"I WISH IT WOULD SNOW"

DON KHONE, LAOS

Temperature: 40 degrees Celsius (feels like 80 degrees Celsius)

Track of the day: Sleeping to dream, Jason Mraz

"Lonely Planet says Don Khone is the most laid back of the islands," I read aloud to Alecs on the bus heading to Si Phan Don (10,000 islands). "I'd say that's the island we should hit then," Alecs says reclining his seat and closing his eyes. Once at the pier in Ban Nakasang we join a couple other tourists (including an annoying Canadian girl) and make the scenic journey to our island of choice. Water buffalo wade near the shore of the river completely submerged with only their heads bobbing on the surface. Fishermen cast nets in the water while storks frolic on the tiny green islets dotting the river. After hopping off the wooden boat we walk down another one-street town to find a cheap guesthouse. Our first choice is Pan's guesthouse which is already fully booked so we head next door to a lovely little place (Xuay Mountry Guesthouse) with clean $7 rooms, a nice communal balcony with a hammock and a generator from 6PM-10PM (there isn't 24 hour electricity on this island). This island is attached to the more backpacker island of Don Det by a beautiful old bridge with a mandatory $1 a day toll 

booth on either side. "Let's walk down the shore and get our bearings," I say to Alecs after taking a nice cold shower. We find a small family of ducks swimming upstream, but while watching, a little duckling gets separated from it's mom and begins crying out for her. I spend the next half hour stressing about the fate of the little duckling, watching the mom drift further and further away. "No! Go back to the water," I say under my breath as the tiny yellow ball of feathers climbs up the bank of the river.

"Don't worry," Alecs says reassuring me, "it's nature, it'll work itself out." Sure enough the mom and her other babies wander back down-stream and the little lost one stumbles down the hill reuniting with its family. "Feel better now?" Alecs asks smiling. I nod my head. "I need to clean up my burn" I say showing Alecs my oozing wound. While dismounting my motorbike back in Champasak I touched my leg to the exhaust pipe and instantly burned a 3-inch circle near my ankle. It has been blistering every morning since,  but aside 

from keeping it clean, there isn't much I can do. "I think I'm going to like this place," Alecs says later that night while rocking in a hammock. There isn't much to do here on the island, but that's the main draw. The generator kicks in at 6PM and we head to our room to make use of the 4 hours with a fan. "I wish it would snow," I say to Alecs who is laying on his bed with a cold towel on his head and cold water bottles under his arms. He's attempting to curb his heat exhaustion that left him dizzy and nauseous. We both eventually fall into a  sweaty sleep only to wake up just as sweaty.

The morning comes earlier than usual for us as the heat seeps in through the window to our room without a fan. A rooster crows in the near proximity and Alecs and I are both wide awake but already exhausted from the heat. For us Laos could be described in one word - slow, and it didn't seem that life could be anymore laid back until we arrived here. Time here seems endless where only the position of the sun seems to have a bearing on the day. Two little boys in their crisp white uniforms play soccer with a bamboo ball on the way to class while a group of Lao women beat clothes against the rocks in the river. The sun is in the centre of the sky and Alecs and I muster up the energy to return to our usual restaurant where a sweet young girl takes our orders, handing us

each a cold bottle of Pepsi. "I'm jealous," I say, watching three naked little kids splashing in the river below us giggling profusely and acting like the kids they are. "Maybe that's  what we should do

tomorrow," Alecs says wiping the sweat off his brow. Tomorrow however brings much of the same laziness which mostly involves cold drinks and hammocks. The guesthouse staff returned our clothes we had laundered and Alecs and I can't understand how they can be so clean and smell so good when they were washed in the river - truly remarkable. It's now our final day in Laos and we rise early to beat the heat heading across the bridge connecting us to Don Det, another island. We take a wrong turn and end up walking for almost an hour on a deserted shadeless dirt path across the centre of the island. "I think my brain is boiling inside my head," I say, standing under one of the three trees along the path. We finally decide to walk back and find the even smaller dirt path along the river that is mostly shaded. "I can't believe we didn't see this path," Alecs says as we pass a hammock lounge. "A PUPPY!" I shout running over to a tiny little ball of fur that couldn't be more than 6 weeks old. I pick the little pup up nuzzling it and missing my own dogs profusely. After a few minutes (or maybe more, but whose counting) I let the puppy go and continue on our way down the length of the island. "do you see what I see?"

 Alecs says noticing an empty sandy cove leading to the river. We excitedly look at each other and run like children to the water's edge. "It's cold," I say happily quickly wading in feeling the cool water flow over every part of me. Alecs swims out to the deeper part of the river and commences floating on his back. Another slightly older puppy wanders down to the river for a drink of water. "ANOTHER PUPPY," I say ecstatically, swimming over to pick it up. I play with the puppy until it becomes bored with me when I let it go. The puppy then decides to steal Alecs sandal and I end up chasing it up the sandy bank to retrieve it. "You rascal," I say to the puppy scratching it's head. We spend the entire day playing in the river like the locals, beating the heat and working on my tan, 

which is now a farmer's tan. Our fingers are more wrinkled than we've ever seen them and some speedo tourists join us signaling our time for departure. We head back to the hotel for a nice cold shower before another dinner at our favorite restaurant. The sound of laughing children goes well into the night and as the sun sets they are joined by parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. "I could live here," I tell Alecs. "When we are back in Canada and it's minus 20 outside this is the moment I will think of," I say. Sitting here as the sun turns the sky a brilliant shade of red while laughing

 children play in the river and adults mingle over a bottle of beer Lao, I can't help but feel these are the people living life as it should be lived. Tomorrow we are sadly leaving Laos and heading to Cambodia, we are excited about seeing the land of Angkor Wat but already missing the Lao life.

Until next time, so long.

Alecs and Meg in Don Khone

Ps. There are three videos below as well.