number thirteen, before leaving the outskirts of Ban Lung.
We made our way along a dusty dirt road towards Stung Treng, which is a sort of transit hub between Laos and all the provinces of Cambodia. We stopped at roadside restaurant for a quick drink and a break about 20km in. This place was in the middle of nowhere, but was the centre of some sort of strange housing development. The forest had been cleared for miles around, and hundreds of identical green-roofed wooden houses had been built in the Cambodian style. No-one appeared to be living there just yet, but it was another example of the heating up of the Cambodian economy, with uncontrolled development all over the place. Shortly after we left the restaurant, we saw a Toyota Camry broken down on the side of the road. Like us, this car had been seriously overloaded, with seven or eight passangers, and suitcases strapped to the roof! Although he clearly didn't know the guy, our driver was here to help, and he whipped out a tow-rope. Five minutes later we were on our way to Stung Treng; thirteen of us, plus another seven being towed behind. The only downside was that we had to turn our aircon off to maximise the power to the engine, and so were quite relieved to finally arrive about an hour later, as it was about forty degrees that day!
Stung Treng's a medium sized town on the banks of the Mekong. Our driver dropped us off at Mr T's Riverside Bar, and Mr T himself would be organising our transit to Cambodia, after lunch ('Would you like to see the menu!?'). We had an hour or so to laze around, and watch the Mekong flow by - March is really the height of the dry season, and it was hot, and windy. The cottony flowers of the Capoc trees were falling, and every so often a gust of wind would send a feathery cloud into the sky; looking like some giant had taken a breath and blown on a million dandelion flowers all at once.
We chatted to another couple - Stuart and Renata, who'd also just come through Cambodia, then finished up our drinks and set off for the ferry which crossed the Mekong and would take us to our next minibus. As Stuart stood up, it was like the guy unfolded and just kept on going - he was incredibly tall; something like seven foot two inches. We weren't the only one who noticed, though, and there was a huge stir among the local Cambodians walking past. Finally, one young guy couldn't contain himself anymore. "Hey you!," he shouted, pointing. "You really tall, you know that? Really tall!". "Thanks," said Stuart, in a longsuffering way, "I'd never have noticed." He had the slightly pained sound of a man who'd been pointed at and followed for his entire trip, and a retinue of wide-eyed kids (and grown-ups) followed us down to the ferry point, laughing and jumping up and down behind him, to see if they could get their heads to the same level (needless to say, they couldn't!).
The ferry crossing was bustling, and Mr T had been so relaxed about getting us down that we missed it, so we hung around on the docks waiting for it to make the 20 minute journey back, and watched the commerce of Cambodia move to and fro across the Mekong. As well as people, all kinds of livestock and goods were being transported - pigs were squealing and chickens clucking in the back of the boats, before being manhandled up onto motorbikes and trucks to get to their final (final!) destination. I didn't envy the pigs in the forty degree heat, but at least their owners were covering them with leaves and hosing them down with water every few minutes. In addition to live animals, there was packaged food of every description (much of it from Vietnam), motorbike spares, and an inordinate amount of karaoke and other music equipment. Karaoke is pretty much in the national sport in Cambodia, and the booming economy means that any aspiring guesthouse or restaurant absolutely must have a set of 100W speakers, a TV, and a baddly dubbed Michael Bolton DVD - at the very least. It was an interesting little view into what's important in the country.
We crossed the river in a few minutes, the walked up the other side to a waiting minibus. From there it was a short trip on a neatly tarred road to the border post. The Cambodian guys gave me a bit of half-hearted hassle - apparently I had the wrong counterfoil stapled in my passport from when I entered the country a month before. In the end, though, they charged us a dollar "processing fee" each, took a swig of beer from under the desk, and then stamped us & waved us through. The Laos border post was just a little reed-roofed hut - after paying another dollar to the immigration guys, we loaded our luggage into a new bus for the Laos side of the trip. We pulled up outside the customs hut. All I could see was a couple of bare feet hanging out of a hammock, at a jaunty angle. Our driver left the engine idling for a minute or so, then hooted, just to let the customs officer know that we were there, and ready to have our bags checked. A long-fingered hand emerged from out of the hammock, and made a graceful waving motion towards the north. Clearly we were considered trustworthy, and took off for the last leg of our journey - less than half an hour away was Don Det.
We pulled into the village of Ban Nakasang, which is on the mainland opposite the Four Thousand islands (Si Phan Don in Laos). This was a sleepy, but quite pretty little village, with a large beach at this time of the dry season. We were loaded into longtail boats, and set off for Don Det. I've got to say that this part of the Mekong is unusually beautiful. The water is a clean, clear turquoise - apart from the odd brown floater which we tried not to scrutinise too carefully. This riverine archipelago is called the Four Thousand Islands for obvious reasons, although the actualy number varies with the level of the Mekong, and our little boat wound its way through sandbanks and beautiful tree-covered bits of land to the northern end of Don Det; where the driver dropped us off on the main beach. It was clearly quite a festive spot, with people playing volleyball on the beach, or sitting around strumming guitars.
We lugged our backpacks up the beach to the first guesthouse we could find - the Souksan. This was right on the northern point of the island, with spectacular sunset views. The owner was an older lady with David Bowie eyes - one green, one brown. She had a slightly evil glint in her eye, but was actually quite fun. We asked if we could pay in US dollars, as we hadn't got any kip yet, and her face fell. "Dollar very bad. Just been to the bank, and it is so weak. Kip is better, I think, but I can change for you. Eight thousand to one - best rate - dollar very bad." Cleary the subprime crisis and US deficit was making itself felt in Don Det! We changed a small amount of money and checked in. Our little bungalow was good - no aircon, so it got toasty in the afternoon, and no hot water (but that wasn't a problem at all, in this heat). There were hammocks strung up outside, and the whole island had a really peaceful feel to it.
Laos has a very different feel to Cambodia - everyone talks about the people being laid back, and they really are. It probably also helps the the population density is still one of the lowest in Asia. I think there are still only around six million people here. We relaxed in our hammocks for a bit, looking out over the Mekong, and then set off to find a place for dinner. We ended up at Noy's guesthouse - which is run by Noy and her husband, a Belgian guy. The sunset was amazing - it sat low in the sky like a blazing red orb for what seemed like ages, before settling down under the horizon and turning the whole sky pink. We ended up having dinner with an Austrian guy, Jurgen, who was a bit older, and had come to Laos for a few weeks from Bolivia, where he now lived. He claimed to be a prospector, but from some of the hints he dropped I'm sure he was a drug smuggler of some sort. We spent the rest of the night talking about the world, South Africa (where he'd lived for a while), and just generally chatting over a few BeerLaos. Don Det isn't connected to the main power grid, and so generators run from about 6PM to 10PM; when the power went off, we realised it was time for bed, and got back to our hotel just before they locked the gates - they take their sleep pretty seriously here!
- comments
SARAH B OMGGG I saw him to! definitely a drug smugler! we had quite a fun time ;)