Not climbing the waterfall in Luang Prabang
The most talked about attraction in LP is the waterfall. As much as I tend to be “nature, shmature,” I was excited to see the falls and swim in the glistening pools, a refreshing respite from midday heat.
Along with my roommates and some other hostel mates, we headed on a 45 minute van ride to the falls. When we arrived, the clear thing to do was to run onto the bridge and snap photos of the glorious blue water. It really was a gorgeous waterfall. Very quickly, most of our crew bounded across the bridge and up a steep set of stairs leading into the mountain to climb to the top of the falls. I started up after them but quickly realized, I fucking hate hiking. I had already heard that this hike was more than 45 minutes long and treacherous. It wasn’t going to happen. At the base of the falls back by the bridge, there was a no swimming area. I saw a couple in their 60s climbing down another path and asked how it was. Quite steep. I was so agitated and upset that I had come here for nothing. I peed in the men’s squat toilet. Looked around a bit. Shed a couple frustrated tears. Chased our van driver and van back down the path to the falls to no avail. Considered getting a bite to eat and waiting for the others, but then I saw some girls in a Tuk Tuk heading back and hopped in with them.
The girls were french and super friendly and approachable looking. They told me about how great their morning at the falls had been while droplets from their waterfall sodden hair sprayed me as the Tuk Tuk sped off and I wiped a stray angsty tear away. The rest of the 45 minute ride I crafted my beautiful excuses in my head: visions of falling off a cliff with nobody to hear me scream, blood streaming from my cracked skull into the mekong. At the end of the day though, I was just tired, thirsty with no water, and alone – none of which combine well with my existing hatred of climbing up and down lumpy masses of bug filled and twig pricking dirt. By leaving the falls early, at least I had SEEN them, and would get to go to the ethnic museum.
When the Tuk Tuk driver delivered us to Luang Prabang, he pointed me to my hostel via a temple I had never seen before. As I climbed the temple steps I started sobbing with no idea where I was and just out of exhaustion. I also was bemused at the image of me crying in a completely empty and isolated Buddhist temple. This was the first time I’d really cried on this trip and I think the “out of my element” feeling was striking me really hard. The hostel was literally right on the other side of the temple and I calmed down, wallowed in some WI fi, and grabbed a crepe where I ran into friends from the slow boat. Next I went to the museum which was amazing. All in all, it wound up being a pretty good day.
I had befriended my roommates, a well meaning divorced dad who loved to ramble on about quasi intellectual topics and conspiracy theories (gone to hive fashion show night before), a sassy 19 year old Kiwi girl, and a down to earth Australian guy probably 10 years older than me. Our room was filled with lots of way-to-deep-yet-shallow conversations on art, tv, love, sex, prison, and more.
I couldn’t find them when I was supposed to join them for dinner, but there was a big lao dance and music performance at the night market, so I sat near the window of the same cafe i went to on my first night and enjoyed Pho, white wine, and a waffle with chocolate for dessert as I enjoyed a perfect view of the show.