Lovin' it in Laos

The Mekong, a huge angry brown mass sits at our feet as we survey Thailand from Huay Xai in Laos. While getting our Laos visa, we met an America guy, Tyler, who tells us about a tiny mountain village, Luang Nam Tha, near the Chinese border in remote northern Laos. Tyler is looking for company to get a boat to Luang Nam Tha for some trekking - it's an out of the way, 'frontier' expedition and I'm immediately interested. We discuss the trip over a beer, and agree to team up.

To get to Luang Nam Tha, we have to travel up the Nam Tha River. It's a much smaller river than the Mekong, flowing through heavily wooded jungles where humble traditional villages huddle along the banks, and roads are yet to reach. Boats don't run regularly, so Tyler and I set out along the banks to charter a boat for the journey. Our search for a boat to charter lands us at the only boat crew able to make the trip in Huay Xai. Even though the Nam Tha river is small, it is treacherous and littered with rapids, so the boat must be small and the boatmen skilled. I try out some of my Lao language skills, which are really limited - after about 30 seconds I'm done. We agree a price in broken a Lao English hybrid, and with the business out of the way, we're all good to go.

Calling it a boat is an overstatement - it's little more than a motorised canoe. Along with our luggage, it's packed with supplies for villages along the way. This is no tourist cruiser - unlike the the Mekong tourist slow boats, we have hard wood seats and no covers. When the sun shines, we bake and when the rain falls, we get wet. I wouldn't say I'm adverse to comfort, but I relish the opportunity to experience the real deal and travel as the locals do - not something polished or softened for my tender white tourist ass.

At the first set of rapids, I feel my teeth clench and I grip the side of the boat - if the crew are not skilful, we're going for a swim up a different creek without a paddle. The captain coolly pilots his craft directly up the rapid with confidence and poise - he looks like he could do it in his sleep and it's clear we're in safe hands. I breathe a sigh of relief, and sit back to enjoy the scenery. As we pass small villages, the captain hollers goods we have for sale, and stops to inspect any merchandise the villages have to offer. As we pass one village, an old woman yells for us to stop and runs straight into the water near our boat. She emerges proudly with a foot-long catfish. The whole village crowds around the shore to participate in the negotiations. A deal is struck, money and catfish change hands, and we pull anchor and head upstream.


After about 8 hours on the boat, getting wet and baking in the sun, we arrive at our stop for the night - the boatman's village. There's plenty of supplies to unload, and our hosts are happy when we all muck in to get the job done. With the shopping taken care of, we make our way up the steep bank to our lodging for the night. Word has gone out that foreigners are in town, and we get a visit from most of the village - all smiling and saying hello. ­Lao's are notorious for retiring early and rising early, and by 9pm, we are fed and promptly tucked in. The next morning, having said goodbye to our gracious hosts, we are on the river and cruising by eight.

The scenery along this part of the river is spectacular – huge limestone karst formations jut out arrogantly from river level, towering above to make me feel insignificant. Massive trees with sprawling buttress roots stretch their fingers to the sky, straining under the draping weight of ferocious, parasitic creepers. The rapids so common yesterday are beginning to thin out, replaced by long stretches of flat water. Steep jungle slopes are replaced by cleared farmland, and houses on the banks appear increasingly modern, sporting tiled roofs and solar water heating units. The concrete bridge spanning the river signals our arrival to Luang Nam Tha - before long we are walking up a road thumbing a ride to the centre of town.

As I look back on our boat trip, I realise it’s one of the most remote places I have traveled to. There’s something special about being so far away from ‘civilisation’ –the necessities we surround ourselves with don’t seem so important and the humble villagers I met were happy and contented. People in subsistence village life are more likely to die from malnutrition and not having enough, whereas, in western societies, having too much perpetuates diseases of excess - obesity and diabetes to name a few. Governments spend huge sums to encourage citizens to exercise, and people spend lots of time and money to have the healthy, fit bodies that these villagers take for granted.

Sure, I can indulge in romantic notions of village life as an observer on a 2 day boat ride, and then scamper back to my air conditioned hotel room with wifi. But from my perspective, it's impossible to compare a village in Laos with western culture without recognising the paradox in calling the western world developed. Civilisation, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.