I almost crave the days when some elderly relative of mine would inform me, “oh my, how you’ve grown.” The fact is, as my travel companion very frequently informed me, I could easily be confused for a cleanly-shaven gnome. It serves me right in all honesty: at the age of 12, I used to lovingly mock my smaller friends. At the age of 20, having barely grown since, I am smaller then almost all of them. But in Laos, I towered quite literally head and shoulders above most of the locals. So much so, that for the first time in my entire life, I experienced the daily difficulties that tall people so bravely face.
We had decided to journey from Luang Prabang, the cultural Capital of Laos, to the border town of Huay Xai before entering the rainforest. By bus, this would have taken a whopping 11 hours. There was another option: a six hour adrenaline binge on a speedboat along the Mekong river!
There was a problem however. Almost every single tourist website that we checked insisted that the speedboats were phenomenally dangerous. One even insisted that we risked, i quote ” being disembowelled by the needle sharp points just below the water.” There was one website however (I believe “indie” is an appropriate description to use) which claimed that the danger of speedboats were over-exaggerated. We obviously believed this website over every-single other website on the net, and duly booked our speedboat trip, buoyed by the promise that, “If you reach your destination, you will do so quickly!” To make matters worse, the monsoon had clearly suffered a puncture and hadn’t arrived yet, and the water levels were perilously low. My anxieties were in no way alleviated, when the strap on my helmet broke within 30 seconds of leaving Luang Prabang, almost garroting me in its desperation to escape such a journey.
Nevertheless, I can honestly say that the first 2.5 hours of this journey were phenomenally enjoyable. At a breath-taking but manageable 60mph, we hurtled between pristine cloud forests, with delightful sandy beaches interspersing small but dramatic rocky cliffs. Occasionally water buffalo could be seen bathing in the lagoons, whilst fisherman contentedly slept on the scorching islets, waiting for some mentally-challenged catfish to order “hook de la muerte” for their lunch. Every so often, we would slow down to gracefully meander through a particularly craggy section of what was a beautiful stretch of river. Even Ollie, who had looked at our boat with some trepidation, admitted that he was enjoying himself, as he straddled a significant portion of the boat. Our driver however, clearly doubting that our smiles were genuine, decided that we would enjoy our voyage more with company.
Letting out a grunt of consternation, our pilot, who had been fantastic thus far, turned suddenly and started to speed towards the bank. Maybe he needed to use an atm?
That is of course a disgustingly poor attempt at a joke.
What did appear on the bank was just as surprising, for cutting a lonely figure in the middle of nowhere, (not an exaggeration) was a man. In his hand was a white piece of cloth which he waved frantically at us. Clearly he had seen and heard Ollie’s colonial ranting in Luang Prabang, and had decided to surrender on the behalf of Laos. It is little wonder that Laos has never won a war, although to be fair, Ollie’s height and brash patriotism can be quite scary.
Again, that was another disgustingly poor attempt at humour.
Nevertheless, it seemed just as bizarre that this unkempt vagabond was a hitchhiker, but that is exactly what he turned out to be. Goodness knows what he was doing on a craggy islet in the middle of the Mekong, and goodness knows how he got there. Maybe he was a fresh water pirate, forced to walk the plank by his dissatisfied crew? This was very unlikely however, as we didn’t see a single freshwater pirate ship, and his smile was altogether too lovely for him to be bloodthirsty criminal. Talking of criminal- his fashion sense. Whilst the smile was delightful, he also donned a lurid green shirt with a diagram of the “evolution of the geek” on it. I highly doubt that this semi-aquatic nomad knows what a geek is. In all honesty I don’t think I’m totally sure that I know what a geek is.
Despite his shirt, we were more then happy to pick this lovely man up, and despite speaking no English, and mine and Ollie’s ineptness at learning any Laos other then ‘Sabaidee'(Hello), he appeared to be very friendly, and we shared a beautiful moment of mutual respect as we nodded and smiled at each other. Body language is beautiful thing.
We arrived at a small riverside village for Lunch, Pakbeng, where our memories of this trip were irrevocably transformed.
Having enjoyed a delightful Indian curry for lunch, we hurried back to the boat, keen not to miss it. We needn’t have worried; this was Laos after all. We were greeted by the sight of our driver, dozing blissfully on a blanket next to several other slumberers. Ten minutes later, and the situation hadn’t changed. Fifteen minutes later and I was beginning to fidget. Twenty minutes later, and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever leave. Glancing back towards our driver, we realised he was no longer sleeping, but was actually very much awake. In fact, he was just staring at us nonchalantly from his mat. Over the next few minutes, the three of us duelled valiantly with our eyes: Ollie and myself willing our driver to get up and take us on the rest of our journey, our driver, daring us to step closer and challenge him. By the time our driver got up, we were 40 minutes late, however he still had no intention of taking us any further. After strolling around the dock for a while, in intense discussion with several other men, our driver reached deep into his pocket, and brought out huge wadges of cash. Depositing it all in the hand of one of the other drivers, he turned, and headed back to his mat.
We had paid $55, for that journey, approximately half a million in Kip, the Lao currency. What we struggled to comprehend, as we were ushered into an already over-full boat, was that our driver valued dozing over such a huge amount of money. I wasn’t quite sure how to feel: whilst I respected the guy for not falling into the Capitalist quicksand that corrupts so many other people from around the globe, I also felt slightly like an unwanted christmas present when it’s sold on eBay. To make matters worse, I felt like an unwanted Christmas present that was being sold on eBay and had been wedged up in a box that was far too small to act as an effective method of packaging!
I must say, that who ever had filled the internet with scare stories about how dangerous speedboating on the Mekong is, was repulsively misinformed. Unless of course, they were worried about blood clots. Squeezed into a compartment of no more then 80cm x 60 cm (again, no exaggeration) Ollie and I found ourselves in agony. Unable to move our legs, and with our backs vibrating viciously on the hard wooden plank that separated our berth from the lovely couple behind us, the final three hours of our journey, that turned into four hours, were perhaps the most uncomfortable I have ever been. Desperately trying to move my feet enough to stimulate blood flow, I managed only to irritate the people in front of me, and the people behind me, in no way made better by the fact that the long-suffering adolescent in front of me, was in fact sitting on my feet.
Thinking that it could not get any worse, we pulled over after an hour and got in an even smaller boat.
And then an even smaller one.
By the time we reached Huay Xai, all memories of the thrilling beginning to our journey were drowned out, along with memories of having fully-functioning legs, and replaced with dark thoughts of what I would do to our original driver if he should ever cross my path again. And yet, as I said, I am quite small. Looking across at Ollie bravely enduring what must have felt like a medieval trial, I realised how blessed I am to be so small. Never do I get in a car, or on a bus, or a train, or a plane, and lack leg room. For Ollie, as with all tall people, this is an almost everyday occurrence. As I staggered off the boat in the gloom, I vowed that I would never take my height advantage for granted again. So long as I am allowed on the rides at Thorpe Park.
So, to all tall people, the most persecuted of people, not by man but by the very diagnostics of life itself, if you can peer down through the clouds enough to see me gazing upwards in your direction: I salute you!
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