KNIFED BY AN ELEPHANT !

Elephants and their Laotian mahouts. I rode the elephant in the center.

There are many ways to travel across rugged terrain in poor countries that lack paved roads. To reach my destinations over muddy tracks, I’ve ridden in all manner of four wheel drive vehicles. When there have been only paths, I’ve occasionally ridden mountain bikes, motorbikes, and horses. I even rode a camel once. But this one definitely tops them all.

An elephant!

I’m high on the back of an Asian elephant, riding the ultimate beast of burden as it ambles down a jungle trail in northern Laos. Except for the occasional flap of its great ears, the massive animal’s movements are slow and deliberate. She walks slower than I had imagined, but then again, I never imagined I’d ever ride an elephant at all.

My elevated seat is a chair shaped saddle, strapped to the pachyderm’s back. Directly in front of me a mahout in camouflage fatigues sits astride the elephant’s neck. 

Temple mosaic shows royalty rode elephants

Wondering how it feels, I reach down to touch the powerful animal’s skin. It feels thicker than leather; rough to the touch. 

I have a commanding view up here, high enough that I occasionally have to push tree branches away from my face. I have the same vantage point European hunters had as they hunted tigers from atop these pachyderms during the colonial era. King’s of old from this region used them too. Rather than horses, many Southeast Asian monarchs preferred riding elephants into battle. 

Old Laos was once known as ‘the land of a million elephants’, but there are far fewer of them in the country these days. Some remote communities still use them for labor in the lumber trade. Using their great strength, they are trained to knock down trees, and drag logs through terrain too rough for vehicles. In remote regions, there are still wild herds that survive in the shrinking jungles. 

The view from atop the elephant, crossing a river

The trees open up to a river bank, and the mahout climbs up from the elephants neck to take a seat on the chair next to me. He barks out commands, and the elephant steps into the water. Apparently we’re crossing this dark river just as we are. This isn’t the Mekong River but it’s no creek either, it looks deep. 

I want to ask the mahout how deep the channel is, but he doesn’t speak English. The great beast carefully moves ahead step by step, and the water comes up the beasts shoulders. I glance at the mahout, he’s pulled his bare feet up on the saddle to stay dry. Soon the water is high enough that the elephant lifts the tip of his trunk above water, so that she can continue breathing. 

But the water level doesn’t reach the saddle; I remain dry as the beast ascends the far riverbank and emerges from the water. The elephant probably enjoys these occasional dips, since it’s such a hot tropical day. The water drips off her hide, as she continues down a well worn path into a riverside village. 

Friendly local children greet me as our elephant passes through their village

Three petite children run out to watch the elephant lumber through their village. “Sabadee! Sabadee!” (Hello! Hello!) one calls out, smiling as he waves at the strange white foreigner. 

“Sabadee!” I yell back. Another Laotian villager on the ground greets my mahout, who commands the elephant to stop while they briefly chat in Lao. For some reason, he then hands the mahout a long knife. The knife doesn’t have a sheath, and he stows the blade just beneath my seat. I don’t think anything of it at the time, but I will regret this later. 

After continuing on through more jungle, my all too brief ride above this magnificent animal comes to an end. The mahout guides my ride toward a bamboo platform, where I can safely dismount. 

But it’s not as safe as I think. As the elephant approaches the platform, he brushes up against a nearby tree. The tree bumps the side of my chair, right where the handle of the knife is sticking out. In a flash, the knife is wedged out, and cuts right into my leg!

R-I-I-I-P! I hear the sound of my blue jeans tearing, as the long blade cuts at my right thigh. 

"YEOW!" I yell, as I jump to the side. I’ve been cut! That happened so fast, I had no time to avoid it. My mind races, I’m in serious trouble. 

The knife cut a hole in my blue jeans

I lift my knee to look, and I’m both surprised and relieved to see no blood flowing. A long V-shaped hole has been slashed open in my trousers. The skin on my thigh stings, but fortunately it wasn’t cut open. I've been saved by blue jeans! Gotta love that strong American denim. It’s a good thing that I wasn’t wearing shorts, or I would have been cut and bleeding for sure. 

I climb off the elephant onto the platform, and the mahout looks at me blankly. I’m raging at his carelessness, which nearly injured me. I point at the gaping hole in my jeans. He makes no reaction, not saying a word. He knows he screwed up, and now he’s trying to 'save face'.

I mutter a few insults at him that he doesn’t understand, and walk away. No tip for him. 

Seething with anger I climb into a van, for a safer ride back to Luang Prabang. I’m upset that I lost a pair of jeans, but I’m very lucky to have walked away from that knifing without needing stitches. I guess I could call that a really close shave. Literally. 

RIVER OF DEBAUCHERY

Downtown Vang Vieng, haven for hard partying backpackers

The sights are familiar to anyone who has attended a western university. Sunburned, college age kids, wearing shorts and bikinis. A long strip of riverside bars, with volleyball nets and cheap drinks. Dance music pounds loudly from amplifiers. Alcohol is imbibed in large quantities. Some young adults here are even taking drugs. This isn’t a wild spring break beach party, and this isn’t ‘The Jersey Shore’ either. 

It’s Laos.

Well, a small part of Laos. Vang Vieng to be exact. In a country where the culture is so conservative, and the government’s hold on power is tight, this is an island of western decadence in East Asia. Since the government is publicly against drugs and western music, I’m astounded this kind of behavior is allowed. Vang Vieng is the exception in Laos; the one place where decadent foreign influences run wild. 

Away from the wild partying river, I take a walk down the streets of Vang Vieng. This town isn’t a tourist trap in the classic sense; there are no families here. Although it has morphed into a playground for adults, it’s nothing like Las Vegas. There are neither casinos, nor fancy hotels. This town is a haven for only one kind of tourist: young western backpackers, looking to party for cheap. Some of the bargain hotels or guest houses here offer a bed for as little as four dollars a night. Just don’t expect any air conditioning. 

With business catering to the cheap backpacker crowd, businesses on the main strip are predictable. Both sides of the main street, are packed with cheap guest houses, open air restaurants, bars, internet cafes, food carts, tour companies and tee shirt shops. 

How things have changed for tourists in Laos. Back in the country’s post-war years, westerners were expelled, and the country became isolated. Foreign tourism here was virtually non-existent. 

Vang Vieng restaurant/bar, where you can watch episodes of 'Friends' for hours on end...

But then the cold war thawed in the 1990’s, and neighboring Vietnam and Cambodia began cashing in on tourism. Soon after, the Laotian government decided to hop onto the tourist bandwagon. Visa restrictions were dropped, and borders were flung open. Now this communist country welcomes foreign visitors, anxious to take their tourist dollars. Better late than never. 

The backpackers here are mostly young adults of university age, from western Europe and Australia. Every afternoon they can be seen lounging inside the main strip’s open air restaurants, watching DVDs of American sitcoms for hours. These run all day long, as many backpackers are recovering from a hang over. Perhaps they come here because their guest houses are too cheap to install TVs in their bedrooms. 

Some young women wear skimpy beach attire, and some young men go shirtless. This is nothing to Americans, but conservative Laotians find this scandalous. Showing so much skin is taboo everywhere else in Laos, but here the massive backpacker presence has overwhelmed local culture. 

These frugal foreign travelers were originally drawn to Vang Vieng for the lovely scenery. There are beautiful mountains, caves to explore, scenic rural villages and Buddhist temples. As the first visitors came, tour companies sprang up, selling trips for hiking, canoeing, kayaking and mountain climbing. But those are really just side shows now. Most backpackers come here for two reasons: the partying, and the tubing. These two intertwined events have made Vang Vieng infamous, and even dangerous. Backpackers anywhere in Southeast Asia, are often seen wearing tank tops bearing the same message: “Tubing on the Vang Vieng”, the number one activity here. 

Like this bridge, more than one drunk backpacker has not survived the Nam Song River

I take an afternoon to check this out for myself, and after paying six dollars, I’m given a large truck inner-tube. Then I pile into the back of a crowded tuk-tuk, and we’re driven a few miles north of town. Arriving upriver, we’re dropped off at the first of many cheap riverside bars. Here I encounter a scene I haven’t seen since college. Throngs of rowdy western college kids are drinking cheap beer at several flimsy bamboo bars on the river bank. Many are dancing and carousing to loud popular music. Some have been here for hours already, and are already heavily drunk. One bar is giving away snake wine and scorpion wine for free; I grab a Beer Lao instead. 

Dotted among the riverside pubs are rope swings, water slides and zip lines for thrill seekers. Several circus style trapezes drop revelers from on high, where they shriek as they fall before splashing into the Nam Song river. There is also volleyball, and a muddy tug of war for those who prefer exercise on land. Feeling energetic, I head into a game of 4 on 4 mud volleyball. I get thoroughly filthy in a losing effort, but enjoy the fun. After the game ends, the players scatter to explore other diversions. I’m anxious to get the mud off my face and hair, so I pick up my inner tube and head into the river. 

My next stop is one of the larger drinking holes on this river of debauchery. It’s called the 'Slide Bar'. It has a fairly modern, elevated water slide lined with bath tiles! I pull in, stow my inner tube, and grab some lunch. Then the rain starts. As this is rainy season, the river's running fast. Coming down lightly at first, it’s soon a monsoon. The fun continues, since all the revelers are already wet from the river. As I eat, I view the surrounding action. 

An Argentine died in one of these area caves

Above me, a young man flies off the end of the high water slide, dropping ten feet into the river. He lands right next to an unsuspecting lady tuber, nearly landing on top of her! Both were lucky, it was a near miss. I soon realize, that the emphasis here is on fun, with little regard for safety. As I watch the water slides, trapeze and rope swings at the bars, I see no safety systems in place, no lifeguards. There's little to keep young drunks from falling off high muddy ladders onto the shore, or to keep rope swingers from falling onto other tubers floating by. Nobody wears lifejackets. Swimming drunk in a murky, fast moving, unfamiliar river could easily turn deadly. I hear later that cuts, concussions, and broken bones are a common occurrence when tubing in Vang Vieng. 

The rain lets up, and grabbing my inner tube I continue down river. The shores grow quieter, and bamboo bars give way to tree lined shores. Finally, I stop at a pub known as ‘Last Bar’. I paddle my tube into an eddy, while a couple Canadians float up behind. Standing in shallow water, one spots a dark lizard attached to an overhanging tree. He captures it by hand, and we climb a long flight of stairs to the dumpy little shack bar high over the river bank. As we grab a bench seat, the Canuck plops the reptile on the table. At a foot and a half long, the lizard looked ill or injured. It was breathing, but barely moving. 

An old Lao woman with blackened teeth approaches the table. Her dark teeth are caused by betel nuts, her drug of choice. (The locally grown nut is chewed as a mild stimulant.) The woman points towards the lizard, and motions with her hands that it makes for good eating. She then opens a little bag. Apparently, she was ready to barbecue the reptile right here and now. The Canadians pondered this offer for a while, but the more they discussed the lizard, the more they got attached to it. They declined her offer to cook their newfound pet. 

7 foreign tourists have died in Vang Vieng, some drowned under the influence of drugs or alcohol

While I order my second and final beer, the Canadians order marijuana. They are soon lighting up, disappointed when I turn down their offer to smoke with them. This pair were hoping to hang out with some heavier partiers. Soon after, they found some. Down by the river where we’d arrived, three more westerners pulled up in their inner tubes. These young men had partied too hard already, and never made it up the steps. 

“Hey! We need help!” One of them shouted, “we have to get to a hospital!” The vocal backpacker’s two friends were very stoned; one was so far gone, he was completely unconscious. Soon one of the Laotian bar staff descended to the river bank, loading the three druggies into his long tail boat. Then they were off downriver, just another backpacker overdose headed for the local band-aid station that they call a hospital. 

It’s quite a racket this bar has going. Not only do they make money by selling drugs to backpackers, but they also make additional money from backpackers by turning their boats into ambulances when they overdose. I noticed the boat driver wouldn’t leave for the hospital, until he saw the cash in hand from the backpacker to pay for the trip. 

I don’t know what particular drug his friend overdosed on, but he’s far from the first foreigner to need medical attention in Vang Vieng. In recent years at least seven foreigners have died in this permissive tourist town. Shortly before I arrived in Vang Vieng, an Argentine tourist died in a caving accident. He had been exploring a local cave alone, never a good idea. Other tourists here died from overdoses, drowning, or from driving drunk on rented motorbikes.

A couple weeks after I left Vang Vieng, there was another death. An Irishman who came to town with his newlywed wife drowned in the river while tubing. His poor widow was left to organize the search for his body on her own. It cost her $1,000 out of her own pocket to pay for the search. They finally found his corpse down river, three days later.

FLOATING MARKET ON THE MEKONG

I’m aboard another boat in Vietnam's Mekong River Delta, only this time the wooden craft is larger, and motorized. We’re cruising upstream on a wide expanse of the Can Tho River, and I’m amazed at what I'm seeing. We're surrounded by hundreds of boats, in all shapes and sizes.

There is a flurry of activity, since these watercraft double as mobile floating shops. Vendors are drawn here from all over the province to sell their wares, mainly food. The surrounding boats are burdened with cargoes of pineapple, watermelon, vegetables and rice. Some craft are so heavily loaded, they almost appear to be sinking.

This is the floating market of Can Tho, and these floating markets have been the centers of commerce in the delta for generations. Buyers navigate their way through the larger vessels to find their chosen cargo. They pull up their empty boats alongside the selling boats, then bargain out the prices, load up their goods, and move on. Most smaller boats are piloted by women, who row their boats expertly, as well as any sailor. For these boat driving ladies, this is just another day of selling or shopping for their family.

The size of these riverboats ranges widely, from 60 foot long diesel powered freighters, all the way down to eight foot long rowboats. They have a rustic look to them, since none of them are made of fiberglass. All of them are made of wood, and few are painted. Their bare brown color nearly matches the brown water of the dark river that they are floating on. I see four large boats lashed together in a row, where buyers can more easily walk across them, from one over to the next. This way they can more easily load a few different items all at once. Many boats anchored and lashed together here, create the Mekong Delta’s version of a strip mall.

 This floating market is one reason that Can Tho city is the delta’s economic center. Besides being used for floating shops, some of these boats also have entire families living aboard. A few of the floating residences have laundry hanging from clotheslines strung along their tight living quarters.

I spot some youngsters working on boats right alongside their parents. This must be a difficult life for children; I wonder how many of these young river dwellers are able to attend school. 

Like much of the delta, there is still no bridge to get here by car. Although Can Tho is the largest city in the delta, I still had to cross here by ferry. But there are bridges under construction, so I wonder how long this unique market will continue. Since much of the delta lacks roadway access, this floating piece of Vietnamese culture will live on into the future.

GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!!! - A RUDE AWAKENING

G-O-O-O-O-O-D MORNING VIETNAM!! 5AM comes early.

It's early morning in the Mekong Delta in Ben Tre, and I have my first encounter with the local government. At 5am in my hotel, I'm awakened by announcements bellowing from a government loudspeaker out on the street. I recall how Robin Williams screamed out, "Good Morning Vietnam!", from his movie of the same name. But this early am announcer isn't anywhere near as entertaining.

“Good morning Vietnam. Time to wake up. Fathers, get up and get ready to go to work, and provide for your families. Mothers, get up and start cooking breakfast. Children, get up and get ready for school. Study hard, and make your parents proud of you. Remember mothers and fathers, having two children in your family is enough. You don’t need more children than that.”

This rough translation is a reminder that the government is pushing to reduce population growth. Vietnam’s current population is 91 million, more than double the population from when the war ended in 1975. This is by far the most densely populated country in Southeast Asia. Unlike China, which has the one child policy, Vietnam is calling for families to have only two. There is less pressure put on farming families. The government expects farmers to have more children, so that they will have more help to work the fields.

Local workers do horticulture by hand in a Ben Tre park

Still, enforcement of this policy on city dwellers can be harsh. If a woman has a government job, and she has more than two children, she can be forced to leave her job, or be demoted. Enforcement of this policy is also emphasized with ethnic minorities, as the government seeks to keep them in check.

I discover that these morning propaganda announcements are not a rare occurrence. These early broadcasts happen almost every day, and there are loudspeakers such as this one hanging in neighborhoods throughout Vietnam. Apparently the government believes that their daily announcements are more effective, if they use them to wake you up. Later that day I hear a siren, much like a tornado siren. Fortunately, it's only a test, for when typhoons are headed this way. In 2006 when Typhoon Durian blew through the Mekong Delta, 66 people were killed, hundreds of boats sank, and thousands of houses were destroyed. Ben Tre Province was one of the hardest hit. Much like after the war, it took them years to rebuild from the destruction.

Ben Tre riverboats. Note the traditional paintings on the bow of each craft.

I decide to take a walk along the waterfront this morning, before I depart later in the afternoon. Arriving at the docks, there is already a lot of activity, as cargo is being unloaded. The wooden riverboats sit side by side, packed tightly together. As I watch, laborers offload a cargo of coconuts by hand, throwing them onto small carts. Soon another riverboat pulls in, also loaded down with coconuts. Ben Tre is well known throughout the country for its tasty coconut candy.

As I continue along the riverside road, I come to the local version of a teamster. As a river town Ben Tre has few trucks, and this hauler uses a small motorbike, with an open cart attached to the back. The cart is stacked high with bags of rice. I’m struck by how much work he is accomplishing, with less powerful machinery. His  motorbike engine is only 125 cc’s, yet he’s hauling a load that westerners would use a pickup truck to do. Admittedly, it’s not very safe. If he had to stop quickly, he could be crushed by those heavy bags of rice. At least he was wearing a helmet.

Unexploded ordinance (UXO) still litters Ben Tre. This war refuse is in the local Ben Tre Museum.

As commerce in Ben Tre has risen, more roads are being paved as the town expands. But road construction here is not without its hazards. Just before my arrival, an unexploded 250 pound bomb from the war years was found during digging on a local building site, and disarmed. The seasonal flooding and muddy earth of the delta rice paddies meant that many heavy bombs dropped here had soft landings, and didn’t explode. It’s no surprise that there are still numerous unexploded bombs still here today. With the rise in construction, and with the continued clearing of land for agriculture, more unexploded ordinance will continue to be found in Ben Tre, and not intentionally.

As I reach Dong Khoi Street on the waterfront, I step onto the town bridge that crosses the Ben Tre River to the next island. A section that was destroyed in the war has been rebuilt. A narrow bridge of light design, the town’s bridge can only withstand the weight of motorbikes and pedestrians. Like elsewhere in the delta, stronger, wider bridges are needed. Unfortunately for the delta dwellers, bridge construction in this region has been slow and plagued by problems.

Ben Tre's riverfront. The rebuilt bridge beyond is only strong enough for motorbikes and pedestrians.

A few years back, there was a major accident during bridge construction in nearby Can Tho Province in the delta. While many workers were laboring up on the bridge, a large section collapsed, killing at least 60 workers, leaving many more injured. It was all over the news. Many Vietnamese blame corruption as a factor in the disaster.

Further outside of Ben Tre, a large cable stay bridge is also under construction. When completed, it will connect Ben Tre Province to a highway leading out of the delta. The unfinished bridge is already months past its original opening date.

This modern suspension bridge will improve life in Ben Tre and the Mekong Delta

Before I leave, I ask a hotel clerk about the new bridge, and he’s well versed in the lingo of promotion. “When that bridge finishes, there will be even more tourism, more development,” he gushes. “Come back to Ben Tre in one year. You won’t even recognize it.”

In a wider context, I think that what he says is far more true, when comparing the war years to the present time. Americans that had been to Ben Tre back during those times of conflict, would hardly even recognize this town today.     

BOATING THE MEKONG RIVER DELTA

The Mekong River Delta is a labyrinth of islands, channels and canals

I’m seated on the floor of a small wooden boat, slowly being paddled through a remote narrow canal. I’m surrounded by jungle. Tall trees and palm branches lean towards me like outstretched arms, reaching high over the waterway. In parts foliage is so thick above me, that it blocks out the sun.

Around the boat, there is no sign of civilization. In some places the canal narrows to as little as six feet wide. To the sides, there’s no riverbank to speak of, only a continuous tangle of tree roots. I watch as mudskippers jump from the roots into the shallow waters. There is little sound; only the continuous rhythm of a simple wooden paddle, as it dips forward and back through the dark waters beneath.

This is the Mekong River Delta. As one of the largest deltas in the world, this region of Vietnam is full of islands, islands, and more islands. Even today, much of the transportation around this vast delta is still done by boat.

Handling a boat isn't just for men in the delta, women are also experts.

In these smaller canals here in Ben Tre Province, back during wartime Vietnamese rebels boated through here with relative ease. Like the narrow tunnels in Cu Chi, the Viet Cong used the small size of these canals to their advantage. The US Navy river patrol boats (PBRs) that were used all over the delta, were too large to fit into the narrow, shallow waterways such as these. They were more suitable for cruising the wider rivers and inlets, where they were occasionally attacked by VC guerillas firing rifles and B-40 rockets.

Throughout this maze of waterways and islands, locals first fought the French, then the South Vietnamese military, then the Americans. Now, since the foreign armies are gone, they’re happy to bring through invading tourists like me. The only dangers the remote delta dwellers face these days are from the rare crocodile, and occasional typhoon.

Our little boat is being paddled by a slender, barefoot female rower, wearing a traditional conical hat. A bandana mask covers most of her face. Like most Vietnamese women here, she’s probably wearing the bandana to give her protection from the sun, but it still gives her the look of an Asian bandit. Her deep brown eyes are the one facial feature that I can still see. She catches me looking at her, and stares right back at me with a very penetrating gaze. 

I wonder, what is she thinking?

No, she's not a river bandit, the mask is for sun protection.

**NOTE** Looking for more on boating in the Mekong Delta? Click here for photos and story: FLOATING MARKET ON THE MEKONG.