The Loop (a.k.a., Our Motorcycle Diaries)

Prologue

Before we left on this trip, we said there were certain things we would never do, and renting a motorbike was definitely high on that list. How irresponsible would that be? I don’t even know how to talk to people who do that. And yet, we did. For those of you who know us well, you know how we can talk in sweeping absolutes and then one day, suddenly and inexplicably, change camps. This was one of those times. Our motorbike trip – or to use the local lingo, ‘motobike’ trip – was such a crowning achievement for us as travelers, as partners, and as human beings that I don’t begin to remember why I thought this was a bad idea in the first place. I mean, of course I do, and I think it has something to do with dead-in-a-ditch-somewhere, but we’re not, so it’s all okay. And people who don’t rent ‘motobikes’? I don’t even know how to talk to those people.

(Sorry, Mom and Dad.)

Things to Know about The Loop

How long is it? The Loop is a 450km loop leaving from Tha Khaek. You should give yourself four days and three nights.

Which way should I go? It is best done counterclockwise – or as the Brits call it, anticlockwise.

Where should I rent my bike? Only one right answer: Mr. Ku’s. He keeps his bikes tuned well for the roads and he is responsible for this stellar map of The Loop which will be indispensable on your travels. Better yet, he instills confidence in even the most beginnerest of beginner motobike riders. Also, he is available by cell any time of day to give you advice should anything go awry. He’s basically your mom.

Wait, I still have lots of questions?! First of all, get over yourself. Best thing to do is to show up in Tha Khaek, crash at the Thakhek Travel Lodge, and thumb your way through something called ‘The Log’ which is a big scrapbook of people’s recommendations and experiences doing The Loop. It’s super helpful and also funny. You will find yourself conveniently located next door to Mr. Ku’s rental office. Perfecto!

Getting Started + Learning to Ride

And we did just that. We made our way to the Travel Lodge, stowed our bags in their storage room, flipped through ‘The Log’ until we felt confident enough without feeling confused, and before we lost our nerve, we tucked in next door and asked to see Mr. Ku. Only he wasn’t there. You see, Mr. Ku doesn’t just wait around for folks like us. There is a grown-ass man whose sole job it is to sit in a folding chair outside Mr. Ku’s office and call him on his cell phone when people are looking to rent a bike. Seriously. That’s his only job. 15 minutes later, the Big Ku rolls up: cool, confident, and ready to rent us Lucky Number Eight. He walks us through the rental agreement and then whips out his map. I love watching people do things they’ve done a thousand times before. All those little red marks on the map? Those are his annotations that he writes in as he gives us his spiel, confirming things we’d already deduced, like which was the right way to go around, and how many days to spend, but also giving us pitch-perfect information on things like when to leave each day, where to spend the night, how long various legs would take, and when we’d lose the light in the afternoon as we drove through various valleys.

Then came the bike lesson. Now, I’ve never even ridden on the back of a motobike, never mind actually driving one. And moreover, I don’t know how to drive a manual transmission. It was clear to me that I would not be the one receiving the lesson from Mr. Ku. Too much was at stake. And so The Hubs stepped up and got the lesson, which included learning how to turn it on, learning how to shift the gears and how to brake, and then learning where Mr. Ku’s phone number was printed on the front of the bike. Smooth as ice, Mr. Ku drove down the driveway and back with The Hubs clinging onto the rear. Then, herky jerkily, The Hubs drove himself down the driveway and back. Aaaaaaand… lesson complete. We suited up with our little day packs and our helmets (we always wore our helmets) and set off into traffic. And let me tell you, The Hubs was awesome. He was amazing. It was so impressive watching him tackle this new thing and learn it, getting better by the kilometer, the gear shifts getting smoother. And I didn’t flinch! Or at least not verbally, too much, and thankfully he couldn’t see my face in the side view mirror.

Once we were underway, we dipped onto a quieter side road and The Hubs taught me to drive a motobike. I learned how to drive a motobike! He was patient and encouraging and never once condescending. We were doing this because we could do this and we were doing it together. That meant we were both going to be drivers and we were both going to be passengers. It was all like one big trust fall. Cheesy, yes, but that’s honestly how it felt. We had to trust each other to do this successfully.

Freedoms of the Open Road

Getting out onto the open road was so freeing! Need a bathroom break? Pull over whenever you want. Hungry? We brought some snacks. Need lunch? Oh, that might get a bit more interesting. How do you figure out what’s a restaurant when you’re suddenly not in a touristy area and nothing’s in English? The answer is somewhere between trial and error and testing out your charade skills. After a few stops, we found a place that was willing to sell us a plate of something, and with the help of a phrase book, we managed to communicate that we would like something with chicken. The rest was up to them. Thankfully, we knew the drill for a truly local joint: always use the outdoor sink to wash up before and after your meal. And after a few hours on a motobike, you better believe I was ready to wash the dust off just about every bit of exposed skin.

At some point that first afternoon, the pavement ran out, and I dutifully handed over the handle-bars. I could drive a motobike, sure, but it wasn’t clear how sharp my learning curve would be with new road material. And so The Hubs had yet another opportunity to shine that day. What a guy, truly. This is one of those times you could most decidedly argue that video games helped develop necessary life skills. The road conditions were crap. It was mostly packed gravel, but the potholes were so frequent at times that it wasn’t clear where one was supposed to drive. Since we never made it much above about 15mph, we had a good response time when a pothole snuck up on us, and it allowed us to take in the glory of our surroundings, too.

The last bit of driving that day was a stark contrast: on one side lush jungle, and on the other massive deforestation and flooding caused by a new dam. Hundreds of people were displaced by the flooding, and we found ourselves driving by newly-built ‘healthy villages’ which had a deserted and eerily-crisp feel to them. And yet the newly created lake was breathtaking, and we struggled with the odd conundrum that water is always beautiful, even when it’s for environmentally questionable reasons.

Petanque + Bad Road + Shock Repair

That first night, our spirits ran high, elated with the day’s success. As we pulled into our guesthouse, we spotted the petanque court right away, and it wasn’t long before we were out there for a game. The staff at this place was super friendly and included a crew of local men who seemed to be renting out a few of the bungalows on more of a longterm loan sort of arrangement. They took a keen interest in our game, heckling The Hubs when he started to lose, and pouring me small glasses of beer to help improve my throws. By the time we’d finished, we’d been taken into the fold, and were invited to join them for beers and home made bar snacks of banana chips and roasted pumpkin seeds. Despite a significant language barrier, their hospitality and overwhelmingly generous natures shined through.

The next morning, we set off early for what we knew would be another challenging bit of road. What we thought had been crap conditions the day before seemed like fresh asphalt in comparison to what we faced this morning. As many potholes but with much bigger rocks and gravel filling in the road, and curvier, and more hills. Up, down, around, it didn’t seem to get any better, and then… we lost the ability to drive straight. It’s true. Our intense and awesome road trip had cracked one of our front shocks, and Lucky Number Eight’s front wheel was now coming out from the handlebars at an unhealthy angle.

What happened next felt like it was out of an indie movie. The mechanic’s shop is part general store and part family home. The mother is out front pounding her laundry while children run around playing. Her eldest son – probably somewhere near our age – wheels our bike in and has the whole front section taken apart in a few quick minutes. We watch in awe over the next twenty as he busies himself tightening and re-tightening things, putting it all back together but better. We were wrong – the bike’s not really broken – we’d just loosened things riding on all that rough road. The kindest moment in all of Laos is as he’s handing it off to us, steadily refusing payment for his time. It’s only after The Hubs presses him that he accepts a meager square of chocolate as thanks.

And yet… Five feet out the door, we realize Lucky Number Eight is still crooked. Turns out we know more about motobikes than we thought. The shock is cracked. Irreparably. (Is it ever reparable?) And the next hour is spent sitting in the dust as our new friend replaces it. A whopping $20 is all it costs. But this was all still part of the trust fall, right? We were succeeding in connecting with the locals – through thick and thin, no less. That’s what this trip had become.

Konglor Cave

This is no ordinary cave. Our last day on the road included a detour to get to this 7.5 km long limestone tunnel formed by the Nam Hinboun river. Although it was a generally less bat-swooping experience than I had hoped, riding through this tunnel was incredible. It’s completely dark inside, and each boat requires two boatmen: one to steer and one to help push or pull the boat through low water points. The one steering wore a huge headlamp that flicked back and forth to various reflector points guiding the way. It felt like we were going about a million miles an hour and was quite reminiscent of the tunnel scene from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Except, you know, a lot less creepy.

More Pictures…

There were so many good shots from the road, so I’m throwing a few more of my favorites in here.

Finally, a Farm!

The Organic Mulberry Farm

When I left Vermont in September, I did not expect to find my way back to a goat farm for some time. But the Hubs must have a sixth sense for these things. In the course of some routine research for our upcoming destinations, he discovered an organic farm in Vang Vieng. The Organic Mulberry Farm was established in 1996, “with the goal of introducing organic farming methods in an area where chemicals and deforestation were ruining the land.” The idea was to lead by example and show that organic farming could be “profitable as well as healthy.” This was already sounding right up my alley. In 2004, they added goats to their repertoire, bringing over the first four from France and since adding to their herd from Vietnam and Thailand as they established their own breeding program. What more, they offered affordable farmstay options and welcomed volunteers!

A Note on Vang Vieng

Vang Vieng is a beautiful spot, right on the Nam Song River, with spectacular karst scenery and lush jungle filling in the river valley. It’s long been a destination for outdoor adventure activities, with everything from rock climbing to kayaking, but has recently become a big destination for tubing – specifically alcoholic tubing – with countless bars springing up along the river. The routine is to rent a huge truck tire inner tube, be driven a ways upstream to an official drop off point, and then float your way back down river into town. Oh, and get completely wasted. Along the way, bars will throw you a rope weighted with a water bottle to grab onto and pull you into their establishment; it’s uncomfortably reminiscent of roping cattle. There are precarious water slides and rope swings at lots of establishments, claiming an alarming number of deaths each year. Loud music blares from competing speaker systems. In the middle of this idyllic natural setting, Jay-Z is effusing about NY and how “these streets will make you feel brand new.” It’s… weird. And sad. And then weird some more. We spent a lot of time discussing tourism and how and why things like this can take over an area. I’m not sure what the right answer is, but it certainly begs the question of what responsibility we have as visitors.

Despite this scene and the farm being on opposite ends of the spectrum, they are – awkwardly – right on top of each other. The official drop off point for tubing is next door to the farm, and across the river from two or three of the loudest bars on the river. Music plays steadily from about 11am to 5pm every day of the week. What a shame. The farm is doing what they can to rally visitors and petition city officials to do something about the noise pollution, but these things take time. We relished the peaceful morning hours when the farm felt more – well – natural.

The Goats!

We arrived at the farm mid-afternoon and set out pretty much immediately to explore the grounds and see if we could peek in on the goats. My nose told me they were close by, and my excitement was only barely contained. I was going to see goats! I am not sure I can properly express the level of joy I get from being around these animals. Their curious and loving nature combined with their relative ease around humans is just a delight. Whatever life holds for me after these travels, I hope it includes a few goats.

Just across the way from our bungalow were two raised goat houses and a large fenced field, where it looked like most of the herd spent their days. They had a large hay feeder chock full of freshly cut grasses and multiple buckets of water for the 20 some goats out there. Mostly does and kids, but I spotted at least one buck. It looked like some of the milking goats were kept in the goat houses, but we couldn’t figure out if that was a regular separation or just for that day. I should probably note here that I learned a lot about goats during my summer apprenticeship at Green Mountain Girls Farm in Northfield, VT, and my loved ones have gently made it clear to me that I can sometimes get a bit too technical when I am waxing poetic about my favorite ruminant. Consider yourself warned. (Note, too, the title of the blog… Not unrelated.)

As we explored the farm, it was clear just glancing around how different the systems were here than what I was used to in Vermont. But having done many farm visits over the summer, I had already learned that no two farms are the same, and so ‘different’ didn’t have to mean ‘bad’. Instead, it just raised all sorts of curiosities about why their systems were different. I found myself wondering about things like parasite management and herd health; whether they let first-time mothers nurse as opposed to milking them; and what their cheese making process was like. Unfortunately, there was a significant language barrier between us and the farm staff, making it impossible to ask any of these questions. But the general vibe was friendly and welcoming and they were genuinely appreciative of any help offered. And so we joined in on the afternoon shift of goat volunteering.

The afternoon round of chores consisted of herding the goats from the field into the two goat houses; getting everyone fresh water and grain; clearing out the old grasses from the feeders; and stuffing them with freshly cut grass to last them the night. I also opted to join the next morning’s round of chores at 6am, which was much the same, only in reverse, and involved more shoveling of shit. We started by sweeping out the stalls and clearing the dried and picked over grasses, then everyone got fresh water and another ration of grain to chow on before heading back out to pasture for the day. Same went for the milking goats, only their grasses got restocked, too, since they were staying in their stalls for the day.

Then came milking.

Milking was one of my favorite tasks as a farm apprentice. It was an ordered yet relaxing time, and provided rewarding one-on-one time with the animals as well as other team members. There was a strict protocol to follow, per organic certification recommendations, which included practices aimed at keeping the goats healthy as well as the humans consuming their milk. A good milking session felt clean, efficient, and productive. With this in mind, I had been musing to the Hubs about what their milking protocol might be here, and how many differences I would find. Indeed, there was so little overlap that I ended up struggling with some conflicted feelings over whether different now was bad.

The milking took place in each goat’s stall with the help of some clever design: one of the slats in the stall was set wider and only secured at the base, allowing it to slide at the top, and making it possible for the goat’s head to fit through and then be secured, just like on a traditional milk stand (which can be seen here). The person milking then took a 500ml plastic beaker and milked by hand, one teat at a time, crouched next to the goat. I couldn’t help thinking it seemed a little inefficient, and came away feeling confused about how many right answers there could be when it came to various health implications. On the one hand, this was a simpler system and probably closer to how farmers milked their animals for generations before the USDA came along or anyone had heard about organic certification. But even as I struggled with what the right answer was, I knew I lacked the knowledge to understand the full picture for this farm and this herd.