Into the Golden Triangle, northern Laos, by river boat

In September 2006, I visited Laos with Dave.  The plan was to travel as far north as possible on the Nam Ou from Louang Phabang, which is more or less in the centre of northern Laos. Once at our destination we planned to visit hill tribes before catching a bus back to Louang Phabang.  Sounds easy when you say read it like that.

Louang Phabang Mekong River

In Louang Phabang we stayed at a hotel called Lam Sok and explored he town's ancient temples and river banks.  The rain poured down all night and did not bode well for the river-boat trip.  In the morning there was no electricity therefore no shower.  However, after a hearty breakfast and with rucksacks packed we waited patiently for the boat and hopefully other passengers. We had heard that the boat does do not depart with less than five passengers, unless $80 is forthcoming from hard up travellers.  According to the 'timetable', or the word of mouth rumour, whichever you prefer, the boat departs at 8am.  By 9.30am there was still no sign of a boat, but our spirits had been lifted by the arrival of a Swiss couple who wanted to go on the same boat.  A short time later, it arrived with a fifth passenger and we were set to go on the adventure.  Had we misread the timetable, looked at an old one, or even the wrong one?

The Nam Ou (River Ou) flows into the Mekong river 25 kms north of Louang Phabang at a place called Pak Ou.  At this point there are caves on the west bank hoarding thousands of Buddha images, whilst on the opposite bank the village of Ban Xang Hai is famous for its whiskey made from fermented sticky rice.  Contrasting images characteristic of south east Asia.

The Nam Ou soon revealed its own character.  It is narrower than the Mekong and the high river banks revealed spectacular towers of limestone.  Sadly the sun was not shining, but sound of the boat's diesel engine chugging away and echoing off the rocks reminded me, once again, of my favourite movie Apocalypse Now!

The river was in full flow because of the monsoon rains, and it was fast flowing making our progress seem laboured as we made our way upstream.  The river is the life-line to the villages scattered along the banks.  Not only does it provide transport, but also food, irrigation and washing water.  The dense forests provide wood for housing and a small income from its sale to Europe and North America.  Back in Louang Phabang, I had noticed sacks of rice labelled with the United Nations food programme logo and wondered if they were destined for the ramshackled villages lining this beautiful river. 

Occasional rapids appeared and made our hearts beat faster as the prospect of sinking was a constant possibility.  If you feel unsafe on this journey, I advise you to take your own life vest! Brilliantly coloured birds, small and large, constantly darted across the river  looking for and sometimes diving for fish in the green water.  Their eyesight must have been at x-ray standard to see further than six inches in silty water.

There was no shortage of people, usually children, by the water's edge.  The women washing clothes, food or themselves and the children playing on mud slides, laughing, shouting and waving with joy as the boat passed by.  There wasn't a computer game in sight.  The menfolk, looking more serious were fishing, logging or tending the rice fields.  Always a stare sometimes a forced wave, but rarely a smile or expression of emotion.  More bewilderment at white men on a boat.   I had fleeting thoughts of Jerome K. Jerome but hoped for less comical eventualities.

The boat was about a metre wide and twelve metres long.  It had a low roof, which meant crouching and, as tall foreigners with hardly any flexibility in back or legs, we found awkward.  The wooden seats became extremely hard, and although the boatman had thoughtfully provided cushions, they did not contribute to the level of comfort.  There was little chance of stretching the legs, other than the infrequent stops whenever the boatman thought about it.

Our stopover for the night was the village of Nong Khiaw (I think Google maps refer to this town as Hat Sao).  Nong Khiaw, or Hat Sao if you prefer, is the first point at which a road bridge crosses the river.  This makes it easy to fine on the map.  Darkness was falling as the boatman waited patiently for a family to finish their ablutions.  We entered the village by  forcing our cramped limbs up the steep steps.  We both commented on the similarity to villages we had passed through in Nepal.  Tea houses lined muddy tracks where children, chickens and dogs ran excitedly in all directions saying hello and giggling when we replied in English.


We found a room at the Many Poon guesthouse for $4 per room, including mosquito net, but the bargain price meant we shared the shower and squat toilet with the owner and his family.

For those of you not familiar with Asian showering etiquette, you quickly learn that it is achieved by scooping cold water from a tank and pouring it over the body, lathering up the soap and rinsing off with addition scoops of water.  Not ideal, but it does the job.  The art of using a squat toilet is also learnt by necessity, and for some becomes a preferred modus operandi.  However, with dodgy knees and zero flexibility in my legs, I prefer the traditional design patented by Mr Thomas Crapper.

Dusk was falling as we walked over the bridge to the Sunset Guest House for supper and a welcome Beer Lao or two.  I had pumpkin and coconut soup followed by egg and vegetable fried rice.  Sadly the setting sun was absent from our lofty position on the terrace of the Sunset Guest House, and as the rain began to fall we ran back to Many Poon for a night cap and good night's sleep under mossie nets listening to night sounds of the forest, the occasional dog bark and the snoring of other guests through the paper thin walls.