I may have unwittingly made a few grave errors in recounting what may have happened to Arun in terms of the route he may have taken and also that in implying it may have been a mistake that cost him his life. I would like to redress some things after a mail I recieved from a close mutual friend who had also trekked the mountain. Some excepts
"He seemed intent on hiking the southern ridge to the top, beginning from the Highland inn.
I remember commenting that I didn't know anything about that route, or whether one even existed, and that I (and I believe Pearly as well) had hiked the northern ridge instead, which was conveniently trisectedfirst by a tourist path, and higher up by an access road."
And the last paragraph
"Throughout this situation I've often found myself recalling an episode from my first time climbing the same mountain. In a foolish attempt to avoid what I thought, incorrectly, to be a checkpoint (wanted to avoid paying that measly 30 kuai) I wandered off the beaten path and began climbing an increasingly treacherous and confusing bit of the mountainside. I was sitting in the middle of a thick reed forest (at an altitude very close to that of Arun's accident), on a steep mossy mountainside with no visibility of what lay around me and aware that I could easily wander onto a brittle overhang without warning. While cursing my newfound stubbornness (thank's a lot Pearly) who should call but Arun. After patiently fielding a few questions about laptops and viruses and how to install this and that, I gently explained that given my current situation, this probably wasn't the wisest use of what little credit remained on my phone. We both had a good laugh at this, he wished me the best of luck, and I went on my uncertain way.
That day I could have met a similar fate. I wasn't being any smarter, or any more cautious. I was lucky, Arun was unlucky, and I don't think there's anything more to be said about it."
At this point I can only paste what I replied to the friend and I feel compelled, more by strong emotion than lucid reasoning, that I have to add a few things with regard to my own experience on the Changshan mountain...
"I don't really know what to say....but I feel you must be carrying the burden of grief a lot heavier than us. The distance from Dali helps dilute some of the shock and though I often pause and sigh, it's been going a little better for me; as hopefully it will eventually for all of us. I can share that I was a little bitter and was firmly convinced that rescue work was not carried out properly. I'm afraid there is still a faint tinge of resentment especially since you've thrown some light on the people involved in the rescue work, especially that of the proprietors of Highland Inn. But it will not help to carry this taste in my mouth.
As for your slight reference to my stubbornness which I might have forced on you on more than one occasion, I have to admit to it. I have been incredibly lucky in many situations I'm deliberately put myself in. My run with luck has often made me reckless and confidant in my recklessness. During my run in with the mountain, you might recall I called you twice to confirm my route and to be honest, to calm my near point of panic at a point when the fog moved in thick and the top seemed so close but I couldn't see a peek of it. Again luckily for me, the mist lifted abit and I once again gave in to my often cocky self and set out to reach the top. My heart was thumping during the descent as I struggled to hurry and reach before nightfall. I entered the town's gate after 9 pm, closer to 10 pm. I seem to have forgotten much of the dicey moments I faced with the rush of adrenaline and cocky pride that comes from knowing you met a challenge and came back safe.
I need to thank you for your mail for it has refreshed my memory and I have to take back my thoughts that Arun may have made a mistake. It could have been me as well. I think I didn't share any of the doubt and fear I faced in the mountain for it was the exhilaration and blissful tiredness I chose to remember the most. I even ignored to talk of the sweet relief once I was safe in bed. I was even too tired to stop long enough to pick brochets, the only late night food available at the road side stalls and relied on instant noodles.
As for your latter note, there are no apologies of any sort required. From the consortium of friends Arun had in Dali and Kunming and everywhere else, you were probably one among the few who I could sense was, if I may, a better friend and one I was genuinely happy to meet and get to know somewhat.
Hope you don't mind me sharing this mail with everyone else but there are some things I have to redress and would like to share as well."
Monday, November 16, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
A tough Goodbye to a Dear Friend
These pages have been empty for awhile and might be again. I'm deeply grieved to hear news that one of my dearest friends died in Dali, China while on a solo trek to the summit of the Changshan mountains that fringe the west of Dali Old Town.
Arun Veembur was a dear friend. He was my senior from Christ College and has always been a bit of a lovable eccentric. We'd often meet and talk of travel, mountains and aspirations we had to get out of the city we were bound to and travel to remote corners of India and the Himalayan mountains. He was particularly interested in the North East of India and we had many talks about it, me being from there as was another close friend of his from Assam. Arun was the one who eventually introduced me to Robin (from Assam) and other friends of his who are now my firm friends for life.
It was his intrepid curiosity and fascination for the mountains that led him to sign up for a course at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute which he later relayed to me and I eventually joined the course as well. After the course he travelled to Robin's place and there came across the Stillwell road, an old 2nd World War road that had been built by the Americans to transport supplies to China during the war against the Japanese. The road from Ledo in Assam, through Burma and upto Kunming in China's Yunnan province. Arun became obsessed with the road.
He spoke about it incessantly and set out to write a book about it. It took him 2 years to get required funds. Once in Kunming, he fell in love with it. He learnt the language and we friends heard less from him except for updates on his latest projects and ploys he had to remain on in China. We knew he was obsessed to a point that saying he loved the corner of China he adopted lightly. We'd often joke that he was hatching a devious plot to sell India over to the Chinese.
I had my own plans to travel to China and beyond, to Mongolia. I shared much of it with him and he was really encouraging. It took me two years and a few twists of fate to finally start my trip, a slow journey by bicycle. Arun was excited to hear that a friend from home would be visiting him in China. He was enthusiastic and kept in touch with us all through our trip doing what he could when we had minor setbacks like being denied entry to China at the Laos border and when my bicycle and belongings got stolen in Gejiu. More than anything it was his succinct wit and gleeful humour that helped me get over alot of these hitches.
When we finally arrived in Kunming, me bikeless and bagless with only the clothes I was wearing, he was there; waiting for us at the date point with his exaggerated Buster Keaton impersonating routine. Arun threw himself into all his passions with a dedicated obsession that was a part of his total eccentric lovable oddball self. He pursued the Stllwell road with as much intensity as he did Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton routines. Often it wasn't really well done and friends of his from Kunming would remember his often painful comic routines that he would stage at the Hump Bar. But it was part of the Arun we all knew so well. Closer friends will also remember the times he'd force us to sit through endless Buster Keaton movies, often pausing and rewinding parts he loved the most just in case we missed the finer nuances of the man's genious. In the end he had us all converted and loving Keaton.
Arun took care of me in Kunming like the friend and brother he was. He made sure I didn't brood on my loss and reminded me I was only missing material things. He introduced me around proudly as I was the first of his friends to have visited him from India. Not once did he underplay the excitement and happiness that he felt that with my visit.
I have to admit we had a few arguments as well. He had a way of trying to convince people about what he felt and also a knack for sustaining long arguments till you back of or admit to his view. He tried his best to get me to stay and agree with his view that travelling was pointless without stopping and learning the language and absorbing the culture of the place. He had developed a disdain for 'backpackers' and the lonely planet style of travelling by the book and tried to get me to admit what I was doing, though by bicycle, was almost the same as the rest of the pack. I ahve to admit it was also his way of getting me to consider staying. After one particularly heated discussion we had to both admit to mutual friends that we were a little sore with each other. But that didn't last, you can never be sore at Arun too long. As Arun told another friend of ours, he liked to get me worked up sometimes just because I fell for it each time. He added to the same friend it was abit like a sibling taunting game between us.
I decided to move to Dali while waitng for Ced, who'd gone back to France for awhile on business, as the mountains beckoned. I needed a different view from Kunming's highrises and Arun was just getting involved with a project in Dali at that point. Part of The Hump group for whom he worked. I loved the Dali life especially for the mountains and I spent a lot of time walking and exploring little paths on it which I would relate to Arun. It was me and Nick who found a path that led to the summit of Zhong He peak, at 4200m, a tiring but exhilarating 4-5 hour hike along one of the many ridges of the mountain chain. Nick and I both climbed to the top separately and encouraged Arun to do the same.
The Changshan mountains loom 2000 odd m above Dali. It has incredibly steep slopes and many gorges and deep furrows along it's slopes. The path we found sticks to the ridge of the section of the mountain just behind the huge temple complex south of the Three Pagodas. While steep and tricky in sections it is very manageable for those accustomed to mountain walking. When I had gone I took utmost care to make sure I had time to come back down. I had noticed several paths that seemed to lead down but decided to stick to the one I had come by. The climb and height gain had also left me feeling a little giddy and though it was getting late, I made sure I didn't deliberately hurry. Things didn't seem to have worked out for Arun.
While exact details to the turn of events are not clear, Arun presumably tried a new route after successfully reaching the summit and slipped while trying to navigate a cliff face down a dry waterfall. Gravely injured he called for help around 6 pm. He might have been unconcious for awhile. He also called his parents to let them know he was hurt but comforted them with a small lie, saying he was on his way to the hospital. A search team went out looking for him all night but couldn't locate him. Confused and weak from the fall Arun wasn't able to guide them properly either. It also turned out he had crawled under a ledge to keep away from the wind. When they finally found him, it was too late....
It is painful to share details of these last precious moments and I feel a need to talk about it to avoid the same happening to someone else. I can't help but feel there are many things that could have been avoided. No one was prepared for it and rescue efforts, if I may, perhaps a little disorganized. His friends who set out to locate him loved Arun as much as I and I may cause further pain to his friends and family in speaking out my mind but I feel we have to face the facts.
It is essential to find out where things went wrong, the awry communication, the fact that not all his friends who could have known of his whereabouts were contacted and that people were hopelessly unprepared. I may be wrong to presume as I was far away but I need to speak out.
Dali has a mountaineering club, it has mountains that people frequently hike in, there are local villagers that go frequently to gather stuff from the mountains and there doesn't seem to me much of a rescue team in place. I could be wrong and what happened, happened. We don't really require a crack elite team (it would be good if there are resources) but we definitely need a group of committed individuals who study the mountain and are in touch with villagers who know the mountain. Cordoning off the mountains and sealing it off from hikers will not be the solution. What Dali needs to do now is make sure the possibilities of avoiding accidents and the means to tackle them if they do happen are put in place. People need to talk about this and communicate. We owe it to Arun to see to it that someone else doesn't go through this pain.
And as for readers of this post and all my dear friends, I have to share that I believe spending time in Nature and with nature is healing and crucial to better understand our relationship with the earth and our purpose for living. I am happy Arun decided to finally go to the mountain. He had been going through a rather tough time with his job and related lifestyle and had decided to get back on track and get healthy and fit again. In our last mails and bits of communication he told me he was healthier and intent on maintaining an active healthy lifestyle and to focus on the book he had ignored for awhile. I think going to the mountain was part of his plan to refocus and prioritize what was important to him. But he may have made a few mistakes that anyone of us are capable of. I will not elaborate until I get the full details but if ever you happen to go alone on a hike or trek alone please keep a few pointers in mind.
1. 80% or more (figure may be inaccurate) of mountaineering related deaths happen during the descent. Often it is due to tiredness, time contstraints and the consequent likelihood of making mistakes or bad decisions. Always make sure you have optimal time to descend and if not abandon plans. Remind yourself continously to be careful.
2. Always stick to the same route you came up on. Do not try a new path if you haven't tried it before and are unfamiliar with the landscape. Especially when the area is steep and tricky.
3. Always carry emergency rations, a torchlight, a whistle, warm jacket and first aid no matter how easy or short the trek may seem or how warm the daytime air may be. If anything goes amiss a torchlight or whistle can help guide rescuers.
4. Inform, inform, inform....friends, guesthouses or family where you are going, the route you plan to take and what time you expect to be back. It may be sometimes difficult to stick to the time frame and delays may happen in coming back but keep a margin and ask more than one friend to check up on you. And make sure you contact them too when you get back. Worrying people is better than bad news being handed to them.
There may be many more things to add to the list but according to me these are the most important. As for Arun we will miss you. For a long long time.
And once again my intention is not to blame or hurt. I am fully aware that the rescue team tried their best and the events will continue to haunt them more than me. Especially as some of Arun's dearest friedns from China were on that team. But this has been written in the hope that the same doesn't befall someone else. One of Arun's last mail to me was about the recent cirsis The Hump faced after two core members walked out of an ongoing project after a disagreement. He wrote, in chinese, the word 'crisis' combines the characters for 'danger' and 'opportunity'. here i sense - i hope (touch wood) - the opportunity is the greater by far."
That was Arun.
Arun Veembur was a dear friend. He was my senior from Christ College and has always been a bit of a lovable eccentric. We'd often meet and talk of travel, mountains and aspirations we had to get out of the city we were bound to and travel to remote corners of India and the Himalayan mountains. He was particularly interested in the North East of India and we had many talks about it, me being from there as was another close friend of his from Assam. Arun was the one who eventually introduced me to Robin (from Assam) and other friends of his who are now my firm friends for life.
It was his intrepid curiosity and fascination for the mountains that led him to sign up for a course at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute which he later relayed to me and I eventually joined the course as well. After the course he travelled to Robin's place and there came across the Stillwell road, an old 2nd World War road that had been built by the Americans to transport supplies to China during the war against the Japanese. The road from Ledo in Assam, through Burma and upto Kunming in China's Yunnan province. Arun became obsessed with the road.
He spoke about it incessantly and set out to write a book about it. It took him 2 years to get required funds. Once in Kunming, he fell in love with it. He learnt the language and we friends heard less from him except for updates on his latest projects and ploys he had to remain on in China. We knew he was obsessed to a point that saying he loved the corner of China he adopted lightly. We'd often joke that he was hatching a devious plot to sell India over to the Chinese.
I had my own plans to travel to China and beyond, to Mongolia. I shared much of it with him and he was really encouraging. It took me two years and a few twists of fate to finally start my trip, a slow journey by bicycle. Arun was excited to hear that a friend from home would be visiting him in China. He was enthusiastic and kept in touch with us all through our trip doing what he could when we had minor setbacks like being denied entry to China at the Laos border and when my bicycle and belongings got stolen in Gejiu. More than anything it was his succinct wit and gleeful humour that helped me get over alot of these hitches.
When we finally arrived in Kunming, me bikeless and bagless with only the clothes I was wearing, he was there; waiting for us at the date point with his exaggerated Buster Keaton impersonating routine. Arun threw himself into all his passions with a dedicated obsession that was a part of his total eccentric lovable oddball self. He pursued the Stllwell road with as much intensity as he did Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton routines. Often it wasn't really well done and friends of his from Kunming would remember his often painful comic routines that he would stage at the Hump Bar. But it was part of the Arun we all knew so well. Closer friends will also remember the times he'd force us to sit through endless Buster Keaton movies, often pausing and rewinding parts he loved the most just in case we missed the finer nuances of the man's genious. In the end he had us all converted and loving Keaton.
Arun took care of me in Kunming like the friend and brother he was. He made sure I didn't brood on my loss and reminded me I was only missing material things. He introduced me around proudly as I was the first of his friends to have visited him from India. Not once did he underplay the excitement and happiness that he felt that with my visit.
I have to admit we had a few arguments as well. He had a way of trying to convince people about what he felt and also a knack for sustaining long arguments till you back of or admit to his view. He tried his best to get me to stay and agree with his view that travelling was pointless without stopping and learning the language and absorbing the culture of the place. He had developed a disdain for 'backpackers' and the lonely planet style of travelling by the book and tried to get me to admit what I was doing, though by bicycle, was almost the same as the rest of the pack. I ahve to admit it was also his way of getting me to consider staying. After one particularly heated discussion we had to both admit to mutual friends that we were a little sore with each other. But that didn't last, you can never be sore at Arun too long. As Arun told another friend of ours, he liked to get me worked up sometimes just because I fell for it each time. He added to the same friend it was abit like a sibling taunting game between us.
I decided to move to Dali while waitng for Ced, who'd gone back to France for awhile on business, as the mountains beckoned. I needed a different view from Kunming's highrises and Arun was just getting involved with a project in Dali at that point. Part of The Hump group for whom he worked. I loved the Dali life especially for the mountains and I spent a lot of time walking and exploring little paths on it which I would relate to Arun. It was me and Nick who found a path that led to the summit of Zhong He peak, at 4200m, a tiring but exhilarating 4-5 hour hike along one of the many ridges of the mountain chain. Nick and I both climbed to the top separately and encouraged Arun to do the same.
The Changshan mountains loom 2000 odd m above Dali. It has incredibly steep slopes and many gorges and deep furrows along it's slopes. The path we found sticks to the ridge of the section of the mountain just behind the huge temple complex south of the Three Pagodas. While steep and tricky in sections it is very manageable for those accustomed to mountain walking. When I had gone I took utmost care to make sure I had time to come back down. I had noticed several paths that seemed to lead down but decided to stick to the one I had come by. The climb and height gain had also left me feeling a little giddy and though it was getting late, I made sure I didn't deliberately hurry. Things didn't seem to have worked out for Arun.
While exact details to the turn of events are not clear, Arun presumably tried a new route after successfully reaching the summit and slipped while trying to navigate a cliff face down a dry waterfall. Gravely injured he called for help around 6 pm. He might have been unconcious for awhile. He also called his parents to let them know he was hurt but comforted them with a small lie, saying he was on his way to the hospital. A search team went out looking for him all night but couldn't locate him. Confused and weak from the fall Arun wasn't able to guide them properly either. It also turned out he had crawled under a ledge to keep away from the wind. When they finally found him, it was too late....
It is painful to share details of these last precious moments and I feel a need to talk about it to avoid the same happening to someone else. I can't help but feel there are many things that could have been avoided. No one was prepared for it and rescue efforts, if I may, perhaps a little disorganized. His friends who set out to locate him loved Arun as much as I and I may cause further pain to his friends and family in speaking out my mind but I feel we have to face the facts.
It is essential to find out where things went wrong, the awry communication, the fact that not all his friends who could have known of his whereabouts were contacted and that people were hopelessly unprepared. I may be wrong to presume as I was far away but I need to speak out.
Dali has a mountaineering club, it has mountains that people frequently hike in, there are local villagers that go frequently to gather stuff from the mountains and there doesn't seem to me much of a rescue team in place. I could be wrong and what happened, happened. We don't really require a crack elite team (it would be good if there are resources) but we definitely need a group of committed individuals who study the mountain and are in touch with villagers who know the mountain. Cordoning off the mountains and sealing it off from hikers will not be the solution. What Dali needs to do now is make sure the possibilities of avoiding accidents and the means to tackle them if they do happen are put in place. People need to talk about this and communicate. We owe it to Arun to see to it that someone else doesn't go through this pain.
And as for readers of this post and all my dear friends, I have to share that I believe spending time in Nature and with nature is healing and crucial to better understand our relationship with the earth and our purpose for living. I am happy Arun decided to finally go to the mountain. He had been going through a rather tough time with his job and related lifestyle and had decided to get back on track and get healthy and fit again. In our last mails and bits of communication he told me he was healthier and intent on maintaining an active healthy lifestyle and to focus on the book he had ignored for awhile. I think going to the mountain was part of his plan to refocus and prioritize what was important to him. But he may have made a few mistakes that anyone of us are capable of. I will not elaborate until I get the full details but if ever you happen to go alone on a hike or trek alone please keep a few pointers in mind.
1. 80% or more (figure may be inaccurate) of mountaineering related deaths happen during the descent. Often it is due to tiredness, time contstraints and the consequent likelihood of making mistakes or bad decisions. Always make sure you have optimal time to descend and if not abandon plans. Remind yourself continously to be careful.
2. Always stick to the same route you came up on. Do not try a new path if you haven't tried it before and are unfamiliar with the landscape. Especially when the area is steep and tricky.
3. Always carry emergency rations, a torchlight, a whistle, warm jacket and first aid no matter how easy or short the trek may seem or how warm the daytime air may be. If anything goes amiss a torchlight or whistle can help guide rescuers.
4. Inform, inform, inform....friends, guesthouses or family where you are going, the route you plan to take and what time you expect to be back. It may be sometimes difficult to stick to the time frame and delays may happen in coming back but keep a margin and ask more than one friend to check up on you. And make sure you contact them too when you get back. Worrying people is better than bad news being handed to them.
There may be many more things to add to the list but according to me these are the most important. As for Arun we will miss you. For a long long time.
And once again my intention is not to blame or hurt. I am fully aware that the rescue team tried their best and the events will continue to haunt them more than me. Especially as some of Arun's dearest friedns from China were on that team. But this has been written in the hope that the same doesn't befall someone else. One of Arun's last mail to me was about the recent cirsis The Hump faced after two core members walked out of an ongoing project after a disagreement. He wrote, in chinese, the word 'crisis' combines the characters for 'danger' and 'opportunity'. here i sense - i hope (touch wood) - the opportunity is the greater by far."
That was Arun.
Friday, October 9, 2009
CCTV Watching You!!
Prayers no longer spin for the camera shy. An obscure monastery in the mountain wilds of Western Sichuan. For those who must, it's a rugged 50 km climb from the town of Maerkham. They wouldn't let us free, tailing our every move. I pointed out their camera could do all the work. And wondered what guile could a prayer spinning Buddhist possess. A monk smiled quietly as if reading my thoughts.
It's great to be breathing free albeit frigid air again. Mongolia's winter is feels warmer than blogger blocking sooty Chinese air. An exaggeration I'm afraid for I sometimes miss it much.
Narrations continue here but blogger is resuscitated once more.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Censored!
I've been censored by the beauracracy of the PRC. Which means I've can no longer access this blog-this message is being posted by a friend in New Zealand. The PRC's 60th anniversary is coming by soon and all possible touchy subjects are being avoided. A tragedy as I had much praise for the incredible luck and help I've received from the Chinese police in recovering my bicycle, the details of which I was all ready to wax eloquent on my blogger pages.
But now...
I've moved here to the Travel Blog. Continue reading there. The link, if you need it, is http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/PedalledPennings/
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
A Study in Contrasts
Apart from inflated food prices I have no complaints about Laos. I thank the country for making a cyclist out of eager me. On these roads it's just a matter of perseverance. So I cycled more than 1200 kms in Thailand but was still broken by Pai and here I'm over a thousand as well and eager to see how the roads in Vietnam are. Maybe the pictures have a clue on how and why I've toughened up. Plus when you cook yourself over slow smokey camp fires, your tummy's fed enough to start enjoying the wild beauty of the country.
Here's an example of what the Thais call rural road, often a road that doesn't pass through any important economic hub but one that's been built with blessings from the benevolent king and just serves to link small rural hamlets to bigger wider truck pliable roads. This is a road that leads down to Bok Krai waterfalls not far from the Isthmus of Kra. Please note the paint has worn off on most other rural roads so don't expect the same bright lines.
While South Laos certainly boasts better roads and we have travelled along roads with stretches of uninterrupted tar this is an extreme example of what is called a highway here. This is an important link road for traffic plying between the northern provincial town of Phongsali to Oudomxi, an important economic hub of Northern Laos. I must clarify this stretch lasts for only 109 kms starting at Ban Yo till Pak Nam Noi where you will suddenly see the tar from a distance shimmering like a mirage in a desert. From Phongsali to Ban Yo it's a good sealed road and remains so as the road contiues on 20 km to the Chinese border town of Pak Ha (still closed to travellers). But a 90 degree turn southwards to remain in Laos and here's a good ride awaiting. Took us two days and one small fall (me), dust clogged lungs, muck choked chains and rattled bones to finally kiss tar at Pak Nam Noi.
Here's an example of what the Thais call rural road, often a road that doesn't pass through any important economic hub but one that's been built with blessings from the benevolent king and just serves to link small rural hamlets to bigger wider truck pliable roads. This is a road that leads down to Bok Krai waterfalls not far from the Isthmus of Kra. Please note the paint has worn off on most other rural roads so don't expect the same bright lines.
While South Laos certainly boasts better roads and we have travelled along roads with stretches of uninterrupted tar this is an extreme example of what is called a highway here. This is an important link road for traffic plying between the northern provincial town of Phongsali to Oudomxi, an important economic hub of Northern Laos. I must clarify this stretch lasts for only 109 kms starting at Ban Yo till Pak Nam Noi where you will suddenly see the tar from a distance shimmering like a mirage in a desert. From Phongsali to Ban Yo it's a good sealed road and remains so as the road contiues on 20 km to the Chinese border town of Pak Ha (still closed to travellers). But a 90 degree turn southwards to remain in Laos and here's a good ride awaiting. Took us two days and one small fall (me), dust clogged lungs, muck choked chains and rattled bones to finally kiss tar at Pak Nam Noi.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Laos; I meet Muddy Ruts and more
I meet Muddy RutsIn other news Laos has been a wild adventure right from the start. I wish I could share every day but brevity's been calling for me to exercise it so I'll share some bits as best as I can. But to let you guys know this post was meant to have been keyboarded in China but thanks to a rather unfortunate turn of events with Chinese immigration officials at the Boten-Mohan Laos-China border. We are now back in Luang Prabhang giving the town a second chance of redeeming itself from the initial rather acerbic impression we had of it when we first arrived from the wild western roads of the country only to jostle our way through the tourist multitude (that invades Luang Prabang each season) while trying our best to hang on to our purse strings that everybody seemed out to leach into. But I'll save the narrative for the next post and focus on the roads that intoduced us to Laos and wiped the Pai sniffles out (wrt previous post).
Pulling out of Huay XAi was easy till the tar road ended abruptly less than 2 km from the main town centre. A
long dusty strtch awaited us with the only remnants of tar popping up for a couple of 100 m stretches each time the road led through a village. I guess it was blessing for the villages with the amount of dust kicked up each time a vehicle passed which was quite often. The Mekong seemed to taunt us as it placidly flowed beside the pebble and dust road. People in these parts have relied on boats for centuries and there's a reason why. 
Anyway we stuck to the course counting our blessings in that we were really in touch with the land and meeting the real locals. The road to Pakbeng is quite an ellusive on even on the map and the next few days saw us chasing little faint squiggles on the map with often none too reliable inputs from locals who'd point out small tracks after initial attempts of dissuading us with terse comments of "no road" staring at our bicycles with disbelief. They weren't wrong. There wasn't a real road and we had to connect dots taking boats when a road ended for sure and pushing our bikes through little paths no bigger than a reindeer trail. (Reindeer?) Ok mouse deer trail. Some pictures to illustrate the road.
There was semblance of a proper road for the first 75 km or so until it dissapeared somewhere along a village (who's name we never really got) 5-7km form Hatsa where we had initially planned to cross the Mekong by boat to catch up with a track on our map. The electric poles had dissapeared a long while back and here on there was no electricity to be had till we reached Pak Beng. Being rather late and convinced by villages we might as well take a boat from there we camped in the school grounds of the village. We had a problem with food as there wasn't even a single noodle shop in the whole village but luckily they cooked up 4 packets of Mama (similar to Wai-wai instant noodles) at a local store. We also got a small introduction to what would become norm each time we passed a village; a reception of curious gawkers too shy to initiate conversation with but entranced enough by our bicycles and presence to stare unflinchingly at every move we made. We woke up the next morning to a foggy dawn and a growing mass of school kids around our tent.
The Mekong lay swathed in thick mist and though our boatman ridicolously overcharged us 50000 kip for the short 10 minute ride across the river to the village of Pakso it was the most beautiful boat ride as we cut straight into the enveloping early morning river mist, silent except for the drone of the boat's motor. I could have paid him more to row us across just to preserve the magical stillness around.
Pakso to Pakhop was less than a 10 km stretch but finding the road involved a proper recci and put our communication skills to the test. We pushed our bikes through corn fields, crossed streams, followed cattle tracks, pedaled over bumpy rubber tree roots crossing plantations, waded through knee high wild grass and fell into mesmerised dream state broken only by occasional jolts when our wheels went over hidden ruts.
A road runs through it...or is it a river run through it?
O Laos, Where Art Thou?Once in Pakhop we spent quite awhile in vain looking for the said to exist trail on the map to Pakpet Neua but after repeated dead ends and unconviced locals we finaly resorted to taking another boat though we were smarter this time about negotiating the price. We paid 60,000 kip for the half hour boat ride. There is a proper jeep road from Pakpet Nuea that connects to the biggest town around these parts, Xiang Hon though it took awhile to figure this out as our map again erroneously listed the town as Xang. Our Rough Guide map won the IMTA prize for best map in 2006 but almost consistantly got the names of towns and villages wrong. It has been the best map around so far for small roads and land relief so you can imagine the state of other maps. Cartography as a career option is being keenly considered. We could at least offer our services to do ground work for cartographers. (Interested folks please read this as a job application)
We had roughly cycled 15 kilometere when we passed through a small Khamu village where when of the villagers who we'd met earlier passing us on his moped, stopped us to tell us not to continue as it was a long climb ahead and no villages for a good while. It was already late evening and so after some hesitation and his insistance for our safety, we decided to accept his offer to spend the night in the village. We didn't quite manage to convey we had a tent and could camp so we gratefully accepted the offer to sleep for the night in the spare room of one of the villagers. I am consistantly overwhealmed with the generosity and kindness of village folk. It hasn't been the first time I have experienced the benevolence of people who have so little themselves but take it on themselves to help as best as they can. I remember the time I was literally rescued and hosted by villagers in a remote corner of Bhutan after getting my purse robbed.
We spent the night in a lovely bamboo hut, bare except for a few pots and bedding for the family and the traditional tiny round stool that serves as dining table. Dinner was a simple affair with boiled mustard leaves, chilli and Khao Niao (sticky rice). Cycling really whets the appetiate and I couldn't help but continue to stuff my mouth long after our hosts were done. Being rather tiny people they seem to eat a lot less. Thankfully they seemed happy to see us throughly enjoying the food and egged us on with encouragements of "Kin Khao! Kin Khao!". (Eat rice!, which we conviniently quickly understood as eat more! eat 
more!) Here's a picture of Ced stuffing his face the next morning with our indulgant hostess looking on. Breakfast was a repeat of the previous evening's menu and I'm guessing an everyday affair. We were happy to eat all they served as the road ahead was to be a proper test of endurance and especially for me, of my handlebar maneuverability and balance. Our hosts had waved us off with wishes of "Shukdee!" (Good Luck!) and seemed a little perplexed when we shoved an envolope with a few notes into their hands. They clearly weren't excepting anything in return for the hospitality they had offered us.
After the first hours climb we were quicly descending towards Xiang Hon, a dusty town spread across a huge valley
. We had a huge lunch here and soon were digesting it clambering up roads and curves of the like I'd never seen let alone cycle on before. Tarred flat roads became a distant memory as I painfully struggled up steep inclines littered with loose rocks and slippery dust only to steel my nerves for painfully bumpy descents with my spirit sinking at the view of the next climb ahead. This went on for three consecutive climbs and descents and with the sun beating down on us through the 40 deg C heat around, it clearly wasn't for the faint hearted. Here's when the cycling taught a thing or two about zen to me. I took my time, refused to be ackowledge the pain building in my m
uscles and ignored my discomfort except to stop often to sip water and wipe the salt that strayed into my eyes. I marvelled at the scenery around we and reminded myself how fortunate I was to be doing what I was doing. It took a lot of mental persuasion but not once did the sneaky longing to be on fueled machine cross my mind. But after 3 grueling climbs I was more than happy to break for the night by a stream just before the last real climb towards the highway that connect to Pakbeng. By this time we also realised we need to start cooking ourselves as there were no noodle shops or fresh food of any kind to be bought along the villages we passed. We somehow survived dinner and breakfast with cold canned sardines and hard dry khao niao a villager had kindly sold to us from his own dinner leftovers.
Next morning was another tough climb that took us through more villages that never seemed to have seen foreigners ((though the bicycles do magnify their curiosity) and we were soon passing through more densly populated villages before suddenly ahead we saw what was clearly meant to be the highway 2W as marked on our map. It was a bigger wider version of the road we'd been on except the pebbles and dust was replaced by loose grey gravel delibrately laid by machines. Huge machine lay in strategic corners and trucks passed by the score. It was even more tricky pedaling on the loose gravel and with the machines lumbering past and the hills around being pillaged of their trees and earth with not a scrap of shade around, it felt quite close to passing through some Tolkien-esque wasteland.
Hellish highway
We had roughly cycled 15 kilometere when we passed through a small Khamu village where when of the villagers who we'd met earlier passing us on his moped, stopped us to tell us not to continue as it was a long climb ahead and no villages for a good while. It was already late evening and so after some hesitation and his insistance for our safety, we decided to accept his offer to spend the night in the village. We didn't quite manage to convey we had a tent and could camp so we gratefully accepted the offer to sleep for the night in the spare room of one of the villagers. I am consistantly overwhealmed with the generosity and kindness of village folk. It hasn't been the first time I have experienced the benevolence of people who have so little themselves but take it on themselves to help as best as they can. I remember the time I was literally rescued and hosted by villagers in a remote corner of Bhutan after getting my purse robbed.
We spent the night in a lovely bamboo hut, bare except for a few pots and bedding for the family and the traditional tiny round stool that serves as dining table. Dinner was a simple affair with boiled mustard leaves, chilli and Khao Niao (sticky rice). Cycling really whets the appetiate and I couldn't help but continue to stuff my mouth long after our hosts were done. Being rather tiny people they seem to eat a lot less. Thankfully they seemed happy to see us throughly enjoying the food and egged us on with encouragements of "Kin Khao! Kin Khao!". (Eat rice!, which we conviniently quickly understood as eat more! eat 
more!) Here's a picture of Ced stuffing his face the next morning with our indulgant hostess looking on. Breakfast was a repeat of the previous evening's menu and I'm guessing an everyday affair. We were happy to eat all they served as the road ahead was to be a proper test of endurance and especially for me, of my handlebar maneuverability and balance. Our hosts had waved us off with wishes of "Shukdee!" (Good Luck!) and seemed a little perplexed when we shoved an envolope with a few notes into their hands. They clearly weren't excepting anything in return for the hospitality they had offered us.After the first hours climb we were quicly descending towards Xiang Hon, a dusty town spread across a huge valley
. We had a huge lunch here and soon were digesting it clambering up roads and curves of the like I'd never seen let alone cycle on before. Tarred flat roads became a distant memory as I painfully struggled up steep inclines littered with loose rocks and slippery dust only to steel my nerves for painfully bumpy descents with my spirit sinking at the view of the next climb ahead. This went on for three consecutive climbs and descents and with the sun beating down on us through the 40 deg C heat around, it clearly wasn't for the faint hearted. Here's when the cycling taught a thing or two about zen to me. I took my time, refused to be ackowledge the pain building in my m
uscles and ignored my discomfort except to stop often to sip water and wipe the salt that strayed into my eyes. I marvelled at the scenery around we and reminded myself how fortunate I was to be doing what I was doing. It took a lot of mental persuasion but not once did the sneaky longing to be on fueled machine cross my mind. But after 3 grueling climbs I was more than happy to break for the night by a stream just before the last real climb towards the highway that connect to Pakbeng. By this time we also realised we need to start cooking ourselves as there were no noodle shops or fresh food of any kind to be bought along the villages we passed. We somehow survived dinner and breakfast with cold canned sardines and hard dry khao niao a villager had kindly sold to us from his own dinner leftovers.Next morning was another tough climb that took us through more villages that never seemed to have seen foreigners ((though the bicycles do magnify their curiosity) and we were soon passing through more densly populated villages before suddenly ahead we saw what was clearly meant to be the highway 2W as marked on our map. It was a bigger wider version of the road we'd been on except the pebbles and dust was replaced by loose grey gravel delibrately laid by machines. Huge machine lay in strategic corners and trucks passed by the score. It was even more tricky pedaling on the loose gravel and with the machines lumbering past and the hills around being pillaged of their trees and earth with not a scrap of shade around, it felt quite close to passing through some Tolkien-esque wasteland.
Hellish highwayThe road mercifully wasn't uphill all the way and it soon became a matter of trying not to skid on the loose gravel and stoically pedaling knowing we'd be back to the Mekong for some soul and body cleansing. The road intrestingly was being built by Thais and with the rate of progress should be completely tarred and ready in a matter on months. I had contracted some sort of a urinary infection beacause of the combination of dust, sweat and dehydration by then and nearly wept with relief when the planned highway suddenly ended right at the river. The debris had obscured the view of the river and I had been prepared for a much longer ride. Again there was a problem with the map as Pakbeng was supposed to be right across but turns out the new road and proposed future bridge lies 10-15km before the small town. Unable to consider cycling another km even we spent a good while negotiating with boatmen until one finally agreed to take us for 50,000 kip. Pak Beng exists solely because it's used as a stop over for tourists travelling from Huay Xai to Luang Prabhang. 10 years ago there was virtually nothing in the small village it was but now every second house is a guest house and fairy light decked restaurants and their garish glow light up the street at night while huge speakers blare music in the bid to attract their customers for the night. In the background the town's three generators thud and sputter all night providing power in the absence of electric lines till the last customer leaves to wake up for the early morning's scuttle back to the boats to catch the best seats for the next days cruise to Luang Prabhang.
We caught the boat as well and got to be tourists for the day. It was definitely less dynamic than pedalling and I was happy to cruise down the Mekong in the shade but I couldn't help but be almost bored after the first 5 hours. No wonder the rather constipated looks on the faces of several passengers around. Along the way we saw a rather grisly sight as we pulled up to villagers trying to sell their wildlife catch to the boats that ply this route. Laos supposedly has the best forest cover and wildlife around this part of SE Asia but this is being continously threatened by illegal logging, deforestation and to a lesser but still significant degree by hunting. And Laotians seem efficient hunters by the goods on offer. There was a young girl clutching what looked like a cuddly teddy but turned out to be but a clearly dead pygmy slow loris frozen in rigor mortis. A still bleeding mouse deer hung from another's hands while the slighly less lucky one included a squealing pangolin strung by the tail, squirrels, civets, a few sqawking barbets and mercifully dead kingfishers hung by their claws. I don't like to justify one meat over the other especially when you're travelling through a protein deprived poor nation but the sight was enough to churn my tummy and emotions. Later on I'd try to reason with my prejudices again while travelling through areas brisk with dog meat trade.
Grisly teddy; cuddly till dead
We caught the boat as well and got to be tourists for the day. It was definitely less dynamic than pedalling and I was happy to cruise down the Mekong in the shade but I couldn't help but be almost bored after the first 5 hours. No wonder the rather constipated looks on the faces of several passengers around. Along the way we saw a rather grisly sight as we pulled up to villagers trying to sell their wildlife catch to the boats that ply this route. Laos supposedly has the best forest cover and wildlife around this part of SE Asia but this is being continously threatened by illegal logging, deforestation and to a lesser but still significant degree by hunting. And Laotians seem efficient hunters by the goods on offer. There was a young girl clutching what looked like a cuddly teddy but turned out to be but a clearly dead pygmy slow loris frozen in rigor mortis. A still bleeding mouse deer hung from another's hands while the slighly less lucky one included a squealing pangolin strung by the tail, squirrels, civets, a few sqawking barbets and mercifully dead kingfishers hung by their claws. I don't like to justify one meat over the other especially when you're travelling through a protein deprived poor nation but the sight was enough to churn my tummy and emotions. Later on I'd try to reason with my prejudices again while travelling through areas brisk with dog meat trade.
Grisly teddy; cuddly till deadWe pulled into Luang Prabhang, got throughly dismayed with the tourist mass that had taken over the town, disgusted with monk hunting camera weilding fellow tourists (when not on our bikes, we scarifice our role of travellers), bitched about unbelievably high prices and stayed comatose in our rooms stupefied by the heat for almost 5 days. It was hard to move and our bodies seemed to protest each time to planned to leave. We finally made the effort to visit some wats and tried our best to try and enjoy the UNESCO Heritage tag bestowed on the city. But when tourists outnumber locals there's clearly something amiss. But move we did and male it we did to the Chinese border taking a long route round via Phongsali but details I think I'll spare till we do enter China. I'm paranoid to the point of being almost superstitious that we'll be denied entry again if I share our story too soon. So till the next post and some pictures beside, to let you all know we'll be pedaling through Vietnam, crossing the famous Tram Ton Pass and hopefully entering China via the Heko border in Lao Cai. And yes Luang Prabhang on second visit with half the tourist population has been good enough for us to joke about coming back during monsoon to really start loving it.
Wlecom to China: A picture taken too soon.
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