Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Wild Swimming Inspiration - Tad Alang

My good friend Katy over at Wild Swimming New England has asked for submissions from other wild swimmers worldwide to showcase their favorite natural swimming holes, so although it's been a few months since I was in Laos, I thought I'd blog in more detail about the best wild swimming I've ever done.

The story of my wild swimming experience began with an idea - my buddy Forest and I decided that we'd hire motorbikes and explore around the Bolaven Plateau in southern Laos, since that's what all the backpackers we met in that area seemed to recommend. We had one waterfall picked out, Tad Lo a bit north of the plateau, but as for the rest of the trip we figured we'd head to the city in the middle of plateau, and just ask people what's up.

The "city" of Pakxong was basically one main road with a couple of hotels, a marketplace, and a coffeeshop called simply "COFFEE" in block letters. The Bolaven Plateau, being of higher altitude than the rest of Laos, has a perfect climate for coffee and numerous plantations; the coffeeshop was run by a Dutch expat who hand wok-roasted his own beans. At the shop we found a hand-drawn map to a secret waterfall with a new homestay opened just a month before, plus a few favorable traveler reviews of the place. I took a picture of the map and we headed out immediately. Though to be honest, the "71 km dusty trail" didn't look too appealing.



The road ended up being under construction (in the process of being paved) which was even worse, we were thundering down the shoulder the whole time, sometimes in dust halfway up to our knees. The real fun came though when we came to a series of forks in the road that weren't on the map, I was dizzy with hunger since we had skipped lunch (no villages on the way and we hadn't eaten packed any snacks). We backtracked a bunch of times, and took a road that pointed toward a dam, and finally stumbled upon it.


View Larger Map

To follow where Forest and I traveled, find Pakxong and the three roads leading east. Tad Alang (the waterfall) and the adjoining homestay are somewhere along the middle road, most likely between Ban Latassassine and the edge of the green conservation area.

We knocked on the door of the homestay hut and met a group of French travelers who had arrived a short while before. The homestay owner had apparently driven off to a village to buy ingredients to make them dinner, so there was nothing to eat. Never having in my memory as a child or adult ever skipped a meal, in desperation I went out to the fields around the homestay with my Lonely Planet phrasebook and begged them for rice, but didn't get any offers. Below is me, dirty from the road, in the homestay, and a view from the exterior.





Sugar-high from candy from kind French folk we all decided to hike down to the waterfall while we waited for dinner. It was only a maybe 15 minute hike downhill, through bamboo and banana groves, and then we saw this:



A waterfall probably a little over 100 m tall. For a better perspective, check out this video I shot as we headed back up after swimming.



Following the format of Katy's blog, I'll include some wild swimming details here:

Wild Swim Type: freshwater river / waterfall.
Convenience: 4 hours from a major city by motorbike, 30 confusing minutes from a village with gas for said bike, an easy hike from the homestay, a dangerous scramble over sharp rocks to get to the waterfall itself.
What to Expect: A handful of backpackers, a friendly homestay owner, a somewhat jealous wife when she sees said homestay owner talking with foreign backpackers, various dogs, gorgeous purple flowers everywhere due to constant mist from the falls, in Forest's words, "speechlessness".
Amenities: warm beer a 15 minute motorbike away, homestay bamboo hut, possibly food poisonous salty dinners, no running water, no bathrooms (be prepared to do your duty in nature).
Swim level: advanced due to currents and sharp rocks underwater. Best to swim with your legs in front of you so that if you do get scraped up, it'll be feet instead of stomach. Water though is clear. Resist the urge to get as close as possible to the falls, or if you can't resist, fight that current!!
When to visit: Winter, as that tends to be the most comfortable season in Southeast Asia, though since the Plateau gets colder layers are advised for a good night's sleep.
Why to visit: There's nothing more stunning than a secret enormous waterfall in the jungle.

When I finally got dinner, it was blissfully delicious: cabbage and pork cooked in what we all guessed was pure MSG sauce. I ate about twice the amount that everyone else did, and gobbled up clumps of sticky rice by the handful. That night we drank warm beer we bought from the back of a woman's house in a neighboring village, I pored over my Lao phrasebook with the owner, and we strummed ukulele and sang songs. In the middle of the night I woke up all kinds of sick, possibly food poisoning, and ended up bailing alone at 6 AM to bomb it back 4 hours across the plateau and into Pakse before I was too weak to ride on dusty / muddy (it was raining) roads. Made it back and had the best Indian food of my life for lunch.

If you haven't checked out Katy's Wild Swimming New England blog, and especially if you live in and around the Boston area, you should give it a read!

Sunday, July 03, 2011

Lapis Lazuli by W. B. Yeats

I have heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie beaten flat.

All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.

On their own feet they came, or On shipboard,'
Camel-back; horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.

Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instrument.

Every discoloration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.

"I don't believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive." ~ Joseph Campbell

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