Giving Al-laos-ance

Somnolence: A condition of semi-consciousness approaching coma.  Yes, I've used this word already in my last post, but it's an apt description for Laos.

I wouldn't call it laziness.  I'd rather describe it as "a laid-back approach to getting things done".

On the one hand, it's great that touts only ask you once if you would like their services.  "Mister, want a tour to a waterfall?" they'd ask.  "No, thank you," I'd reply.  "Ok," they'd say, then walk off.  Simple.  In Vietnam or China, I would be followed for a couple of blocks, usually with a hand on my arms, for emphasis (as if by holding me back, I would be more likely to buy their services).

On the other hand – a traveler has to get used to the way things are done here; or more precisely, the time in which things get done here.

Let's focus on just one aspect of Laos living. Want to get somewhere?  Well, finding transportation is like embarking on a quest to find a lost relic.  You have to have faith that a way exists, but you can't shake the feeling that maybe it's all a myth, shrouded in local lore and legend.

The guidebook said that the south bus station

1. Was the place to go for a bus to Champasak.  Our guesthouse guy shook his head and told us to head over to a popular diner on the main road
2. To wait for a bus.  The waitress at the diner said she didn't know,
3. But the owner of the diner said that no bus would ever come and that we should try a tuk-tuk and head over to the central market for $5
4. And maybe, just maybe there'll be a bus leaving south for the day.

In the end, we waved down a tuk-tuk driver, and I think partly because I spoke Vietnamese, he delivered us to the northern outdoors market some 7 km outside of the city for $1

5. And after consulting with two other tuk-tuk driver, a Vietnamese expat who happened to be wandering by, and some ladies selling dried fish, we hopped on a sawngthaew (most assuredly not a bus) leaving for Ban Muang at 11:00 am with a ferry connection to Ban Phaphin and then a tuk-tuk transfer to *gasp, finally* Champasak
6. We got on the "truck" at 9:58 am.  It left at 10:06 am

6 permutations to one destination.

Let me diverge a little from the main somnolence theme by describing the sawngthaew.  It has the head of a Russian truck, circa 1960s, grafted onto the bed of a small truck.  Tarp is slung overhead the bed, and wooden benches, held together by masking tape and foam, are stacked in haphazard rows.  There were strong smells of fermented fish, fowl droppings and unmentionables.  The frame of the truck looked like it could fall apart with any minor bump in the road.  I dreaded the journey especially since my breakfast of tepid soup didn't sit well with my digestive system.

Surprisingly, I got used to the smells, the roads were smooth, and the trip faster than expected.

When we left Champasak for Si Phan Don and then around the islands of Si Phan Don, the procedure was repeated.  At one point when transportation options were nil, exhausted or unfathomable, YuppieNomad and I were forced to walk in the rain towards an unknown destination, not knowing if we were able to even find a ride once we got there. At the hour of our most despondency, when I took out my frustration on poor YuppieNomad, a truck skidded by, stopped, and gave us a lift... and took us to a noodle stand by the side of the highway where we waited in faith for a southbound sawngthaew.

But somnolence wasn't necessarily bad. When the sawngthaew broke down (as it did on each of our rides), we remained calm because our Lao passengers were smiling as they dutifully greased the engine and changed the tires.  When the monsoon dropped the rain on us in the middle of the Khmer ruins at Wat Phu, we took shelter underneath a grove of plumerias growing from a crumbling temple, just like all the other Laotians.  When we got lost among the rice fields of Si Phan Don, it didn't matter much, because we were always enthusiastically greeted by children (usually trousers-less) running out to the road, waving and shouting "Sabaidee! Goodbye goodbye!" and pointed along by farmers knee-deep in earth.. at one point, there was a glorious sunset, all purple and gold, reflected in the rice paddies pregnant with the just-finished rain waters.

Sure, the toilet couldn't flush (you had to use a bucket to pour water down), but we stayed in a villa constructed out of polished teak and watched the morning come on a veranda thick with blooms.  It rained depressingly for hours, but the glow in the skies after the rain shimmered with color.  There were no TVs to watch the World Cup, but we saw instead the fat moon heaved and huffed himself into a cushion of clouds, surrounded by a thousand million lamps, to watch us down below that night...

But then again (!), we reserved our Laos Airlines tickets to Angkor Wat yesterday, only to learn today that the computer system went awry, that we in fact did not get any seats, and that we would have to go on standby and probably try for the flight out on the 16th.

Oh, yes, Laos has supplied us with enough time to enjoy the roses to be sure.. but I wonder if too much time (particularly in Pakse) is a good thing?