Phongsali: Lost in the Clouds

By the time I awoke, my sickness had all but left.  Two things remained: weakness and hunger.  That's no surprise.  With the exception of a soy milk and a vegetable juice (the latter of which had decidedly emptied my stomach of both), I hadn't consumed anything in over 24 hours.  I staggered downstairs and sat myself in the kitchen area of my hotel.  The staff saw me sitting there, but no one bothered to serve me until I called out to them 10 minutes later.

"Noodles?" a lady asked me.

My stomach told me that rice was a good option.  After flicking through the menu and ordering several different things, none of which they had, I sighed.  "Noodles, please."

This was pretty typical of Phongsali service - but why wouldn't it be?  I reminded myself that I was in a region so remote that it was almost completely untouched by Western ways.  Almost.  But at that thought, my frustration dissipated. This was what I had come for.

After regaining some of my strength, I ventured outside.

Phongsali sits on hilltops, so far north it's almost on the brink of China, and is surrounded by sweeping masses of cloud.  Many of its people (pop. only around 6,000) still wear traditional hilltribe clothes, identifiable by their bright colours and jangling accessories.  Quaint laneways flow between houses, many of which retain the traditional wooden-fronted style of the Yunnanese.  I walked around in wonder.  Locals tried not to stare, but they inevitably did, and I can't blame them.  I was not from this world.

Lane (left) and house (right)

Where the lanes meet

You know you're in a remote area when you keep seeing the same people over and over.  I hadn't gone 10 minutes before I found the Swiss couple.  They were keen to point out that they were no longer planning to do a 2-day trek due to the poor weather forecast.  I think they were also relieved because, if I had the strength to go trekking, we would probably end up on the same trip.  And if they were unable to erase the memory of my head sticking out the side of the bus oozing green vomit, I can't blame them for being relieved.

Phongsali town, with Phou Fa in the background

Without fully intending to, I found myself at the base of Phou Fa, the mountain that overlooks town.  I wasn't entirely sure if I was up for the climb to the top: it was a punishing 822-stair committment.  I ascended carefully and found more reasons to stop than just to rest, as the path was specked with creepy-crawlies.

Straight up...

The forest floor abounds in wildlife...

The view was worth the effort, even though it was glazed over with a fine mist.  I gained a greater appreciation for Phongsali's location, nestled above plunging valleys and forested cliffs.  It was so still, so quiet, that I could actually hear people's voices from the town.

The stupa and Buddha statue at the top

The view

But the peace shattered at 4pm.  Speakers, set up all over town, babbled the afternoon's radio broadcast with relentless clamour.  Their echoes bounced around at slightly different times with eerie effect, contrasting to the underlying quiet of the town.  It was a noise unbefitting of such a serene and far-away world.  The broadcast lasted 2-3 hours.

So noisy...

Darkness fell early and suddenly I had a decision to make.  I'd travelled all this way and I really wanted to go trekking, but I wasn't sure if my body was ready to deal with it yet.  I especially didn't want to put anyone else out - not after that poor Swiss couple.  Even worse, however, was the prospect of returning to Udomxai on that bus.  That was simply not going to happen.

The pieces came together.  There were two flights a week between Boun Neua (an even smaller town about 1.5 hours from Phongsali) and Vientiane.  I joined a 2-day trek near Boun Neua, starting the next day and ending the evening before the next flight.  I wasn't keen on waiting an additional four days for the next plane, and I wanted to cross back to Thailand pretty soon, so the plan fit together quite nicely.

Once my plans were sorted, it was time to fill the stomach again.  I ventured into a local restaurant for dinner and the old lady there signalled me into the kitchen, to my great confusion.  She picked up bags of frozen meat, pointing to them, pointing to me, and at first I thought she was trying to sell them to me.  It didn't help that she wasn't speaking any intelligible language, only a series of grunts.  It occured to me that she didn't have a menu and she was asking what meat I wanted.  What came next was one of the most hilarious 'menus' I've ever experienced.  She proceeded to do an impersonation of all the different animals whose meat she could offer me.  Unfortunately, they were all quite similar, and consisted of her putting her hands to either side of her head.  Pointy-eared animal, floppy-eared animal, horns animal, another floppy-eared animal...  I went with buffalo, which was the only one I could make out, and a few minutes later was treated to an excellent water buffalo stir-fry with steamed rice.

Finally, rice!

I awoke at 5:30am the next morning when the speakers began their morning broadcast.  It was still dark and I groaned into my pillow.  It was so sad that such a sweet place could be ruined by such an incessant, needless noise like radio.  Thank you, Western world, for your influence.

When I got up proper an hour later, I was feeling much stronger.  I was ready for some trekking!  I sat down in my hotel's kitchen area and, after being ignored by the staff for another 15 minutes, finally got handed a menu.

I didn't need it.

I smiled.  "Noodles, please."