The Journey Home, Chapter 7: Corruption! At the Border

Leaving the dreamland of Si Phan Don behind was tough, but it was time to head further south, and into my next country on the list: Cambodia.

Crossing the border via bus, I would continue south all the way to Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. This would be an all-day affair, crawling down the sometimes paved, sometimes not paved highways of northern Cambodia, stopping for roadside bathroom breaks and Khmer snacks. It wasn't a short ride, but it certainly had its fair share of events.

Time to Pay Up

An early morning long-tail ferry took me back to Ben Nakasang, the sleepy riverside transportation hub for Si Phan Don. I was going to be crossing a border, which meant I needed a passport, visa photos, and two kinds of money: official visa money and "fee" money. I wasn't at all happy about the latter, which sounded like another name for bribing my way across a border.  Sadly, this ended up being reality in this isolated border crossing in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

A couple hours into the bus journey, we pulled up to a roadside shed with a little white and red pole sticking out across the road. There were about four people, two and half buildings, and a crowd of backpacking tourists cuing up for entry visas.

Here we were - the Cambodian border crossing. It was time to get our wallets out. Officially a $20 flat fee for the visa, I realized quick that I was never going to get through the crossing without losing a few dollars for "extra expenses."

It started with a "health check." I got a thermometer in my ear and a piece of paper about staying healthy in Cambodia - $2. Dropping off my paperwork for the visa itself, I was informed that there was a "Sunday fee" - another $2. Then of course, the stamp itself from the next counter wasn't free - $1 for a "stamping fee."

Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of it. Our bus driver had offered to take our passports through the crossing for everyone on the bus, since we didn't actually know how or where to get through into Cambodia itself. Of course, this would cost a few dollars - $5 to be exact.

Fees are a normal part of life, but there was just one problem with these "fees" - they were illegal. According to the Cambodia immigration authority, the visa is supposed to cost a flat $20. I'd been scammed out of an extra, illegitimate $10.

In the end, I did somehow get into Cambodia. To me, it wasn't the extra $10 itself that bothered me - it was the system of extraction and exploitation behind it. This was the first time I've had to pay bribe money, and it didn't feel good. I was supporting a system of corruption, and so was everyone else going through this crossing. I'd find out later that this wasn't a unique experience. This kind of scam had been going on for a while. I hope for Cambodia and travelers alike, it will end soon.

The Journey Home, Chapter 6: Lotus Eating Across 4,000 Islands

The vapid dullness of Vientiane behind me, and the sweeping openness of southern Laos before me, I headed down along the Laotian-Thai border toward my next stop: Si Phan Don. 

Literally translated as The 4,000 Islands, the Mekong takes a well deserved break from it's southbound journey at this southern tip of Laos, right before it enters Cambodia. Characterized by its picturesque riverside landscapes and tranquilizing vibrations, 4,000 Islands is a place not to be missed if you're into anything related to relaxation.

To the South

After yet another eleven-hour sleeper bus ride, I arrived in the quiet riverside town of Pakse, in the far south of Laos.

Vientiane to Pakse. 11 hours of "sort of" sleep

Vastly improved from the puzzlingly inefficient system from Luang Prabang to Vientiane, I actually arrived at the decent hour of 8 a.m, and actually inside the town itself.

Pakse was a much needed breath of fresh air, literally and otherwise. This former regional capital of colonial Laos was made up of French-inspired two story villas, situated right on a beautiful bending stretch of the Mekong.

Along with my new Norwegian friend, Pernille, I walked around the quiet weekday morning streets of Pakse until I found a place to sleep for the night. $3 a night for a bed, bathroom and fan sounded more than reasonable, so I took it. 

After breakfast, shower, and a Lao massage, we walked around for some photography and shopping through downtown Pakse.

I could've stayed for a few more days but my real destination for the week was further south, where the Mekong invites anyone and everyone to do just one thing: chill out.

Paradise Now

Only a two hour early morning bus ride away from Pakse, the Mekong village of Ben Nakasang serves as the gateway to 4,000 Islands, where those seeking a slower side of life can hop on a long-tail ferry to any one of the "4,000" islands of the Si Phan Don region. 

With too many options to choose from, we elected Don Det, one of the more well known establishments of bungalow villages, with a novel accessory added not too long ago: electricity.

The landing at Don Det seemed to reveal a lot about the island, located in the middle of this extensively wide stretch of the Mekong. A couple of shaded outdoor restaurants guarded the sandy beach, where patrons sipped on Lao beer as the river flowed gently by, only feet away.

Walking down the only "road" on the island, I passed by bungalow guesthouses, riverside bars, and the occasional travel agent. I settled on the market average price of $2 a night. This of course included a bed, mosquito net, functional bathroom, and the most important component of all - a riverside hammock.

Lost in Repose

That was it. That was my job for the next three days: reading in my hammock, drinking coconut shakes, and the occasional exploratory walk around the island.

The beautiful thing about Don Det was the feeling that it was still this undiscovered secret, where perfect views of the Mekong from a hammock were still readily available without all of the cheesy gift shops or pseudo-hippies with too much money. Really, it was just exciting to have both beauty and space in the same spot. No crowds, just river.

My three days blurred together as if I stepped outside of reality, to experience a place where normality was transformed into an alternate world with no need for watches or resumes. It was dangerously tranquil. Like a black hole of peace and serenity, it sucks you in, and you suddenly realize - you can't stay here forever.

And this was constantly on my mind, as the hours flowed gently through the days like the Mekong flowed through the Islands. For me, it was time to head to Cambodia, where life slowly drift back into reality.

Si Phan Don became that place in my travel journal with a bookmark. If I'm ever back in the region, this is one of the first places I'll be heading.

The Journey Home, Chapter 5: The Nothingness of Vientiane

I tend to think of myself as a pretty positive guy. For better, and sometimes for worse, I'll see the good things about a place well before I see the negatives. I think every destination has something that can change you - something that opens your mind a little bit more to new sights, sounds, smells and tastes. I believe the real beauty of travel is finding the hidden gems and being swept off your feet by a new place without even realizing it. 

Sometimes it can be downright tough to leave a place you've unexpectedly fallen in love with. And then sometimes, you end up in a place like Vientiane, Laos. 

Welcome to Vientiane - Sorry, We're Closed

As the ten hours aboard my overnight "sleeper" bus from Luang Prabang came to an end, I groggily peeked outside to see a an empty, early-morning skyline. It was so early in fact, that the sun had just come up. As I anticipated pulling into downtown Vientiane, the riverside capital of Laos, I started to collect my things and get ready for a bustling scene of Southeast Asia urban chaos. It was right at the moment when the bus pulled into a two-building, rural gas station-type facility and turned off the engine. This was the Vientiane bus terminal. It was about 6:30 a.m.

Bewildered and half asleep, I stumbled out of the bus, got my bag and tried in vain to figure out where in the hell I was exactly. Joined by fellow confused passengers, I ended up in the back of an overcrowded tuk-tuk headed for the vague destination called "city center."

I found out later that the Vientiane bus terminal was in fact ten kilometers outside of the city itself. Whether it was some kind of conspiracy by the local tuk-tuk driver mafia to get passengers, or horrendous city planning, it wasn't fun or convenient.


Upon getting dropped off at the random locale deemed "city center" by our tuk-tuk driver, I looked around to see that literally every single business on the quiet, dirty street was closed. So I did just about the only thing I could've done - I sat down.

Camping just outside of a coffee shop, I waited about two and half hours until it opened up, as I desperately headed for the counter, trying to caffeine into my body as soon as possible.

After a quality cup of Laotian black coffee, I marched down the main street a few blocks, checked into my hostel, and collapsed onto my bed. The rest of my first day wasn't anything too special - mostly walking to convenience stores for water and a group dinner with a couple fellow backpackers from the hostel.

Once bedtime rolled around, I sat down with my tourist map, and tried to plan out some fun activities for my next three days. This would prove to be much more difficult than anticipated.

Something, Anything to Do

Day two began with a complimentary omelet  at the hostel, and I got ready for my day of wandering. I usually like to walk around new cities during my first day - the sights and sounds from the sidewalk tend to give away the city's personality. This is probably why I found Vientiane to be such a disappointment.

The Mekong seemed to take a big, deep, depressed breath as it wound lethargically through the shockingly dull riverfront of Vientiane. Nothing but red flags with sickles and hammers adorned the riverbank, as one continuous unfinished construction project seemed to take up all of the space.

Returning to the hostel after a brief loop around riverfront and downtown areas, I still had over half of the day for activities. I ended up renting bikes with Daniel, my new Swedish friend, in a desperate attempt to escape the creeping boredom that loomed not so far away. 

We picked out one of the only landmarks on our tourist map: Patuxai. Navigating the confusing but highly bike-able side streets of Vientiane, we found our way to Patuxai Park, the monument dedicated to the independence of Laos from foreign aggressors and French colonialism.

Right in the middle of an oval shaped island of grass and broken water fountains, a gigantic arch of blackened concrete towered over a plaza overlooking a number of spotlessly white government buildings. Like some kind of faux, dilapidated Arc de Triomphe  

It was a giant mold of concrete, which I found out later, was in fact donated by none other than the U.S. of A. - to be used for a new airport in Vientiane. But, runways be damned. Let's build a gigantic eyesore in the middle of town, and fill it up with cheap souvenirs. That's right - this behemoth tribute to the eventual victory of communism in Laos is completely stuffed with gift shops and trinket stalls from top to bottom. What would Chairman Mao have to say about this?

Ain't no party like a Communist Party

Political cynicism aside, at least the view from the top was nice. Quite nice, actually.

I rode back to the hostel half defeated, but at least out of my bed. I had one more day in Vientiane, by mistake, and I wanted to make the most of it.

My Vientiane Souvenir

Encouraged by an utter lack of anything exciting happening during the past couple of days, when the opportunity arose to join a free "trial tour" to a "local" waterfall, hosted by my hostel, I jumped on it. We were going out of the city, which was more than inviting to me.

Little did I know that there was in fact nothing "local" about this waterfall, and I'd be breathing nothing but tuk-tuk exhaust fumes for three hours straight.

It all began around 9 a.m. when I hopped in the back of the tuk-tuk. What was supposed to be a straightforward 45 minute drive, as advertised, turned into a two and half hour fiasco through rural Laos, trying to track down a supposed waterfall.

To be fair, the views of the countryside were stunning, and it was worthwhile to catch another glimpse into a lesser explore part of Laos. We did arrive at the waterfall, but only after several dirt roads, a near accident, and getting out to push an unhealthy amount of times.

The waterfall was, in fact, stunning. The perfect natural pool below the wide falls opened up as an enticing target for a cannonball, which I proceeded to indulge in. 

It was a great swim - extra refreshing, especially after that tuk-tuk debacle. The water looked and smelled clean, as far as I could tell. It only would be about two or three days later that this locale became a prime suspect for causing what I would end up experiencing for the rest of my trip, in varying degrees. More about this later.

After another two hours in the back of the carbon spewing tuk-tuk, I arrived back at the hostel filthy, hungry, and with just 45 minutes to catch the bus out of town. I took my shower, packed my dirty clothes and ate the closest available meal: a vegetarian buffet.

Somewhere in the packing and/or eating vegetables, something didn't feel right. I was coughing, badly. I felt my forehead and it was hotter than usual, even for a Coloradan in Southeast Asia. I shrugged and hoped it would blow over on the bus.

Sure enough, it didn't, and I was soon wrestling with a chest cold in the middle of southern Laos. Vientiane decided to leave me one last memory: disease. At least it was something I could take with me to remember the place.

Vientiane is great - for sleeping, and getting out of the bus to go pee. Otherwise ... well, see the above.


[After visiting a doctor in Phnom Penh - more on that later - I got some Tylenol and have been o.k since - B]