When I did the Bolaven Plateau motorbike loop in southern Laos, I went searching for the many awe-inspiring waterfalls which are one of the main attractions for people doing the loop. While seeking out one of them, called Tad E Tu, I paid a local woman to watch my motorbike (theft is extremely common) and wandered down a long, unmaintained dirt road. After ducking underneath the branches of a fallen tree, I arrived at what looked like an entrance fee hut, though it was half swallowed by overgrown vines; there was nobody inside the hut.
I wandered further into a dirt parking lot adjacent to a few rundown buildings. Underneath one of these buildings, an older man swept the open floor. When he saw me walking, he asked for payment to see the waterfall. I paid him and continued onward to a trail he pointed me to, taken aback by a rusty, long forgotten tuk tuk and the old ‘welcome’ letters tangled in the overgrowth.
As I descended down the grassy hill towards the waterfall, I passed several shabby guesthouses with jagged glass pieces that still remained attached at the windowsills. All of the buildings were empty and dark inside, and I couldn’t help but feel spooked and vulnerable walking around this apparently abandoned resort, secluded and ghost-like, all by myself save for the old man.
I wondered why this old man was there – it seemed like quite a lonely existence to hang out all day, waiting to collect entrance fees from the few tourists who stumbled in. Did he own the resort? Or was he a local man who simply seized an opportunity to make money when the owners deserted the place?
I continued walking to see the falls, totally perplexed at the state of everything. Earlier that day, I had visited three other waterfalls just down the road which were absolutely full of people. The closest one and the most impressive, Tad Fane, had its own resort, with a cafe, some shops, and a zipline to boot. And yet there I was at Tad E Tu, totally alone. What happened to this place? How could it be that it was completely deserted, with not a single tourist soul but myself?
I came to a viewpoint of the falls at the edge of a bushy cliff, guesthouses behind me. Lush greenery and damp rock walls surrounded the falls while a large pool of water lay beneath it. I stood still and gazed longingly at it, feeling a full heart. I was about finished with my three-day motorbike tour of the Bolaven Plateau, with this waterfall being my last stop on the loop before heading back to the small city of Pakse. While the waterfall was lovely, it was clearly one of the least impressive of the four falls on this side of the Bolaven Plateau. Some sort of understanding hit me, but my questions still lingered.
To my left, the dirt path followed the edge of the cliff through the overgrowth, where I presume it meandered down to the pool below. At this point the mosquitoes had begun feasting on my uncovered feet and legs, even after coating myself in bug spray. It was also getting late in the day, and I wanted to get back to Pakse before dark. Had it not been for the eeriness of this forgotten dwelling, I may have ignored the mosquitoes and the hour to go explore a little further down to the waterfall’s pool. But I was alone and felt slightly unsettled walking around such a remote place, and so I took this as my sign to begin the walk back to my motorbike.
On the way out, I took some time to walk around more of the rundown structures. I found a mural spraypainted on a wall inside one of the old guesthouses, where shattered glass and broken pieces of brick littered the floor. Even though the place felt like a ghost town, I admired the broken windows and decaying walls as a kind of beauty in itself.
I meandered back through the parking lot, and past the old man, again pondering what had happened to this resort. Did COVID ravage it, like it had so many other places in Laos and Southeast Asia? Or was it something else? Was the waterfall just not stunning enough compared to Tad Fane to prove a successful overnight attraction? Or did the owners give up for other unrelated reasons?
Sometimes traveling to new places brings answers, often ones we aren’t seeking. But just as much, it brings even more questions – about the people, places, and histories of where we visit, and about our place amongst all of it.
The old man barely spoke English, so I couldn’t ask him anything. Curiosity aside, I continued back up the long dirt road through the jungle until I reached my motorbike. I thanked the woman for watching it and then took off towards Pakse, questions still tangled in my mind as I quite literally rode into the sunset.
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