March 28, 2002
Mekong River
Smoky haze fills the sky, orange sun is filtered by exhaust from seasonal burning. The scenery has changed.
We are coasting down the Mekong aboard a commissioned longboat on our first day in Laos. Lush mountains through filtered haze rise on both sides of the muddy river. Rocky islands spanned with sand break the water's surface. The Lao dry season is upon us. The river banks have dozens of extra feet. Low water makes for a serpentine route as the captain navigates the strong current avoiding the sand bars, the rocks, and the infrequent traffic. Some speed by in long, pointed, colorful speed boats powered by noisy engines and long spinning propellers trailing by more than a meter. These "rocket boats" deafen an already deafening journey thanks to our own diesel engine.
Passengers line both sides of the longboat attempting comfort and non-chalance as we invade historic Laos enroute to Luang Prabang. Two days of river travel are ahead before more traditional exploration can begin. For now I'm happy watching the muddy waters flow by, watching fishermen net from jutting rocks, absorbing the scenery as mountains sustain jungle that give way to the river in land sliding interface. For now we can be content watching our newly conquered country meander by. The official government brochures, Intrepid memos, and Lonely Planets feed our minds.
Like the rest of Indochina, Laos has had a troubled past. Insurgence from Siam, from France, from Vietnam, from China, and from America. Laos is a country that was nearly swallowed by the Siamese, then colonized by the French, then corrupted by a king who was financed by 
CIA short sitedness, then turned upon and relentlessly bombed. A stop at an island village dissipates this historical headache I've developed.
Children playing marbles on the beach interrupt my morbid thoughts. We exchange greetings. They look longingly at the Thai biscuits in my backpack. We chat with blank stares and I offer postcards from my home and friendly smile stickers. Suddenly there are more children. Laughing, posing for pictures, proudly displaying their stickers, and arguing over who gets to keep the 50 cent postcard showing Minneapolis from the North side across the Hennepin Avenue Bridge toward downtown. How could they possibly care? They have war to prepare for... Probably.
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