who ... moi?

a social butterfly: scared of much, but not of many. never lets the truth get in the way of a good story. not a fan of acronyms, snakes and angelina jolie. a HUGE fan of Fathead.

this blog is black for ENERGY-SAVING reasons.

thanks for your understanding.
if it's too dark, put your glasses on old one.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

4000 islands

as the mekong river exits laos, it splits around an enormous network of outrops and islands … 4000 of them, to be precise.  some of these are little more than a clump of mangrove trees, other much larger ones are homes to fisherman villages.

it was  the second largest of these, don det, that we had decided to make our first destination in laos.
don det is little more than 500m squared.  it’s rustic and about as “back to basics” as you can get.  one muddy loop road circles the entire island, linking the central rice paddies to a small strip of eateries, chill out bars and river-side bungalows. 

by the time we arrived, the sun had set and taken with it all guiding light to the island.  Fathead and dan - the gentlemen-, decided that, as they needed a beer after their harrowing bus experience, the ladies should traipse out into the darkness, in search of accommodation.

sans torch and packing a serious fear of snakes I reluctantly accompanied brody on a mission that would lead us down ankle-deep trails of mud and slush.  in parts, the grass felt knee-high and the sounds of slithery creatures rose from each icky step we took.

we followed distance lights, scaled wooden cattle gates, knocked on doors and eventually checked into a home for the night.  relieved to be getting back to where the boys were now enjoying their 4th frosties, we hot-footed back towards the “main road”.

it was eery enough in the dark, mother nature singing her creepy song that she does when you’re scared and alone and in the middle of nowhere.  something shifted across the path, blocking what little moonlight we had. it was big.  and then, that big something let out a grunt … the kind of flatulent, guttural noise that only a fak-off big-assed pointy-horned half-ton water buffalo can make.

i may not have been much of a sprinter in high school, but that night usain bolt would have eaten my dust.

No comments:

Post a Comment