Along the Mekong River

Disregarded ruins

We headed east of town on the motorbike, toward the far hills showing under cover of blue clouds. Eventually we came across an alluring mountain with one balded stone face, and we turned off the highway. On the farm roads, wet from yesterday's rain, we skidded and stopped and skidded again. A sign -- the only one in English -- pointed to "Big Cave." We looked up at the mountain and saw a jagged mouth in the rock, clamoring for dinner. At this point we were deep in the papaya fields, getting wary looks from farmers. We dodged the gravel showers poured by a group of road workers and rode on toward the cave.

We were pretty certain we were lost when we came upon what might be the entrance to big cave. It was obviously a long-defunct attraction of some sort. A sign, which meant much more now than it had originally, read "We apogize for pore conditions of our facitily." Another read "Toarch FOrent." There was a monk living in a sort of tree fort at the base of ruined stairs. We climbed these until we came to a small, pitch-black cave entrance. There we found what centuries ago might have been a torch, and we brought it back to the monk for a guesstures-and-broken-Thai routine. He gave us a candle and a box of wet matches. "Antalai," he said. (See last entry's words.) He pantomimed a slow ascent and quick descent of the mountain.

"Con tok, mai?" I asked ("People fall?)

"Haha, yes," he sad.

Back at the cave entrance, we got our candle lit and went inside, holding the flame to the ground so we could see that at least. A short climb up and then something caught our candlelight. It was a golden Buddha, smiling in the dark. We did some motions that we'd seen others do before a Buddha. Deeper still, and we emerged through a hole in the roof.

The going from here on was a steep climb up slabs of rock, all wet with rain that started while we were underground. I put the candle in my teeth and we started to climb, though our shoes were coated with slick mud. The candle wick was being rained on. Like so much of my life, it was cautionary tale in the making.

"Proceed carefully," I said to Mike. "If we fuck up, they'll say it was our own fault."

We came to a ledge, and on the ledge was a bamboo cot. Maybe the monks came here to fast, we figured. There was an opening in the rock wall, roughly dog-sized, shrouded in spiderwebs. "Next we have to go through there," I joked.

We continued on a sort of trail until it was blocked by boulders. There was no getting around them. Below us, a thorny drop. We returned to the mini-cave, and I went in alone in case Mike needed to call for help. I moved in hunch, mindful of the squeaks, the scurrying, and the bigger noises as well. I came to an open chamber and tried to get my bearings. My eyes had adjusted, but the faces of the cave changed in time with the active flame.

I waved the candle along the wall. Here and there were drawings -- one of a walking monk -- and Thai lettering. I feared calling to Mike because the sound waves might cause a collapse. I went back to retrieve him. Using his camera flash and the LCD display, we could map out our surroundings. Thus we stepped up to a platform at the back of the chamber. Bats flew through Mike's hair. The photos showed another passage after a rocky fall. But there was no exit in sight, and our candle was getting stubby. After a short debate, we decided we would go no further. We got out of there and tumbled back down to the base, having seriously abused the protection of some deity.

A streetbike called Metallica

We proceeded on the motorbike alongside the Mekong River, which was milky brown and feathered by the breeze. The Metallica sticker at our prow broke the wind. Our bike had originated at ban Pee-Noi, the home of a matronly English teacher with a shock of white hair over her dark face. We'd spent the previous day with Pee-Noi, her niece, and an English teacher friend. They were entertaining a class of students, and we toured the city with them so they could hear the tones of native speakers. Pee-Noi has fed us at least five meals and lent us her Internet connection and motorbike. Our guesthouse hostess was hospitable in kind.

Chiang Khan, the town we're in now, has been a comfortable cushion to collapse into and soon to rise up from. It's quiet and idyllic, not much happens here. The town sits on the bank of the Mekong, and across the river, right outside the window of our $6 room, are the mountains of Laos.

We headed farther east after Phu Quai Ngun, the mountain that guarded Big Cave. We took side roads into small villages that we explored in low gear. Open doors or absent doors exposed living rooms to the street, and we could see people laying in hammocks, picking their toes and watching a royal parade or something on TV. Villagers sprawled on steps and ledges, swatting flies, or not swatting them. Or they dragged their gnarly bare feet along the road to some awful job in food service. Boiling fish heads on the roadside or whatever. I wanted to scream at them: "Don't you people have any ambition?!"

One thing we noticed was the prevalence of Coca-Cola marketing in these villages. On a chicken-wire food cart, or tacked to a leaning wall, there would be a bright Coca-Cola poster featuring a thirsty babe. Who was making this happen? How? I made a mental note that when my Thai improves to interview capability, I should write an article about this.

A couple of times we found what seemed to be a meeting of lively people, some kind of party to lift them from the stupor. Was this the first village bar we'd seen? We tried to join, but they shooed us away, telling us either by morbid gestures or with the English word "death" that this was in fact a funeral.

Anything is food

At the market that evening we met an Isan family and were invited over for dinner. Isan Thais hail from the northeast, and they're regarded sort of like countryfolk. Their culture is closely related to Laotian culture.

This Isan family lived off a dark road in Chiang Khan proper. We sat on the floor in the living room, and the first thing they did was tie these white strings around our wrists for good luck. Each elder family member tied two -- there were I think eight in all. They were chanting at us, patting and stroking our arms. They put some flowers in our hands, then later moved them to our pockets. We understood very little of what was said. I just sort of went limp in a general sense, gazing at the tube coming out of grandfather's shorts, until it was over. Later we learned that each string is for a beneficient spirit who normally comes and goes but whom the string is meant to contain.

The dinnertime. The first dish they showed us was striking because it was not inert like most food. Little shrimp jumped all over the bowl. I was nervous because I had never killed anything with my teeth before. Nothing macroscopic.

The rest of the food was interesting, but nothing I could fill up on. Frogs, bugs, etc. I sought refuge in a bowl of chicken soup, but that turned out to be chicken feet. Though I tried everything, try was all I did. The food was quite good, don't get me wrong, I just wasn't ready to eat a whole lot of it.

In transit

Today we left Chiang Khan on a song thiaew, headed for Nam Nao (Cold Water) National Park. The truck broke down halfway there, and we had to change over. I should mention here that any time we've ridden anything anywhere, it's broken down. Bus, train, song thiaew, they all give up halfway through. On the way out of Pitsanulok, the bus broke down, and every passenger piled into the back of a pickup truck. I don't know where the truck came from. We noticed at this point that when you don't have an itinerary, and you don't value one destination over another, there's no such thing as being held up. Riding on the back of the truck, speeding through seams in the mountains under a blaze of stars, was just a destination that happened to be moving, which anyway it wasn't really moving any more than it was sitting still while the earth whirled beneath, bringing with it a rush of chill mountain air.

Thai words of the day

cahn moi -- pubic hair

tam yai -- big cave

men-men -- smelly

ai -- brother

sehhhhp sehp -- delicious (Isan)