Aging Adventurer

Luang Prabang, the jewel of Indochina, is a small village in Laos that UNESCO plans to keep that way under its World Heritage program. The ancient royal city  surrounded by mountains is at the junction of the Mekong and its tributary, the Khan River.
The tasty food, great markets, warm climate and exhilarating massages add to the natural splendor. There are no big hotels, no street beggars, just a few cell phones, a couple of cars and almost no abandoned “wats” (the Thai word for temple, typically a Buddhist one). There are dozens of temples and approximately one monk for every 30 people living there.

Transport troubles in this rural paradise were like umbrellas opened on sunny days: unexpected but everywhere. Driving was unstable; one bounced over the dirt roads, avoiding roosters and dogs running amok. While bicycles were the main mode of travel there were also the motorbikes with carts, a couple of private cars, and of course the slow boats.

My daughter and I had no intention of going all the way to China but we did want to see the Pak Ou Caves where, over the course of hundreds of years, people deposited countless numbers of Buddha images.

The regular boat tours included visits to a whiskey making town and another that made paper; neither of which were on our agenda. The guide books suggested hiring your own driver to allow freedom of time and sights. We  climbed aboard an oversized shell with a few worn pillows added for comfort and hired a captain for the entire day with plans to venture up and down the Mekong River with a side trip to the Kuang Si Waterfalls.

Erin, my daughter, was the first to notice that our boat was the only one on the river that employed a first mate, the captain’s wife. Even more surprising was that she was very busy bailing water from the back of our vessel. Unfortunately she had to stop every time the motor sputtered and stopped.

We sensed the potential for problems but when the motor cut out for the fourth time we recognized trouble! If the current had its way we would be back at our starting point in less time than we had already spent on the water. Our driver struggled to get us to shore with a small paddle where once again he failed to fix the motor.

While he labored away I strained to stay calm as it was clear I was in no position to save us. Finally, the wife climbed up the bank and started yelling. Just when I thought our plans for the day were cancelled, we were rescued by a larger boat going to the grottos.

The cliffs housing the treasures jutted out over the river hiding two caves, one atop the other, and truly did hold an innumerable number of Buddhist icons both large and small.

The rescue boat captain informed me with a combination of verbal and physical cues that his plans were different than ours and suggested we take yet another boat back.
Approximately thirty minutes from town, the skipper pulled into shore and indicated that we should get out. I was a little nervous because we had paid up front and did not have a receipt. We were visibly confused.

One passenger, recognizing our concern, spoke in Thai to the driver who responded in Lao. She then asked in French if we spoke French. I responded that I spoke a little but failed to mention that I understood presque rien.  What I understood was that we were to get off the boat and take a tuk-tuk back into town.

Miraculously our first driver who apparently swam across the river, appeared dripping wet in his underwear. He must have explained our problem, as we continued down river where the other passengers were deposited and we continued on our way to the Kuang Si Waterfalls, a magnificent site with pools, stairways and thundering mists.
We climbed up the stairs towards the falls until we no longer felt safe and witnessed the power of this beautiful raging perpendicular river. Tourists and locals bathed in the pools, spicy aromas from the various food stalls mingled with the fresh scent of forests, and local arts and crafts hung from string lines; this was a spot where nature merged with commerce in a tranquil manner.

In India we took in Mumbai and the Golden Triangle. We started in the south and then traveled by rail up to Delhi where we hired a driver and car for the rest of the sights.

Unfortunately the reserved seating on the overnight train were too confusing for us. The numbers, cars, seats etc. were posted somewhere and it took at least 3  attempts to find that. After repeated visits to the office looking for explanations, a man approached us and offered his assistance. As his  shirt was somewhat similar to the ones worn by the office staff I assumed he was  a steward.  He promptly pointed out the board and brought us to our seats;  told us to leave our luggage and go up front to get our tickets stamped.

As a woman who is used to carrying a purse I never thought to leave my backpack behind. Not so my friend. The official in the first car looked at us like we were crazy and it hit me. We were bamboozled. That jaunt back to our  left belongings took seconds. Our suitcases were there but not the backpack with camera, computer, prescription medicine, maps, phone and snacks. It was a long, long night and now I pay attention to color of uniforms too!

For every one of these mishaps I have had dozens of positive experiences, times when people went way out of their way to help me.  Another learning experience!

This article is an excerpt from my first published story 13 years ago:

Due to the high altitude I explored Katmandu for 30 hours before boarding a plane somewhat larger than a super sized eagle. It soared above the hills to Lukla, a village with a landing strip that defied logic. The looming adventure filled the air.

Everywhere there were hikers, Sherpas, backpacks and supplies. The aromas of the morning were both sweet and pungent. I explored the village, inhaled the full senses offered by the open windowed shops, drank in the shared anticipation of all those around me.

Discovering the teahouse where I would meet up with my porter and guide, I encountered the first of the many outdoor toilets, one of only two hellish marks on this incredible trip. My feet hungered to be on the path, adrenalin was pulsing through my body and my patience was wearing thin.

When Laxman, the guide, finally arrived I could no longer contain my enthusiasm. I handed off my smallish suitcase to his sidekick, Sri, a lanky young porter, who balanced it atop my sleeping bag and other supplies that would be his burden for the entire week. I shouted my urgency and took off running. Laxman quickly adjusted his thoughts on distance and the first night’s goal.

I didn’t feel the pangs and pains that I feared would accompany me. I floated and I breathed in more than the light air. I was energized by the overwhelming beauty and wished I had more than two eyes to take it all in. The first unencumbered view of Everest was about the only thing that could make me stop. Day after day, my mood was as high as these mountains.

The constant diet of potatoes with garlic along with those nasty energy bars did nothing to deter the delight of hiking on the edge of the world. I contentedly shared the earthen highway with fellow trekkers, villagers, and people-trucks carrying lumber, food, and other necessities as I transversed through the villages of Namche, Thame, Khumjung and Thyangboche.

The yaks, however, were my nemesis. I hated it when they came toward me on the trail, especially on those swinging bridges. Their horns would aim out the sides of their head making them demand even more room than the hikers who liked to travel two by two with their poles outstretched.

By the light of the starriest night yet, I went to the outhouse before retiring. It was as if I were in a magnified Van Gogh painting.  This particular shed was resting precariously next to a steep precipice. In fact, the rope on the inside of the door was not to keep the door closed, but a life grip stopping a backwards fall that might cause the entire hut to descend the mountain side.

I finished my business as quickly as possible only to discover that the door was now blocked by two yaks. I didn’t want to aggravate them. My demise was only a short BUTT away. I swear I could see their eyes twinkling like the luminaries in the sky, and emboldened I started yelling “help” “help” “help”, hoping to be rescued by someone. Nothing. A few louder cries now emanated from an even squeakier voice box.
Soon I heard the teen-aged campers near-by yelling to me to “Shut-up”. Incensed, I simply pushed on the door, the yaks moved and I ran past the tents to the safety of my most humble cot!

Hope not to return to Beijing….at least until they do something about the smog. My lungs, nose, and eyes are all complaining today.
In spite of this , I truly enjoyed my interactions with the people I encountered. The highlight was my impromptu dance session with a mixed group of people around my age.  As I don’t do zumba or line dancing I can’t  say it was similar, but maybe.  We were in a line and we were waving our arms and doing steps that were a little complicated and of course we were all laughing….at me!

The Summer Palace was a new experience, vast and full of locals enjoying the exercise, beauty and each other.  As a directionally challenged person, the three changes of trains made this side-trip quite exciting as well.

It’s hard to whine about not sleeping due to jet-lag, time-change, etc. when I knew that 2 days on the ground was not enough time to adjust and took this mileage run anyway.  The perks definitely outweighed this inconvenience.  In addition to collecting the miles I was able to enjoy the benefit of a “free” upgrade both ways!