So, after 12 hours on the bus to Pakse and an hour waiting around, we finally hit the road to Si Phan Don. It turned out that the kind-faced man was right about one thing: we arrived at Si Phan Don before noon, meaning that the entire journey from Pakse took 17 hours. I love me some public transport.

We were on the bus with three French couples and an English couple. We knew we were ultimately going to Si Phan Don (Four Thousand Islands), but we weren’t sure which one, because our ticket kept changing. Our original ticket said Don Khong, which was a large one in the north. We did not want Don Khong, so we were pleased when they changed it in Pakse to Don Det, without us even asking. They just collected our original tickets and handed us a new one with a new destination.

It turned out that it didn’t really matter which island we wanted to go to, because no one else had any idea where we were going either. There was one French couple in the bus who was insistent that we go to Don Khone. We passed the turnoff to Don Khong and the bus driver asked if anyone wanted to go there. Yes! Yes! The French couple wanted to go, so down the bumpy road we went, to the river. When we got to the river, they realized they wanted Don Khone (it was all a little confusing and more than a little annoying, after 12+ hours of transport). So back down the bumpy road we went, to the jetty to Don Det and Don Khone.

At the jetty, they directed a bunch of us to a wooden longboat, and we filed in. We floated slowly down the river, past small islands and large rocks, by half-submerged water buffalo and seagrass. We floated between two islands, and the boat docked at the one on the left. We all got off the boat, and the Frenchman was practically apoplectic about being at the wrong island. He was swearing and calling the driver nasty names (behind his back) until T pointed out that we were actually on the island he wanted. Dumbass.

A woman greeted us almost immediately and asked if we needed accommodation and when we said we did, she took us to a guesthouse, which was one of a series of basic cabins along the riverside. Our room was clean and simple, but just across the yard was a kicking Lao wedding going on, with some more crazy Asian pop blasting from the speakers. The lady informed us the wedding would be over at 6, and apologized profusely.

We walked down the road toward the bridge to Don Det and stopped at a toll booth that was charging $1 for foreigners who wanted to cross the bridge or walk under it. Pissed off, we decided to have lunch at the restaurant just before the toll booth, where we watched the river drift lazily past. To T’s horror, there was no Dark Beer Lao in Si Phan Don. When he recovered from the trauma, we made our way back to the room, where we both passed right out from exhaustion, even sleeping through the Lao rap next door. We woke up later, covered in sweat but just in time for the sunset. I’m not sure why, but sunsets in southern Laos and Cambodia are the most amazing I have ever seen. It looks as though the entire sky is on fire.

Just after sunset, the guesthouse turned the generator on, so we finally had electricity. We only had power from about 6 to 10 pm, and it came on and off without warning. We also had no hot water, which was kind of a shock to the system, but very useful in the heat. Because there is no universal power on the island, the restaurants are pretty basic and simple, and all offer almost identical menus. The food was okay, but nothing particularly spectacular, though it must be said that T had some lovely fried noodles on our first night, when we waited until dark and then sneaked past the toll booth, like the criminals we are.

The next day we were feeling highly ambitious, so we decided to rent bikes. I’m not sure what’s wrong with us, if were both missing chips in the brain or something, but we will never learn that it’s always a terrible idea to rent bikes. It’s almost as if we are abused spouses or something. No matter how badly the bikes beat us, we keep running back. Perhaps we should seek psychological help.

We decided to bike to the waterfall, and then bike along some of the paths on Don Khone, and maybe across the bridge to Don Det. We paid the toll at the bridge and went on our merry way. It was really hot, with a blistering sun, but we decided to go anyway, because WE LOVE BIKES! The waterfall is the biggest in the region, with various tributaries all feeding together into giant gushing falls.

Of course, it was not enough that we just look at the main waterfall…we decided to go to the beach for more adventure. We couldn’t find the beach, so we ended up climbing down over all kinds of burning hot rocks in our decrepit flipflops until we finally found it. The beach was a large stretch of sand leading down to the river, which was far too turbulent to swim in. Walking back to the main path, T directed me to the woods, where he told me we should go, based on some footprints and bike tracks. I suggested we go to the obvious path with two bikes already sitting next to it, and he said condescendingly, You have to follow the signs. Guess where the signs led us? Into the middle of the friggin’ forest where no one had ever set foot before. We tramped through the woods and the dried grasses and sticks and leaves for about 20 minutes before we found our way back to the main path. Signs, please. Thats the last time I let boy scout testosterone dissuade me from COMMON SENSE.

If only that were the end of our troubles. We stopped for some drinks to rehydrate ourselves after our rock climbing/extreme hiking experience, and on the way back to the bikes, my sandal fell apart. Still motivated to be ACTIVE!, we hopped on our bikes and took a right, down to the beach. The freshwater dolphin tours leave from the beach, but we decided to wait until late afternoon to try those, because the dolphins are around more in the morning or late afternoon.

And then we made our fatal mistake. On the way out from the beach is a sign that has the name of a village, 4km away. 4km is NOTHING! WE HAVE BIKES! WE ARE YOUNG AND STRONG! Off we went. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The road was narrow and full of rocks. It eventually led to a village, but not ours. We ended up biking through the village until we came to a point of land full of Japanese tourists on bikes, who shook their heads at us and said, No go. Back we went, taking a different road this time after the village (mostly because I couldn’t stomach the bumpy rock road). We biked through some woods, and some children ran up to us and asked for money, which was weird, because we haven’t seen much begging. We rode past them, and then we discovered why they were asking.

We were stuck. The road led to a metal bridge that had collapsed onto itself. I almost cried. So we walked our bikes down a hill, through a beach, and back up a hill. We kept riding, past two more bridges. On one, T took each bike and carefully walked across the fragile bridge, with me following (but not at the same time, lest the fragile bridge collapse under the weight of T and the thighs). At the third bridge, we walked around and were trying to lug the bikes back up a dirt hill when an angel appeared. A Dutch or Scandinavian girl, all alone, popped her face over the top of the hill, laughing and asking “Maybe not such a good idea with bikes?” She helped us get the bikes up the hill and told us it wasn’t so far to go back to town. We are both pretty sure she had a halo.

And so on we went, sweaty and dehydrated and hungry. We got to a T-junction and almost had simultaneous strokes from the stress of not knowing where to go. We kept going straight and almost cried when we reached our first village in ages. I’m pretty sure we terrified the woman in the town who owned the restaurant where we stopped. We pulled in, with matted hair and dirty faces, and choked out water. The poor woman handed us some and stepped way, way back. Rejuvenated by the water, we kept going. When we finally reached the village, I would have cried, were I not so exhausted and dehydrated. It was 4pm and we left for the waterfall before 11. Never in my life have I been so happy for a cold water shower.

I mean it this time: I am never, NEVER, renting a godforsaken bike again. Please, don’t let me do it. Punch me in the face instead–it would be less painful.