After the truck pulled over Nakassang pier on the broad sluggish Mekong River, my friend Ken and I squeezed out from the over-loaded truck, flinging packs onto our backs, and kissed goodbye the hours’ long bone-aching stiff sitting from Pakse, the largest city in Champasak Province, the southernmost point of Laos.
As we paid 80,000 kip for truck tickets, the vehicle started again, dragging on the mud towards the next village. Then, Si Phan Don, in English, 4000 beautiful islands, lay in front of us.
In amid of these 4000, only several are inhabitable; the others either wholly submerged in rainy season or tiny even for a person standing still. Don Khong, the largest, was where we headed for, famous for “a few interesting sights” and its “lazy mood”, which suggested in the Rough Guide to Laos.
At Don Khong, we shouted and yelled and cried, till when speaking both Ken and I felt pain on our throats. The residue of pain, however, turned sweet after being moistened by bottles of water.
“Following the main road in the middle, it’s easy to get to the south and back.”Our landlord said when we asked for a map. Trusting him and our guide book, we didn’t insist and set out at about 3 p.m. on two Giant Bikes without a map.
The first hour on bicycles was baked by the sun. I could only enjoy glimpses of indigo sky through holes of the hat, after pulling down my broad-brimmed straw hat half over my face to block the light.
Endless paddies stretched into distance on sides of the road. Numerous ridges on the paddy field tore up the vast lush carpet into rugs with emeralds. In the middle of them, we pedaled, pedaled and pedaled.
Soaked with sweat, I stared evilly in front at herds of brown water buffalos wandering, standing and lying down on the green. While, in puddles embedded on the field, they bathed and swam with only their heads above the water.
From time to time, families with suntanned skins came in sight. They, two or three in a team, under the scorching sun, bent over deeply and carefully stuck seedlings into earth, the same as their ancestors did in the sixth century.
Whenever passing a family planting team, we saw kids looking up. “Sabaidee”, hello in English, they shouted, putting up their big smiles and waving wildly at us.
Sometimes, kids devoted in playing around also welcomed us in shouts. Opening with one detected and greeted us, several other children followed on.
At the beginning, we were so shy in shouting back, that we only answered in perfectly normal voice, which, I thought, might leave the kids unsatisfied. So, they yelled at us louder than before, “Sabaidee” and “Sabaidee” again.
After welcomed full-heartedly for tens of times, Ken and I sensed our desire uncontrolled to raise our voice. And the time we shouted, they waved and smiled.
The “hellos” broke for a while when we rested in someone’s fish boat moored in river off the south tip of the island. In the meantime, a breeze of cool air was driving away the blazing sun. Following us from Pakse, the light rain that ceased just for hours started again.
We agreed it was time to ride back. “You want to try a new way?” Ken asked wishfully. Baffling in mind, I weighed the novelty of a new route and the just started drizzling. “Yes, why not?” I heard myself answered. Then we tried the way paralleling with the river, which I thought would lead back.
It was so naturally we lost. After crossing the bridge once served the CIA job in the second Indochina War, we couldn’t figure out what the curly lines on the book indicated. Thus, we just stuck to path on the left till no path but only river sitting in front.
Having no choice, we pedaled back to the last turning point, taking another way, and then pedaled into a village with scattered wooden huts. Our frustrations were partly dispersed by a new round of passionate welcome shouts.
With the sinking sun and soft rain, most roadsides families put down their work and rested, so on the way back we harvested more “sabaidee” than before.
Time passing by, I was nearly cried fearing taking a wrong way again in the dark, but still I greeted them back with my full strength to see their smiles and waves.
Three hours later, roadsides huts lighted up. We’ve eaten up all chocolate bars and reached the main road, eventually, throwing ourselves into chairs at Riverview Restaurant.
Swallowing two glasses of water, my throat got better. “Sabaidee” the waiter grinned and handed us the menu. “Sabaidee”I answered with a huge smile.
Through Your Iris 