For
as long as I can remember, my Grandma Lee has always told me, “Watch
your back.” I'd grin and promise her (with a loving eye-roll) that
I would and remind her not to worry so much. “Oh Grandma,” I'd
think, “The world isn't a terrible place full of terrible people
trying to do terrible things. Trust me.”
On
Tuesday, I wish I had heeded her advice.
I
was wrapping up my fourth day of the Thakhek Loop in Laos - a
motorbike circle snaking around and over limestone mountains and with
caves to visit along the way. I had just visited Pha Ihn Cave and
took a zillion photos of the carved, wooden Buddah statues, sparkly
shrine décor, and colored, triangle cloth streamers strewn from wall
to wall. I was sweaty, my butt was saddle sore, and I was only 11km
from my guesthouse and final destination. It was early in the
afternoon so I decided to stop at Ta Falang Lake – a recommended
stopping point along the loop - to take a dip, cool down, and rinse
off the sweat, grime, and dust before completing my tour.
After
about a kilometer on a bumpy, dirt road, I arrived and parked my
motorbike next to one of the two other motorbikes in the dirt lot on
the high bank near the water. Walking down to the water's edge, I
greeted a young Western couple and looked for a place in the shade to
set my day-pack, making sure it was within eyesight. I heard a giant
splash behind me and saw a young Laotian man, perhaps 20 years old,
swim around the corner. I had seen an older Laotian man smoking a
cigarette farther down and assumed they were together.
As
I was about to go into the water, the young man emerged, wringing out
his wet T-shirt.
“Hello!
Sabaidee!” I said with a smile.
“Sabaidee!”
he smiled back.
I
walked carefully into the water, watching my step on the slippery
rocks, but within seconds I dove in. The water was warm, which I
thought was odd, seeing that the Ta Falang “Lake” was actually a
river flowing in a valley between mountains. My attention was only
momentarily distracted, but that was long enough.
When
I looked back to shore, maybe 20 feet from where I tread water, the
young man was gone – and so was my day-pack.
When
I yelled, “F*ck! They stole my bag!!” I caught the attention of
the young couple I had greeted earlier. I ran up to the parking
area, but the two men had already disappeared on their motorbike.
Two dark-skinned, dark haired Laotian men on a red motorbike with a
black wire basket. Unfortunately, a description which identifies
about 99% of the Laotian men I've seen and about 70% of the
motorbikes.
As
I stood there dripping, in total and complete shock, Christian jumped
on his bike and motioned me to hop on. “Left or right?” he
asked. Right, towards the main road? I was taking a shot in the
dark.
At
the main road, I tried to communicate as quickly and clearly as
possible to a group of locals that I had just been robbed. It was a
game of 'Gestures' that wasn't fun in the slightest. “My
backpack,” I motioned, “My camera, iPhone, iPod, money.” The
sun-baked gravel was burning my bare feet, and despite feeling
frantic, I was also very aware of the fact that I was standing in a
village in only my bikini – a giant no-no in the conservative
Laotian culture.
One
of the men got on his cell phone and made a call. Whether he was
calling for help, to notify a nearby village, or just ringing a buddy
to tell him there was a crazy, practically naked, foreign mime-woman
in his yard, I couldn't be sure. I returned to Christian and his
motorbike feeling completely defeated. “Oh my God...it's all
gone.”
As
we drove back to the swimming place, I discovered a bag of cold
medication I had purchased earlier that week on the ground. Next was
my paper map of the loop. Then, my headlamp, smashed. They
discarded what they deemed worthless and took the rest. A small
trail of things as a final, “F*ck you, you f*cking tourist!”
When
I got off the motorbike, I was shaking. My clothes and shoes were
still on the rocks where I had left them, so I got dressed.
Christian and Keira had a cell phone I used to call my motorbike
rental place – the motorbike key was in my pack. Mr. Ku answered
and said someone would be there in 20-30 minutes.
“Well,
it's a good thing motorbike rental places make you leave your
passport as a deposit. At least they didn't steal that,” Keira
soothed.
Oh
God, my passport…I left a different ID with the rental place
instead, I remembered. “No, they have my passport too,” I said.
“F*ck,”
she said.
“Yeah,”
I said.
Christian
and Keira insisted on waiting with me until the rental guy arrived
with the spare key. Pierre, another backpacker traveling the loop,
arrived and we filled him in on what had happened. About ten minutes
later, three Laotian men pulled
in and jumped
off
their motorbikes. They were
dressed
in ragged, dirty clothes – and two of them were
carrying giant rifles – from one of the rifles, a pink teddy bear
hung,
swaying with the man's movements.
The
only one without
a gun pointed
at the four of us and at the bikes and started
yelling
things in Lao. It dawned
on me that the local guy I spoke to must have called the village
police. It didn't
help that the only things I knew
how to say in Lao were
“Hello!” and “Thank you very
much!”
Thankfully,
Mr. Ku's mechanic, Mick, turned up with the spare key and a rather
decent grasp of the English language. We gave a description as best
we could, and I reported
all of the items that had been stolen:
Nikon
D3100 Camera with 18-55mm Lens
Nikon
55mm Lens
iPhone
4
iPod
$190
dollars in Laotian currency (I had just gone to the ATM that very
morning.)
Passport
Visa
Credit & Debit Card
Drivers
License
Old
Navy Flipflops
Knockoff
RayBan Sunglasses
It
was a thieves jackpot. And, I
wasn't watching my back.
Between
Christian, Keira, and Pierre, I left Ta Falang Lake with 500,000 kip
– the equivalent of about $60 USD – which they insisted I take
(seeing
as I would have no way to take out cash without a credit or debit
card) and telling
me simply to pay it forward. I had held it together up to that
point, but as I hugged them each goodbye, I nearly cried.
~ ~ ~
It's
incredible how important a small, blue booklet is.
In
the four days since I was robbed, I have been to the police station
in
Thakhek three
times (Lao efficiency at it's finest) in
order to get a single-sided piece of paper with an official stamp and
signature stating that I reported my passport (and other valuables)
stolen. This is the piece of paper I must take with me when I
travel 8 hours north to Vientiane,
Lao's capital city, to then go to the Laos Immigration Department to
get a “certificate of loss” (which can take 1-2 business days).
Then, I must visit the US Embassy (on the other side of the city) to
pick up my new passport which is currently en route from Bangkok.
Then, I must take both the “certificate of loss” (it was STOLEN
NOT LOST!!!) and my brand-spanking new passport allllll the way
across the city (again) to the Lao Consular Department at the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Dumbledore??...Am
I being punked???) where I can (finally!) request a replacement visa
entry stamp...only to be required to leave the country pretty
much straight away since
my visa expires on May 20th.
Besides
the significant cost in time from
this
whole debacle, I've determined that my small day-pack and all it's
contents total about $1,700 USD. While
I keep being reminded (by both myself and others) that “it's only
money and all material things can be replaced” (yeah, yeah, yeah…),
it's still a punch to the gut and a knock to the bank account. I've
never been one to spend money frivolously and always think twice
(well, thrice – well, multiply that times ten…) when making a
purchase, big or small. It's a
big reason
why I am
able to afford to
travel as much as I do.
But,
even more heart-wrenching than the cost in time and in money, is the
fact that I lost three weeks of photos (which I am still kicking
myself for not backing up). This included the spectacular hot air
balloon ride I went on in Vang Vieng, Laos. But,
I'll have those colorful mental
snapshots
stored away in my mind until I'm old and gray!
There
has certainly been a lot in the past four days that could contribute
to a rather poor outlook on traveling abroad – people stealing
shit, belching police officers, THE GOD-FORSAKEN 100+ DEGREE
WEATHER!!!
Yet,
today
I
find myself so grateful. Emotionally, my time in Southeast Asia for
the first three months was a pretty rough roller-coaster ride. It
took me a significant amount of time to acclimate (and I'm STILL
acclimating more and more every single day). There is so much about
the Southeast Asian culture that I found and
continue to find
extremely jarring as a Western traveler – scooters beeping
incessantly in the
chaos of Vietnam traffic...Cambodian
wedding blessings being blared from loudspeakers during all hours of
the day...corrupt
police officers in Thailand...Laotian Tuk-Tuk drivers selling
tourists marijuana and edibles at 2 o'clock in the morning...the
exorbitant amount of trash left to scatter in the wind...the stray
dogs with swollen nipples and matted fur sniffing for food
scraps...and peeing in a squat toilet (of which I STILL have not
entirely mastered), drip drying (cause why would there be any toilet
paper?) and “washing” your hands in water (cause soap is really
just overrated).
So,
why in the world am I grateful? Because while
I experienced
the
heartless side of humanity four
days ago,
I've
been on the receiving end of the
beautiful, sparkling, and heart-full
side of humanity too.
I've been shown such kindness from the staff at Thakhek Travellodge
where I've been “stuck” without a passport or cash. We're
jumping rope together, doing yoga together, and playing guitar
together. I've received countless messages from family and friends
asking me how I'm doing and offering to help in anyway they can. (In
the event that you have a US passport with the name “Anna Lucas”
and a photo of a smoking hot American brunette please expedite it my
way!) I won't pretend that this situation has been easy. In all
honestly, it's been a downright pain in the arse (and it ain't over
yet). But, I thank God for all the good it's brought my way. And,
I'm going to continuing trying to focus my attention
in that direction and keep moving forward.
As
a fellow backpacker sang to me on the day shit hit the fan, “Always
look on the bright side of life! Do do, do do, do do, do do!”
