The Froy-dian Slip (Post 4)

My travel companion- Ollie Froy- is one of my favourite people in the world. He is not only hilarious and outrageous, he is also a caring friend and brother. It is for this reason that I am proud to be able to claim that I saved his life in Laos, no matter how dubious that claim may be. However, before I relay my heroic tale, I must mention Ollie’s total ineptitude at saving my life several days before.

Arriving in Huay Xai as dusk began to fall, Ollie and I enjoyed using our forgotten limbs after the horrendous seven hour Motor boat ride that we had endured. We were so grateful for the sensation of having blood reaching our extremities that we barely noticed that there was literally nothing to do in Huay Xai. We whiled away the evening with a lovely meal overlooking the Mekong, serenaded by distant (but not distant enough) wailing of a Karaoke bar, with regular interruptions from a belligerent Preying Mantis who had clearly just received a surprisingly large electricity bill despite recently purchasing solar panels. This was all I could manage however, and after almost being electrocuted by a malicious plug socket, I hopped on-board the ferry to dreamland.

Problem! One of the side effects of Malerone, our exploitatively expensive Malaria tablets, is the regular experiencing of vivid dreams.

Second problem! I sleep walk even if I don’t ingest Malerone.

Solution! Literally none whatsoever.

At about 3am, I awoke yelling “We have to get out of here!” Clutching my duvet around me, I sprinted out the room.

Seconds later, I crashed back through the door, flinging my duvet contemptuously back into the room, clearly without need of such an item during this subconscious apocalypse. Then, sprinting for my life, I reached the balcony, with nothing but a metre high wall stopping me from plunging to the road below. Thankfully, it was at this point that I realised where I was, and began to come around. I sheepishly returned to the room.

It was quite a relief that there was no emergency. As I returned to the room, I realised that Ollie had barely moved. Though he was just about awake, he had not budged an inch. Had the building been the epicentre of a monumental catastrophe, Ollie would have absorbed every shockwave. Equally, had I been destined to meet a sticky-end balcony-style, he would have been as useful as a triple-A battery in a torch that requires double-A batteries. But no, not me, not I.

The very reason that we had come to Huay Xai, was to join the world-renowned “Gibbon Experience”, an innovative project that combines wildlife conservation, adrenaline, and the insatiable desire of tourists to enjoy both. Enjoying the coveted position of “most recommended thing to do in Laos” in the knowing eyes of Lonely Planet, (Other travel guides are available)(But not recommended), this was the motivation for our hideously uncomfortable detour of everything else in Laos. This honestly turned out to be a fantastic decision.

We were joined on our trip by three other travellers: two lovely Swiss girls who were travelling the region together, and a Belgian lady who was bravely travelling solo. Getting to know them was a great pleasure, and we probably could not have wished for better travel companions. We learned to love the feisty humour of our swiss companions, and was balanced really nicely with the quiet peacefulness that encompassed our Belgian friend.

Having left the dusty road from Huay Xai on our way to the rainforest, we forded a little stream before pulling up next to a corrugated Iron shed that seemed ridiculously out of place. It gleamed like the teeth of a z-list celebrity. Our driver got out, frowned at us, and spat violently into the undergrowth. Seconds later, a gunshot rang out only a few metres away from us, splitting the air with a sinister crack. As a group we all stiffened; less feisty and less peaceful. A few seconds later, a short burst of gun-fire filled the air again. My heart started to beat equally speedily and equally as loud. Had this angry looking man driven us here to ransom us? I looked at his crisp white shirt and designer jeans- he certainly looked like a well resourced man, and he was spectacularly unflustered by the prospect of our impending deaths. As he disappeared into the recesses of the shiny shed, I half expected him to reappear as a Rambo, guns and all. He didn’t. He appeared with a truck so beastly that it made Jaws look like a mentally-challenged goldfish. My chances of surviving the Laos-militia looked slightly more promising.

We hopped into the new vehicle, and drove reassuringly towards the gun-fire, which was becoming increasingly regular. A bit of history for you: Laos has never won a war. Facing several invasions in the 20th Century, Laos had successfully capitulated to every single one of them. A few days before, we had seen a whole army platoon sun-bathing (in uniform) by the side of the road, apparently awaiting the next occasion in which one of their neighbours had a craving for some Lebensraum. As the bullets continued to fly nearby, I began to fear that I would play a major role in News headlines around the world. My fears were not abated when a man holding a ripe AK-47  stepped into the road.

Dressed from neck to waist in Camouflage gear, and scowling like another belligerent preying mantis who had clearly just received a surprisingly large electricity bill despite recently purchasing solar panels, he barked at our driver. After a heated debate, we were permitted to continue and we collectively breathed a sigh of relief. Another mass exhaling occurred moments later, when we discovered the source of the shooting.

Apparently, somebody in Laos had read their horrible-histories, and was trying to do something about it. Less than 5 metres from a public road, carelessly spraying bullets towards some worryingly unharmed targets, sat (yes sat!) the Lao army, or most of them at least. I counted about 50. Waiting for a brief lull in the faux-massacre, we sped on by. In fact we sped on for the next hour, as our driver was either keen to avoid the bullets or to grind our Coccyx’ into a cheap alternative to Bicarbonate of Soda. Nevertheless, it was surprisingly fun, but as we roared through ever thickening jungle, I couldn’t help think that any gibbons left in the reserve would soon be complaining to the council about the noise.

After a brief stopover in a local village we began our journey into the rainforest. It was incredible. Huge trees formed a wall of timber as far as the eye could see, interspersed with emerald bushes and lianas, sparring for the tiny, infrequent patches of light, still permitted through the canopy. A cloying but not unpleasant  scent of fresh earth hung in the air, whilst the gentle chorus of insects charmed us further into this eden. An array of butterflies greeted us at every step; iridescent thieves of each trekker’s attention. Occasionally, a distant cry or cackle would remind us that there were bigger critters here too. As a self-described animal maniac, my brain began to whir at every noise and movement, as every sense that I own tried to identify its source from the zoological encyclopaedia that simultaneously acts as my brain. It was only as we reached our accommodation that my yearning to indulge in wildlife watching was gratified.

Yeah, i know... stunning!

I have never slept in such an incredible place. Deep in the reserve, several tree houses had been built: beautiful lodges that nestled amongst the canopy, giving us breathtaking views of the forest-clothed mountains whilst also allowing us an intimate, unimposing view of this new world. A stunning panoply of birds darted amongst the tress, from minute but dazzling sunbirds to thuggish hornbills, excitable parrotlets to ungainly doves. Small mammals scurried through the branches around us, agonizingly difficult to identify. Even the large spiders that lived in the roof of the treehouse were a fascinating, if not unsettling addition. Waking up each morning, to see the sun rise over such a beautiful landscape, listening to the sorrowful songs of gibbons, whilst enjoying the most delicious, authentic food that I tasted in Laos, I felt truly blessed to be able to be there, a small cog in a beautiful creation. Even as I showered au naturel and exposed on every side, a situation that a Brit would normally have nightmares about, there was an aura of bliss about the place.

Except for dear Ollie. Of the many qualities my wonderful friend possesses, grace is not included. Graciousness, yes- he is absolutely lovely. Gracefulness? Absolutely not. Similarly to the speedboats, it turns out that the rainforest is also not quite big enough for him. The first incident happened on the first day, as we were learning how to zip line. Oh yes, did I forget? Our primary method of travel in the rainforest was via zip line! Boasting some of the longest and highest zip lines in the world, this is the most incredible way to see the rainforest. Hurtling just above the trees at a staggering rate of knots, the views, if you could dare look at them, were spectacular, with pristine forest stretching to the horizon, dabbled with beautiful swathes of mist, birds darting in and out of the trees. Speedy, safe and unobtrusive, we were able to traverse the forest in style. Most of the time anyway.

I had decided it would be a good idea to start catching some of our journeys on film and after hopping off the zip line myself, i turned in order to film Ollie arriving. A gentle humming filled the air assuring me that my friend was on his way. Moments later, almost a ton of British wit came flying into view at an alarmingly high velocity. The zip line’s breaks, obviously used to bearing with very light people, was clearly not comfortable with stopping the Rolls-Royce-like figure that had demanded it’s service. With a horrific clonk Ollie swung upwards, cracking into the wire. Here is a transcript of what followed:

(beep) (beeeeeep) (beeeping) (beeep) that (beeeping) hurt like a (beeeping) (beeep) (beeep) of a (beeeping) (beeep).

(I regret that due the PG rating of this blog, some words in this transcript had to be beeped out.)

A nearby hornbill put its wings over its young chicks ears. Squirrels in hushed voices warned their offspring not to repeat what they just heard. A group of elderly gibbons complained about “humans these days are just so rude, i bet it’s the fault of all those video games that they play.” A nearby snake just looked puzzled as it wasn’t bilingual. And poor Ollie was left with a menacing gash from his eyebrow to his cheek, effectively transforming him from a student traveller to a bond villain.

This, though, was nothing compared to what happened the next day.

Having spent a glorious day zip-lining through the jungle, we arrived back at the treehouse in a trance, a satisfying cocktail of joy and exhaustion. Having trekked for miles in high humidity over hilly terrain, we were all a sweaty heap of wheezing westerners, whilst our guides, both wearing only flip-flops, had the aura of somebody who had just spent the weekend at a relaxation spa, utterly unaffected. By way of defending Ollie, I would like to point out that he was tired. By way of utterly destroying any pity that you may have just felt, I would like to point out that we were all tired.

Bang! Crash! thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, crunch! The sound of a geography students head colliding with a solid tree trunk, like two male ibex duelling over who’s turn it was to empty the dishwasher. “beeep, beeping, beep, beep, beeping beeped beep.” Ollie once more shared his angry repertoire with the rainforest, indicating that dishwasher duties would indeed be his.

I rushed to find out what had happened, finding Ollie in a heap, blood gushing from his forehead. Glancing at his leg, I could tell that he had also suffered a nasty break. Our guide ran over, screaming in Latin, and pointing angrily at Ollie, “You hurt our tree,” he yelled over and over again, bludgeoning Ollie further with a 7 iron golf club.

This isn’t true- not a single bit of it, however it may as well have been for Ollie as he has absolutely no recollection of the next 15 minutes of his life. At first inspection, the fall didn’t seem to have had much of an impact on Ollie. After shouting for a bit, he got up, checking for cuts and sprains. Breathing a sigh of relief, I began to relax, but I was far too hasty. Midway through a sentence, Ollie suddenly changed. His demeanour went from being that of an angry Brit to a lethargic cauliflower. You know the dead stare that cuddly toys have? Ollie expertly mimicked it, eyes first, then muscles. Thankfully, I reacted just quickly enough to catch this ginormous, and suddenly cuddly, teddy bear as he collapsed in a heap. For the first time in my life, I empathised with Atlas the Titan when he was commissioned with holding up the sky, although I imagine the sky is much lighter then Ollie. Staggering under his weight, I called for help, and was grateful to see a spark of life return to his eyes. He stood up and began speaking gibberish and I have to say that it was good to see him return to normal. Nevertheless, moments later, he collapsed into my arms once again, his pupils the size of a helipad. This continued for the next few minutes. If Ollie had been a cricket ball, then whoever had kept batting him toward me was clearly having a bad day, as I caught him every time. It was almost as we were acting Juliet’s death in Romeo and Juliet several times. If you are reading this and you happen to be my future wife, firstly, congratulations! and secondly, please don’t worry, nothing happened between Ollie and I, I just happened to save his life. Glancing over at the flimsy and remarkably low barrier that stood between us and a 50 foot plunge, I shuddered to think what could have happened if we had attributed Ollie’s loud shouting to normality. As Ollie began to come around, we managed to get him into bed.

Apart from a fleeting, distant glimpse within 5 minutes of first arriving at the treehouse, the gibbons had managed to stay hidden from us. This was hardly surprising: due to hunting and habitat loss, there are less then 1000 white-cheeked gibbons left in the entire world! Whilst we had been woken each morning by their haunting song, I would have felt mortified if I had made this trip without properly getting to watch them. As our guides returned to take us on our final trek, I was in a quandary: whilst I was desperate to see the gibbons, Ollie was unable to join us, and the thought of leaving him alone in a tree house in the middle of Laos was less than appealing. Being the wonderful friend that I am, I deserted him and went looking for gibbons. I hope he does the same for me some day.

This is the point where you are expecting me to tell you that I am joking. I’m ashamed to say that I’m not- i really did leave my concussed friend to fend for himself in the middle of the rainforest. In my defence… nope, I got nothing. The path was steep and barely trodden, the ground regularly slipping beneath our feet. I was hot and bothered, exhausted, aching, and feeling slightly guilty about leaving Ollie. As I interrupted the meal of a slightly over-confident leech, my mood was cloudy. With a crash, everything changed.

Our guides suddenly froze. Turning with a huge smile, they issued the magic word: gibbon! Looking around frantically my eyes burnt their way through obstructing vegetation, desperately searching for a sign of life. I needn’t have bothered for with loud whooping gibbons suddenly filled my vision, crashing effortlessly through the trees like arboreal ballet dancers. I will never forget it. Gracefully they brachiated from branch to branch putting on the performance of their lives. United as a single group of awestruck human beings, we congregated below, silently sharing this wonderful sight. After a few minutes, they were gone. I am almost certain that I will never see a white-cheeked gibbon again, but I will never forget the little family that I had the privilege of watching for just a few memorable minutes.

We returned to Huay Xai the next day, sad that our short time in the rainforest was over. Joking aside, it was one of the most amazing few days of my life and I would recommend it to anyone. The guides were superb, the friendliest people we met in the whole of Laos, passionate, knowledgeable and great fun to befriend. The scenery left me breathless, the wildlife had me enraptured. Even the memories of playing card games by torch light with the friends we had made are precious. I just hope that this beautiful place will be protected so that others can enjoy it as we did.

Not my Image!

I began the second half of our trip having learnt a valuable lesson: always ditch your friends. If I hadn’t, I would never have seen those gibbons, and yes, I would do it again. I had saved Ollie’s life after all…