Lao-Lao Whiskey and Fire Goat Stew on Don Det Island

A night with the locals on the 4000 Islands, Laos

The riverine archipelago of the Four Thousand Islands in the southern tip of Laos breathes a laidback lifestyle.

With hippy riverside huts and sandy shacks, Don Det brings together a community of free-spirited travellers and welcoming locals in this remarkable oasis along the Mekong River.

On a warm October evening on Don Det Island, the sunset bleeds colours of blood orange and pink into the darkening water.

The trees across the river flash in bursts of silhouettes from the lightning of a storm happening just there, on the horizon of Cambodia.

Behind me, two girls giggle in the shallow pools, washing their dinner pots, splashing and playing, enjoying the last of the daylight before they are scolded to come back inside.

I stand beyond them, where the full river runs, watching the spectacle of the sunset and the rain. The water flows easily and surely across my feet, strong and steadfast.

I hardly notice the ripple as two water buffalo, a mother, and her calf, wade carefully into the water before me.

I meet the eyes of those two slow giants, glistening in the sunset, before they turn and move on. It’s a slow moment of tranquillity as I breathe in the smell of rain that doesn’t dare cross the divide.

‘Girl!’ Mr Laos calls to me from his house across the road. We know each other well, but he always calls me ‘girl’, and I always call him ‘Mr Laos’.

His hostel had become a regular weekend escape from work on Dom Som Island. I had been volunteering; teaching English and working on building a school for the Bamboo School Project. When we had time off, I liked to rejoin the backpackers and Mr Laos on Don Det.

‘You eat with me tonight.’

‘Ok,’ I call back, reluctant to leave my little sanctuary.

But there’s no time.

‘Come’, he says, walking fast towards his motorbike. I splash out of the water and run to my hut for the keys, nearly tripping over a litter of piglets as I rush. Mr Lao’s engine has started.

I follow him down the narrow dirt track that runs around the island. As we ride, the sun finally drops into the water, and the moon takes her place. We pull up to a crowd of locals gathered around a goat, who is dead and being shorn. They shout and bargain for parts.

‘Sit’, Mr Laos says, pointing to a wooden deck hanging over the water. A circle of bare-chested men sit cross-legged on the wood, watching a wrestling match on an old box television. I sit amongst them while Mr Laos disappears into the dark behind a growing bonfire to negotiate our cut.

‘Lao-Lao,’ says the man to my left, tapping me on the shoulder. He passes me a small cup filled with a clear liquid. Lao-Lao, the local rice whiskey and popular drink amongst those who can hack the burning sensation. It sears my throat and explodes through my chest as I drink, trying not to cough before passing it along to the man on my right.

The glass goes around the circle a few times, and I begin to feel calmer. Each sip hurts less than the last, and I can see how the taste would start to grow on you.

The next time the hand taps my shoulder, I am in a soft-edged daze, and it takes me a moment to realise the heat pressed into my palm. I look down to find the hollow, black goat’s horn, taken straight from the fire and filled with Lao-Lao.

The man smiles a toothless smile at me as I drink the warmed whiskey.

‘Come!’ Mr Lao says, startling me out of my stupor as he appears out of the shadows. I pass the horn to the next taker, pulling a tiny piece of goat’s hair from my lip. Mr Lao’s hands glistened with blood, carrying a plastic bag heavy with our cut.

We drive back under a sky of winking stars, the only witnesses to this unique encounter. A sliver of moonlight guides the way back along the road to the hostel in time for our goat stew dinner. We eat in silence and satisfaction, enjoying, undeniably, the freshest goat I have ever had.

Thank you for taking the time to read my travel tales. I hope they inspire you to get out into the world too. If you enjoyed this, please feel free to give it a clap (or 20!) and I can’t wait to share more of my stories.