Travel Stories

With the Masses on the Mekong.
By Joshua

The two-day trip down the Mekong River, from Chiang Khong, Thailand, into the very heart of Laos at Luang Prabang, is indeed something to write home about. The greenery passes by almost interrupted, with only a handful of small thatch villages to be seen, including Pram Bek, where we spend the night in a dingy, stained room, under a torn pink mosquito net. During the days, our long wooden boat follows the main current of the khaki-colored river, swerving from bank to bank and gently rocking and creaking with the motion. The air is cool, bordering on cold in the mornings, when mists cling to the riverbanks and rising hills.

And yet, booking passage on the “slow boat,” which we did in Chiang Mai, and dealing with the rest of the logistics (immigration, visa, ferry service, etc.) is way too easy, thus ensuring a boat crowded with yahoos so busy yapping, complaining, and slamming beers that they barely notice where they are—passing through one of the most amazing wildernesses in Asia! I am just as guilty of chatting with my fellow travelers and enjoying a cold, overpriced Beer Lao as anyone, but by the second day, the floating frat party takes on new levels when a cocky Brit blasts bad American music on his radio and the volume of the voices reaches new heights.

It doesn’t help that there are 140 people, nearly all farangs, on a boat meant for 80. At one point, I make my way to the bow to take a few photos, and I note that at least half of the passengers are fiddling with iPods, cameras, or other digital gadgets. Every other person it seems, is smoking cigarettes and flinging their butts into the river; a few dozen people are reading, mostly with their noses buried deep inside their Lonely Planet instruction manuals, and a few lost in novels, oblivious to the scenery passing by: I spy two copies of the Davinci Code, one of On the Road, and one older gentlemen reading When Presidents Lie.

Again, I am the pot calling the kettle black, as I plow through Tom Robbins’ Villa Incognito for a part of the ride, telling myself it’s okay because it takes place in Laos. But why can’t we look around and realize where we are!? We take for granted just how simple it is to get on the boat in one town and get off in Luang Prabang where we are immediately coddled by the classy comforts of this ancient capital.

Sitting in the common space balcony of our guesthouse in Luang Prabang, we meet Heather and Matt, a young couple from Vermont and Massachussetts who, with similar opinions of the slow boat trip as us, decided to create their own adventure of it by disembarking in various villages not on the itinerary; they even purchased a dugout canoe for the second half of the trip, but sold it back to the family when they realize the danger and rashness of this plan. Instead, they ended up on “Noah’s Ark,” as they called it, where human passengers were outnumbered by water buffalos, goats, and chickens.

It took them five days to reach Luang Prabang. Respect. This is what is meant by “slow travel.” Matt and Heather also spent time in Darjeeling and Kalimpong, and the four of us wax nostalgic over momos, the steamed Tibetan dumplings that we all loved in northern India. After sharing our favorite momo stories, we take a few meals together, including spicy noodles and Beerlaos at a beach on the river for sunset..

Tourism is a recent phenomenon in Laos, just like in Nicaragua; but like Nicaragua, the majority of visitors stick to only a couple of relatively easy (and totally worthy, beautiful) sites. Our plan is to break from this trail, for at least a part of the 12 days remaining on our visas.

But first, calm and languid Luang Prabang.

Dancing With Whales.
By David Stanley

We've all heard about whalewatching from boats or shore, and a few companies are now offering the possibility of actually swimming and snorkeling with whales in the wild. Is this a good thing?

Some whalewatching operators in the Kingdom of Tonga, South Pacific islands, advertise the possibility of swimming and snorkeling with humpback whales during the cetacean's annual migration from July to October. This activity sounds appealing, yet there are a number of things to consider.
To drop clients off within snorkeling distance of a whale, the swim boats must come closer than the 30 meters laid down in Tongan government guidelines in 1997. Engine noise from a maneuvering boat can startle a whale, and repeated disturbances can lead to the animals changing their behaviour and even abandoning their traditional habitat. The nursing and resting routines of the pods can be disrupted, potentially threatening the health of the whales.

This high-risk activity is not covered by most travel insurance policies. The humpback whales of Tonga are wild animals with powerful fins, and swimming near one always involves some risk. The movements of these huge creatures can be fatal to a human swimmer, either accidentally or if the beast feels threatened, and a nursing mother with calf can be especially unpredictable. Swimming into the path of a whale greatly increases the danger.

In Tonga, sharks are known to frequent areas where there are whales, especially calves, and at least one shark attack on a Tongan guide swimming with whales has been recorded. A tragic accident involving tourists seems to be only a matter of time.

Most whale encounters occur in deep waters where unperceived currents and wave action can soon tire a snorkeler and possibly lead to panic. For these reasons, responsible whalewatching companies like Whales Discoveries do not offer snorkeling with whales.

Of course, the demand is there, and pressure has come to bear on the Tongan Government to revise its guidelines to allow boats to come within 10 meters of a whale. Several new whalewatching licenses have been issued recently, raising the number of commercial operators in this small area to about a dozen, and vessels often have to queue to drop off swimmers. Cases have been observed of boats approaching to within five meters of whale pods, and of mother humpbacks and calves being pursued out to sea.

Visitors should be aware that by purchasing such an excursion, they could be adversely affecting the noble creatures they came to see. It's a good idea to discuss these matters with the operator before booking your trip, and to avoid those who seem most interested in maximizing their own profits at the expense of the whales.

Even if you decide to book such a tour, be aware that only 10 percent of swim-with attempts are successful and there are no refunds. These concerns only apply to attempts to actually swim with whales, and whalewatching from a boat at a safe distance is no problem.

Biking Solo from Maine to Pennsylvania.
by Bob Neubauer

For two weeks I pedaled alone through New England, meeting people, getting invited into their homes and learning about their lives.

North Barnstead, N.H.--The pickup truck rumbled past me on the pebble-strewn dirt road, kicking up a thick, brown cloud in its wake.


Grimacing, I ducked my head against the dust storm and peered down at my feet on the pedals and at my tires spinning in the loose dirt. My balance wavered and I threw down a leg to keep myself, my bike and my 50 pounds of gear from toppling into the thick, thorny underbrush at the road's edge.

And this was supposed to be my vacation?

I was five days into a two-week, 800-mile solo bicycle trek from Maine to Pennsylvania--and things were not going as planned. I had anticipated an idyllic romp through fragrant meadows and small villages. I hadn't counted on sweltering heat, bugs and dirt roads that seemed to have no end.

So much for idealism.

I approached a small cottage at a dirt crossroads, surprising an elderly woman out watering her garden. She gaped at me, a tall, unshaven, sunburned 27-year-old on a ridiculously overloaded bicycle, bumping along a dirt road in the woods.

"How far to the nearest paved road?" I asked.

"About seven miles," she yelled back.

My heart stopped. Seven miles! I'd die of heatstroke!

"Awful hot to be doing that, isn't it?" she chastised.

"Well, I've come this far," I countered. "I'm sort of committed now."

"If you don't watch out you will be committed," she muttered.

At that moment, the security of the rubber room would have been a welcome relief. That was where most people thought I belonged anyway for undertaking this little excursion.