Looking out over the mesmerizing expanse of the Mekong and gnawing on an energy bar at five-thirty this morning, I could think of little besides clambering back into bed. But once we had climbed back into the saddle and were whirring down the road I felt revitalized, energized from a full day of torpor (and sleep) in which we never wandered more than a hundred meters from our miniature riverside bungalow. It was a beautiful day and it felt fantastic to be back on the road. We cranked through villages full of the familiar sight of uniformed kids on their way to school, who would interrupt their renditions of the distressingly ubiquitous World Cup song (if heterosexuality ever had an anthem, this would be it) to scream \"HELLOHELLOHELLO\"
at us. Others would just shout \"*farang*\" (foreigner of European descent) to alert their friends and families of our passage \--most likely to be the most talked-about event of the day. Fred thought these villages looked more prosperous than the others we've seen lately, but most of the housing looked pretty basic to me. I suppose in comparison to some of the villages discernible across the river in Laos, the Thai side looked like Switzerland. Our largely shaded road squiggled right along the ever-wider river, seeking the highest points along its banks to avoid flooding in the rainy season (and not always succeeding, we were able to deduce from the road's often washed-out surface).
For many kilometers it was hard to make out the river from its vast swampy riverbed, and we wondered out loud what a sight it would be to see the river swell after a heavy rain. In spite of numerous hills and without the aid of a tailwind, our average speed kept climbing through the day, peaking at 23.4km/hr (meaningless to you, astonishing to us). We made the usual stops at Thai-style seven-elevens, gulping down water and perusing the contents of the ice cream chest. I think Fred had his first icecreamy treat at something like seven-thirty, while I held off until at least nine.
I should note here how these roadside groceries are all essentially the same both aesthetically and experientially. All are housed in garage-looking buildings that double as the shopkeepers' homes. The living quarters are always clearly visible behind the shop, and the two spaces are never really delineated from each other. One or more glass-fronted cases of cold beverages are prominently displayed, while suspended from bits of twine hang various junk food items, household supplies, dried squids, candy and auto parts. Without fail a terrazzo picnic table graces the area in front of the shop, but as this is usually in the sun, we tend to loiter in the shade under a metal canopy just outside, next to tables holding eggs, motor oil, shallots, chilies, and houseplants.
I can't recall an instance where the proprietor of the shop hasn't dragged out a pair of chairs or stools for us to sit on. The consistency of the experience is really quite amazing, uncanny even, making it very difficult to remember any specific stop, only the general experience. Usually we sit for a good quarter of an hour --longer if we're severely overheated---making feeble attempts at communication with our gracious host (all we've really mastered in Thai are the numbers), providing entertainment for any villagers who happen by. These stops tend to occur at twenty-to-thirty kilometer intervals, so we had already made three or four by the time we reached Sang Khorn, our intended stop for the night.
Seeing a sign marked \"Mama's Riverside Lodge\" we turned up a dirt road leading to nothing but a school. Just as we were about to turn back, a squat woman on a motorbike began frantically waving at us, pointing out a couple of other *farang* on bikes. We pedaled up to meet Kevin from South Africa, Angela from Canada, and Mama herself. They had just been watching a performance at the school concerning mosquito control. Kevin and Angela were hoping to ride out to the waterfall but had flat tires. We whipped out our pumps --which weren't the right flavor, it turns out, and queried them about their situation.
They had met in Taiwan, where both taught English for two years, and were now on an extended tour through Asia before moving to Japan for more teaching. Mama listened through all this before she gave her pitch: \"Mama have nice bungalow for you, right on river.\" We agreed to at least check it out and have lunch there. \"She's a good cook,\" enthused Angela, \"but the place is a little on the rustic side.\" Rustic indeed. To get there we had to push our bikes through knee-high razor grass and cross a perilously flimsy bridge over a gorge. But Mama's place --not much more than a patch of dirt with a few crooked huts---did have a great view of the river, and while I wouldn't go out of my way to praise her culinary abilities, it was nice to order from a menu printed in English.
Her personality is what sold us though. For someone who runs a guesthouse catering to foreigners, her English is appallingly deficient, but we found her manic, slightly unbalanced manner completely infectious, and as about as much entertainment as one can hope to find in a sleepy little village like Sang Khorn. Much of the afternoon was spent lazing on the balcony of our little two-dollar hut, which featured that most prized of amenities: a hammock. When the sun lowered in the sky, I went down to the beach-like riverbank to watch locals interact with the mighty, muddy current. Kids swam noisily; old men fished with nets in the calmer eddies; motorboats went back and forth on mysterious missions to Laos.
I observed a weedy bush full of butterflies for a while, then headed up for my fourth shower of the day. When night fell, we were surprised that Kevin and Angela hadn't reappeared. Then Mama arrived on her motorbike, puffing and sweating, her many layers of makeup melting on her face. Waddling up to us, she launched into a frantic account of the day's unfortunate events: \"Mama go police. *Farang* go waterfall, Thai people steal money, passport African boy. So bad so bad. Mama feel bad because Mama no say waterfall bad place. Here in village no problem, but waterfall many people poor, people steal.
You want eat?\" Here she pointed to Fred and said for the twentieth time today, \"He too sa-kee-nee\" and went on to advise him to be careful not to anger me, since I could so obviously beat him up. After a while Angela and Kevin came moping back to camp. We shared a vegetarian dinner with them, listening to their woeful tale and offering assistance. I was surprised when Kevin lit up a joint right there at the dinner table. \"You don't think Mama would mind?\" I asked in a hushed tone. \"I doubt it, since she's the one who sold me the dope,\"
Kevin responded in his peculiar accent. \"Everyone in Nong Khai told us to come here. Mama's dope is famous throughout the Northeast of Thailand. She brings it over from Laos.\" Falling asleep under the mosquito net later, I wondered if I'd discovered the key to understanding Mama's peculiar brand of flakiness.