We'd come to Luang Namtha to set up a trek and spend some quality time in the Nam Ha National Protected Area. The night at the jungle camp in Thailand and the thought of pushing up mountains in 30°C+ temperatures and humidity tending towards 100%, for some reason, isn't Nix's idea of fun.
So for the first time in over a year I went solo. With my borrowed "non-farang" canvas backpack, enough water to drown a fish and a very heavy heart I kissed my lover goodbye.
We picked up some supplies at the local market, drove half an hour down the road and then hit the trail.
The gentle incline quickly became a rather steep incline and I began to feel every beer that I'd had over the previous year and soon realised this wasn't going to be a walk in the park.
By 11AM we made it to the top of the first mountain and I was a couple of hours ahead of schedule, really giving it to the Italians and Germans who apparently need to break every five minutes on that first bit. The Germans in particular because, "you know, they a little bit fat".
We then made our way downhill to stop for lunch at a Lanten village nestled along the Nam Ha River. This group of Lanten people migrated to Laos over one hundred years ago and lived in isolation from the rest of Laos until they were discovered just a few years back. Whilst they've upgraded to some corrugated iron roofing and Western clothing, things are still pretty rustic out there.
It was at this point that the 4/5 difficulty trek began to turn into a 6/5. I had one mouthful of omelette with some sticky rice before politely excusing myself and bringing up part of the previous nights dinner in the bush.
Hoping that was the worst of it, I kept it to myself and we set off again through flat agricultural land. Then we began the ascent up the mountain. About two minutes in I called for a break, got down on my knees and brought up my dinner, breakfast, lunch and everything in between.
The next couple of hours up the mountain followed a similar theme without the spewing. Every ten minutes I'd stop, guzzle water and then drag myself up off the ground where the threat of leeches were the least of my problems.
Despite my entire body aching and my leg's cramping, I made it to the top to give my most dour look of determination.
The only things getting me through at this point were A) my guide suggesting we could build a bamboo raft and raft our way back down the river the following day and B) I had no option but to go on given civilisation was hours away.
On we pushed and by 5PM we'd finally made it to camp. Mattresses and pillows were obviously non existent and I was just thankful for a sleeping bag and the mosquito net.
I had a quick bath in the river and laid down to get a couple of hours rest before being dragged out of bed for dinner.
What a meal. Pork belly stir fry, tomato and freshly foraged fern side dishes, and the centrepiece to any Laos meal, sticky rice. Every element packed full of so much flavour and despite not really being hungry I chowed down.
After dinner we headed down to the river so they could catch the following day's breakfast. The two of them stripped down to their jocks and caught about 10 frogs that got jammed into a water bottle and five or six fish out of the net they'd put in earlier and from just knocking them on the head with the blunt end of their machete. Things are done differently here.
After the fishing expedition we got stuck into the rice wine I went back to bed like a sook.
I obviously gave an impression the next morning that I'd recovered overnight because my guide optimistically stated I was OK and that "he believes". This was despite him constantly telling me during the previous days never ending climb that the second day was much harder.
I jammed in as much food as I could which included my plate constantly being topped up with last nights frogs now fried to crispy perfection.
I also passed a massive test when I enjoyed the bitter green veggie foraged from the jungle, "no tourist ever like this one. You like Lao person now!"
Off we marched after breakfast. The jungle got denser with more roots than yesterday trying to grab at your shoes and the heat and humidity immediately took hold and I began to perspire like a p*edo in a playground.
Halfway up the first of the days three peaks I sat down to take in a few big ones and wondered what happened to that bloody raft I was promised. I was pretty happy with proceedings at this point.
We pushed on and on and finally reached the peak before descending back down to have lunch, all squatting around a banana leaf getting ravaged by mosquitoes and whatever else took a liking to us. A leech had a little go at my leg for a few minutes.
Leeches are fun little bastards. My guide was telling me the previous day that there are three kinds in the Nam Ha NPA. The first two are just your run of the mill little bloodsuckers that work their way up your shoes and sometimes inside your socks but the one to look out for is the Tiger Leech, so named because they leap from trees to cling on for a feasting.
Things took an interesting turn after lunch. Five stern Laos men, two with massive rifles strapped to their backs, emerged from an opening and began a semi heated exchange with my guide and his assistant. Just as I began to reach for my wallet to get us out of whatever shit we were in my guide translated that someone had been cutting down a tree and they were on their trail.
After ten minutes of trekking together we found the 200 year old tree that had been sawed into bits ready to be sent down the river. My guide told me that maybe 100-200 animals can be affected by the cutting down of just one tree and that if he saw three felled trees he'd cry. He's no wimp, he just echoes what so many Lao people feel about the jungle and its animal and plant life and the importance that they hold.
My struggles paled in comparison after that and I somehow made it to the end, crossing the river and washing away the days sweat and dirt in the confluence of the Nam Ha and Nam Tha rivers.
I made it, I was proud and someone was just a little bit excited to see me after 36 hours that felt like 36 days.
Luang Namtha itself is a sleepy little place with an interesting morning market and a cracking night market. Every night we'd plonk down at the night market acquainting ourselves with the famous Beerlao and flicking the bones of the best roast pork and roast duck we've ever had to a pack of very well behaved pooches and pussy cats.
Sometimes not all that well behaved...
Observations Made on the Bus to Luang Namtha
- Potentially a dead woman who looked like she'd been clipped by a car and lay sprawled out on the side of the road
- A strange looking dead, stiff weasel/dog/Tasmanian Tiger thing on a villager's roof
- More kittens, puppies, piglets, ducklings and chicks running around than you've ever seen in your life
- The bloke behind us spending two hours hocking up spewwy oysters or spewsters, if you will
