Getting to Laos

The flight from Hong Kong to Bangkok was short. Once on the ground, we picked up our tubs, put them on three luggage carts, rolled through customs and immigration, and went to meet the greeter from the Floral Shire Hotel. By the time we stored our tubs at the baggage check, changed some money, and took the short ride in the van from the airport to the hotel, it was 7:45 pm. We tried a little Lao on our driver, but he spoke only Thai. After turning off the airport access road, we were surrounded by the sights and smells of Bangkok, and memories of being here with Andy in 2006 came flooding in. Every motorbike brought a pang of fear: be careful young woman, family, father, mother, child. Why do some survive; where is the equity in that? The tuk tuk drivers, the markets, the street food: all "ahan dta,"  a feast for the eyes. We turned down a narrow street, where even more details of peoples lives were packed into even smaller spaces: cars in kitchens, dogs in restaurants, a snooker table in a garage that had become a night club. We pulled into the Floral Shire, a fairly new and attractive building at the end of the street. The room was clean and fresh; the hotel obviously well cared for by Floral, the young woman who ran the place. We were put into Tulip 4, a two-floor suite with a circular stair and a blacony (from which we could smoke, accoring to the sign). We were in the three comfy beds by 8:30, asleep by 9, and I was awake by 11:30 pm, ready for the day. What day? It would turn out to be a very long and unsuccessful night in Bangkok trying to get some sleep.

Morning finally came, and we went downstairs to breakfast in the garden. At 7 am, it was already getting hot. We had an hour to eat and get back in the van for the airport. Breakfast was American: a fried egg, toast, frankfurter-like sausage, fruit, an unnamed lunch meat, tomatoes, cucumbers and a carafe of Nescafe.

Off the airport to fly to UdanThani, Thailand, pick up our tubs, check them into Thai airways, head through security and onto the short 55 minute flight to UdanThani, near the border crossing at the Friendship Bridge. Although we didn't know it, we had a celebrity aboard the flight—teen idol Zoomi, and when we landed and rolled all of our luggage outside the baggage area, his fans were screaming, shooting pictures, carrying electronic placards with his name in neon lights. Amidst all of the excitement, Sone, our guide into Laos, was waiting for us when we arrived. We loaded our tubs into the van, and our driver Keo and Sone took off for Laos. Along the way, we chatted in simple Lao and more complicated English. Sone, or Sonny, who was born in Laos, lived in Germany for over a decade. Keo, the driver, said very little, and I presumed he spoke no English, but it turned out that he and Sone are neighbors and had lived in Germany together. Sone had been hired by our NGO to help with arrangements on the ground, something he is very good at.

About forty-five minutes after we were picked up, we got to the border of Thailand and Laos which is the Friendship Bridge. The Friendship Bridge spans the Mekong, the natural boundary that the French and British used to demarcate their colonial interests. This created the divide between countries but not people, as there are more Lao-speaking people on the west side of the river, in Thailand, than there are in all of Laos.

Sone made the border crossing easy, as he guided us on where to stand and what forms to fill out. In the meantime, Keo drove through the border with our tubs and other bags, leaving us without any customs issues. All we had to do is smile and say "Sawaidee" "Kup Kuhn Kup" on the Thai side and "Sabaidee" and "Kop Chai" as we entered Laos.

From the Friendship Bridge, it was a short ride to Vientiane, where we were meeting the rest of our team. As we neared the capital, Sone decided it would be best to stop and have a little lunch at a restaurant along the roadside not far from the Beerlao factory. One of our Lao teachers back home, Ajahn Wern, has a brother works on a farm near here, and I think we must have been close to his house. We had brought along a pair of hiking boots, a few shirts, and a jacket for Ajahn Wern's brother. We will be delivering these to a Wat in Vientiane, when we return in a few weeks.

We walked into the restaurant, which was filled, according to Sone, with people from the city who had come to have a great meal at a great price. As we walked in, we stopped at the entrance and washed our hands in the sink and sort of dried them on a towel that had probably been there since the restaurant opened. We sat down at a table overlooking the farmland with a large pond or lake next door. Goats were playing on the other side of the water. Sone ordered us fe (soup) and he and Keo and I ordered some Beerlaos. Ahh, Beerlao. There is something about it that makes it taste better than any other beer. Light and cold, drunk with ice, it is the perfect pairing for spicy Lao food. The fe and beer were delicious, and all the memories of being here with Andy came flooding in. The smells, the sounds, the sights, the people. Who could not love this country? There we were sitting down for our first meal, connecting, finally, with the place that Andy loved.

We crossed the main street, carefully avoiding the motorcycles and cars, and got back into the van to head into Vientiane proper and meet up with our soon-to-be constant companions and take the ride into the province to our site.