Our second day in Muong Ngoi did not start so well. Three obstacles to our enjoyment of the morning presented themselves. One was a cling-on from the day before. Another was unsurprising given our consumption the previous night. The final one was a complete surprise and left us on a little traveller's downer.
1. I was still reeling with a fever and the sharp, tickly cough that insisted on tormenting me throughout the night under my mosquito net. Puffy eyes dragged themselves across my pale skin, clambering back behind their lazy shutters at the slightest hint of a bright ray of sunshine warming my skin, sending a dull ache through my rattling head. This time the neat shots of Laos Laos had failed to throw my resident illness and it's possessions out of the door.
2. LAOS LAOS. At this point I am wondering what the point of Laos Laos actually is. It tastes foul and has no obvious saving grace... unless you require something to strip the living flesh off your bones. All three of us felt as rough as Fatty Two Jags and were having difficulty communicating with one another, let alone guide both eyes to look in the same direction at the same time. Everything was slightly hazy. As were my memories of getting back to our huts in the dark after our rather disgusting meal. I had acquired something though, a large swollen bruise under my chin. Hmmm... a mystery indeed?
3. Jo's purse was gone along with the 2000 Thai Baht I had lent to her and Charlie. She remembered having it when she paid for the meal, just before she staggered off the restaurant's open deck to find her way home in the dark. Something was not right. Jo was convinced it was not like her to lose her purse like that.
Muong Ngoi had a good feeling about it. We had trusted the people and believed that they were genuine. It was really quite disappointing to have good reason to doubt this instinct. On returning to the restaurant, that was in fact little more than an open deck with tables and a hut next to it where the jubious food was prepared, we found that the purse was nowhere to be seen. Big Mama, as the owner was referred to, made a big, innocent play of looking around but to no avail. Why were we so suspicious? Because the kitchen had been opened just for us on the request of the young man-about-town who had been so quick to 'befriended' on our arrival. He was brash and overly friendly, making a big play of the fact that he was there to help us and guide us. In fact we realised he was no more than an opportunist. A lad about town. He was one of the new generation of kids who had little respect for the established codes of conduct, fully aware there was an exciting world out there, and saw us tourists as easy pickings for our sort rarely stayed in the village for more than a few nights. A wheeler dealer. He was happy to set us up with alcohol for the evening and was equally happy to pick up Jo's purse when it fell through the folds of her fabric shoulder bag and onto the floor.
Haha! But all in retrospect! For Charlie and I, the eternal optimists could find any number of reasons to hold back from making accusations and view as innocent until proven otherwise. Jo on the other hand was seeing red, flames licking up from her forehead and steam whistling under pressure from her ears. Boy did she love that woven fabric purse. She was off to get some answers while Charlie and I felt sorry for ourselves.
ROUND ONE! DING! DING!
On seeing this young lad she explained politely what had happened and presented the opportunity for him to proffer her purse. He feigned complete ignorance and asked how much thai baht had been in the purse at the time. WHAT? He said that?! Noone had mentioned any Thai Baht! Jo's golden locks stood on end and flaming snakes hissed through the air with rage!
So what could possibly lighten the mood better than a leisurely drift on a rubber tube downstream before taking a little hike to find a waterfall where we could bath and ease our pains? Jo succumbed and relaxed very quickly, ehile my shivers of fever subdued sufficientl to make it pleasurable. The three little mountain beavers were adrift in big black rubber rings laughing and joking. Picturesque green mountain peaks and rocky outcrops in the water passed us by ever so slowly, the occasional rapids spinning our floats to our delight! All the while a local man guided his longboat ahead with our possessions and took a nap while he awaited our slow progress.
Slow progress. Very slow progress. Just how much longer would it take? We were told it was a half hour drift downstream? It had already been about one and a half hours. Jo and Charlie had been caught in still waters, drifting at a snails pace in circles by a bank, but even then the others did noit make much more progress. Judging by the bank it seemed at times as though we were not even moving! The chills set in and the allure of the boat became ever more intense. Until Jo excalimed that she could take no more of this Chinese torture and scrambled onto the surface-hugging long-boat. Charlie and I quickly folllowed suit to join Jo, the local guide and the snake he had just bludgeoned to death. Another thristy minutes on the motorised long-boat and we were finally approaching a bank where kids played. This was our stop.
Off we got, awaiting the guide's directions for the waterfall. None came. We waited. Stupid tourists on the muddy bank. The guide was now swimming in the river and didn't speak English. Kids were thowing themselves around in the murky green water. It seemed apparent that this was a trek we had to do on our own! Climbing up the bank into a much less developed village even than Muong Ngoi we found ourselves to be the objects of much fascination. Tickets for the right of passage were purchased and we were shouted at when we took the wrong path out of the village. A couple of kids followed us and pointed us in a direction when the path split. Then they disappeared. We walked for an hour in the heat of the afternoon through dry paddy fields and jungle copses continually confronted with diverging paths that were equally well trodden. This was completely hopeless. Is it any wonder that we never found the waterfall?!! Still, we had a lovely walk. AND we found a stream to dip our feet into.
What became of the suspicious young man about town? On returning to the town Jo put her plan into action. The colouring pencils came out and a picture of her colourful, stripy fabric purse was created. It seemed to be a very enjoyable and calming experience for Jo, the primary school teacher. Then she marched off into the village to enquire with the locals as to wheter they had seen it.
ROUND TWO! DING! DING!
Noone had. However Jo found the kid showing off a wad of Thai Baht to a group of mates which he swiftly put away on seeing Jo. Suddenly his English was not so good... oh and he disappeared for a few days to guide a group of tourists on a trek. Funny that.
FLASHBACK! The bruise... I remembered! I had left the retaurant in the darkness of the night, staggering over to one side of the dirt road, and called Charlie over. "Lets's hide from Jo!" I sniggered to him as we waited for her to leave the restaurant. I pushed his shoulder down and we dropped like lead weights to sink into the silky shadows. SMACK! An obstacle had hindered my rapid drop. My chin had connected with the corner of a street vendor's little table which I had been unaware of on choosing that hiding place. Lo and behold a bruise was born as we staggered home giggling. Jo's flip-flop broke as she fell over, and being the gentleman that I am I repaired it for her. In the morning we discovered that her progress home had been so laboured and slow because I had tristed the strap of the flip-flop!
EVIL LAOS LAOS!!
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