Savannakhet - Pakse

The worst possible thing that can happen to a touring cyclist is becoming disabled and facially disfigured in a bad accident, insurance doesn’t pay the medical fees and you’re left with no money, loads of debt, one leg and half a face. The second worst thing that can happen is being involved in an accident that results in a slow painful death. The 3rd worst case scenario is having men with guns, who don’t speak your language, ordering you out of your tent in the middle of the night which is closely followed by running out of porridge in 4th place. I guess dying instantly in an accident is the 5th worst possible thing that can happen to a touring cyclist.

I left Savannakhet with a stinking hangover. I’d only had 3 beers and 2 Johnny Walker Reds the night before but I’ve become such a lightweight since I became fit and healthy and I’ve rarely drank since I started travelling. I’m an embarrassment to my former self who wasn’t exactly a heavyweight drinker anyway. So like I was saying, I didn’t leave Savannakhet until mid to late afternoon due to my embarrassingly stinky hangover. I went a lot slower than I’ve being going lately had a break after 10km instead of my normal 35 and pulled up in an unused bit of land as soon as I’d passed the 30km milestone (does that make it a kilometre stone or is it still a milestone measured in kilometres)? Hmmmm….

The land I’d chosen was on the edge of woodland and the camping spot looked green from the road but on closer inspection was gravelly and too hard to get my pegs in, there weren’t any clouds so I wasn’t too bothered about making my tent waterproof. Due to my embarrassingly stinky hangover, I couldn’t be bothered finding a better spot even though half decent land was dotted about all over this area and there was still about half an hour left before darkness even though it was sunset. I got in my tent, munched on some bananas, had a can of tuna then tried to sleep. I still had a headache and a few thoughts in my head (not bad ones) so I decided to read. With my wind up torch squeezed between my chin and shoulder and my book in my hand moving from side to side to capture the light in the right place I read several chapters. Several hours must have passed and I was so engrossed in my book that I’d forgotten how rottenly stinky I felt and began to feel sleepy. It was then that I heard shouting maybe 30 metres away. My torch went out. 

The voices got closer and it became apparent that the person they were talking to was me. “For %$*& sake”, I thought, “I can’t be arsed with this; they’ll get bored if they think I’m asleep”. After a couple of minutes they hadn’t gone away and I could pick out at least 3 different voices. I didn’t have a clue what they were saying but could work out there was more than 1 man out there and more importantly, I could work out that they weren’t taking my non responsiveness as a hint and I’d have to do something about it. I’ve become aware over the years how well intentioned people with fear can become aggressive and that people are often scared of what is alien to them so when faced with people I can’t be bothered with in Asia I don’t do anything sudden, I’m not tall and muscular but I’m bigger than most Asians (and I’m hairy) so I try not to appear to intimidating with sudden movements. I make a peace offering (usually a cigarette) and smile a lot.

So I stuck my head out of the tent and feigned enthusiasm. “SabaiDEEEEEEEEEEE”. The men quickly shone their torches in my face. There was a momentary silence…. “Phalang” (foreigner) one of them muttered. He continued to talk rather loudly at me. I casually got out of the tent, lit up a cigarette and offered the men a smoke. Even though I had been reading, my torch is weak and my eyes weren’t adjusted to the light shining in my face. I could not see much but eventually worked out that there were no takers, I could see an orange glow; one of them was already smoking. They continued trying to communicate with me. ‘They really can’t take a hint’ I thought to myself as I shrugged my shoulders and stared at the light blankly. I went back in the tent, got out my phrasebook and some bananas, returned and said “I don’t understand”. I then looked up the phrase ‘Can I camp here’? I was an expert on Chinese tones after less  than a month but have not shown the same level of enthusiasm for learning Lao and opted to show the writing rather than try to speak it, as I usually do if the phrase has more than 2 syllables. None of them wanted my bananas either by the way, I don’t know why, they were lovely. 

As the torches moved from my eyeballs to the book my vision adjusted slightly and I got a glimpse of the men. The two closest to me were middle aged and one of them had a rifle slung over his shoulder. There were 4 of them. I pretended not to notice the rifle and opted not to look directly at the other two. Then the man who had done all the talking shook his head, pointed to my tent then to the path that ran parallel to the road, He wanted me to go with them and I didn’t want to find out if they would take no for an answer. For some reason it didn’t feel like a robbery, just a pain in the ass. They continued to read my phrasebook as I got my belongings out of my tent, slipped a couple of 50,000 kip notes into my pocket and tucked my money bag firmly down my shorts so that I’d have something to give them if it was a robbery and started dismantling my home. They found a picture of a temple in my phrasebook. That was what I thought was happening. I’ve seen men appear out of the woods before with hunting rifles. In many parts of Laos, the majority of the protein in the people’s diet comes from wild meat. I’d also met several cyclists who have been invited to sleep in temples although not by armed men who demanded they move. If they didn’t have guns I would have ignored them and slept in the field. 

I’d only been previously been disturbed once in my tent in Asia. A woman shone a really bright torch in my tent the night after I’d left Yuanyang and asked me if I was cold. I hadn’t had a good sleep the night before and was having an amazing sleep until she came along. I’d told her I wasn’t cold in Chinese then told her to **** off in English and let me sleep in peace. It was difficult to pack my bags in the dark, even with the help of the men’s torches. It was a short walk to the temple; I noticed that two of the men had guns. In the temple I was given noodles and then told to wash my hair by one of the monks. I got taken to the cleaning quarters where there was a toilet, a huge pale of water, toothbrushes, soap and shampoo. I wondered why monks would have shampoo then quickly decided to try and think about something else. By the time I’d washed myself the men who’d led me to the monastery had left. I was going to ask them to pose for a photograph with me. I slept beside the monks on a nice fold up mattress and even though I’d rather have not been disturbed, I have to admit, it was really unimaginably more comfy than the gravelly land I’d previously been lying on.

I was given more free food in the morning. I gave the monks my bag of rice to thank them for their hospitality. The remaining 209 km to Pakse passed by largely uneventfully. Embarrassingly stinky hangover lasted until mid-morning. I thought about the chain of events from the previous night repetitively when I took a break from the burning midday sun. I felt annoyed that something bordering excitement happened and I didn’t get an adrenalin rush and was slightly worried by this. People who don’t get emotional reactions in situations of danger (or the illusion of danger) are psychopaths. I thought about all the intelligent people I’ve met who claim Vang Vieng is full of crazy people but the people in Vang Vieng do dangerous things and get a rush out of it, crazy me, I get nothing; it didn’t even cure my hangover. It is said that there are no atheists in foxholes but I had no superstitious thoughts running through my head when I saw the guns and got told to pack up my tent and go with them. I didn’t have my life flashing before me. I felt pretty calm during it all but the excessive weed smoking days of my youth have robbed me of most of my memories anyway. My life maybe did flash before my eyes but it happened so quickly I didn’t realise it. Although I didn’t have a major upheaval of my values or worldly beliefs, the events that took place that night did make me think and change at least one of my misconceptions…I’ve come to realise that although I still prefer China, travelling around Laos isn’t actually as boring as I’d previously thought and if you stay there long enough, sooner or later, something interesting might happen. 

I cycled the rest of the way with real enthusiasm and concluded that this was my adrenalin rush. I’m not a psychopath, my reaction times are just a day or two late that’s all. I’m an idiot, if I do ever get taken hostage, all they need to do is give me unlimited food and smile a lot. It would be 3 or 4 days before I’d even realise I’d been kidnapped and wasn’t allowed to leave. I’ve never ignored a kid who has screamed Sabaidee at me as I pass them, even though lately I haven’t felt any enthusiasm for it. They are just children and it’s exciting for them to see me and I’ve always at least tried to fake a smile. My enthusiasm for waving, saying hello and returning their smile has felt natural again. “Sabaaideeeeeeeeee”!

The following night I pitched my tent at the side of the road and 3 men in motorbikes pulled up. One spoke English and told me there was a guest house just a few hundred metres away. I told him I camp because I don’t have much money and he then told me I could sleep at a temple for free. I told him I was happy sleeping here and he looked at me amazed. “You are not scared of ghosts”? I laughed and shook my head, “no” I replied. Bless the Laotians. The man the previous night had probably been shouting at me as I lay in my tent out of panic and concern for my wellbeing. Language is such a powerful but dangerous tool. What I could have interpreted as an angry call of “YOU, GET THE F*** OUT OF YOUR TENT WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD AND HAND OVER YOUR MONEY”, was probably a fearful cry of “HEY MAN, ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR MIND TO CAMP HERE.  THE GHOSTS WILL ATTACK YOU, GET TO THE TEMPLE NOW BEFORE YOU GET KILLED, YOU’RE SPOOKING ME OUT MAAAAN”. I’ve relegated men with guns to the 4th worst thing that can happen to a touring cyclist. Having no porridge is far worse. Bless them.

I chatted to a woman who lived in America for 30 years and returned to Laos to take care of her elderly mother. She spoke excellent English and was nice and lively. I got chatted up by two men…. He stopped his motorbike and waved me towards him. “You speak English”? “Yes”. “You want fuck me”? “No”. End of conversation. He toddled on. The other one was far less forthright and just sat across the table from me and fluttered his eyelids as I read my book. After 20 minutes, “I love you, you love me”???? “No”. He toddled on. I spent one morning clearing an ant colony out of my tent, I ate 4 cans of tuna, had leeches all over my feet from wallowing in mud whilst washing my clothes in just about the only river I came across that wasn’t dried out, I found a restaurant that sold things other than noodle soup, I watched dragon flies for half an hour, I spent an hour watching ants busy dismantling my leftover pasta and I stopped smoking for 3 hours. I won’t tell you about the thoughts running through my head immediately prior to me starting smoking again but if I did kill the waitress, it would have been her fault for not serving me quickly enough. Nothing much else happened. I fear Superbike may be terminally ill, it made all sorts of cranky noises for the last 150km. I had doubts about it making it to Pakse but here I am.