Luang Nam Tha - Nam Ha National Park
Thinking I should book myself on a trek, since this was prime trekking territory, I got up early and set off for the tourist office.
Fifteen minutes later I was running back to the guest house -- I needed to check out and get back to the office for a three day trek that was leaving at nine sharp.
Made it back okay, and got introduced to the other trekkers on the jeep ride out to the drop-off point. For once the de-facto language of the group wasn't English: a Belgian couple, two French guys, a Canadian woman, and another Englishman with a flair for French, meant we were asking "Ca va?" instead of "How yer doin', mate?" Fortunately, everyone took pity on yours truly (and the non-french speaking guide helped too) and soon enough we slipped into English -- not that I minded listening to French conversation!
Russel, Oliver, Fred, Veronica, Simon, and Katherine soon revealed themselves as decent, eco-friendly, backpacking types, and we had a great climb getting to know one another. At eleven we stopped for lunch. The guide tore down three giant fronds from nearby plants, and voila, we had our table. Onto these leaves a spread of sticky rice, algae, chicken, pork, and ferns, was laid. I can't say it was delicious, but it was authentic.
Talking to the guide, I got a sense that he had the difficult task of satisfying our curiosity while being loyal to his government paymasters. For example, during lunch, we heard the sound of timber falling and asked if the trees within the National Park were being cut. He said no -- that we were close to the park boundary and the deforestation was happening outside. Later, when we passed a tract of denuded land, tree stumps littering the hill, he altered his story to tell us only the young trees had been felled. It seems there are commercial timber operations working alongside conservation programs in an effort to keep everyone happy. The free market has reached Laos, and unsurprisingly, the locals want to get rich. How this will pan out over the next twenty years, I don't know, but if the world wants to keep tropical rainforests, places like this need to be supported.
Hogs won't like the free market
At four we got to the tribal village where we would stay the night. Again, the presence of tourists with astronomical sums of money has distorted these people's way of life. We were now the main revenue stream for the community, and ancient practices have been turned upside down overnight. In the very basic village I got a feeling that there was a general apathy -- that traditional customs or trades no longer made much sense after the encroachment of the wider world. How should this transition be managed, if at all? Another very difficult question with no right answers.
Some traditions were still in place. People helped one another, including us, bathe at the village well. A "feet only" version of volleyball was still alive and well -- which I was ecstatic to join in with, having not kicked a ball for months. And customary handicrafts were still being made -- although that I'm more dubious about as we, the tourists, seemed to be the only market for them.
Dinner, after hours of preparation which had made me feel hungry and guilty, was served with continuously topped glasses of Lao Lao, a potent kind of Vodka that tasted of engine grease and alcohol. Brain cells have never been killed so effectively. Before we crashed, somebody cracked open a box of cigars, and I spluttered my way through five puffs before deciding it wasn't for me.
Fell asleep on the open floor of the hut stoned, drunk, and feeling very content.
Yoga and sport in one handy package!
Fifteen minutes later I was running back to the guest house -- I needed to check out and get back to the office for a three day trek that was leaving at nine sharp.
Made it back okay, and got introduced to the other trekkers on the jeep ride out to the drop-off point. For once the de-facto language of the group wasn't English: a Belgian couple, two French guys, a Canadian woman, and another Englishman with a flair for French, meant we were asking "Ca va?" instead of "How yer doin', mate?" Fortunately, everyone took pity on yours truly (and the non-french speaking guide helped too) and soon enough we slipped into English -- not that I minded listening to French conversation!
Russel, Oliver, Fred, Veronica, Simon, and Katherine soon revealed themselves as decent, eco-friendly, backpacking types, and we had a great climb getting to know one another. At eleven we stopped for lunch. The guide tore down three giant fronds from nearby plants, and voila, we had our table. Onto these leaves a spread of sticky rice, algae, chicken, pork, and ferns, was laid. I can't say it was delicious, but it was authentic.
Talking to the guide, I got a sense that he had the difficult task of satisfying our curiosity while being loyal to his government paymasters. For example, during lunch, we heard the sound of timber falling and asked if the trees within the National Park were being cut. He said no -- that we were close to the park boundary and the deforestation was happening outside. Later, when we passed a tract of denuded land, tree stumps littering the hill, he altered his story to tell us only the young trees had been felled. It seems there are commercial timber operations working alongside conservation programs in an effort to keep everyone happy. The free market has reached Laos, and unsurprisingly, the locals want to get rich. How this will pan out over the next twenty years, I don't know, but if the world wants to keep tropical rainforests, places like this need to be supported.
At four we got to the tribal village where we would stay the night. Again, the presence of tourists with astronomical sums of money has distorted these people's way of life. We were now the main revenue stream for the community, and ancient practices have been turned upside down overnight. In the very basic village I got a feeling that there was a general apathy -- that traditional customs or trades no longer made much sense after the encroachment of the wider world. How should this transition be managed, if at all? Another very difficult question with no right answers.
Some traditions were still in place. People helped one another, including us, bathe at the village well. A "feet only" version of volleyball was still alive and well -- which I was ecstatic to join in with, having not kicked a ball for months. And customary handicrafts were still being made -- although that I'm more dubious about as we, the tourists, seemed to be the only market for them.
Dinner, after hours of preparation which had made me feel hungry and guilty, was served with continuously topped glasses of Lao Lao, a potent kind of Vodka that tasted of engine grease and alcohol. Brain cells have never been killed so effectively. Before we crashed, somebody cracked open a box of cigars, and I spluttered my way through five puffs before deciding it wasn't for me.
Fell asleep on the open floor of the hut stoned, drunk, and feeling very content.
posted by Steve at 4:36 PM
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