Watch Out for that Tree!

My final adventure in Laos was a doozy. I’d heard about the Gibbon Experience all the way back in New Zealand, and made sure that it was on my somewhat small list of must-sees in Southeast Asia. Ziplining over jungle canopies tucked far away from and sign of civilization, sleeping in tree-houses 150 feet off the jungle floor? Count me in.

Getting to the Gibbon Experience, headquartered in Huay Xai, Laos, was an experience in itself. From Luang Prabang, a 2-day slowboat up the Mekong river was required, unless I wanted to brave a 16 hour (at least) bus ride through questionable mountain roads. The boat ride, split up by a night in a remote village somewhere in the middle of nowhere, brought us through rolling hills of dense jungle, the brown waters of the Mekong swirling in all different directions as we gradually moved upstream. We’d pass villages of a dozen shacks, with no other entry points aside from the river itself, miles and miles away from any semblance of a city. Children ran about naked on the beaches, soaking up the sun and waving (and mooning) the boat as we passed. It was a simplistic beauty, and I thoroughly enjoyed it – for about 3 hours. The other 15 hours spent on the boat had me more than relieved to finally reach dry land and get ready for my adventure.

The ride into the jungle, in the back of pickup, lasted almost 3 hours, 1 of which was spent crossing rivers, climbing steep hills, and descending slippery slopes on a backroad that thankfully we completed before the steady rain washed it away. After arriving at the main village, an hour-long hike through hot, sweaty, thick jungles brought the group to the first zipline. Hopping up to go first, I whisked down the line, popping out into pristine jungle, the first bit of cool air I’d felt in a while screaming past my face. I was higher than I anticipated, slightly startled by the tops of tall trees I watched pass by below me. As I arrived at the makeshift platform at the other end, I knew the next couple days were going to be not only thrilling, but a bit mesmerizing as well.

We hiked and zipped, making our way through the jungle to various checkpoints, until we finally reached our last line of the day, one that led straight into our accommodation, 150 feet off the jungle floor. The view zipping in was a bit surreal. Endless jungle to the right, straight ahead a striking house in the middle of a tree. Like a lighthouse on the coast, an unmistakable inconsistency in the setting, yet at the same time, completely natural, almost poetic. The treehouse was basic accommodation by any standards, but the mattress and mosquito net were really all that was needed. The view from the bathroom was just an added bonus. While there were no Gibbon sightings, there was plenty of wildlife waiting for us in the treehouse, as tree-rats and hand-sized spiders were just a little startling each time I got up in the night to relieve my intensifying stomach pains. The jungle awoke us in the wee hours of the morning with what it knows best, a deafening thunder storm, its roars only challenged by the incessant chatter of the hundreds of creatures held within, and hovering above, its canopy. It felt as if I’d turned on one of those dream sound machines, set it to thunderstorm and jungle sounds, then turned it up to max volume.

The following day was filled with more zipping, this time slightly less supervised, as our guide decided we were expert enough to go exploring on our own through the network of lines. Never mind that platforms were missing wood, or that some required precarious maneuvering a hundred feet off the ground. Safety first! The views continued to impress, and the exhilaration with each run never seemed to cease. Popping out over the canopy from the depths of the tree cover had me giving my best Tarzan yells, for all the jungle to hear. Some runs seemed endless, as the longest neared 500 meters in length, where stopping in the middle to soak in the view would require some serious monkey climbing to get to the other side.

Accommodation on the second night came in the form of a 3-story treehouse, the afternoon heat made tolerable only by more ziplining and a cold shower. More than just a room with a view, we were the view, smack dab in the middle of a jungle, doing our best to blend in to the panorama before us. Sure, the comforts were lacking, the bedding wasn’t the cleanest, the bugs never let up, the spiders and rats did spider and rat things, and my insides contorted in ways I never thought possible, but what a rush the whole experience was. Capped off my another morning thunderstorm, the final zips and hike back to town had me filled with both relief it was over and a longing for more.

I’d felt truly a part of the jungle, in all the best and worst ways imaginable. 

Floatin'

Growing up in a small, rural, foothill town with lakes, rivers, and scorching summers, some activities come pretty natural. One of the more enjoyable and ingenious of such activities requires the purchase of an inner tube and a fair amount of beer. The only other requirement is some swimming shorts, and you’ve got yourself some prime entertainment. Many summers were spent floating down the river on an inner tube, multiple times a week. Sometimes multiple times a day, but who’s counting? The best way to escape the heat was to pack a few cold ones and plunge into the icy river, letting it take you to the edge of town, where a pickup was (usually) available. I look back fondly on these days when a beer shower may have been the only one some of us had for days.

When I learned that one of the main tourist draws of Vang Vieng, Laos involved floating down a river on an inner tube, stopping at riverside bars along the way, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself at how this seemed like such a novel concept to many from around the world. Firmly in my element, I grabbed a couple roadies and a tube and hopped in the back of a tuk tuk to be dropped off upriver. Apparently the scene in Vang Vieng used to be much more wild, as hard drugs sold at all the bars contributed to upwards of 20 deaths a year. The scene has been cleaned up for the most part, as only 2 bars are open on any given day, and stick to (mostly) serving alcohol only. The scene was as you’d expect, with 20-somethings grabbing on to ropes thrown out into the middle of the river by the bartenders on shore, trying desperately to pull themselves up an onto the makeshift platforms that made up each bar. Bar competitions only barely interrupted the complete state of relaxation experienced by all participants. Out of the river, the vibe was as worry free as can be. For some though, once the plunge was made back into the water, the struggle was real. Flipped tubes, bridge collisions, rock avoidance (or lack thereof) were just a few of the many adventures that await in the water. Me? I was cruising, fully entrenched in my comfort zone, enjoying the striking view of mountains surrounding me and in the distance, a relaxing front row seat to enjoy the present and reminisce about the past. Just as Kenny Chesney sang,

I went back to a two-tone, short-bed Chevy, driving (my boys) out to the levy, living life with no sense of time.

Probably as far away from home as I’ve ever been, it all came back around. I think I’ve decided what’s first on the agenda when I return…

Luang Prabang, Laos

After having spent what seemed like months in Vietnam, I’d forgotten the sense of anticipation accompanied by the arrival in a brand new country. Flying down into Luang Prabang, Laos, I was struck by the lush jungles that surround the Mekong River as its brown waters flow through most of the country. Signs of deforestation exist, but you kind of get the feeling of being very deep into untouched territory.

Aside from the small city, there’s really not much in the surrounding areas, save for more pronounced mountains and remote jungles. The city itself has a sense of charm similar to Hoi An, though far more steeped in religious calm and peace than any other place I’ve visited on this trip. The sleepiness resonates. Streets are full of shops and restaurants, yet quiet. The touristic temples and monasteries are busy, but filled with more whispers than shouts. The restaurants along the Mekong were very nearly empty, with a suspiciously low number of encouraging hostesses by Asia standards. Honking horns are few and far between, as I soon learned after mistakenly taking my motorbike etiquette with me from Vietnam. Even the night market is quiet, as vendors allow would-be buyers to parous at their leisure, no beckoning required.

Dawn marks the daily procession of Monks through the town, collecting morning alms, their lone source of food for the day. While tourists have begun to get in on the action, it was inspiring to watch locals set up shop on the sidewalk as they awaited each set of passing monks, scooping sticky rice into their bowls. Afternoons can be whiled away at riverside cafes and yoga studios, where pads strewn about on the decks serve as a reading chair, lunch seat, and napping bed.

Outside of town, a multi-tiered waterfall provides a respite from the heat, with many pools scattered in its wake. The ride out to the falls showed just how remote the small city is, with no more than a few huts here and there throughout the 25 miles out and back. My suspicions were confirmed as I climbed the town mountain for sunset. As expected, temples dot the hill, as well as the surrounding mountains in all directions. That’s about all that dot the mountains, though. No sprawling houses, no development, simply a river and jungles, for as far as the eye can see.

Luang Prabang is truly a gem, tucked away among the shroud of the jungle. There’s little wonder as to how it’s become such a holy, peaceful oasis.