Don Sao Island is a snail. Even compared to the slow pace of Thailand, Laos barely creeps. There are a few stands selling trinkets, but the vendors seem to have taken a break. I’m not sure why the dirt road is so wide; there’s no one here to use it. Three children walk (why aren’t they running?) up to me, and I give them the rest of my lunch. Hopefully a member of my group will be as generous to me. I find the national park, and immerse myself in the dry jungle. Darts of red flowers fall from the sky. It’s the most action I’ve seen in this country. Pods that look like fuzzy caterapillars attract my attention, and I reach to touch one lazily. It isn’t soft and silky like the bug it resembles, but coarse, and itchy. Before I know it, my hand and head starts burning as if I were picking stinginig needles. I’ve had enough of Laos at this point, and decide to turn around. On the way back I spot a caged sloth, the most fitting mascot anyone could think of for this country. Unfortunately I’m ten minutes late- I must have fallen under the village’s lagging lull- and the rest of the gang is not pleased. I guess I’ll just have to be hungry and itchy.
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