A haphazard chronicle of my inevitable misadventures during a year in Vietnam and points east.

p.s. I'll be pitifully grateful if you send me email during my exile: TravelerKaty@hotmail.com

October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 February 2006 March 2006 May 2006

 
Don Det, Laos

I have a brother-in-law who is insane enough to do competitive mountain biking, and my bike ride on Don Det and the adjacent island would have been right up his alley. I decided that since I had opted to spend another day on the island, I'd at least try to attempt something more strenuous than lifting a glass and rubbing on mosquito repellent.

I rented one of the typical Lao one-speed bicycles, shiny purple with a passenger seat in back and a nice white basket up front. It was, as usual, complete crap, with no brakes to speak of and a seat that continually dropped down in back. This problem makes a bicycle quite difficult to ride -- you're basically clutching the handles not for steering or balance but to physically prevent your backside from sliding onto the rear wheel. Periodically I'd stop and pound down the front, after the bike repair geezer refused to try to tighten it a second time. By the end of my ride the bike was at least eight inches shorter tahn when I started.

That's not the part that would have pleased Geoff, of course, though I'm sure he would not have been caught without a handy socket wrench of the correct size. What he would have enjoyed was the trail itself, narrow and rutted, alternating rocky and muddy along eroding river banks, through dense forest and across bridges made of rotting and/or cracking planks. He would have been in his element. I, on the other hand, was a complete spaz, careening into the underbrush, falling over with tires mired in mud, and coming to a sandal-skidding halt (no brakes, remember) at the sight of any bridge, hill, or threatening livestock.

Apart from the mud the livestock was the biggest challenge -- chickens, turkeys, ducks, dogs and pigs running across the path unexpectedly (or strolling, as some ducks seemed to prefer), and cows and water buffalos planting their massive grass munching selves in mid-path. The cows I was okay with, blithely pedalijng buy (at an odd angle), but the water buffalos with their long sharp pointy horns and disapproving glares demanded more respect. For them I dismounted and slowly walked by, using the bike as a shield and avoiding eye contact. I learned after a while that they were more terrified by my presence than I of theirs, sometimes scampering backwards into the trees and rice fields to escape the threat of my bike/shield. I maintained my cautious approach, however. You never know when you'll meet a rogue buffalo with a grudge against tourists.

After all that effort I had the waterfall all to myself, and was able to sit and write and watch the mighty Mekong surge into Cambodia for two hours without a soul to interrupt me. It was worth the trip. In fact, the trip itself was worth the sweat, mud, and subsequent laundry time. The trail wound past bungalows, fishing villages, banana orchards, across a former French railway bridge, through a monestary and dense forest. The return journey meandered through the rice paddies past villagers in conical hats working the fields by hand and by buffalo, and at the end of it all a pineapple shake and several hours of restorative hammock time on my balcony gazing at life on the Mekong.

A great day.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 5:27 AM