goodbye Lao, hello Cambodia

The Mekong is a big river (my guidebook says it's the 10th largest in the world by volume). A big muddy river. Up in northern Lao where I met up with it, it carries so much silt that it no longer resembles water; it is brown and opaque. It only takes a couple boat trips on the Mekong before it starts to sink in that I'm in a totally different place now (I can barely remember where Kansas is, let alone have any illusions about being there). Whole families bathing in the river, fisherman on long boats throwing nets at dusk, small farms pushing right to the edge of the riverbank, waiting for the rains to flood their fields. And of course, the unkempt jungle in between.

Clearly, there needed to be some trekking into the jungle. I (and a mate) hired a local guide to lead us into the mountains and jungle of northern Lao. After clambering (on all fours, at times) over three mountains and fifteen miles into the jungle (and a couple swims in some fantastic mountain waterfalls), we finally stopped for a few days at a hill-tribe village. Bamboo huts on stilts with thatched roofs. Pigs and chickens and goats and the odd buffalo wandering about (get yer organic free-range right here). There was no electricity, and no running water in any usual sense of the term. It's remarkable when you find yourself without such ubiquitous things, sometimes you realize how much you really don't miss them. Going to sleep when it gets dark, and waking with the light seems so intuitive. Writing journal entries by candlelight has some kind of romantic charm. (Prehistoric charm, but charm nonetheless.)

Also, mosquito nets = awesome.

Of course, in the spirit of things, I had to try some of the villagers' daily chores, which generally involved watching someone do a chore for a bit, and then seeing if I could have a go at it whilst the villagers chatted and giggled amongst themselves at the antics of the silly inept foreigner. Interestingly enough, they didn't stop me from manhandling the construction of the grass broom or even the weaving of the thatch roof (I suspect those holes weren't actually supposed to be part of it, though they *will* think of me during the rainy season); they just seemed to offer up new fun tasks for additional comedic performances. Let me share with you this: it is very very fun to hack around in the jungle with a machete. It's also remarkably easy to chop your own leg off. Forget shooting yourself in the foot, machetes are where it's at for serious self-mutilation. I managed to emerge unscathed, save for some new and interesting blisters, but I hope they don't starve next winter because we botched up their teak field too miserably.

Over the past month (I don't know, has it been a month? I'm not really sure what day it is), I have ambled my way south along the Mekong through Lao; it is a gorgeous gorgeous country. Not a few days have been spent lazily reclining in a hammock, gazing at the picturesque river framed by giant karsts, and reading a book to the sounds of the gurgling water. I do find that I miss the ocean, after having spent so long in such close proximity. But it's not long now, as soon I'll be heading for Vietnam's expansive coastline on the South China Sea. But first, the Temples of Angkor await.

I've just crossed the border into Cambodia, and find myself in a small border town on the Mekong. The last five or so miles on the Lao side of the border is a dusty dirt road in various states of [de]construction. The three foot dips in the road were, well, entertaining; I'm glad my pack didn't fall off the roof. Lao immigration consisted of a small wooden hut on the side of the road with three guys inside. Not even a weak attempt at a gate or anything, though I'm sure they probably had automatic weapons in that hut, and that is gate enough for me. A bribe, a stamp, and it's a sweaty hike further down the dirt road through no man's land. About a hundred meters later, the Cambodian side of the border appears, which, funny enough, is a wooden hut with three guys inside. (I shouldn't be unfair: the Cambodian hut *was* on the opposite side of the road.) A couple more bribes, a sticker, a stamp, and I'm safely(?) in Cambodia, which has a phenomenal likeness to the dirt road in Lao. A little further on an exciting mix of dirt and paved roads, and voila! Civilization! Well, at least it has electricity, if not flush toilets. But hey, hopefully tomorrow night I'll be in Siem Reap, just a hike away from Angkor Wat, one of the seven or eight wonders of something or other.

I miss you all, and hope you are well. I do wonder now and then what it would be like to return to the States, to return home. How severe would the culture shock really be? Or would I just easily fall back into old patterns? Well, until we meet again, at least know that I think of you often.