Learning on the Mekong

Spring 2009

There are no rules when kayaking through Laos.

Marc Paillefer found he had to make those up as he went along.

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: > DOWNLOAD

by Marc Paillefer

Sitting on the banks of the Mekong in the small Lao town of Savannakhet, I pondered my options. For years now I have traveled around the Mekong, but how was I going to travel on it? The river is the social and economic engine that drives this part of the world. Yet except for a well-publicized section of river in northwest Laos, transport on the Mekong is hard to find at best, and non-existent the rest of the time.

Then along came the old man in the dugout, paddling effortlessly along the current in the setting sun. Suddenly I remembered that green thing I have in the garage, used on long journeys on great rivers before, namely on the Nile and the Yangtze. But the Mekong is different. It is still a wild river. China has thrown dams across it, but in its upper reaches industry has yet to leave its mark.

A year later, when I boarded my flight for Vientiane, the capital of Laos, my kit weighed 40 kilograms (88 pounds), boat and all. This was going to be a solo trip. Several friends had expressed interest, but actually committing to the three months away from work and family is a different matter.

Thinking I might need a permit of some kind, the Mekong being along much of the border between Thailand and Laos, I enquired at the National Tourism Office. It was a sleepy, subdued place, as everywhere in Vientiane seems to be. After several desks and several kindly bureaucrats latter, I decided to let that sleeping dog lie. No one seemed to understand what I was after, or if they did they didn’t seem to care.

I chose to start the trip in Huay Xai, a town on the Laos edge of the so-called “Golden Triangle” about 670 km upstream from Vientiane. I was able to travel upstream on the river for about half of this distance and so got a look at what I was up against.

Photos by Marc Paillefer.

The rest I had to travel overland for two dusty days. Dust as light as flour, feet thick at times, was thrown constantly by the ever-present logging trucks. I don’t know where the logs were coming from. From my vantage point everything seemed to be already clearcut. Villages had sprung up, perhaps of displaced indigenous people or migrants from somewhere else expecting a better life. They must be a sight in the wet season, but at least the dust would be kept at bay. Particularly pitiful were a group of elephants I saw trudging along the road. These were working animals. They had not seen a bath for some time, and given this creature’s affinity for water they were giving the Mahouts a lot of trouble. I couldn’t blame them.

No photos I have do justice to these days. Huay Xai is a busy place, its markets full of Thai goods from across the river, and foreign tourists entering Laos to travel the Mekong to Luang Prabang, a recommended trip in guide books. A “tuk tuk” driver by the name BounPone was at first curious and then encouraging in my venture, and immensely helpful on that last day of buying fuel and provisions. In the morning I sent one last email to let everyone know where I was and when they would hear from me next. As if on cue, BounPone appeared out of nowhere and we lashed my boat to the roof of his tuk tuk. He drove me a little out of town to avoid the customs dock and any unnecessary attention, taking me to a wide and lazy stretch of river. The day was perfect, the sun having just burnt off the morning mist. This trip had involved a lot of preparation, and I had become tired of the details and constant explanations. When I shoved off, the weight of the planning instantly fell away. There was nothing to do now but paddle. u

The first couple of hours were sheer bliss. The sun was warm, the river cool and refreshing, and paddling downstream with the current felt like the way it was meant to be. My GPS was telling me that I was making between 5 and 6 miles per hour without too much effort, and the boat was behaving like an old friend.

Then came the first fast water. My particular background is in ocean kayaks, and my only experience in whitewater has been in rafts. In any case, I was less concerned about the river than the traffic I had witnessed on my trip up. Large boats work this part of the Mekong and when traveling downstream they are at full power to give them as much helm as possible. They don’t have the steerage or the room to avoid a kayak. It was up to me to stay out of their way.

Rapids might not be the right word to describe what I was approaching, but the river broke into several channels, and picked up speed. I could hear an engine over the sound of the water and pulled into a back eddy just up from the first shoot. Sure enough, a large river boat appeared from around the bend. Something told me that it wasn’t alone so I waited and sure enough a second boat appeared. As soon as they passed I paddled hard for mid channel. Behind me came a blast from a horn. There was a third boat. Now committed to the current I had to stay on the edge of the shoot... bad spot. The last thing I saw before I was dumped was a tourist taking a photo from entirely too close a vantage point. It was a quarter mile or so before the river let me back on my kayak, and the only damage done was to my pride. I discovered what was waterproof and what wasn’t, but luckily no gear was lost. A lesson learned.

My first day had exhausted me, with my head still caught up in the world of trip planning. I covered 25 miles and camped on some white sand left behind by the Mekong’s floodwaters. The night was surprisingly cool. As expected, in the next few days my mind slowed down, I got better at handling my boat and better at reading the river. I paddled from 10 a.m., after the morning mist burned off, until about 4 p.m. when the white sand was cool enough to walk upon. Then I would camp in yet another idyllic spot. It was hot, but the cool water temperature kept things tolerable.

These were very good days. Passing several villages everyday and lots of traffic meant I never felt alone, but even with the sparse population much of the jungle riverfront had fallen prey to slash and burn agriculture. The people I would pass along the riverbank fishing or bathing or doing laundry were usually surprised, but always friendly.

Scenes from the Mekong River and the author in his kayak.

I learned early not to camp near a village. That attracted far too much attention. But regardless of how isolated my camp might seem, someone would always wander in to check out the white guy and all his odd gear. The men always went straight to the boat, with the woman more curious about the tent and stove. One young man happened into my camp one morning while I was boiling up some noodles. I offered him some; he quickly turned his nose up, and instead patted his own basket of sticky rice. He was on his way up the hill for a day of slashing and burning. He had about six pounds of sticky rice, thousands of calories, and I thought to myself what a poor exchange. All those calories expended for the meager return that hillside would produce. Then it occurred to me that a kilogram of opium could buy a lot of sticky rice.

Eight days and 200 miles brought me to Luang Prabang. This former capital of Laos has recently become a very fashionable destination for more then just intrepid backpackers. Budget airlines fly the well-heeled in from Bangkok for a couple of days of relaxation and French cuisine on the banks of the Mekong. The town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, an architectural blend of two distinct cultures: traditional Lao urban structures and European colonial influence. I explored here for four days, allowing my skin a break from the sun. But there is a danger in lingering. Days can turn to weeks when captivated by a beautiful place.

The next 120 miles of Mekong was a section of river I had been unable to get a look at before from the water. I had read of a kayaker who had paddled from Luang Prabang to Vientiane, so it could be done. Plus large cargo riverboats in Luang Prabang meant they must have come from downstream at some point in time. A local boatman I questioned pointed upstream, then down, shrugged and said “same, same.” So after my rest, I put in again. How difficult could it be?

The first two days threw no surprises at

me, but the river traffic began to dwindle and this created some concern. I felt very much alone. On the third day my anxieties were confirmed. A narrow shoot, maybe 75 feet wide, preceded a sharp bend to the right. I’m not sure it was the fastest water I had yet seen but it was the most intimidating. I got myself lined up, committed mentally, and rode it through. Just when I thought I was in the clear, a boil turned to a whirlpool. I was in the wrong spot and in an instant the kayak rolled and I was in. The whirlpool had me, but spat my boat out into the current. My PFD was going to keep me afloat but watching my boat continue on downstream without me was a horrible vision. I had nothing, not even shoes. Everything was in that boat, and it was now out of sight. Without much choice, I committed to the current. Maybe an hour went by of floating down the river, and still no boat. What madness had brought me to this place?

Eventually the boat came into site, spinning lazily in a side pool. All ended well, but I cursed myself for becoming complacent, and the feeling of a vacation was gone.

The next few days were less pleasant. On the right bank was the province of Sainyabuli. Seldom visited by tourists and heavily logged, it did little to raise my spirits. The smoke from the dry season burn-off seemed heavier, and river traffic dwindled to almost nothing. I didn’t have to worry about being run over but it added an element of loneliness. I needed a drink.

While I was setting up my camp one evening I heard the sound of drums coming from downstream. Thinking I had better investigate this, I came upon a Kamu village in full celebration for some reason. This was just what I needed. The drums stopped and jaws dropped as the white guy walked out of the bush. It took a few minutes to establish that there was not a single thread of common language, but that was not going to slow down this event. A place was cleared for me, the drums flashed up and out came the Lao Lao. This is the local hooch, a clear spirit of varying quality. Probably not the safest of grog, but definitely one that delivers. Proceedings went on well into the night, as we all got progressively less intelligent. I’m not sure when the drums shut down, but I did wake up in my tent, and I never did learn what the celebration was all about.

Refreshed and fortified, I arrived in Pak Lai. I was now back on familiar ground and on a stretch of river with a daily service to Vientiane. This is very significant for the solo paddler. On the previous stretch with no such potential bailout, always in the back of my mind was what to do If I fell ill, broke an ankle, or got bitten by a snake. However, that was behind me now, and ahead lay a beautiful six-day run to Vientiane. The river had become far less intimidating, and there were more people about. Surprisingly, I saw my first mosquito on the last night. This is where the Mekong leaves the mountains of northwest Laos and spills out onto the broad, hot basin of western Thailand, where it meanders lazily first east and then south for the Cambodian border.

But Vientiane! I had been paddling for 21 days and the trip was now in its sixth week. Somewhere I read that Huay Xai to Vientiane was 678 kilometres (420 miles), but my GPS was reading 942 km (584 miles). It was long enough; I had started talking too much to both my kayak and the Mekong. I packed my gear, then my kayak across a long sandbar, past the curious stares of backpackers sipping beer under umbrellas, and dropped it at the front door of a hotel I knew well. The manager recognized me, despite my appearance.

“Where are you coming from?” he asked.

“Huay Xai.” His look said it all. That was enough!

What to consider when exploring Laos

For those considering such an adventure:

The first leg of my journey, from Hauy Xai to Luang Prabang, is a very feasible trip for anybody reasonably fit, possessing a bit of gear and a few outdoor skills. It’s an eight-day paddle, with a very posh lodge conveniently situated at the halfway point. Here are a few things to know.

You can enter Laos from Thailand at Hauy Xai, where you can get a 30-day visa. Nights are cool, even by Canadian standards, and mosquitoes are nonexistent. I wouldn’t do this kind of trip without it, but as it turned out, I never broke out my water purification gear. Everyday I was able to buy bottled water from river traders.

Be very careful of the mud on the riverbank. Buffalo can disappear in it. Snakes also like riverbanks. Don’t get bitten.

I can’t say enough about the people of Laos. I never once felt threatened and no gear went missing.

UV and dehydration are your main concerns. I did this trip at low water (January and February). Under no circumstances should it be done at high water.

Reach Marc at mpaillefer@gmail.com.