Kamu Lodge day twenty thRee
I packed again for the tenth time. By eight we were having breakfast and on the dot of half past our transport arrived. Two very smartly dressed gentleman, picked up our bags and escorted us to out golf buggy. We silently whizzed through town to a private dock. The little one declared, 'now this I like'. He was perky and fed, but I feared his reaction to returning to the Mekong.
I hadn't read through all the details when I booked, just focusing on the positives. I vaguely remember something to do with a boat transfer, but assumed it would be a half hour gimmick. We were scrambled over four boats before boarding a VIP luxury version of a slow boat. Our guide for the next three days introduced himself, a smiling Mr Anon.
The boys were excited and happy, the boat spacious and we were the only guests, VIP indeed. The boys made themselves at home on loungers and lounged. Mr Anon informed me it should only take three and half to four hours. My heart sunk.
The journey flew by. Mr Anon was a perfect host. We spoke at length about our respective cultures, eventually gravitating to food, he too loves to cook. He told me a great deal of history about his country, life style, religion and government. He also answered the stream of random questions from the boys. The little one carried on from yesterday, snapping shots of boats,
The boat dropped us at a private jetty. The river sand path to Kamu lodge, lined with flowers and well tended plants, was freshly swept.
We were greeted by a very friendly and extremely French chap called Oliver, you have to pronounce it with your thickest rural French accent. Orleeeeviaaahhhr, the last r almost but not quite silent. He reminded me of the chef of police in the pink panther movies. He welcomed us warmly and left us to the capable Mr Anon, who clearly had been here before. We had ten minutes to freshen up before lunch. We were staying in a tent, the type ten porters would have carried for Mr Livingstone. It has three bamboo frame beds with deep mattresses, cool white sheets and a red tiled floor. There's one stone built, white plastered annex, the bathroom. Yes, this time we really were glamping.
We dined in state. The setting, beautiful. The staff five. There was enough food for ten and it was the best Lao food to date. I think maybe it was slightly altered for western palate. It included a herb and mince Laap dish, the most common Lao dish. I have later discovered, Laap means lucky, not lucky for the pig, duck or chicken. We had a lovely mixed rice dish and as always a small basket of sticky rice. I hate leaving food, but there was just too much. Everything is served in dishes and you help yourself, taking what you need. I hope what was left didn't go to waste. Our dining room was surround by paddy fields, flower lined paths and a huge grazing water buffalo. Beyond the fields, the steep hills, jungle and the local village.
The afternoon activities started a couple of hours later, so we went exploring. There are half a dozen tents built in the forest, the grounds between gardened. They are built slightly above the high flood plane which houses a bar and massage pavilion.
We headed down to the river where Mr Anon was fishing. The river was twenty feet higher than when we had travelled down the week before. The submerged vegetation was good hunting ground, fish invading the land looking for insects and seeds. We explored the sandbanks and pathways and before long had a dozen followers.
All the under ten kids from the local village were out bug hunting. This wasn't some idle play time activity, they were catching supper. Each kid had a plastic bottle or jar filled with crickets, grasshoppers and beetles, some astonishing metallic shades of green and blue.
The children wore thread bare clothes, full of holes and often too large. To be honest, my scruffy kids didn't look much better but we all realised how fortunate we are. They paraded the contents of their catch and followed us, grabbing anything that hopped, crawled or slithered through the grass.
The afternoon activities started with net fishing. With the help of a villager, Mr Anon showed us how to caste a net. We caught mostly mud. The hardest part was throwing and releasing with both hands. After a few goes we got the hang of it but we weren't going to eat fish today.
Next, gold panning. Apparently the farmers need something to do whilst the rice grows, so they pan for gold. It was back breaking and after three attempts we had one speck.
We headed back up the hill to plant rice. The villagers grow two kinds, mountain rice and paddy field rice. The wet stuff is planted three times a year and that's what we were doing. Except no one wanted to get muddy, what kind of boys have I bred? So I waded in, up to my knees in water and ankles in thick mud. It's quite simple really, you separate two or three seedlings and plunge the roots into the mud, one foot apart, rinse and repeat several thousand times. I planted about thirty.
The final activity was crossbow. This is what we had waited for. The bow was remarkably simple. One piece of wood made the stock, with a groove on top for the arrow. It was notched two thirds along for the string. A simple pinned bit of wood on the side, prized up the string firing the bolt. The legs are made from a special old bamboo and the string from a vine. The arrows are also made from bamboo, split like satay skewers. We all tried to shoot a polermo thirty feet away. Round one, no one got close, round two, we all hit. It then took another five rounds before the big one hit again and declared the winner. I felt pretty chuffed as I shot the flower of the top.
We had massages booked at five, so quick freshen up and down to the river bank spa pavilion. For an hour the three of us lay in silence, just the odd giggle or wince. We watched the river through the trees as the three ladies pummelled and pounded, prodded and poked, pulled and pushed. Feeling refreshed and happy, we played cards and dice for an hour before supper.
We had drinks at the stilted bar, three feet above the lily pond. As the sun set the staff lit clay lanterns along all paths.
I sat and sipped my ginless G&T. The big one farted, belched and them got hiccups. The little one giggled and spat his drink all down his front, so charming. This was such a lovely romantic setting and I had entirely the wrong company.
