The Loop Day 5: Back to Tha Khek
24 October 2010
I had called Mr. Ku from our guesthouse in Kong Lor village and arranged to keep the motorbike for an extra day. Jean and I were enjoying our little tour and were keen on taking some time to explore a feature on our map labeled Khoun Kong Leng. According to Mr. Ku's notes it appeared to be a waterfall. Our tourist brochure called it a lake. The large blue sign on the highway read
The sign, not far from Ban Song Hong pointed down a wide, evenly graded dirt road.
We breakfasted on omelets at a little eatery at the junction. Fortunately, we got omelets this time and rather than caramelized rice. Afterward we picked up a few liters of water and some snacks and turned down the road toward the bat cave.
Over the past week we've discovered that the Lao tourism department is very good about placing clear, well marked signs on major roadways. However, guidance beyond that first turn off is non-existent. While somewhat frustrating it does fill one with a sense of accomplishment upon actually finding one of these elusive “tourist sites.”
Not five minutes into our journey the road split with not a signpost to be seen. I chose wrongly and Jean and I soon found ourselves at a rock quarry much to the surprise of many of the workers. We turned around and returned to the fork. The other road took us through a small village where we were met with shouts of “Saba-dee!” from many of the denizens. Where in Thailand the locals seemed nonplussed by our appearance both kids and adults in Laos alike are fanatical about waving frantically and shouting, “Saba-dee (Hello)” whenever we roll through.
After the village the well-graded road began to detiorate rapidly. Deep ruts and mud puddles appeared slowing our pace. Jean hopped off a couple of times while I motored through the more precarious sections. A few kilometers from the village we came to another split. In one direction the road was submerged under muddy brown water for about sixty feet. The other, a smaller rocky track, cut into the dense jungle. Immensely more traversible we took the latter.
It got progressively rougher and after fifteen minutes the road petered out at a small stream. It appeared to continue on as a footpath. I parked the bike in the shade and we gathered up our snacks and water and set off. Our path crossed another stream before the wide, rocky track began a sharp ascent. We scrabbled up the mountain side. It was sweaty work and with regular breaks took almost an hour. The cooler, crisp air on top was welcome relief. We took a rest on a couple of fallen trees.
The path, now smaller, meandered along the ridge through a thick forest. The heavy growth blocked any sweeping vista views but occasionally another moutain top would peek out through the branches. There was no sign of any water much less waterfall, lake or cave. Our trail eventually dissapeared into the undergrowth and resignedly we turned back.
Jean and I made our way back to the bike stopping enroute to paddle in one of the streams. Down to our last half liter of water we turned back down the road. Upon Arriving back at the second fork I heard what sounded like a vehicle coming from farther down the submerged road. I parked the bike and ran down a footpath paralleling the road.
After the road emerged from the water it began to climb. The way was rocky and heavily eroded with huge channels running down its length. Moments later, an old truck came creeping down the road, its axles creaking and groaning. The driver returned my wave with a grin as he revved the engine and sent his charge into muddy water. The truck sank in to its bumper but in a fishtailing burst pulled free of the sucking mud.
I looked back at the road eaten up by neglect and mother nature. If this was the road to the cave or lake or waterfall it was probably still at least ten kilometers away. The sun, having already attained its apex, was declining and we were almost out of water. Bruce Wayne would have to wait for another other day.
Jean and I motored back to the main road and turned towards Tha Khek. We pulled into the Travel Lodge in the late afternoon happy at the prospect of being off the bike for a while. I thanked Mr. Ku for his advice and took down our last odometer reading. We'd covered 540 kilometers on our trip.
Over dinner Jean and I reflected on our experience on the loop. The trip was liberating on many levels. After so many months of having to rely on spotty public transportation or negotiate with rickshaw or taxi drivers it was refreshing to have the freedom of movement of our own vehicle. The luxury of being able to drive down a road just because you think it looks interesting is something I didn't realize I was missing.
Further, the loop showed Jean and I just how minimalist we could be. We left our packs and most our gear at the Tha Khek Travel Lodge and went out on the road with not much more than what we were carrying on us. I brought a pack of cards, a pen and paper for entertainment, toiletries, a wash line, and an extra set of clothes. Everything I had fit in the front basket of the bike together with water and snacks. Being able to load up in ten minutes and having the freedom not to worry about protecting or storing our belongings was a welcome relief.
Finally, as most of the journey was out of the scope of our guide book the loop liberated us from that burden both physically and emotionally. The Lonely Planet is a thick tome chock full of details. Details that we study and pore over on a regular basis. Jean and I often find ourselves leaning heavily upon the information and suggestions presented in the guide. We'll hoof it past numerous unlisted guesthouses or restaurants to get to one they've picked as the best only to find the notoriety of being "the best" has tarnished the establishment. In other cases we'll be let down by a tourist sight that the author has waxed poetic about that we find uninteresting and a waste of time. On the loop we were on our own with a crude map and phrase sheet. Finding food, a place to stay , things to do and determining if we're being ripped off was all up to our discernment. It was a journey into the unknown and it was nice. I'm sure that is in no small part due to the generally genial and honest nature of Lao people.
At eight in the evening we're exhausted. Jean and I are moving on tomorrow, south to Pakse.
I had called Mr. Ku from our guesthouse in Kong Lor village and arranged to keep the motorbike for an extra day. Jean and I were enjoying our little tour and were keen on taking some time to explore a feature on our map labeled Khoun Kong Leng. According to Mr. Ku's notes it appeared to be a waterfall. Our tourist brochure called it a lake. The large blue sign on the highway read
Tourist Site
Bat Cave
22 kilometers →
Bat Cave
22 kilometers →
The sign, not far from Ban Song Hong pointed down a wide, evenly graded dirt road.
We breakfasted on omelets at a little eatery at the junction. Fortunately, we got omelets this time and rather than caramelized rice. Afterward we picked up a few liters of water and some snacks and turned down the road toward the bat cave.
Over the past week we've discovered that the Lao tourism department is very good about placing clear, well marked signs on major roadways. However, guidance beyond that first turn off is non-existent. While somewhat frustrating it does fill one with a sense of accomplishment upon actually finding one of these elusive “tourist sites.”
Not five minutes into our journey the road split with not a signpost to be seen. I chose wrongly and Jean and I soon found ourselves at a rock quarry much to the surprise of many of the workers. We turned around and returned to the fork. The other road took us through a small village where we were met with shouts of “Saba-dee!” from many of the denizens. Where in Thailand the locals seemed nonplussed by our appearance both kids and adults in Laos alike are fanatical about waving frantically and shouting, “Saba-dee (Hello)” whenever we roll through.
After the village the well-graded road began to detiorate rapidly. Deep ruts and mud puddles appeared slowing our pace. Jean hopped off a couple of times while I motored through the more precarious sections. A few kilometers from the village we came to another split. In one direction the road was submerged under muddy brown water for about sixty feet. The other, a smaller rocky track, cut into the dense jungle. Immensely more traversible we took the latter.
I looked back at the road eaten up by neglect and mother nature. If this was the road to the cave or lake or waterfall it was probably still at least ten kilometers away. The sun, having already attained its apex, was declining and we were almost out of water. Bruce Wayne would have to wait for another other day.
Jean and I motored back to the main road and turned towards Tha Khek. We pulled into the Travel Lodge in the late afternoon happy at the prospect of being off the bike for a while. I thanked Mr. Ku for his advice and took down our last odometer reading. We'd covered 540 kilometers on our trip.
Over dinner Jean and I reflected on our experience on the loop. The trip was liberating on many levels. After so many months of having to rely on spotty public transportation or negotiate with rickshaw or taxi drivers it was refreshing to have the freedom of movement of our own vehicle. The luxury of being able to drive down a road just because you think it looks interesting is something I didn't realize I was missing.
Further, the loop showed Jean and I just how minimalist we could be. We left our packs and most our gear at the Tha Khek Travel Lodge and went out on the road with not much more than what we were carrying on us. I brought a pack of cards, a pen and paper for entertainment, toiletries, a wash line, and an extra set of clothes. Everything I had fit in the front basket of the bike together with water and snacks. Being able to load up in ten minutes and having the freedom not to worry about protecting or storing our belongings was a welcome relief.
Finally, as most of the journey was out of the scope of our guide book the loop liberated us from that burden both physically and emotionally. The Lonely Planet is a thick tome chock full of details. Details that we study and pore over on a regular basis. Jean and I often find ourselves leaning heavily upon the information and suggestions presented in the guide. We'll hoof it past numerous unlisted guesthouses or restaurants to get to one they've picked as the best only to find the notoriety of being "the best" has tarnished the establishment. In other cases we'll be let down by a tourist sight that the author has waxed poetic about that we find uninteresting and a waste of time. On the loop we were on our own with a crude map and phrase sheet. Finding food, a place to stay , things to do and determining if we're being ripped off was all up to our discernment. It was a journey into the unknown and it was nice. I'm sure that is in no small part due to the generally genial and honest nature of Lao people.
At eight in the evening we're exhausted. Jean and I are moving on tomorrow, south to Pakse.
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