Caution! We brake for snakes!
The Lao believe that a deer crossing their path is a sign of bad luck. Having clipped a few Wisconsin whitetail deer during my forty-five years of driving, I have independently arrived at the same conclusion. In contrast, the Lao believe that a snake crossing their path is a sign of good luck. Of that I’m less certain.
My work truck here could rightly use a bumper sticker that warns: “Caution. We brake for snakes.” No matter how rushed my day I can rarely resist the temptation to stop and inspect a dead snake. My obsession over road kill reptiles has led my Lao teammates to incorrectly assume that I possess a great knowledge of snakes.
Yai, my interpreter, is afraid of snakes. It follows, of course, that I never miss an opportunity to point out prime snake habitat to him, especially if our work demands that we walk through that area. Early on, I called Yai away from the rest of the team and shared with him in confidence the reason why I never allowed myself to be third in line when we hiked through the forest. I spoke to him conspiratorially:
“Yai, you’ve probably noticed that I am never the third man in line. I like you so I don’t want you to be number three either. When the team walks through the forest, the first man wakes up the sleeping snake. When the second man walks by, the snake coils.” Before I could finish, Yai nodded and provided the conclusion. “ The snake bites the third man”, he said.
“Yes” I whispered. “The third man.”
We’ve never spoken of the matter again but it has been amusing to see what ruses Yai will employ to avoid being the third man in line. If he’s stuck in third place he will pause to do what he’s seen me do in that situation: snap branches, tie shoes, or pause for a long drink of water. Yai and I never fail to politely let the person behind us move ahead.
There are some highly poisonous snakes around here and no one (including our medics) has a sound plan about what to do if a bite occurs. I’ve checked with the closest hospital and inquired on behalf of the team what we should do if a worker is bitten. “Treat with local medicine” was the only advise the doctors offered. I took that to mean herbal remedies and the intervention of a shaman or monk. I then asked whether the next closet hospital, nearly an hour away, might have anti-venom. “For certain no” was the reply.
“Well, what about the hospital in Thakek?” I asked, thinking that if the victim could be kept alive for a half day we might make it out of the field and down the mountain to the provincial capitol. The local doctors shook their heads and suggested continuing on across the river to a hospital in Thailand.
The most impressive snake I have crossed paths with in Laos was a King Cobra. I have seen small, common cobras both dead and alive here. Even a little cobra gets your attention and fires up your imagination. But the King Cobra is in a category by itself. The one I saw was speeding out of the forest and was about to cross the dusty road in front of my truck. I slammed on the brakes and slid to a stop just as the charcoal-gray snake passed in front of my wheels. It then made a sharp turn and disappeared under our truck.
I asked Taiwan, my passenger, “Where did that sucker go?”
Taiwan, ever helpful, started to open his door to have a look. I firmly requested that he not open his door. Then, he started to unwind his window. I emphatically suggested that he not lower the window either. I’ve seen a common cobra fan it’s hood and lift it’s head belt-buckle-high. King Cobras are much longer and can rise up to look you directly in the eye.
Just then, in my rearview mirror, I saw the snake slither out from under our truck. It quickly picked up speed and was soon racing down the road. I made a mental note for future reference that the snake was moving faster than I could run. That robust specimen was nearly as long as our pickup truck; its body was bigger around than my upper arm. Awestruck, I studied the cobra in the mirror until it finally turned off the open road and slipped back into the forest.
I congratulated Taiwan on our luck, seeking confirmation that a snake crossing in front of us was a sign of good fortune to come. Taiwan confirmed that that was what he’d always been told. Then, I think he recalled how close the snake had come to being road-kill beneath our wheels. He added ruefully, “They are good eating though.”
Later, in Ban Done I asked villagers about King Cobras. No one was particularly impressed with the size of our snake. I later learned on the Internet that some cobras can grow to be 18 feet long or more. King Cobra are notable for the volume of venom they can produce. So potent and copious is the venom that it can kill a full grown Asian elephant in less than three hours.
Remembering that doctors had said that in the Nakai District the only treatment for snakebite was “local medicine,” I asked the villagers what they do when someone is bitten by a King Cobra.
The answer? “That person die for sure.”