Anyone who has been teaching in Thailand long enough will tell you about the mandatory visa runs that you have to do every few months to ensure your paperwork is all in order. Sometimes you are really lucky, and the closest foreign Thai consulate lies somewhere exciting like Malaysia. And sometimes, you endure a 12hour bus ride to some remote region of Laos. And, for the second time in the past year and a half, I found myself in the sleepy city of Savannakhet. Travelling with a fellow teacher and close friend made the experience more bearable, but I still knew what lay ahead. Savannakhet is located in Western Laos on the border of Thailand and is arguably the most uneventful city in the region. A few temples, a Catholic church, a war museum and a dinosaur museums pretty much sum up the extent of activities on offer. Time moves slower than a sloth on ketaminein these parts and thanks to the repetitive play of cheesy 90’s pop tunes (Big, Big World was a favourite on most playlists) often feels like it has stopped altogether. It’s not that far-fetched to believe a worm hole leading straight back to the booming era of boybands lay under the dodgy manhole covers scattered about town. In summary, boredom was guaranteed. Waking up on Monday morning, the only responsibility for the day was to submit our paperwork to the Thai consulate in the morning and the rest of the day was free. It may have been the fact that Paige and I had recently spent an evening vegging on the couch watching the Top Gear Burmese special, but the idea of renting bikes and travelling cross-country came up. Destination? The Vietnamese border with Laos, roughly 230km’s from Savannakhet and literally across the country. With much excitement, we began our journey. After submitting our paperwork, our first challenge was to find two automatic bikes for rent. We rented bikes from different shops and it seemed that we found the only two automatic bikes in the entire city. Driving a manual bike across the country was just not feasible. I took the smaller of the bikes, which also happened to be the bike which barely sputtered to life and painfully strained under throttle pressure. Being an eternal optimist, I had faith in my “Dark Knight” and we set off on our journey. We estimated that the entire trip would take us roughly 5 hours to reach the border, taking stops along the way into account. The road leading out of Savannakhet was surprisingly good, with very few potholes and in decent condition. Settling in comfortably on the journey, we soon realised that Laos is a lot more rural than one would believe. We passed a few small towns and villages where goats and chickens filled the streets. Stray dogs andimpromptu cow crossings were the most dangerous part of the journey, and we stopped along the route to appreciate some of the natural beauty. We encountered some dirt roads where construction was taking place, but for the most part it was an easy ride. One thing became clear very quickly – my Dark Knight was a real guzzler. Every 30min my tank was empty and fuel stops became second nature. Knowing something was definitely not right with this bike, we gave each other a few curious glances but continued our journey, nonetheless. There are few better feelings on Earth than taking a bike on an open road through the unknown and soon I was completely immersed in the journey. That was until the sound of a pop followed by the dead stop of my bike along the side of the road. We began trying to revive my mechanical stallion again, but to no avail. The tank had gas, so the issue was definitely something mechanical. Looking around, we had broken down in front of a few Laotian style houses a few km’s out of town. The decision was made that finding a local who could help us was our only option. I made my way to a lady who was seated outside her house and had witnessed my sad and less-than-gracious motorcycle meltdown. Using an array of animated hand gestures and my very basic understating of Thai (which is understood in Laos), I soon managed to tell her I needed help. She told me that the nearest town with a bike shop was 30km’s away. All this commotion, and the sight of two foreign girls in parts unknown, soon had the entire community out and about. Children, the elderly, every adult in the vicinity and all the animals that the families owned, soon gathered around the bike to try and solve the problem. A bus, which dropped a local off across the road, joined in on the fun and soon a French tourist and the bus conductor were offering assistance as well. A consensus was soon reached – the bike was well and truly stuffed. The family loaded it on their tractor and told us they would take us into town. We followed the kind men and a little boy, who truly seemed the most excited by this entire experience, to the “town” – which turned out to be the village of Nom Mi Sai. Tucked away on a dirt road was a mechanic, who began working furiously on the bike the moment our local hero told him that we broke down. In a similar fashion, soon it seemed the entire community was invested in helping us fix our issue. At any given time there were at least four people working on the bike and a few others keeping us company. A retired cop, who spoke English, took us under his wing for a while and became our interpreter. He gave us regular updates on the progress of the bike, and soon the mechanics had illuminated the spark plug being an issue. It would take us longer than expected to get the bike going again and we were told we should either continue our journey on one bike or sleep at the nearest guesthouse that evening. Feeling slightly defeated, we acknowledged that the best decision would be to stay with the bike and not risk getting stuck on the remainder of the road trip. We sat next to the bike shop for a while, watching the peaceful village life passing by. In the late afternoon, we saw some cows coming home down the road and grabbing my camera I ventured off to get some pics. As I stepped around a corner, I saw the source of the music that had been playing the entire afternoon. And they saw me too! Before I knew what was happening, I was whisked away by two middle aged Laotian men and seated in the middle of a dozen people who were singing and dancing. Smiling politely, as one always does in Asia, I soon realised that I had been invited to join in the local festivities… and boy, was everyone feeling festive! Handed a glass of BeerLao, it was expressed that I should drink it quickly and return the glass to the circle. It seemed that there were two glasses circulating and if one found its way into your hands, you would need to guzzle quickly as to not keep the next person waiting. A few minutes in and I knew I had a solid few friends in this neck of the woods. I managed to get away to find Paige, and returned with her to my new circle of friends. I have honestly never been so welcomed by a group of people in my life! They shared their beer, fed us some great local food, showed us how to dance and even tried finding Western music in their collection to play for us. They seemed really happy to have us join the fun, and soon we felt right at home in this little village in the middle of nowhere. The festivities continued as the sun set, with laughter and charade-style communication flowing as fast as the beer. As evening approached, we realised that we still had no clue as to where the guesthouse was and should inquire to the state of my beloved bike. We bid our friends farewell, thanked everyone for their hospitality and made it back to the bike shop just as they were finishing the repairs. Rejuvenated by the mechanics, my bike was ready to go. We were directed to the guesthouse and most of the community bid us farewell as we left. We soon found a guesthouse 13km’s away, in the middle of nowhere and spent the night. Although we had made it past the halfway mark on our journey, we didn’t get to the border. If we had more time on our hands, it would have been a done deal. However, the opportunity to experience a small village in Laos with local hospitality on a Monday afternoon was truly something special. Laotian people have been dealt some difficult cards, historically speaking. The country spent the most part of three decades in a civil war when internal factions were fighting for power once independence from the French was achieved. In the midst of this, Laos was caught in the crossfire during the Vietnamese War due to the support of neighbouring Vietnam. Laos is the most bombed country per capita in history, with the U.S. dropped more than two million tons of artillery on Laos during 580,000 bombing missions—equal to a planeload of bombs every 8 minutes, 24-hours a day, for 9 years. The after effects of this brutal undertaking are still felt throughout Laos – an estimated third of all the bombs dropped did not explode and still contaminate the Laotian countryside with UXO’s (Unexploded Ordinance). Over 20.000 people have been killed by the UXO’s since the war ceased, and recent numbers still sit at 50 casualties a year, whom are often children. Despite this, the willingness of each person we encountered to help us was incredible. Laos is a country trying to build a sustainable economy with the shadow of war still lurking, and although the people may live humbly the countrymen are rich in humanity, hospitality and warmth. We may not have reached the Vietnamese border, but we got a glimpse into the hearts of a community filled with sincere people. And that alone is adventure enough!
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July 2017
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