Twenty hours and Six Means of Conveyance: Part One

Bangkok, the city of guilty pleasures...as I write, I sip a 32oz 7-Eleven Slurpee.

Leaving Don Det was not easy, nor was getting to Bangkok before Monday. Leaving Don Det at 11:00 Friday morning, my aim was to visit Champasak 20km south of Pakse, cross the Lao-Thai border the following day and take an overnight train, arriving in Bangkok with enough time to submit my Chinese visa application Monday morning.

Me and another passenger were the only to disembark from the bus at Champasak. Daniel, a Canadian with an insatiable appetite for both marijuana and bananas (in that order), had just finished teaching English to Japanese 5-year-olds and was traveling SE Asia on a shoestring. He had the look of either an eccentric writer or the classic backpacker--prescription aviators, a stretched collared white undershirt and shin length cargo shorts. His hair hung in long curling strands and his gait was as relaxed as his attitude.


We took a ferry across to Champasak and checked into a local Guesthouse and decided to wait until the early morning to see the Wat Phou ruins. We had lunch and few Lao Cocktails, honey and mint mixed with the local tipple. It's not the tastiest cocktail I have ever had, but at 50 cents a piece, there is not much room to complain.


The small town was preparing for the Dragon Boat Races set to begin on Monday and we ran into a group of oarsmen at a local temple. They were playing local instruments during a break from building their dragon boat. They were as amused with us as much as we were with them. Daniel's harmonica was a hit and several traded instruments to have a go with his harmonica.


The following morning, we rose at 06:00, ate breakfast and cycled 9km to the temple. Our bikes were single speeds, one pink and one red. Written on the frames were Turbo Princess (pink) and Turbo Charming (red). I was stuck with the princess. The rear rack was padded and I found it more comfortable to ride the bicycle like a Big-Wheel and sit on the rear seat.

We were the first to the ruins and were told to pay a 40,000 kip overtime entry fee. We had arrived at 7:53 and realized if we waited seven minutes, we would pay the standard 30,000 kip fee. The difference was enough for two bottles of Beer Lao, so we opted to wait. Arriving early put us ahead of package tourists and other backpackers, we separated and walked alone through the ruins.

Cycling back, a local child wanted to race us. As he passed, he slapped us in the back, initiating the start. Daniel and I took off in pursuit. The Turbo Princess couldn't take the increase of speed and decided to throw its chain. Without my bike tools, it took me, a local and a piece of bamboo to pry the chain from the frame.

I said goodbye to Daniel and he bid me farewell, offering a banana for the trip. I hoisted my bag and started walking to the boat landing. A tuk-tuk driver stopped me and drove me the final 2k to the ferry. After crossing the Mekong, a local offered me a ride to Pakse on his motorbike. I considered it but decided against it. Riding a motorbike with a backpack is not fun.

A barge carrying several trucks arrived as I began walking to Route 13 to hitch. I waved down a banana truck exiting the ferry and they told me to hop in. I hurled my bag into the bed, took off my sandals and sat on a raised floor of bamboo with four locals. As we drove, the scent of bananas and the roar of plastic bags in the wind overwhelmed us.

Before leaving Beijing, someone asked me, "Why? Why do you travel?" This question came to mind as I squinted into the wind. I stood up and put my hands on the top of the cab to keep my balance. I couldn't explain it then, nor could I explain now. But this is part of the answer. A moment like this is what I seek in travel. This keeps me on the road.

To be continued...