New Characters and Course Shift

12-26-2010 - 3rd day in Van Vieng [uploaded a few days post-factum due to internet access]

I came here by a fluke of fate. My desire was to simply follow the Mekong down from Luang Prabang....however, despite the Lonely Planet's suggestions of a 2 day boat down to Vientiene, I found that only buses go between the two...and the only boats that go the route are of the cargo kind. The buses take 9-10 hours along a road that is like a python that was squozen into a tuna-can. Eeating for the road - not such a hot idea. On the other hand, Van Vieng is just around 6 hours away along the same route. So, I figured, to save my lungs [the Lao don't bother with the emissions testing, causing most locals to wear 3G lab-grade mask-respirators] and my stomach, I have resolved to stop over in Van Vieng, in spite of the spring-break-party-never-stops/paradise-lost rep, which has repelled me originally. 

I stopped at a thoroughly idyllic guide-book suggestion guesthouse. Bamboo cabanas by the quiet river with a hammock and occasional fishermen roaming waist-deep in the water with their nets, all that surrounded by amazing lime-stone carsts and to get there I only had to cross a thin bamboo bridge and a few flights of cliff-bound staircases with stick steps 2 feet apart. With a backpack. No biggie. Just as I settled into my utopian revelrie.....the neon sunset has coloured the sky, colouring the bluish mist parting the vertical carsts a profound purple. Just at then, I have found myself at a Jack Johnson restaurant - yes, living up to its name with its mellow beats. Indeed, "slow down, everyone...." is the theme here by day, as the young folk grazing the town recovers from the nightly debauchery in their hammocks and giant tubes floating down the river. 

And by night I've discovered what the guide book has forgotten to mention - my lovely cabana had the prime location between 4 major discos - bonfires and all. About equidistant, sound-wise. Surround-sound indeed.The bamboo did little in way of soundproofing. Need I say that I dreamed to a Playa-esque beat all night? Naturally, I've rapidly migrated the next day. I've quickly found just how precious my quiet "lair" is to me. The lack of it makes me feel naked, vulnerable somehow. 

It is as though the town is really 3 towns - the part town where people live, the island where the [mostly U.S., it seems] folk party like its their last day on earth, and the quieter river part downstream where it's just a peaceful village with amazing scenery. Guess where I found myself living. The energies of the place are so drastically different! I've been surprised to the intense repulsion I felt to the variously and copiously imbibing - touristy - thumping part of town....it feels vastly incongruent with where I am at. The good news is, I've learned to keep my space non-negotiably from any unwelcome noise invasion from now on :O) It's peculiar how the pieces of what's important land as flip-side gifts of those annoying experiences...

Before leaving the center-of-the-party cabana for good, while hanging somewhat upside-down in a hammock of the guesthouse restaurant, I noticed a peaceful couple speaking fine Russian and looking like they've been traveling for a while. Naturally, we wound up in a conversation. They, I found out, have been on the road for about 4 months and have no definite end in mind.....they've gone through Nepal and Indonesia, and have immediately shared a flood of useful info about the Anapurna Circuit and other beautiful places I am to be in. 

A little later, their friends - Vadim and Anita - have joined us. They were all traveling together. It turned out that 

Vadim was an "unlicenced shaman" as his friends lovingly called him - and he more than deserved the title. This man has synthesized vast amounts of cross-cultural shamanic/gnostic information with references and dates to my wide-eyed and elephant-eared amazement. And he didn't mind sharing the dry residue of his many years on the path of the shaman - I just had to remember to close my mouth and nod. We spoke of Castaneda, Pelevin, Phillip Dick, Nabhamati Library and the Dead Sea Scrolls and I, have shamelessly barraged him with questions on sources and windows of inquiry....I knew then that it was no accident I was here in this half-party-half-nature town. It is as though my thorough and intense several year "house-cleaning" [or a major shaking of my inner "Great Below" - shadow work, however one calls it] has finally produced sufficient vacuum that, abhorrent to nature, has begun to draw in a flow of new information for me to build no lenses into the world, while knowing that access is all that matters. The lenses are to be discarded. 

Feeling a bit adventurous, we found the near-by caves....although, alas, without a single flash-light between the five of us. Just as we were to brave it anyway [without any clear path and a whole bunch of potential "entries," some of them resembling "birth canals"], Dima was about to step into a well of 20 feet. Just at that point, Dima realized he had an LED in his PHONE!!! Bless the 2G Android. And with that spelunking equipment, we followed one of the passages, which led us to a fair-sized cavern, where we set in meditation for an hour or so [though, time seems to loose meaning in that cold darkness]. 

Instead of going home, though, we went up. And up. And up. And up. I think, this grade can officially be considered bouldering. Instead of ropes, we had vines and roots, though. It was the closest and greenest of the carsts we saw from the village. We climbed to the top just as the sun was coming down. And there, at the razor-sharp, volcanic-feeling rocks [the kind one would imagine to find on the moon], we found a bamboo pole with a Lao-monk colour of an orange flag! We felt like we climbed the Everest ;O) I've never climbed a carst before! Especially, this steep. I don't think  my already ailing ankle [since Lijiang - thanks to the ungoldly intensity of Chinese foot massage] was grateful for the rigor of the climb, though, in contrast to my spirit aching to soar. I may be wiser to stay here for a few days in my "postcard" perfect hammock, licking my wounds in peace before putting the weight of my backpack + body onto the joint.