An Ego Cleansing

The eight hour bus ride I felt was quite an amateur one after completing a 17 hour journey with leg room built for the 5"3 average Laotian height on a vehicle so packed that the aisles were lined with standing and sitting bodies. We had come to a close of the trip in the small town of Vieng Thong and our only focus was the attainment of food. The power of our minds to obtain said nourishment for the sake of the body however wasn't quite strong enough to make our brains spontaneously poor forth the Lao language from our lips. It's important though, we've learned, to use the phrase book and keep your head in the game or you could wind up eating a 16 day aborted duck fetus as we had in the Philippines ("By 22 days they have fingernails" {Cohen, Noah 2008} and on the 32nd day the parents fulfill the greatest deed possible according to the Old Testament). Our communication struggles culminated unsuccessfully with me attempting to order my dish by running in circles, flapping my arms, and cooing. However, my charades would not be in vain as the commotion managed to gain the attention of a couple of the town's rare, and possibly only, bi linguists, Po-xai and Noi. They invited us to dine at their friends house a few kilometers away with two late teenage girls and their parents, for laap, pho in a plastic bag, fish from the Mekong River, sticky rice, numerous shots of rice whiskey, and an ensuing water fight in our subsequent drunken stupor.

After finding out that the two of them worked for the National Protection Agency (NPA) for a nearby National park that had yet to open in the country's beauty queen province (Lonely Planet 2006), I asked them to give us a guided tour of this pristine slice of the Laos mountainous jungle. At first they were hesitant, and rightly so. At this point the park had no trails or markings. The only people it sees are a group of 70 or so local villagers that are paid 600,000 kip a month (about $70 US, that's right I'm a kip Millionaire), twice the average amount that can be made off the main employer's (the land) wage, to go through the forest for 21 days straight to track wildlife, enforce the protection of the land, and map the area. Additionally, Po and Noi are just beginning their careers in the tourism industry and had yet to guide anyone before. In the end they decided it was a good profitable way to spend their Sunday.

Over dinner Shula and I cripped and cropped at their requested fee. "Don't get me wrong" I said, "I love your company but does this trip really require both of you as guides plus the hiring of a local guide to bring around just two of us? We're good, fit hikers." He skeptically looked my scrawny body up and down but only said that the point of this excursion was not business, but pleasure, and that we should spend only an amount that felt comfortable and manageable to us. Papaya salad was consumed and an agreement was reached.

We rose early the following morning and rode the backs of two motorbikes piloted by Po and Noi an hours ride to the North where we would meet local guide # 7 (spending most of their time in the office and away from the forest had made it difficult for Po and Noi to keep their names straight). #7 met us at his small village of about ten bamboo houses and silk weaving shelters with a population of about 50 villagers, and led us through the valley of rice terraces into the thick jungle. Armed with a two foot blade, #7 would take the front most of the way, hacking the forest in order to blaze the trail for the four of us. The pace was quick, so I took up the rear taking comfort in the knowledge that while I was the most able bodied hiker of the group, it was important to take in the sights, sounds, and smells of the beautiful bamboo jungled landscape, rather than show off my ever capable feats of physical strength. I was more at one with nature then my companions who would rather compete and attempt to impress then to take the time to see the lush landscape and exotic birds that surrounded us.

Once we began our descent to the waterfall the terrain became steep. Each step required an extreme amount of physical and mental caution and concentration. First a secure grasp of a vine, tree, or bamboo needed to be sought and executed, then proper footing had to be established on the slippery substantially pitched slope, and finally the numerous large thorned bushes along the way had to be avoided. After 30 minutes of descent, with the sweat pouring into our eyes, we had reached the river, a good kilometer south of our intended waterfall destination, only to find that we were stuck. Flanked on both sides by cliffs and confronted by a river that was too deep and too sparsely decorated with sturdy stepping rocks, #7, Poi, and Noi, decided our best course of action would be to climb up an area they located where the cliffs weren't too high. Then we would hike along it until the river appeared more fordable. This is where I resolved to kick my hiking into high gear, to give this group a morale boost and a dose of physical prowess in which to aspire. As an American male with the individualist explorer spirit ingrained in my soul, like Lewis and Clarke before me I had to take the lead and show these "guides" and my girl friend what I was capable of.

Shula had just scrambled up the fairly vertical pitch quite masterfully with Noi close behind her to ensure her safety. I pushed Po and #7 aside and dug in, placing my feet on two small holds in the rock. I reached with my hands to grasp the various vines and roots and hoisted myself up. Everything was going well until I came to a section of the boulder that was totally smooth, I didn't see any solid hand holds. I scoured the area for several seconds when I spotted a rock that was destined to lead to my triumphant summiting. It was built for my hand, shaped to the contours of my carpals, intentionally placed by the universe itself to ensure my most victorious and impressive cliff scaling. Success lay a mere few feet above it. As I reached for it I heard Po yell from just below me.
"Grab the root to your right."
"This rock is fine!" I shouted back sharply. In my head, and inhenrent with the intonation of my reply and the accompanied facial expression, I added
"This is your first guiding experience and my millionth hike. I climbed the Half Dome of Yosemite before I had hair on my balls and have summited numerous presidential peaks of the White Mountains including an ascent up Huntington's Ravine. I was the starting short stop, pitcher, and the clean-up hitter for my little league baseball team. Hell I probably know Laos better than you. You've been living in Australia the last few years. Just like the rest of your people your short and you don't have a chest hair to speak of. Cliff Hanger was played by Sylvester Stalone, a North American Caucasian, not Jackie Chan. I sure as shit don't need your help, plus I..."
Suddenly my internal rant was rudely interrupted when the rock I had grabbed, and subsequently shifted my weight over, came loose from the soil that held it. I was now hanging on with only my left hand. Noi swung into action reaching his hand down from above while Po and #7 climbed up to me quickly, pushing with all their might at my butt and the bottoms of my feet. In a combined effort, all three guides together just managed to hoist me over the edge to safety. Now at the top, lying on my back, I looked up at the sky huffing and puffing while Shula stood over me with her arms crossed shaking her head and smiling. I cursed out the lord for the undoing he had caused me. He countered with a swarm of bees.

That night the four of us lost ourselves by way of bamboo straws jetting out of a giant jug of hard alcohol, rice, and water; a beverage that tasted similar to wine. After learning how to say I'm wasted in Lao and repeating it a few times, Po looked at me with a smile and when the room fell silent yelled "The Rock is fine!" There was nothing to do but laugh. We closed the evening with a bathe in the town's immensely hot spring, under a sky of shooting stars.