January 8th, 2017
In the laid-back Loatian capital of Vientiane, we ride ancient bicycles complete with baskets and bells to the Pha That Luang – a giant golden announcement of Laos’ existence, a golden Buddhist stupa that seems militaristic at the same time.
Then to two of the few temples listed as sights to see, but they’re mostly reconstructions after the destruction of Vientiane by successive waves of foreign wars, from Thailand to Cambodia to the French and the Americans. If there is a temple in the vicinity, Angel wants to see it. Bananas. (See “Elephants & Jungles & Waterfalls to understand that reference.) We also stop at the concrete Arc de Triomphe rip-off called the Patuxai on the way back to the Salana Boutique hotel (the nicest place we’ve stayed so far.) Locals call the Patuxai “the American runway” because it was built with concrete given to Laos by the US government to build an airport runway, which never materialized.
Though the street food in Vientiane doesn’t end up being the best of the trip, it feels the most authentic. No one speaks English and I barely see any Western tourists. Our first stop, for a bowl of noodle soup cooked by a pair of giggling Laotian teenage girls, is amazing and costs $1.50. Subsequent stands serve indecipherable cubes and balls of deep fried mystery meat and squid skewers that are a little questionable. Street stalls selling a thick crepe seared to crunchiness are actually pretty damn good.
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The town of Houey Xay is a strange border town, filled with dingy backpacker hotels and guesthouses, a one night stop for most people heading on slowboats down the Mekong towards Luang Prabang. It is also the starting point for the Gibbon Experience.
An hour outside of Houey Xay, our pick-up truck turns onto a dirt road into the Nam Kan National Park. Two 21 year old Israeli girls ride with us, Elena and Stav. They are backpacking for 5 months, and living on $10-$15 per day, with this excursion being by far the most expensive thing they’ve done.
We stop in a small village and begin the hike into the wild jungle. The vertical climb of the first hour and a half is extreme, a carved dirt trail footpath switchbacking up the mountain. Two young Swiss guys have joined us, and it will be the 6 of us in the tree house. We are all in good shape and though it isn’t very hot, it’s humid, and all of us are drenched within 15 minutes.
We get about 3 minutes of instruction on ziplining, before we run and jump off the edge of one verdant mountainside and sail across the valley, far above the treeline. The view is breathtaking, and more than one of us giggle in shock and nervousness and adrenaline after the first landing. The sheer walls of the cliffs drop away vertiginously, covered in tall trees as well as dense pockets of bamboo. It is about 10 times more exciting than any other ziplining I have experienced. Maybe because it feels more dangerous. By the fifth zipline, the instructors are allowing us to hook on and go at will, without any supervision. We fling ourselves into space and fly far above the dense canopy of bright viridian and yellow-greens and emerald. The only sound is the whirring of metal cable line above me as the ground drops below me.
I start to spin clockwise on the 6th zipline, abruptly. I reach up with my left hand to help strong-arm my torso back to center, as I’m supposed to, but the spin is too far gone and the cable grinds the skin off my forearm in a long red line. I don’t realize until I unhook at the end, and my arm starts to throb.
The 11th zipline takes us across a short span to the upper canopy of a huge tree, inside which our treehouse sits, impossibly crouched in the upper branches. It’s definitely a wow moment as I unhook from the zipline, and step into our home for the evening. I was first in the group, of course – I know that arriving in a shared rental house means that you get the best room. Airbnb 101. The bottom level is the arrival level, with the zip line and the bathroom/shower. There are no side walls, so every level looks out above the jungle canopy. The second floor is the main level, with the common area table and mats laid out for up to 8 guests. When Angel gets off the zipline, we commandeer the third level, which has room for only one bed. Our own little penthouse suite.
The sun is low on the horizon and the six of us drink strong coffee with sugar as we talk about traveling. Angel and I go down the stairs to take a shower overlooking the jungle. Though the water is cold, there is something magical about being naked with no walls, looking over the jungle tree tops as the sun lowers in the sky.
One of my favorite things about Angel is his ability to easily like something. A dish is never a jaded so-so, it is often “amazing.” There might be a little too much unintended one-upmanship when he talks…everything is in comparison to something on a previous trip (“oh, if you liked that village, you should have seen the one I visited last year in Patagonia), but generally, his exuberance reminds me how things are supposed to feel. As we get older, that feeling of joy sometimes feels childish or naïve, when it should be the feeling we chase all the time. It’s not difficult to hold onto that feeling in this kind of setting.
Two Laotian women zipline over to make up our beds and bring our dinner. The sun sets across the valley, with the greens darkening to black, while the sky fades into deep oranges and reds. We rig a caving flashlight over the table after the sun has disappeared, and we play cards and drinking games with homemade Lao whiskey.
Stav and Elena are militant vegetarian Israeli girls, freshly finished with their military service. We all laugh, half aghast, at their stories of stealing the occasional orange or banana from the offering altars of Buddhist temples to stay under their $10 per day budget. Fabian and Matt are handsome Swiss guys, who gamely mention that Zurich has a big pride parade as a way to show their gay-friendliness.
Angel and I say our goodnights and climb to our bedroom level. The Israeli girls talk a bit with our guide Kee on the main level as we do our best to keep silent as we fuck above them.
The jungle is loud at night, and we can hear small animals in the trees, birds and monkeys in the distance, and jungle rats as they scamper across the roof. Later, I hear them scuttling along the floor, and gnawing on the cooler where we locked our snack food.
At the end of our second day of ziplining, rain starts to drizzle gently. Muddy water from the cable splashes our face. As we finish the hike to lunch near where our trucks are now parked, the skies open up and sheets of water pour from the clouds.
Our drive out of the jungle is scarier than the ziplines. We hang precariously onto the metal cage attached to the bed of the truck as we skid, slide and struggle to get up and down the muddy hills without turning over or skidding off the road over a cliff.
The guards at the border crossing into Thailand barely glance at our passports. That night in Chiang Rai, we gorge ourselves at the street stalls at the night market, on green curry and pad thai and hot pots and fried shrimp.
We spend the following day exploring the colored temples of Chiang Rai. If you get over the need for all temples to be ancient, and dive into their magical surrealism of the creations, you’ll be carried along. After the wild jungles, this was as far away as we could be, in a fantasy world of sculpture and icon.
The White Temple
The Blue Temple
Tom Is Tripping 