so, do you speak Czech?

The most common question I am asked by both Canadians and Czechs alike is "But isn't it difficult to get by when you don't speak the language?"

The short answer: No, not really. I mean there is of course the fact that I am essentially illiterate and deaf, but for the most part my life here is comparable to a Choose Your Own Adventure novel, what could instill in you a greater sense of childlike fascination than not having any clue what's going on, ever.

It was serendipitous that I ended up here at all and then it dawned on me that I had accidentally chosen to live somewhere with an inexplicably difficult language that I had no inclination to be apt at.

So, the first thing I did was to start learning foods so I would know what I was buying at the shops, and though most products are easily identifiable some are definitely not, meat conveniently comes with a picture reminding you what animal it is printed on the packaging while milk is not as easy to identify in it's many forms. To get an idea of what I mean, imagine being illiterate and trying to decide what to pick for your cornflakes, you could very easily accidentally pour whipping cream or buttermilk all over your breakfast. Once you learn the basics you can adeptly do your shopping solo. I try to deter people from talking to me by wearing my ipod but in the Czech Republic you don't really have to worry too much about strangers trying to communicate with you. In two years the only people that have tried to engage me in any type of conversation in the shop have been old people that needed help with something and other foreigners. Czechs just don't really talk to people they don't know, maybe they had really intense 'stranger danger' talks when they were small?

After that I focused on learning words at work and trying to understand more of what the children were saying, although being as they are roughly 3 years old they aren't always coherent even to the Czech teachers. But I did learn some useful things like how to count, colours and clothing along with the likes of vampire, ninja, tree, shadow, sand, tissue and ghost, to name a few.

See the hard thing about being an adult and learning a new language is that you are expected to just pick it up on your own, no one congratulates you every time you say a word correctly or offers you a sweet if you can remember all of your colours. People don't speak to foreigners slowly using easy words or sing you songs to teach you new ones. In fact they usually imitate your bad pronunciations and when you are congratulated it's more patronizing than encouraging. Think about all those times when you have seen people raising their voices at foreigners as if they are deaf. We're not deaf, we just don't understand you, and now we are even more confused because we think we are being scolded for some unknown reason.

Since Czechs aren't particularly chatty people there was very little else I needed to learn. There is no banter with waiters and waitresses, you simply order and say thank you when the food arrives. And you definitely don't try to ask for modifications to your meal the way you would in North America, your food will come as the menu says it comes and that's that. Indonesia was a different story because they are particularly chatty people and very interested to know more about buleh (foreigners) and so I learnt to answer and ask quite a few questions about family, religion, work, holidays, food, kids, my fictional husband etc.

I know more than I let on and if I was moving here permanently I would feel an obligation to learn more, but I am not. I can get by and at this point that's what really matters. It sounds harsh, but I work a 35 hour work week and teach 4 private classes, learning a new language takes dedication and energy that I would rather focus on something like watching hockey or getting to know the local beers. Seems more productive in the long run.

Stolen TP and Dinner

There is no food and no toilet paper in our house.

Well, there's a stick of salami, about 2 tbsp of butter and a litre of milk in the fridge and our pantry is stacked with canned goods that we can't open because we don't actually own a can opener. So essentially there is no food in the house.

Top that off with the fact that between Laura and I we have a combined total of 19Kc (approx. $1) and there isn't much that can be done to help our failing situation.

Thankfully we were spared eating buttered salami when Laura opened a package from her sister that included 2 boxes of KD (known to Americans as Kraft Mac & Cheese). Between that and chocolate we have left over from Christmas we should make it through the next couple of days on a rather unbalanced diet.

I am so exhausted from travelling yesterday that I may be too lazy to even cook KD. I am currently scheming how I can trick Laura in to doing it, though that is looking unlikely and I am not even motivated enough to put much effort in to my plan, I suppose the scheme is more just wait until she gets hungry enough that she offers to cook, not much of a scheme really...and it's quite possible that she is contemplating the same thing.

I have only had 8 hours of sleep in the last 42 hours. I left Victoria in the afternoon of the 1st but because of the time difference (9 hrs) and the fact that it took 22.5 hours to get here, I didn't arrive back to my house until nearly 9pm on the 2nd. I suffer from a complete and utter inability to fall asleep on flights unless drugged, but the last time I did that I stole the blanket off the guy in the seat beside me and have cuddled strangers more than once. So to avoid that uncomfortable situation I just stay awake.

Even if I could sleep on flights I never would have been able to since I was sitting beside a guy with toilet breath who slept with his mouth open, breathing rancid air in to the small area I occupied between him and the window, when he wasn't sleeping he had the charming habit of reading over my shoulder while I directed uncharitable thoughts at him. By the third flight I was so tired I was nauseous.

It was after this and an additional 2 buses, a metro and a tram ride that I encountered Grandma, the old woman who lives downstairs, on the steps outside our door. As far as I could tell from her broken English and my broken Czech along with hand gestures and noises, there was some sort of old face in or on Whitney's radiator. She also partially acted out a story about one of the cats jumping off the top of the fridge on to her head and something about a radiator that the cats turned on with a coconut? She finished by handing me some homemade Christmas cookies with a smile and a wave and returned downstairs leaving me alone and completely bewildered.

It's during these exchanges that I wish I had put more of an effort in to learning Czech, though I am still not sure I would have been able to follow that conversation.

Our radiators seem to be fine as far as I can tell, which isn't saying much since I am not very technical, essentially this reads, I poked the radiator and it was warm, so it works, but I remain wary of the potential radiator ghost.

I also had a stern talking to with the cats about turning on the radiators and playing with coconuts and now it would seem our only remaining dilemma is the toilet paper, which will be dealt with tomorrow by us all participating in petty crime through TP theft from various bathroom stalls. A glamorous life I lead, I know.

I apparently value my life at or around $100 (March 2010)

The price difference had it been North America, would have been nothing. If we had been living outside of this bizarre cheap realm of backpackers we would have laughed at our pettiness. But when you are a backpacker every dollar counts. A dollar in SE Asia could mean a meal or half of your nights accommodation. A dollar at home doesn't even get you something from a dollar store. And so to save around $100 we risked our lives on a bus journey from Sapa, Vietnam to Luang Prabang, Laos.

Day 1 (6am-ish)

We were told to meet at the travel agency, where we had purchased our tickets, at 6am. Brittany was running late, so Janet and I had gone for breakfast and were waiting for her at the travel agency. She showed up around 615 and there was still no sign of a bus. Eventually a man on a motorcycle appeared to take us down to the bus stop (this was news since we thought we were at the bus stop. I am not blessed with the skill of estimating distances, so I will just say we were about 5km away and potentially be incredibly incorrect). This seemed like an interesting twist to the plot and I was trying to determine how exactly one man on a small motorbike was going to get three woman AND their bags anywhere, but my question was quickly answered as I realized we were to be ferried one by one on the back of the bike, without helmets clinging to our bags down the windy, hilly streets of Sapa to where our bus would eventually rock up to take us to the border. The bus took it's sweet time in arriving and every time anything resembling a bus approached we would look at the motorcycle driver (who luckily hadn't abandoned us yet) expectantly as locals would pile on and wait for a signal. He spoke minimal English and us even less Vietnamese so the entire operation was run in over exaggerated body movements that made it look like we were part of an ill advised dance group with no music.

 

Eventually a rusty, dirty looking bus crowded with locals in full hill tribe getup and regular street clothes alike, pulled up. He gave us a smile and a nod and our bags were tossed in the compartment below while we were herded in to the bus with some chickens and one other foreigner.

 

Our bus bumped and slid along a 'road' (for lack of a better term), teetering on some very steep ledges while locals literally jumped on and off the bus. South East Asians seem to have a knack for jumping in and out of moving vehicles, in all my many bus rides the driver seemed to do no more than slow down to allow for people to jump off along the way, unless it's lunchtime or the final destination, then and only then will they come to a complete stop. It's like a hop on, hop off system, where you are actually required to have hopping skills, more commonly referred to as 'Tuck and Roll'.

 

Around noon we stopped for lunch and a squat break at a, I would say restaurant, but you would picture something completely wrong. Imagine a dirt floor, some plastic chairs, a menacing gang of flies and about 4 mystery choices for lunch behind unrefrigerated glass. That's probably a more accurate portrayal. The squat was potentially the most vile smelling outhouse I have ever entered, and so I will spare you the details.

 

After lunch we were hustled back on to the bus and continued our journey towards the border town of Dien Bien Phu.

 

We arrived after dinner sometime and along with Jared, an American, and a British couple we had picked up along the way, we began our search for accommodation. Eventually we found one that was inconveniently equipped with a lot of stairs. A sadistic amount of stairs. You try carrying a bag that weighs the same amount as an obese midget and you will understand our dislike of inclines and stairs alike.

 

The couple were clearly given the honeymoon suite, though it was never officially stated it was evident in the romantic decor, literally decorated with hearts, provocatively placed mirrors and a picture of a scantily clad man and woman with a caption that read “Get Well Soon”.

 

Day 2 (530am-ish)

Another dark early morning spent heading to a bus station. There wasn't any time to buy snacks for the ride but we were told that we would be stopping for lunch around noon and besides most buses stop every few hours for necessary things like toilet breaks and fuel, which is retrospect, I have no idea where they got gas from since we never stopped for either gas or toilets, unless you count the toilets at the prison (more on that later).

 

The 'bus' was a 15 person van smaller than whatever the PC word is now for a short bus, and it was definitely already full when the 6 of us came trotting up with our tickets in hand. In fact it already looked MORE than full, with people squeezed uncomfortably between seats, bodies and bags.

Backpacks were piled high on top of the van making it about the size of a really big wooly mammoth, if wooly mammoths were as tall as they are in my head, not scientifically speaking. Our backpacks wouldn't fit on top of the van so they were ceremoniously shoved through open windows (think Winnie the Pooh post honey binge) on to unsuspecting passengers heads and then dropped on to the floor where people without seats perched on top of them like a group of hens warming their eggs.

Slowly but surely everyone was piled in to the van. Until I stepped forward. I was the last one up to the door and the man running the show looked at me and said 'No room' and then pointed at the roof.

Um, not likely.

 

I looked at him defiantly, there was no bloody way in hell I was going to ride precariously perched on top of this disaster through the Laos highlands. I paid for a seat and since it didn't look like I would be having what you would traditionally refer to as a seat, I would at least be riding inside of this death trap. 'You' I said and pointed at the roof then pushed past him and in to the bus. Apparently a lack of food and the suggestion of making me pay to ride on the exterior of a vehicle was enough to bring out the rude in me. You really do learn your boundaries while travelling.

I found a small space between the drivers seat and the first row of seats and made my best effort to be comfortable while assuming a position similar to a groundhog checking for his shadow. At some point the woman next to me fell asleep with her head of my shoulder.

And so Day 2 began with 30 passengers. 15 people over capacity.

 

30 people inside of a small bus is hot, even with the windows open, which they weren't on this bus because of the dust on the non-road that we were taking, even with pretend air-conditioner, which no one could feel. But add to that we stopped every couple of kilometers to pick up more passengers and it gets even hotter.

 

By the time we were a couple kilometers from the border we were up to 36 people. A comfortable 21 people over capacity. Food and water were running scarce and we had yet to have a pee/food break. The bus ground to a halt and they asked us all to kindly remove ourselves and walk the remaining couple of kilometers to the Laos checkpoint because the road was too bad to take the van.

 

Don't ask me how the bus/van got over the border, it simply disappeared on one side and reappeared on the other. We, however marched in sandals, over jagged rocks and dusty potholes in 35+ degree weather like a group of refugees looking for a settlement.

 

The Laos checkpoint was a small cinder block building in the middle of nowhere. Literally. The. Middle. Of. Nowhere. There was absolutely nothing on either side. Just dust, trees and a few stray dogs. The only reason we knew we were there is because there was a sign.

 

Approximately 2 hours after we were marched over the border and left to bake in the sun we were again reloaded on to the bus, this time, with two MORE people. There was a collective protest from all the passengers to no avail. Our count was now up to a very intimate 38 people.

 

As we were leaving the border sometime around noon, we inquired as to how much longer we would need to suffer without some form of food, he responded convincingly that it would only be about 'half an hour, maybe', which tamed us only a little. An hour later we stopped, but not for lunch. We stopped because there was 'road' construction, I suppose that means that one day there will really be a road? I would say it's a pretty preemptive title at this point.

 

We were told that we would have to wait 'Two hours' before we would be able to pass (the 'road' that we were on was only 'one lane' wide, the other 'lane' a sharp drop off, so we literally had no choice but to wait). TWO HOURS? What were we going to do here for two hours? There wasn't even any shade! We sat in the dust and accepted our fate, our will being broken down slowly but surely, and were thankfully loaded back in the bus less than an hour later.

 

Another hour passed and people were really taking on the sad, desperate look of third world prisoners. People shared the last of their biscuits and water with what this morning were strangers but were now cellmates in our small prison van, our throats all dry from dust and complaining, and our stomachs empty and protesting.

 

Later (not sure how much later)

More road construction. Again, we were told '2 hours' and everyone piled out. At least this time there was shade. In fact this time there was more than shade, there was a building! A building with a toilet! And where there's a toilet there may be a food vendor! It turns out that there was no food vendor because the building turned out to be a rehab center for meth addicts/prison, hidden away in a very remote part of the Laos highlands. But beggars can't be choosers, and so we quite happily used the prison squats and hid in the shaded eating area (what do they eat? grass?), avoiding the unhappy stares that came through barred windows, what an odd sight we must have been for them, a group of foreigners and locals alike stopping to use prison toilets and chill on the patio, until around 45 minutes later when we were called back to the bus, leaving the real prison for our metaphorical one.

Two of the passengers, an American woman and a Canadian man, had decided to walk ahead of the bus. They only had small day packs with them so they took those with them for supplies. The plan was that they would walk along the road until the bus came by and picked them up. Well, we drove and we drove, but we never saw either the man or the woman, ever again. For all I know they are still wandering the Laos highlands.

 

And then we were 36 again and quietly a little bit happy about the extra room. That's where we were. We were in to offing people to make room for our legs.

 

Sometime after 6pm, more than 12 hours after we originally set off.

We finally stopped for food. There was no toilet but that was ok because few people had to relieve themselves since we were all extremely dehydrated by that point, none of us having prepared to pass an entire day without stopping to drink, pee or eat.

 

We were at what I would call a shop, though I am still to this day not sure whether it was a shop or this woman's home where we literally bought her food supply for the village from her in her candle lit (because there is no power in small rural villages) house. But we bought nearly all of it, dry raman noodles, stale shrimp chips and flat expired pops, and piled back in the bus for the last leg of the journey.

 

A couple hours later, time unknown

A couple of locals had hopped out using their tuck and roll skills to make quick exits in small villages along the way, so we were down to a more reasonable 32 by the time we reached either a flooded road or potentially a river. The bus stopped and they told us all to get out. Once again a collective protest came from the prisoners of the evil bus. Our tickets were supposed to get us all the way to there. Not to the edge of some shite river in the dark about half an hour away from our actual destination. Besides the bus driver had managed to drive through at least 2 rivers that day, what's one more?

 

Once again our whining got us nowhere and we were forced to topple in to small unbalanced boats that took us across what I am assuming was a flooded street. Of course this came at a cost.

Upon arrival on the other side of the river/street we were taken in small pickups, at another additional cost, to Udomxai. I am not sure how it happened but I ended up squeezed in the cab of the truck with about 6 locals, while the remainder of the foreigners rode on the bed of the truck. Everyone was freezing. The mix of cold night air and wind had us all shivering (they kept the window open in the cab of the truck so we weren't exempt from the cold) for the entire ride. Roast during the day and then freeze at night. Lovely.

 

(somewhere around 10pm-11pm-ish)

We finally arrived in Udomxai, shockingly still alive though about 5 pounds lighter each through loss of fluids and lack of food, but considering the journey people were in relatively good moods, survivors triumph I suppose.

 

The following morning we would embark on yet another bus journey in order to get to Luang Prabang.

 

Day 3

We woke up and headed to the bus station early where we saw the most glorious sight. A proper bus, with real seats and air-conditioning. Even though this bus was only going to be about two hours we all stocked up on extra provisions for our trip like we were planning for Armageddon and ate huge filling meals from the food carts. Of course since we were prepared this time, our bus was nothing short of fantastic, we even left and arrived on time.

 

All to save a little bit of money. At least we made it, at least we aren't those two people potentially still wandering the Laos highlands.

 

*the first image is our bus from Dien Bien Phu, taken by Jared Boone, the second image is from the first 'road closure' where Janet shared her meager rationings with me, taken by Janet Foo*