Just across the border from Dien Bien Phu, the most northern crossing from Vietnam to Laos, is a dusty little town called Muang Khua. Situated between the fork of two big rivers, this sleepy town sees many tourists blasting through between Vietnam and Luang Prabang without stopping.
The small Government run tourist information office in Muang Khua offers 1 to 5 day hikes in the nearby hills to get in touch with the local ethnic minority groups. Here, one can find a friendly local guide called Mr. Bounma. He is your best link to the local people (who don’t even speak Lao) as he taught at primary schools throughout the area for many years, and picked up enough of the Khamu and Akha languages to translate for us. The people here are animists, and believe in spirits instead of gods. Mr. Bounma is intimate with their customs, which was arguably just as important as translating.
The treks range in length, difficulty and isolation, and are cheaper for larger groups, although Mr. Bounma said he wouldn’t want to take a group bigger than four or five people. We soon saw why. We opted for a three day trek, just Mina, Mr. Bounma and I. Neither of us were really prepared for the stark contrast between the hill tribe customs and our Western way of life. In fact, no Westerner had been to these villages in almost twelve months.
Day one
First stop was a local roadside market in Pak Nam Moi where Mr. Bounma helped us pick out all sorts of new and strange foods for us to try. The garlic and bay leaf flavoured fried insects were surprisingly more-ish, and the barbecued wild boar was delicious. Herb and noodle stuffed bamboo shoots were the real winner though. Mina got duped by the first local lady we saw, who clapped a dusty old bracelet on her wrist
and charged her a hefty fee. Next thing we know, she was surrounded by ten ladies all clamouring to sell their shit to the silly gringo. Mr. Bounma shooed them away and we began walking.
Grilled insects, stuffed bamboo shoots and other delicatessen.
The first village we reached, Ban Houy Pot, was home to Akha people, and was our lunch stop. As per custom, we went and introduced ourselves to the village chief, otherwise the villagers would think we were bad spirits who drift through the town bringing bad luck. We ate in the chief’s house, and the amazing feast we had set the tone for the next 3 days. Sticky rice is the staple here in Laos, and eating with our hands was a lot of fun.
With our translator’s help, the chief expressed his surprise at the fact that we were walking through the rugged hills for leisure, and also that we were not married. 26 years old without 5 kids? Was there something wrong with us? Everyone was so friendly and welcoming and, from the outset, life seemed ideallic for these tribes, even if physically tough.
But this rustic culture also has a darker side. The very superstitious Akha believe there are spirits in everything, and wear coins ward them off. Instead of seeking out medical help from the distant Lao towns, they will sacrifice an animal and perform ceremonies to remove the bad spirits. The most extreme case, Mr. Bounma told us, is when an Akha or Khamu woman gives birth to twins. This is perceived as an extra unwanted spirit entering the village, and the babies – both babies – are quickly killed, and the mother exiled to the jungle for one month to cleanse.
Considered by the Lao Government as absolutely barbaric, they banned the practice, but that only saves some twins. The babies still must leave the village, and the mother still does her time. The newborns must rely on local Lao people to adopt them, and Mr. Bounma knows two friends who did just that. We wished we could explain the simple genetics behind their brutal superstition, but it’s not our place to get involved. We wondered what would happen if identical twin backpackers did this trek..
After an educational lunch, we slogged uphill in the slippery mud and melting summer sun to Ban Yalo, a Khamu village, where we would spend the night. The chief’s house (where we slept) was an old wooden hut on stilts. Here, the cloud was so thick we could see it float past the window, and the constant rain turned the town into a muddy mess. The chief is a slim old man who smokes opium, and his wife is a blind, hunchbacked, frail old thing, who’s lips are stained red from chewing betel. She quickly sat in front of me and demanded a shoulder massage while we waited for dinner. Dinner was delicious, although the chief’s wife had to eat separately, according to custom. We ate bamboo and squirrel, scooped up with balls of sticky rice. Yum.
We did as the locals do and took our shower at the only tap in town, right in the centre of the village, in nothing but our undies. Despite all the Akha and Khamu ladies having their boobs out, we were apparently quite a spectacle. White boobs and a hairy bum were clearly a novelty, and drew howls of laughter from the crowd that had gathered.
We saw the chief treating a boy with chicken pox for a bag of rice, and were soon parted from our betadiene and paracetamol when more patients came by. We slept on a thin mattress in the chief’s hut, heads pointing outward, feet pointing in.
Day two
Breakfast introduced us to the Lao aubergine, that is cooked and smashed up like a Laotian baba ganoush. Of course, enough chillies added to destroy your tongue. This day would be our toughest, and we would learn the difference between Western uphill and “Lao up”. The first 6km was particularly brutal, despite being mostly downhill. Never before have we seen so many leeches. To stop and remove two was to gain ten at one point. The leaves rustled with their movement. Mina, who was slipping in the mud in her fake Nikes, was not having fun.
Mood improved considerably after reaching a clear river which marked our ascent out of leech hell. We had a cheeky nude swim to celebrate before lunch in the next village, Rah Ang Noi. Here, Mina played chasey with the local Khamu kids until it started to rain, where suddenly they all got naked and started wrestling. Life as a kid in these villages would be fun, even though you have to wield a machete and hunt for animals at age 4.
We marched on to the final town, a further 10km uphill. Here in Ban Houy Onh, the people are also Khamu, although remarkably different from people in the previous towns. Every town is isolated and customs differ from one side of a mountain range to the other. Here the chief was a jolly old man with a huge smiley family. Not only were the women allowed to eat with us, but the whole family and a couple of neighbours too. We were fed countless shots of Lao Lao – lethally strong rice wine – before, during and after dinner, and always in twos.
Full of rice wine, we crashed early, once again in the chief’s single-room house. This time however, we spent the whole night itching from bed bugs, and the next day we were sporting fresh coats of red spots. Fantastic. That makes it 3 counts of bed bugs this trip, and 6 for my life. I must be delicious.
Day three
We had another round of Q&A with the chief and his family for breakfast. Sticky rice, mystery meat and spicey bamboo soup. The family were astounded that we had walked all that way – many of them hadn’t left their village before. They were equally shocked to hear that we had been eating all the local food from the jungle. They seemed to think that we had different bodies under our clothes and different organs under our skin. The chief insisted that we come back to his village soon, and bring our children too. He said we’d better hurry up and have some soon, as he is well into his eighties.
The final day was the easiest. We cruised along the Lao-flat through rice fields, heavy rain and sweltering sun to the Nam Ou river. A short boat ride and a long wait for a ride later, we were back in Muang Khua sipping Beer Lao. This tiny town felt like a metropolis after where we’d been. We bid farewell to the lovely Mr. Bounma – our guide, translator and master chef.
This trek was fascinating for us and we rate it four thumbs up, despite it not having the deepest jungle, nor the most spectacular mountains or waterfalls. It was nice to experience how these people live without it feeling like a human zoo, like so many other treks available in South East Asia. This was the main reason Mr Bounma limits the group numbers to 4 people. That and the chief wouldn’t fit us all in his hut.
Nitty gritty details
Length: 3 days
Cost: 1,000,000 kip per person ($US120)
Grade: medium to difficult (harder in wet season)
Contact:
Recommended: good trekking shoes with grip for the mud, head torch, gifts for the villagers (try not to just give ciggies and candy; medicine, tooth brushes and Lao language books are more sensible)
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