Stuck in Lao Mayberry

Editor’s note: Such a long article. But it’s worth the read. I include my adventures with ladyboys, bomb remnants and their effect on children, and the most shocking thing yet about Laos. As I re-read it, I’m pretty pleased with myself for keeping continuity in the narrative through so many different subjects. Yay, me. –Chip/Scott

Planning your trip day by day introduces opportunities for exploration that cannot be met with a rigid schedule. But, it has its hazards, too. For instance: I may be stuck in a backwater part of Laos until Sunday. Nearly one entire week in the smallest, most remote location on my trip. Shit.

Yesterday I strutted onto the streets of Ventiane intent on teaching those little Lao kids a lesson in American firepower: water-style. But, soon enough, like Lance Johnson in Apocolypse Now, no sooner was I on a mission to destroy than I found myself going native. I and my platoon–two young Lao boys and a little girl–waged merciless and successful guerrilla warfare against everyone and anyone. We targeted the young and old alike. Women and children. People trying to eat dinner. People coming from the temple. People on motorcycles and in cars with windows rolled down. Ah, what fun.

As the sun set I turned to older company to go explore the town. A crew of backpackers met up at a guest house and one I had chatted as we passed on the street earlier, a Frenchman named Luke, was among them. The eight of us went to a rooftop bar overlooking the Mekong and enjoyed many beers. When the Lao curfew went into effect, Luke and I peeled off and went to one of the all-inside clubs at a nearby hotel.

The sky opened up and released colossal pools of water upon us. But inside we were dancing and, as usual, getting the attention of the girls and boys alike. I should point out here that the girls in Lao aren’t as aggressive as those in Cambodia. Where Cambodian chicks will walk up and sit down next to you the Lao girls won’t do so until waved over. But the gay men and ladyboys harbor no such reluctance. All day and night I had extreme fems and big-handed women running up to me to hug me and call me their boyfriend.

The next morning I awoke to a bit more hangover than I had anticipated. I reviewed the scribbled reminders of journal and blog topics in my journal. I’d have time to study and decipher that man gibberish on the short flight to Phonsaban. The trip from Vientiane was brief–30 minutes–and arrival in this backwater town was interesting, to say the least. As the tree-covered mountains yielded to the encroaching rice paddies of civilization, you could see bomb craters everywhere. And here is the sad part of the story.

In the late 60s and early 70s the US waged the largest bombing campaign in the history of the world. In a few short years, more bombs were dropped on Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos then everything dropped by everyone in WWII. Most of these bombs were dropped on Laos. And as many as 30% remain intact, partially covered by dirty or foliage and awaiting human contact. They call this unexploded ordnance (UXO).

People are constantly getting killed by UXO. Farmers trying to clear land for new rice fields. Women gathering food from the jungle. Children playing with new, metal toys (cluster bomb bomblets) they find. 50% of Lao farmers have refused to expand their fields because they’re afraid of plowing into a buried one ton bomb. And removal of the ordnance is extremely difficult because the metal detectors being used also detect shrapnel. And shrapnel lies around this place like cherry blossom petals in DC in the spring.

So here I am in this town, waiting to see the plain of jars (tomorrow) which is, according to Lonely Planet, “mostly cleared of UXO.” After that, I planned on being out of this town run by the chickens, goats, and cows. Per my SOP, I tried to arrange travel out immediately upon arrival. But everything is closed because of Lao New Years. And if I cannot get a ticket tomorrow I may miss the Wednesday flight. And the next flight out of town isn’t until Sunday.

There is absolutely nothing to do in this town. There is one bar, one internet cafe, no westerners, and not a bit of English. I can’t exactly go for a stroll in the countryside (see: UXO) and there’s no other tourists in this guest house that I can hang with. This could be bad.

For the moment I’ll stop worrying about what I can’t change and start worrying about what I can. Namely, I must have ingested cups of the dangerously infected drinking water that comes out of hoses around here. I’m going to extend my Cipro regimen by one more day just in case. But with my imagination running wild I feel like I’m already feeling the cramps again.

And just in case you haven’t yet become as totally bewildered as I am at this strange land, I’ll leave you with the most shocking thing I’ve yet heard.

When I was in Phnom Penh my tuk-tuk driving friend, Mark, told me that you could bribe the police to look the other way after you ran someone down in your car. He said $1,000 ought to buy a cop’s indifference. Last night a backpacking Brit named Zack told me the following story:

As a Brit he’s never held a gun. Among the more popular tourist attractions out here are shooting ranges where any gun can be fired. As he’s paying, the cashier shows him a list of animals he can have led into the shooting range to kill. Chicken: $5. Dog: $15. Goat: $30. Zack jokes and asks how much for a human and the cashier becomes silent. Zach decides to let the joke go but the cashier walks away.

Two minutes later a military officer entered the room and asked Zack to step aside with him. With a hushed voice and darting eyes, the officer quoted Zack a price of $1,000 to have a man brought to the shooting range for target practice.

And that is the cost of a human life in Lao.