Chris > In Laos we would awake to many sounds. Some days you hear the boom of drums and the murmur of chanting as monks in orange robes. They parade through the early morning streets receiving offerings, their food for the day. But yesterday we almost always woke up to a rooster. And today it was an alarm clock for adventure!
As we prepare to pile into the van, we took one last look at the quaint little blocks have been taken over by bustling cafes, restaurants, travel agencies and money exchanges. It was time to say goodbye to all modern conveniences for a glimpse of the hill tribe life.
These days one can’t just walk into the jungle in Laos. The country was heavily bombed during the Vietnam war and there are still huge areas covered in unexploded ordnance.
Now I'm writing this after the first day trekking is behind us, while sipping my morning coffee outside the hut where we stayed last night, so as not to forget the sights and sounds. Today we woke up to an orchestra of village noises at 5.30am. I don't know which came first: the rooster, the neighbours, the dogs scuffling, firewood being chopped or the grumpy cows being dragged to the trof.
The fog is now lifting over the village so we can see our surroundings. We arrived here yesterday evening after dark with little idea of what the village around us looked like. I really enjoyed the challenge to communicate with the villagers. Some had a few broken words in English to test out. Yet common questions like 'Where are you from?'or 'How are you?' are totally pointless. After a few minutes however, I was taught 'dog', 'fire' and the five names of one family by the more curious villagers who pointed until we repeated each word. Most other were curious and shy. After all, if they were transported into our daily lives of skyscrapers and subways, it would be a total alien experience. I really wish I could talk to them and learn about their world.
Life is not easy for these farmers. On our 8h15min trek to get here, we learned about the many steps in the rice growing trade that they survive on (most of this local rice they produce is used for candy or drinks). It is hard work, let me tell you. We merely had to walk up and down these steep inclines, while the women were completing their full day's work scaling these vertical crops. Before lunch I saw a five year old boy bash rice pods with all his little might. His pregnant mother was working up a sweat right beside him. Another boy was atop a hill spreading rice into the breeze as a wind prayer to suppress the bad rice.
The first sticky rice lunch - we ate sticky rice all three days for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Soon it was lunch time. Our group of six joined five rice farmers in their day hut in the field where a cast pot of water was already over the flame. They stuck live crabs on a spit to roast on the fire and then added them for flavouring to the broth. Unfortunately I couldn't share the local food since my stomach was turned upside down by a pizza (ironically) in town the night before.
We continued trekking after lunch through a ravishing landscape of mountain ranges covered in dense forest, keeping an eye out for tigers. Our guide, Kit, pointed out all types of vegetation, including some we can eat like orange wild bananas with black seeds, leaves that have a lemony taste, or berries so bitter only the deer go for them. The scenery along the trek was an inspiring rush of adrenaline (let me tell you, Steph and I both need this!).
Who else did we meet along the way? We marched over streams and stunning peaks, crossing paths with the occasional farmer. Women hulled rice, pounding it, sifting it, fanning it. If its not rice, farmers also grow bananas, papaya and pineapple. Goats sometimes crowded the edges of the path, but more often it was cows strolling nonchalantly. Hunters pass us on the trail with wide smiles and a songful 'sabaidii-dai".
We approached our first village following dusty little paths that lead around the houses. The Khamu people live in bamboo huts with woven walls and thatched roofs built on sturdy wooden stilts, with a cool space under the house where they store firewood or keep animals.
Everyone is busy. Children rush to greet us, grinning cheekily or hanging their heads bashfully. Turkeys scurry back and forth, trying to avoid our footsteps while pigs dig their snouts in the dust as they awake from their nap in the shade.
Last night our guide, Khit, explained customs and traditions of the minority village tribes over glasses of 'Lao Lao' rice whisky. It was almost his own way of sharing story time. I was amazed that life is at such a local level here that one village does not even speak the same language as the next one over the hill.
I'm told that today it's going to be a 19km trek (two more kilometers than yesterday!) until we reach the next village where we will sleep next to the Mekong river.
One last thought - our guides are wonderfully, genuine people and true ambassadors of this land of waves and smiles. Without them, that might be the limit to our understanding of these lovely people.
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