April 21 Oudom Xai: Sometimes it doesn't pay to have a map.

Leaving Luang Prabang, I head north to cross the border from Laos to China.
I decide to visit two towns on the way -- Oudom Xai and Luang Namtha -- just
to squeeze as much of Laos in as possible before I leave. Having mailed my
Rough Guide travel book home in the last package I mailed back to Canada (in
order to make room for my Lonely Planet China), the only maps I have for
these two towns are on the back of a Laos map, which, although out of date,
is the only one available all over the country.

The map shows Oudom Xai to be a basic, one-main-street town, running
north-south, with about a half dozen guesthouses. The bus station appears to
be right in the centre of town on the east side of the street, right next to
the bank, with several guesthouses around it. An ideal situation. However,
when we arrive, we turn into a bus station that's on the west side of the
main street with no bank in sight and only one guesthouse within walking
distance. This does not look good.

I drag my bag over to the one guesthouse, settle in to a basic room (a
single with shared grungy bath) for $2.50. Changing from running shoes into
a pair of thongs, I head out to explore, starting with the bus station to
buy some water.

There's a large mud puddle as I approach the bus station so I decide to walk
around it on what looks like solid grass. I take one step in. Sploosh! My
right foot sinks two inches into what is actually another mud puddle that
obviously learned camouflage techniques in the Indochina wars. I can't move
my foot. I take another step in a different direction. Spoosh again. I am
standing on a mud-puddle Twister board. Pulling my right foot out, my thong
gets stuck for a brief second, then comes out with a snap, spraying mud up
my legs and back, and even reaching my hair, much to the delight of a
roadside fruit-vendor nearby, who says something in Lao that I'm sure
translates to, "Watch out for the mud, stupid foreigner." Then my thong
falls off my foot and, losing my balance, I am forced to quickly step down
with my bare right foot, firmly placing it in more mud. I try to reach for
my lost thong, raising my left foot in the process and sending another
stream of mud up my shorts, my shirt and my arms. The fruit-vendor lets our
a loud cry of hysterics and calls my predicament to the attendtion of anyone
in the vicinity. Nothing like a stupid farlang, stuck like a pig, ankle deep
in mud, to make their day.

By the time I make my way back out through the swamp to the road, both my
feet are completely coated in mud, I am holding both thongs at arm's length
and I have become a popular spectacle. The dark brown color of the mud goes
well with the red of embarrassment in my face. I think some designer should
come up with a new outfit -- mud brown shirt, brown pants -- called Lao Bus
Station: the Perfect Color Scheme for the Clumsy Backpacker. Keeping a smile
of bravado on my face, I walk, barefoot, back to my guesthouse to clean up.

Once changed, I head out looking for food. I haven't eaten since having a
banana and orange for breakfast and it's approaching 4:00. I am starving.
Seeing what appears to be a typical roadside restaurant, I approach and ask
in broken Lau if there is any food. The woman preparing vegetables at a
little table looks at me like I'm from another planet. "Mu" ("pork")? I ask.
No response. "Beef?" "Chicken?" "Tofu?" She shakes her head but I'm not sure
if it means they have none or she just thinks I'm crazy. I move on.

About another hundred yards down the road I see a sign in English! "Oudom
Xai Club and Restaurant." I am saved! I turn into a long driveway only to
find a large, old building, locked and abandoned. Depression sets in.

Afer walking about half a mil, I see, another half mile away, the town. It
seems the $6 map from which I took directions in Luang Prabang is years out
of date. The bus station had moved to the outskirts of town. When I finally
reach the centre, I find the bank, Internet shops, gas stations and...
restaurants. If I had gone there to begin with, I'd be happily ensconsed at
a table already, my stomach full, sipping a fruit shake or Lao coffee for
dessert, and not worrying about mud stains on a perfectly good pair of
pants.

Sometimes, it doesn't pay to have a map.