Meanwhile, in Laos...

I'm writing this from the comfort of our cozy room in Luang Namtha, listening with a certain satisfaction to the rain which has been pounding down relentlessly for the last 18 hours or so. We are supposed to be hiking through the Namtha Protected Area even as I write this, but we cut our trek short and came back to town yesterday, having been all but washed away by torrential rain.

The Namtha Protected Area is a swath of jungle in northwestern Laos, up against the Thai border and home to elephants, tigers and monkeys (amongst myriad other, lesser exciting species such as leeches and malarial mosquitos). We had booked a 3 day trek which was supposed to involve a night camping in the jungle and a night at a local homestay in a remote ethnic village. Having poured with rain for the entire night before we were supposed to leave, we were somewhat hopeful when we awoke to grey clouds, but no rain. As it turns out, our optimism was completely misguided. The rain started as we were driving to our trailhead and didn’t stop for the next three hours as we slid and slipped down the muddy trail.

 

Of course, being in the rainforest, you expect a certain amount of rain. I even enjoy it from under the canopy; the sound of the drops making their way through dense foliage to the forest floor is quite soothing. It was only once we arrived to our camp that we realised the rain might be more of a problem than we’d anticipated.

Our camp consisted of a flooded banana-leaf structure surrounded by sucking mud. It did not inspire confidence. Even after Sing, our guide, had chopped down more banana trees (ahhh, eco-tourism indeed) and covered the old, soggy leaves with new ones we were skeptical and rightly so.

  

At around 4pm, the rain started up again. We ate a delicious dinner of pork and pumpkin curry and settled into our still-dry sleeping bags early. The rain fell continuously. By 2am it became apparent that our banana leaf floor was leaking water. By 4am the floor, the sleeping bags and sleeping bag occupants were soaked. We waited in earnest for daylight and by the time it finally came there was sedition in camp. The small stream we were camped beside had become a fully-fledged river; the trail was a nightmare of boggy mud. With everything already saturated and no break in the rain we decided to turn back.

At the time I felt a bit lame for quitting but now I just feel warm. And smug. In fact, as I think of myself trudging knee deep in mud in the pouring rain, I’m feeling rather self-congratulatory. I might have a nap to celebrate.