Do you know the village of Ban Nam Goy? Unless you were lying or do you specialize in the village of 93 souls in the mountains, without electricity and accessible only by river, your answer is no.
As we say in Quebec good, Ban Nam Goy is a strong backwater in the valley of Nam Ha, mountainous region of northwestern Laos. And to get there, you must want.
So with two guides (one speaking English, the other with a machete) knowing the area by heart as we venture in the thick jungle. Here, knowing the wood core is critical because without a guide and Quaife, you go, one, you lose. And two, after you lost, you will shout very loud "I'm lost, oh, I'm lost, help" and you will inevitably attract all the giant tarantula in the jungle and they will eat you.
After 40 minutes of transport, the mini-van stops.
- Here, loose guide pointing the peak further.
- What's the plan today, my captain?
- Up, up, up, up, up. Then Down, Then village ... six-hour walk
- Perfect, and what about tomorrow?
- Tomorrow, I do not tell you. If I tell you, you do not want to come.
first observation, the class to which the guides have learned to trust the tourists ... well obviously this, our guide had failed.
In second gear and we upupup the butt to the top. After a first 30 minutes relatively relaxed, the guide gives us each a machete nice little walking stick. The boldest of the group made a face "you have the face of a guy who needs a stick to climb the tite coast?"
I give him a face of "Heil the case, if the guide gives you a stick, maybe because you'll need it." Obviously, the sequel will prove me right.
The trip with trekking (sorry Anglicisms, but I think this sequence reads better in English) is that it's a bit like an episode of Virginia: the punches are still impossible to guess, and each episode is different.
Sometimes in the jungle, you're sues the pancreas through the pores so the humidity is oppressive. Sometimes it is 45 degrees in the shade. Sometimes you hold in mud up to their knees.
And sometimes, the coast is "at your peak." And today, the coast is "in your pic. 90 minutes without stopping in the Stairway to Heaven de la muerte. Thence lutilité stick, breaks it.
After 90 minutes of Stairmaster level 10 and after eating with our fingers, we begin a series of down, down, up, up which leads us to a beautiful little stream of seemingly peaceful. The location is perfect for rinsing the face, neck, head ...
- NOOOOO! hoarse
Guide - Do not stay there, move, walk, Leech!
viarge Ah, leeches. Everywhere along the creek. No luck, he must follow the river for 20 minutes. We all look beautiful bathroom breaks to watch our shoes and pants every 30 seconds to remove the slimy creature, disgusting, rampant and bloodthirsty ... using the famous stick ... Hence the use of the stick, break it!
After the St. Vitus dance (seriously, who is St. Vitus), we finally arrive at the village.
The scene is amazing. Only the river and the tiny forest trail connecting people around the world. We arrive at our "hotel", the guest house. Here, no fine ceramics at 500 dollars apiece. No, dirt floor and a wooden structure upon which a thin mattress. And a place to make fire and cook food ... as in every house in the village. And unfortunately for Paris Hilton, no bathroom granite. The shower is the River. And toilet, Turkish style dirty brown.
Time for a shower is an event. While falanga (we) take our shower leaving us floating in the water, the whole village lands in the water. For 30 minutes, all that is humanly possible to wash the cash goes: body, hair, teeth, dishes, clothes. The event is social, a tradition. Every day, at the same time, same place, the same villagers.
Supper time has come. We gather around the portable mini bamboo table (with mini benches that come with them). A nice dinner Candlelight. We eat with the assistant chief of the village. A 67 year old man born in this village and lives there still.
veteran out a bottle of laolao (rice whiskey). In turn, we do Offir a drink. While we drink the bottle, we ask the old man on life in the village: the tasks in the rice fields, swimming daily, traditions of the village, age of marriage, the village school, etc..
I do not understand clearly what the man said, but for some reason, I drink the words of the man ... like if I walked into a vortex. The only thing I see is the face of Veteran enlightened by his headlamp. Lap of the man to ask questions ... register is changed by cons: our name, our age, our jobs, our marital status. The moment is magical, unique. I just drank my sixth glass of laolao, my throat is hot ... the night will be good.
Before our departure the next morning, the man's dinner brings a wooden box: gifts to the village school. With pleasure.
Unfortunately, we have witnessed a disturbing scene which reminds us that no matter where you are on this planet, or Manhattan this village, the money has the power to make people lose the ball ...
The day before, we've all consumed beers and soft drinks. I have 34,000 kip ($ 4.50). I extend my ticket 50 000 kips, the only one I have, while the guide explains that the first 34 000 goes to the lady and the rest goes to fund schools. The other group members do the same: money for drinks and money to school. The villagers do not know what to do with money, others argue that we need more money for drinks. The guide tries to calm things down, without much success. He tries to explain that the first tranche pays for the drinks and that money goes into the petty cash.
But their system of calculation and inventory est inexistant... personne ne peut compter ce que nous avons acheté. Le guide est désespéré. Les villageois s'obstinent entre eux car nous aurions pris des boissons dans des sceaux différents, sceaux possédés par différentes personnes. Ceux à qui nous avons remis l'argent ne veulent pas pâyer les autres villageois qui demandent leur part du gâteau. Ils conservent l'argent et rien ne vas à la petite caisse de l'école. Nous sommes abattus, choqués, surpris, abasourdis. La scène est surréaliste, absurde.
J'ai envie de crier. "Merde, c'est pour éviter des brouilles du genre que l'argent doit aller dans la petite caisse de l'école". Mais nous sommes à des light years to perceive the situation the same way. Long-term investment vs. short-term survival.
Finally, we leave the village still in shock, but we quickly resume our minds as a little surprise waiting for us.
LEECH! The
calisses leeches. The day before, it was 15 minutes in the leeches ... today is two hours nonstop. Two hours of beautiful trails very muddy due to rain last night to inspect our shoes every 30 seconds to see if these foul creatures do not attack our skin, remove them with a stick or with a sheet when they are already position "blood sucking", trying to somehow avoid these demonic creatures.
After a dinner break free of leeches, but rather in the middle of a village of wasps, we return to the river and leeches. And as if it was to express, we spend three quarters of our time walking the trails completely obstructed by vegetation. Sometimes above, sometimes below, sometimes through (sometimes in place to realize that we are not really in our element and that the jungle does not really want to welcome the foreign element that ... has no business there, that's us).
Most often than not, the guide with a machete has no choice but leave her his instrument and get to work, a real Edward Scissorhands, this type.
The guide we were well advised that you should never stand still in a trail infested with leeches. But what do we do when we must not stand still and you can not move forward due to no road? We jump on the spot, being careful not to set foot on the fucking leeches.
Ok, if I had been filmed in action in the jungle, I would have looked like a good auntie to Charlie's video. Worse after? The episode of the leech in the jungle I became a true pro at Dance Revolution.
And when one day I'll be world champion Dance Revolution, I have a thought for the #%#$&??$& leeches in northern Laos.
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