Seasoned traveller Jo Walker goes hiking in Laos, and finds that, whatever the circumstances, laughter is universal. If you find yourself in Luang Prabang, try asking around for a charismatic guide named Teng …
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A lesson in the language of laughter
Never before had I heard such a loud noise come from such a little person. Teng was bent over double, clasping his slender brown arms to his sides as his shoulders shook incessantly. I had absolutely no idea why he was laughing, but it didn’t seem to matter. His gleeful giggle was irresistibly infectious and, within seconds, I too was in stitches.
It was a sweltering day, and I had spent the past two and half hours trawling along a seemingly endless stream of travel agencies, searching for a local guide to lead me into the jungles of northern Laos. There were dozens of them, lining the streets of Luang Prabang with shop fronts plastered in tattered yet enticing images of camouflage-clad foreigners embarking on tropical adventures.
I had already been detained several times, sipping complimentary juice as salesman after salesman pranced around me, flaunting their agency’s prowess with a series of picturesque slideshows, colourful maps and crumbling testimonial books crammed with positive reviews from the past decade.
And then there was Teng. It has to be said, his sales pitch was pitiful. There was no complimentary juice, no alluring photographs and no testimonial book full of praise. There was, however, a map. Frayed and faded, Teng presented it to me with a broad grin that revealed his modest scattering of teeth. ‘We go!’ he proclaimed with enthusiasm, before bursting into fits of hysterical laughter.
Perhaps I had caught a little too much sun that day. Perhaps there had been something in the juice I had been given earlier. Or perhaps this local man’s jovial disposition had simply got the better of me. For whatever reason, at 5am the very next morning I found myself, Teng, and three others, piling into a precarious looking pick-up truck and heading off along a dusty track towards the jungle.
We were an international group. As the truck trundled along to the backdrop of a blazing sunrise across the undulating landscape, Teng asked us about our home countries. With his eager questions he tried to grasp the culture and traditions of Israel, Germany, Canada and the UK.
‘Have good food?’ ‘You marry how old?’ ‘People is good?’ ‘Is beautiful like Laos?’ ‘I come for holiday?’
Teng’s entertaining investigation was enlightening for us all, despite the noisy explosions of laughter that frequently disrupted it. Midway through a conversation, Teng’s high pitched cackle would erupt without warning or reason, to which the rest of us would respond with a ricochet of equally hysterical laughter.
By the time we arrived at the banks of the Nam Khan River, from which we would begin our trek, and loaded our packs onto our backs, I had laughed so hard that my sides and cheeks ached. I could only hope I would survive the trek itself.
Despite his comical persona, I discovered over the following days that there was a lot more to Teng than at first met the eye. Born and raised in a Hmong community in the jungle, Teng had moved to a bigger town to earn money to support his family. He had lived in the town for many years now, but his heart remained in the jungle. From the moment we had crossed the river and become submerged beneath the blanket of towering trees, he was at home.
As a guide, Teng was remarkable. I was immediately struck by the sheer breadth of his knowledge. His native familiarity with every inch of the surrounding vegetation was unmistakable. He moved amongst it with steady ease and a silent understanding. Although he spoke only broken English, Teng taught us about local rituals and natural remedies through imaginative means. His mimed performance of somebody with a serious dental complaint was award-worthy, and had the group roaring with laughter once again.
He was also exceptionally caring. Beneath the wacky exterior was a kind and thoughtful man who was deeply sensitive to the needs of others. The trek was demanding. It took its toll on all of us, both physically and mentally. The scenery was breathtaking, yet the myriad of steep climbs immediately followed by dramatic descents were, at times, disheartening. After slogging away to the top of a hill, your momentary elation at having reached the peak would come crashing down as you realised that you must now walk down the other side of the hill, before beginning the struggle all over again.
Teng supported us, irrespective of the legitimacy of our complaints. He listened patiently as we aired our woes of sore feet and burst blisters, despite the fact that he was carrying double the weight and wearing only slip-on sandals. He encouraged us as the humidity intensified and we sat on the forest floor grumbling that we were too hot to go on, despite the fact that we were equipped with cooling face sprays and top of the range sweat resistant clothing. Every time we began to think we really would never make it, he lifted our spirits with his relentless buoyancy, charm and side-splitting laughter.
What I found most extraordinary about Teng, however, was his resourcefulness. Hmong hill tribes are renowned for their self-sufficiency, and Teng’s heritage could not have been more evident as he demonstrated how to cook, serve and consume an entire meal using only bamboo and banana leaves. Together we carefully chopped tubes of bamboo to reveal the natural containers made by evenly dispersed wooden joints within. These became our saucepans. We experimented with the art of origami as we followed a complex set of folding instructions which led to the creation of a ladle, spoon and bowl, all from a single banana leaf. Teng even gave us a musical accompaniment to the meal, whistling tunes down a makeshift flute he had effortlessly constructed from a thin piece of bamboo.
As an integral aspect of his Hmong upbringing, Teng did not regard his inventions as the stroke of genius that we did. He appeared genuinely puzzled yet equally amused by the delight we took in his clever creations. And once again, laughter ensued.
Laughter became the soundtrack to our trek through the jungle, and remains as etched in my memory as the scores of dazzling sights that we saw. One afternoon, after spending several hours engulfed within thick jungle, the shelter of the canopy unexpectedly cleared to reveal the bright, wide sky. Excitedly, we hurried forward into the sundrenched clearing that lay ahead. There had been so many peaks and troughs that day that I had no concept of our elevation level, so when I lay eyes on that view I was spellbound. We were sky-high. The lush, sweeping hills rolled out in front of us, while vast, jagged rocks dominated the distant skyline.
As we stood, mesmerized by the panoramic view, I gradually became aware of a faint chuckling behind me. I turned to see Teng, around twenty yards away, hanging upside down from a tree. While we had been taking in the sights, he had obviously had other ideas. ‘Me monkey! Me monkey!’ he whooped and cheered, as we all fell about laughing, yet again.
During the final days of our trip we had the privilege of staying with a local Hmong hill tribe. It was not hard to see where Teng got his creative flair from. Innovation surrounded us. Perched upon the side of a hill nestled a fully functioning village community, deep in the heart of the jungle. Two storey huts made entirely from bamboo and straw lay scattered across the hillside. I passed an outdoor shower assembled using a complex system of bamboo funnels. An entire football pitch had even been set up with (you guessed it) bamboo framed goals.
It was also not hard to see where Teng got his playful personality from. As soon as we arrived at the village we were greeted by hoards of excited men, women and children dressed in colourfully embroidered clothing and brandishing the biggest smiles I had ever seen. Later, as I stood surrounded by chattering women toying with my hair and inspecting my freckles with fascination, I chuckled to myself. As I did so, I caught the eye of a woman in front of me. The creases around her eyes deepened. The corners of her lips slowly upturned. Her eyebrows rose. And before I knew it, we both erupted into fits of giggles.
Teng’s initial sales pitch sold him short, by a long stretch. However from the moment I heard that legendary laugh of his, I knew there was something special about him. And I was right.
Over the course of our jungle journey we negotiated tough terrain, endured scorching temperatures and surpassed our comfort zones in almost every way. We also saw the most spectacular sights, enjoyed the warmth and hospitality of local people, and learnt to build several nifty bamboo creations. Above all, we laughed non-stop. The language barrier was significant, yet in the end, it didn’t matter. The language of laughter prevailed.
By Jo Walker
Jo Walker is a travel writer by heart, with many years of globetrotting under her belt. She is also a poet and motivational blogger. She can be reached via her blog: Little Maverick.
Hiking In Laos
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