Si Phan Don - Don Det

Day four on Don Det. The reason why I've not written anything at all for the past three days was because I decided to take a break from everything upon my arrival here on this island. No rushing, no writing, no thinking even. I told myself that I'd recuperate from my wounds and injuries; recharge and recover my energy; rest and relax from my adventures thus far.

Si Phan Don, literally translated to the 'Four Thousand Islands' greeted me with rain falling from low dark clouds and sullen tourists in windbreakers leaving the islands. I'd heard that southern Laos is the wetest part of the country. I thought, 'Maybe I expected too much from it after having been told of its wonders.' I couldn't have been more wrong. Approaching the islands by boat, the relative movements of the boat on the river causes the illusion that the islands themselves were floating downriver.

This far upriver, the Mekong flows with fast strong currents to its distant delta in southern Vietnam. Its surface is disturbed and half-submerged trees try their best to stand upright - the remains of islands drowned by the rising water level during the rainy season now as the river carries melted snow from the Tibetan mountains.

The constant murmur and gurgle of the river fills the cool air. And I mean cool - it's the first time I've ever had to use a blanket during sleep. There is no need for fans as the cool breeze blows into the wooden bungalow (which I've rented) through windows and the door (which I leave ajar) as well as floorboards beneath which the river runs and laps at the stilts and bank.

Life here is idyllic, perfect even. I wake to a glorious sunrise and the (less pleasant) rev of rocketboats on their way to the market at Ban Nakasang across the river or Don Khong further upriver. The rest of the day is filled with reading (which I've contradictorily) allowed myself on the hammock hung in the balcony interspersed with short breaks of taking in the view of the river that ultimately end in short naps.

When I'm hungry, I eat. When I'm bored, I take long walks along the muddy trail circumventing the island or the rocky path bisecting the island. The former takes you past wooden houses on stilts where chicks run behind their mother hen, where ducks and cows graze in what tiny patches of grass there are, and piglets and boar-lets are tied to coconut trees. The latter takes you through emerald green paddy fields where adolescent boys drive oxen to plough their fields and children help their parents plant young paddy shoots.

Here, I feel like Maugham's Lotus Eater. I don't think his failed suicide was a reflection of his inability to make tough decisions after having liver a life without them. I think he realized that life was just too good and he couldn't bear to leave it for the uncertainties of death.

In the evening, the women go down to the river to do their laundry. Little boys bring their small boats made of bamboo with makeshift propellers of elastic bands and flat sticks down to the river to play. As the sun dips even lower in the evening sky, everyone heads down to the river to bathe: stark naked children and sarong-clothed adults.

With the setting of the sun, the islands are plunged into darkness. There is no electricity supply to the island but farmers and bungalow landlords have installed generators to generate electricity for a short while into the night to prepare for bed. Nights here are oh-so-humid but for the cool breeze from the river. Some are characterized by heavy monsoon storms with strong winds, brilliant flashes of lightning and the crashing of thunder as the rain falls noisily on the river and the tin roof.

Here, the people wake with the rising of the sun and sleep with the setting of the sun. Their days are a neverending cycle of fieldwork and other related housekeeping chores. There is no sense of time; only a rough reckoning based on the position of the sun and the growling of stomachs.

It is absolutely perfect here. The place is gorgeous, the weather just right and life here is simple, basic. If I didn't leave today, I would never ever leave. Somewhere on this island is a guesthouse with a signboard saying, 'Welcome to Paradise,' and true enough, here at Si Phan Don, I've found a piece of paradise on earth. I promised that I'd return again someday and I definitely will.