Bolavian Plateau

At the crack of dawn (7.15) I was in the local bus station enquiring after the time of the next bus going south. There were two blackbords at the station, one gave the times of the buses, the other gave the times of the tuk-tuks. A bus was due to leave at eight. Great - unfortunately none of the food stalls (which normally open around 5am) had set up yet - obviously still hung over from

yesterday's celebrations, so there was no brekkie for me. I packed my bags and got back to the station for 8. A bus was loading up, "is this my bus?" I asked the locals. "No, this one is going back to Vientiane." Another bus pulled up and the locals continued shaking their heads at me. Then a tuk-tuk puled up. "This is for you," the chap told me. My face fell- he had to be joking, after all the blackboard definitely said bus. Turns out no proper buses go down the road I needed to venture down. By this time the locals were laughing at me and strapping my backpack to the roof. Looks like I was going to spend over 5 hours sat on a wooden bench on the back of small truck with no suspension whilst it bounces over pot-holed roads. In the back of this tuk-tuk was already a large crt television and 5 bags of cement as well as 8 people. This meant no leg room what so ever. My tuk-tuk was suppose to seat 14. By the end of the journey, as well as the three monks sat in the front, there was 19 adults, 5 children and a dog. 2 old men were sat hunched up on the cement bags in the "aisle" and three teenagers were stood, literally hanging off the end of the truck. To say I was squashed and uncomfortable would be an understatement. But eventually we pulled into the town of Tha Thaket and despite the fact I was now starving to death and couldn't stand because my back had gone into spasm, I knew that one

day many years in the future, I would be able to look back at this experience and laugh! Tha Thaket is a stopping off post, the first town where a proper bus / coach stops, a place to spend the night before starting the ten hour journey to the nearest large town. Some people go straight through to the next town (after catching a proper bus at Thaket station)but that seem absolutely ridiculous so I booked in at the tourist hostel / guesthouse, a place with a very familiar name - the travelodge. I splashed the cash and upgraded to a large room with private bathroom and hot-water. It was the most I spent for a room in the whole of Laos but after the horrors of the journey - it was worth it. Not only that, but they also had food on offer, some of which was even vegetarian. My vegetables filled pancakes in tomato sauce tasted divine. And as my room was next to the courtyard, I could also pick up the free wifi that was only available (supposedly) in the courtyard. I felt like I was living a life of luxury. I had spotted a massage place next to the bus station, so after lunch I sauntered along and unwound with an oil massage. By that evening and after another filling meal, I felt amazing.

I was back at the bus station by 8am the following day to catch the bus down to Paske. The bus was scheduled to take between 8 and 12 hours but it hardly ever takes any longer than that! I love Laos public transport! There were other foreigners on the bus and they were complaining about the run-down state of it. They have no idea what they were taking about - I was thankful simply to get a proper seat - one with a back! Thankfully the internal speakers stayed off for the entire journey and we arrived in Paske at 5pm. There is stunning scenery around the Paske area and I was looking forward to joining a tour and exploring the area. After a couple of days and asking every tourist agency in town, it was clear that I was the tourist in town. All the travel agencies said the same thing - it is too early in the season, there is simply no demand. I felt I was going to be scuppered again. I spent these couple of days, relaxing, pampering ( I had a pedicure and manicure, not to mention the best massage ever, complete with a complementary hair braiding by the masseuse) walking around the markets and eating. There were some excellent Indian restaurants in Paske and I encountered one of my best meals of the entire trip - egg masala with the biggest garlic naan

in history. It was also the spiciest meal I had had to date. the owner gave me a small dish of raita so I could cool my palate off and talk again. Walking back to my guest house one evening I spotted a tuk-tuk unloading a load of westerners and rather craftily I followed them into their hostel. I knew from lonely planet that this hostel did good tours if the group was large enough. Whilst they were all checking in I asked reception in a rather loud voice if there were organising any tours in the next couple of days. The receptionist said they would only run if at least 6 people signed up. There and then 5 of the people checking in said they would also sign up and hey presto I had made myself a tour group. We left the next day, by which time there was 10 of us. The Bolavian Plateau is an area of very fertile ground in Laos famed for its tea and coffee plantations. The Bolavians were a tribe of coffee producing people who settled there from Vietnam many many generations ago. The landscape is also stunning. We were taken first to a tea plantation where I learnt the difference between green and black teas and that Ulong tea simply means black tea and is not worth the vast overpricing that its name gives it at the moment in the UK. Visiting the small family run coffee plantation I learnt why arabica beans cost more money and how they are vastly superior in quality. Surprisingly coffee beans are completely odourless

- they do not pick up that distinctive coffee smell until they are roasted. After as much tea and coffee as we could drink we were off to visit the first of three striking waterfalls. A party of Thai tourists arrived at the waterfall at the same time as us, so we raced off quickly to beat them to the next waterfall. This make seam like extreme behaviour but their tour group consisted of three full double decker coaches full of tourists. As well as waterfalls we visited a couple of traditionally tribal villages. At the first village, the Alak people are animists which means they sacrifice animals and worship their spirits. The round building in the photo above, is the ancestral worship hall where the village elders and shaman will go, light a large fire and with the help of substances, commune with the ancestral spirits. The second village we visited was the Katoo people. This tribe are also known as the coffin tribe. They have a tradition of making elaborate coffins for each member of the tribe, long before they die and the coffins are stored in coffin houses or underneath their own houses (all the houses are on stilts). After death the body in the coffin is moved to a special plot of land - but never buried, just laid on the ground. In the past the coffins were wood, but large beasts such as tigers and other large mammals used to rip open the coffins and take the bodies. Now the coffins are made out of

cement and dragged into place with the help of a large tractor. You could not take photos of the Alak animist tribe as they believed it robbed their souls but the Katoo people did not mind the occasional photo being taken. The lady smoking a pipe (only tobacco) is from the Katoo tribe. As well as the villages we also visited a local school which the local community have helped to raise money to build. The owner of the hostel gives a certain percentage of his profits as do other businesses in the wider Paske area. We arrived at the end of lunch so we did not interrupt any lessons. One of the teachers was the brother of our guide and he introduced his sister-in-law and baby niece. There is a creche for the young babies so the wives can help out at the school. We dropped off a bag of supplies and got to talk to some of the children as they came in for lessons. The children come from all the different local tribes with the Alak children being very reserved whilst the Katoo children wanted to talk to us all. The Laos people we spoke to were very determined to educate the children and community built schools are becoming more frequent. If local businesses had not raised all the money needed to build the school than none of these tribal children would have ever attended school Not wishing to make the school or the children a tourist attraction we did not stay long, driving out to our final breath-taking waterfall of the day. By the end of the day we had clocked up over 200km in the minivan and everybody was incredibly weary by the time we returned to Paske. It was a great way to spend my final full day in Laos, I felt I finally got to learn alittle of the different cultures. My bus from Paske back into Thailand did not leave until 3pm the following afternoon, how did I spend my final morning - why getting one last massage of course!

Kong Lor Caves

On my third morning in Vientiane, I woke up itching, finding myself covered in bites – bed bugs – urhh. Why had they taken three nights to get me, well I can only surmise it was because on my arrival I asked for an additional blanket from reception. A huge thick blanket was taken out of its plastic wrapping for me. (It may be in the high 20’s during the night but I still get cold!) I slept sandwiched in this blanket on top of the bed rather than in it. It must have taken the bugs a while to get through my giant new blanket. But the experience just topped off what I thought about Vientiane. It was time to leave...and fast. But where to...

Kong Lor caves were another place I had earmarked for visiting before the trip started, however after my experience at Phonsavan – being the only one there, I was sceptical about making the long journey into literally the middle of nowhere. After quite a bit of internal discussion I decided to go for up. I was picked up at exactly 9am – the time I had been scheduled to be picked up (I was expecting closer to 10 – already I was impressed) and there was a Korean chap on the tuk tuk who also was going to the caves. The tuk tuk then went on to pick up another 3 westerners – I was not going to be alone in Kong Lo after all. We were dropped off at the southern bus station and shown our bus. It was an old coach but comfortable and nicely decked out with pink frilly curtains over the windows. Even the playing of lao music only lasted for the first hour. Not that we got anywhere in that first hour. We were 15 min late departing, then we stopped for a chap to run across the road and collect something, then we stopped for quite a while whilst a female passenger did a bit of shopping in a local mini-mart. By 11am we were still at the outskirts of Vientiane – a distance that had taken by bus yesterday just 5 minutes to reach! Eventually we speeded up and got going. Disappointingly there was not much in the way of scenery for

the first 5 hours, just flat land, dirt and fields. As we neared our destination the landscape changed dramatically, we were in mountains looking down onto sharp jagged rock formations. As we descended the huge mountain range, it dawned on me that the cave would go through these mountains. The final couple of kilometres were rough rutted roads in which the bus lurched precariously from one side to another. This kind of travel makes me feel at home and needless to say I was not one of the passengers who kept hitting their heads on the ceiling. We arrived at our destination at 5pm – the bus actually pulled into the car park of an eco-lodge. The rooms were fantastic – clean, large with immaculate bathrooms – Vientiane guesthouses should take notes. Immediately I fell in love with the tiny village. I had a quick walk round before darkness fell, I watched workers bringing in the harvest whilst children jumped in the haystacks. The houses here are extremely basic, one wooden room on stilts, there are no luxuries in this village. Children came out to greet me, even the little old ladies (normally the ones to be relied on for frowning) were friendly. This is the first place in the whole of my travels (except when I was at sea) where there has been no internet connection signal. It was bliss.The following morning I wandered around the entire village trying to find some kind of breakfast that did not come with bacon. I could have had the toast and fried eggs on their own but it would have been the same price whether I had the bacon or not. My wanderings helped me local the only place that could sell me a can of sprite, everyone else stocked Coke or beer and eventually I found someone willing to do me an omelet. Unfortunately it was dripping in grease and not very nice but I ate it all – not only to be polite but who knows when my next meal will be. Back at my

guesthouse Korean Lee was waiting for me so we could go into the caves. The cave is within a national park which you pay a nominal entrance fee to get past the barrier. The national park has set up the tourist boats and the infrastructure to get the tourists inside the cave. You pay a set price for a boat, this comes with two crew but you can only have a maximum of three tourists in the boat. Lee was waiting so we could share a boat. We were given life jackets and made to wear them. This must be the only part of Laos that insists on health and safety! You could also rent powerful torches from the office. At the rivers edge, our boatmen indicates to a canoe that was knee deep in water. Lee refuses to get in until they have scooped all the water out. We totter in gingerly and are rowed across the river – it takes a minute maximum. As I get out I say “I hope that was not it!” Lee doesn’t understand humour and informs me that I have not to worry, the cave boat ride will be longer! As we walk down the opposite river bank towards the mouth of the cave, we hear raucous laughter and music. A group of young men / teenagers appear to be building a giant longboat and having a good time doing so.

The cave entrance is in the river, and the river runs the entire length of the cave and out the other side. Our boatman now points out some longboats, mercifully bigger than the canoe we had just been in. To my surprise the boats have petrol engines, I just presumed we would be rowed. The chief boatman sat at the back and navigated whilst the younger one sat at the front shining a beam of light and identifying rocks in the water. It only took a minute for us to be out of reach of the natural light coming in through the cave entrance and then we were in darkness. Our torches flitted around trying to make out the stalactites hanging from the roof. Our young guide used his torch to illuminate the more interesting features. Just as my eyes were adjusting to the gloom, dim lighting came into view and the boat pulled over. Our guys had no English whatsoever but it was clear we had to get out. As we did the boat disappeared off into the distance. A path had been created around a large island within the cave and lighting set up. On this island was an interesting assortment of stalactites and stalagmites. They were not the most impressive I have seen, but they were good and the eerie backdrop of the silent dark cave made them more unsettling and mysterious than the others I have seen. Lee was a very typical

Asian tourist at this point – they don’t dawdle, they take photos and race around the site, often missing big chunks out and that is exactly what he did. It was to no avail though, because I was not going to rush. I took my time and because they were wearing head torches I couldn’t exactly lose them in the distance. I met up with them and the boat at a different part of the island and off we set again. This is when the journey began to get spooky.All low level lighting quickly disappeared and we were back in near darkness. When it is this dark the river looks black and at times it is as if you are floating on nothing. The cave opened up into a vast chamber, the head-torch light unable to reach the walls or ceilings. The temperature dropped, the only sound was the put-put of the engine. It was strangely comforting. If we had of been there under oar power then there would have been no sound at all and that would definitely have been creepy. I defy anyone who is an unfamiliar and unusual place, in the pitch dark, unable to make out direction or distance not to let their imaginations start wandering. This eerie, mysterious boat ride continued for another 7kms. A light up ahead told us we were getting near to the exit. I could now see the cave exit. But the boat had stopped and we were hand gestured to get out. Were we going to wade the rest of the way? We were standing ankle deep on rocks at this moment. The boat had stopped because its way was blocked by a small rapid and a collection of high rocks. With us out of the way, the captain revved up the engine and went full pelt against the current up the rapids. First time he failed. Second time he failed but on the third attempt he made it – I was shocked, I didn’t think he had a hope of making it. We clambered back inside and the journey continued. We could not have waded out, the

river got deeper as we exited the cave and we were journeying another 10 minutes upstream (but in the beautiful sunshine) on the other side. We had a stroll about, waving to the local children and avoiding the herds of cows and water buffalo in the middle of the track. Lee was very excited to see the cows and when I pointed out the baby water buffalo he was practically jumping up and down for jot. He wanted to touch the baby but as the very large and angry looking parent was stood next to it, I suggested that he didn’t. There is a village on this side of the mountain that is only accessible through the cave. The villages only got their first tv in 2011 and live a very traditional life. It is possible to spend the night in a homestay here, but as the only food you would be served would be spit-roasted frog and fried insects, I decided not to take up the offer – I didn’t want to offend anyone by not eating their food. It was back to the boats and back into darkness. Again the captain surprised me by not making us get out when we got to the rapid, in fact we sped up and almost jumped over it. Lee was panicking especially when the boat rocked wildly from side to side. I was reminded of the James Bond scene when the speed boat flew over the road. On the journey back , my eyes adjusted better and I noticed how many rocks were in the river. The navigator was working hard making sure we avoided them all.

Many writers have repeated the line that traversing the Kong Lor Cave is the closest you will ever get to travelling to the mythical Ancient Greek underworld. After you had crossed his palm with silver, the ferryman would row you down the river Styx into the underworld, presided over by Hades. I can understand the analogy, our captain could have easily been taking us anywhere in that sinister darkness, the stalactites we could see looked suspiciously like Greek columns in the half-light and when we hit a further patch of rapids and the boat lurched dramatically from one side to the other – well that is how the entrance to the Underworld should be. Lands full of rainbows and unicorns are not reached via rapids in a river of darkness are they? The rapids were in the patch of water we had missed on the outbound journey. When we had been let out to walk around the stalagmite formations it turns out that the captain had been wrestling the boat through a series of rapids. Coming back we simply tumbled through them, at one point I thought the boat would tip, but it eventually steadied itself. Unexpected rapids in darkness is a very strange sensation and one I am not going to forget. In fact I will be remembering the entire Cave experience for a long time to come – it was unique, breath-taking and quite scary in parts!

As I made my way slowly back through the national park (Lee had already disappeared – I was dawdling too much ‘in the nature’) I noticed the boys building the longboat had gone. When I reached the village however, I realised that the boat had been finished and the lads were all sat about watching a chap varnish it with a giant car paint spraying device. There was lots of chanting and laughing and quite a bit of drinking going on.
That evening another bus pulled up from Vientiane and I ate with the new arrivals. After a few card games, it was time for bed. The following morning, there was alot of noise around 7 but then it went strangely quiet. I had intended to spend another night in this tiny village but as I walked around that morning, the place was a ghost town. I saw nobody except young children. The one shop was shut and neither of the restaurants was open. There was nobody in my lodge – the gate had been pulled across the eating area. I decided to check out and catch the next tuk-tuk into the nearest town. If I wasn’t able to get food here, I may as well move on. I packed and gave the money I owed for the accommodation to a 7 year old girl who appeared to have been left in charge. She wrote down the payment in the book and walked me down the street and indicated where I should wait. This

was all done without a word of English being spoken by the young girl. As I waited a young local chap came out of another guesthouse, I had met him yesterday and he had a pretty good grasp of English. I asked him where everyone was and he told me that today was the annual boat festival in Ban Na Hin – the next town. That explained what the lads were doing yesterday – building and varnishing a boat. Practically everyone had left town for the festival – those lads were competing in the boat races. Soon it became clear that the tuk-tuk had not turned up. I began to get worried as the chap went on to say that there was a possibility that the drivers had stopped for the day to go to the races. Oh no – what would I do? I sat and waited – not much else I could do. An hour later, a tuk tuk did appear and thankfully he was returning to town. I was the only passenger for the entire journey. The 43km took an hour and a half, with every giant rutt and pot hole being felt painfully in the back of the vehicle. I found a guest-house near to the bus station, it was not great – bed quality wise but at least there was someone there to give me a key. As I passed other better quality looking establishments – all of them were locked up. As was every restaurant and eatery in the town. The only place that was open was a small shack that alongside buckets, toothpaste and wicker chicken baskets had a few packets of crisps for sale. My seaweed flavoured

crisps did indeed taste like seaweed but by now it was half 12 and I was starving. I decided to walk in the direction that the cars were going as I figured they would be going to the festival. I was not wrong. But it turned out that Ban Na Hin does not sit on the banks of a river – they have a giant canal 6km away. The heat was searing down and as the path road turned to rubble I wondered if I would ever reach my destination – I had no idea at this point how far it was. Then a car stopped. Inside was a family with 4 children in the back. The mother indicated I should get in, and this amazing family, who could not speak a word of English, squashed me in the back and gave me a lift into the centre of the carnival. I was so happy and grateful that generous nice people exist. Can’t imagine that happening often in England – a foreigner who doesn’t speak a word of the language being given a lift anywhere!
By the side of the canal a huge market had been set up, selling everything from homewares: curtains, blankets, plastic bowls (these where proving very popular) to clothing: jeans, shirts, underwear, shoes to toys for the children. There were also a variety of game stalls: shoot the balloon with a rifle to win a prize, hit the ‘rat’ with a stick when it emerges from the pipe (the rat was a giant scrubbing brush), there was even a Ben 10 bouncy castle and a ride for the little ones. At one end of this market was a huge

stage with a band singing, but at the other end of the market was a variety of food stalls. They were selling everything, not just meat on a stick. I noticed eggs on a BBQ and eggs being steamed. On closer inspection I discovered that the tops of the eggs had been sliced off and the contents removed. The liquid eggs were beaten and I think alittle condensed milk added. The liquid was poured back into the egg shells and then either steamed or BBQ and served on kebab sticks. I had to try an egg. It was delicious. It had a very light fluffy consistency and tasted not surprising like scrambled eggs – only with a smooth mousey texture. I also got a couple of sticks of bamboo rice. Rice inside a bamboo tube and BBQ’d. I love bamboo rice. These tubes were plain, they did not have any beans in them. I was stuffed after this meal but I still managed to find room for an ice-cream from the ice-cream man. I was at a fair after all!
After filling my belly I went to watch some of the boat races. I was very impressed with the set up. It was so professional. The judges had racing computers showing the positions of the boats, there would be no guesswork if it came to close finish. I don’t think you can make it out from the photo but all the officials have shirts that say 2013 boat racing committee. There was high security for the committee booth and VIP area. If you didn’t have a badge – you were not going in. Even my stupid white foreigner who doesn’t know the rules routine failed to get me past security! Not being able to get to the VIP area made it very difficult to watch the races, the crowds were simply too great. I headed over to the far banking to watch from there but the distance was too great for my failing eyesight. I sat with a random family for a while and cheered for the boat they were supporting, it didn’t win which led to much head shaking and sighing. After a couple of hours I set off on the long trek back. I had only walked for 5 mins when a pick up truck laden with hundreds of children in the back, pulled over and let me jump in the front seat. The children were very excited about this and waved to me throughout the journey. There are very few tourists pass this way, in fact I did not see another westerner at all at the festival. I spent the remainder of the evening reading, venturing out at 7pm hoping someone might have opened up an eating stall after the racing finished. I had no luck what-so-ever. I passed lots of people drinking and chatting but no food for sale. Luckily shack man was still open so it was another packet of crisps and a processed cake bar for me. The cake bar turned out to be really nice. I went to bed rather hungry hoping that town would re-open in the morning!

Vientiane

I arrived in Vientiane (the capital of Laos) after a short 3 hour journey from Vang Vieng. There was nothing to note about the journey other than for the first time I was in a bus completely full of westerners – not a local to be seen. They did have appalling bladder control now I come to think of it. We had to stop after a mere 40 mins for an emergency toilet break and

then again just 20 minutes later. We ended up with 4 stops in 3 hours – what is wrong with these people? I got off the bus and started the search for a bed. Capital cities are always more expensive than anywhere else but the cost and the standard of the rooms here took me by surprise. The cost of an air-con room was a minimum $20 – I didn’t want air-con but if the rooms only had fans – then they did not have bathrooms, only shared bathrooms. Even so, these shared bathroom rooms were the same price as I had been paying for all my other en suite accommodation elsewhere. I looked at a few of these rooms. They were cell-like, they didn’t even have windows. Just a single bed and a hook in the wall to hang a towel. The beds were not even comfortable – the mattresses were so bad I walked out. After trawling the streets for some time I came across a sign promising reasonable prices. The place looked very run-down, The Lao Youth Inn, in fact there was a flood in reception as I walked in. But they did have fan rooms with en-suite bathrooms. I looked, spacious rooms with bathroom but the bathroom was very damp. Although the floor was obviously cleaned frequently the fan and light fittings were coated with dust. Nevermind – I’m desperate – I’ll take it. The mattress was just about passable and to be fair the hot water shower was amazing. Even when the shower wasn’t on, the ceiling dripped water on you anyway. It was an experience, plus I had a window looking directly over the Mixay Temple. The wats (temples) here in S.E. Asia are not like mosques. You do not want to be too near a mosque because the call to prayer will definitely rob you of sleep at dawn but the Wat’s do not make any noise, so proximity is not a problem. After finding shoddy digs, the next thing I had to do was investigate the immediate surroundings.

Vientiane was a mess. I arrived on Monday, the day after their 3 day boat festival holiday had finished. The long riverside road was a hive of activity as hundreds of market type stalls were being dismantled. It was noisy and crowded but it was the rubbish that was the problem. Laos has a big problem with rubbish and waste. Litter is dumped everywhere, streets are strewn with discarded plastic, cans, food waste. It is not just in towns, in rural villages houses are surrounded by crisp packets and plastic bags. When driving, people will wind down the window and throw their discarded plastic bag into the middle of the road. Lao people do not seem to mind the unsightly mess. The riverside street was ankle deep in debris all the way along, you could sort off pick your way through the garbage but the stench was unavoidable. Food waste (and lots of it) which had been sitting in the 30 degree heat for the last few days was really beginning to ferment. Originally most of the food had been wrapped in plastic bags but the local dog population had made short work of the plastic bags so most was now rotting in the open. This was my first impression of Vientiane. To make matters worse I could not find anything to eat. I found loads of Vietnamese, Chinese, Korean and French restaurants but not one of them had anything veggie on the menu. Eventually I saw a sign saying Laotian Goats Cheese Pizza. I sat down and ordered it, my mouth already watering with anticipation... only to be told they did not have any goats cheese. Disgruntled I found an overpriced restaurant with one veggie item – a margharita pizza.

The next day I was hoping I would warm more to the city. I had been really looking forward to visiting and using a traditional herbal sauna and massage that was situated in an old temple on the outskirts of town. I had been told it was one of the best in the country. Before setting off I checked that my directions were correct, only to be told that the sauna had burnt down in August and it was not going to be rebuilt – gutted. How was I going to spend my time now? I enquired about the cost of a sightseeing trip, to be told it was $55. Who on earth pays these ridiculous kind of prices? This was just a trip around the city. I hired a bicycle for $1 and visited all the sights (bar one) within 3 hours. The furthest away was 3km. I visited the Wat Si Sisket, the oldest temple in Vientiane and home to the most amount of Buddha’s. I climbed to the top of Patuxai, Vientiane’s homage to the Arc de Triomphe and I went to the golden stupa known as Pha That Luang. It is the most important monument in Laos – Buddha’s breastbone was supposedly entombed on this site in the 3rd century B.C. It was certainly an impressive structure – it literally dazzled in the afternoon sun. After more disappointing food – aimed at tourists with no spicing what-so-ever, I treated myself to a 2 hour massage. Eventually after 5 months of massages I may get enough flexibility to touch my toes but then again, probably not!

My final full day in the capital was spent visiting the tourist attraction I missed out yesterday. Xieng Khuan or Buddha Park is located outside the city and requires a bus to get to it (or a tuk-tuk for $25). I spent $1 each way on the bus that took me to the Thai-Laos Friendship bridge. It had never dawned on me up until this point that Thailand was literally over the river. Hence the wildly inflated prices, tourists have usually just flown into the city or crossed the bridge from Thailand. The ones coming in off a plane are usually willing to pay anything. From the bridge I climbed in a shared tuk-tuk and paid another $1 each way for the tuk-tuk to drive us down the very rutted, dirty, dusty road to the park. Out of the mud and the dirt and the dust, an oasis of greenery appeared, looking as out of place in the barren landscape as I had done on the local bus. The park occupies a small site – you could walk around the perimeter in 10 minutes but is crammed pack full of statues, many of them massive – taller than a house. The sculptures are based on both Buddhist and Hindu mythology or a merger of the two. The place really has to be seen to be believed. Although a small site,

you could quite happily spend 2-3 hours there (as I did), even more if you brought a book or a picnic. The place was built in 1958 by a shaman called Luang Pu but I could not find out if he merely collected the statues and designed the layout, or sculpted the statues himself or a combination of the two. Some of them did seem alot older than the others. At each end was a monument you could climb up, one resembled a Mayan pyramid (and brought back vivid memories of me being scared to death whilst climbing the dreaded pyramid no 5 in Tikkal) and the other looked like a giant orange with a gargoyle face, in which you climbed through the mouth (memories of Blackgang Chime here), climbed the steps inside the dome and came out on the roof, where there was another mouth and what looked like a huge tv aerial mast. Parts of this park were very surreal.
After wandering round the sculptures two or three times and finding something different to see each time - even the back of each statue was richly decorated, it was finally time for me to head back. Buddha Park had enabled me to enjoy some of my time in Vientiane and making my day even better was the fact the restaurant I had visited a couple of days earlier had replenished its supply of local goats cheese and I was able to enjoy a pizza that evening.

Vang Vieng

I left the massive bomb crater that was Phonsavan to head to the backpacking mecca in S.E. Asia of Vang Vieng. The two destinations could not have been more extremely different. The ride back through the mountains was still beautiful despite the local lady in the back of the minivan constantly throwing up. When she finally got out, she lay on the floor kissing the ground. It hadn’t even been a bad road – I got the feeling she had very rarely if

ever been in a car. She could not work out how to open the van door or the window – I had to show her. Vang Vieng is a small town inbetween Luang Prabang to the north and Vientiane to the south. The Nam Song river flows next to the town and it is here that most backpackers head, to go tubing. Hiring a giant inflated tractor inner tube, they float down the river over some small rapids until they float back to town. Vang Vieng tubing however is renown for the drinking en-route. Many bars used to line the riverside, with cheap buckets of alcohol being available, as well as a variety of drugs. There were zip wires and swings to jump back into the river. Every year a number of drunk backpackers died, due to hitting rocks in the river, drowning and as the death toll got higher every year – the authorities decided enough was enough and they pulled most of the bars down. Only 3 bars remain now – those with the right connections (in fact bar number 2 is owned by the chief of police). Tubing is still very popular here but it is alot less out of control than it used to be. Going to Vang Vieng simply for the tubing is a waste, as the town is located in an incredible landscape. Giant limestone karsts line the river and the area is riddled with caves to go exploring in or waterfalls to go bathing in. You can learn to rock-climb here but that sounded a little too strenuous for me. As well as pottering around town and visiting the easily accessible caves, I opted to go

kayaking down the river. First I needed to build my strength up, I had to find food. The entire north end of town caters purely for the backpackers. It is bar / restaurant after bar / restaurant each blaring out tv’s (usually family guy or friends) at decibels loud enough to make your ear bleed. With such a plethora of places to eat, you would think that finding food would be easy. Wrong. I had the three worst meals of my entire trip in this town. At one place I ordered a veggie burger (they only cater for western tastes). 40 minutes later a meat (un-identifiable meat) burger appeared. When I took it back I was told that it what I ordered. I’m sure that after 25years of being a veggie I had “forgotten” I didn’t eat meat! Eventually when my burger came, it was disgusting, dripping in grease. They even tried to charge me for the beef burger. After my third almost inedible meal I consulted tripadvisor and found a little restaurant right on the outskirts of town. It was a tiny place called AMD with one lady in the kitchen. The food was divine. The owners daughter also kept me entertained as she kept photographing me with her little camera. I also rented a bicycle one day and cycled 5km out of town to a local organic farm, where I tried mulberry wine whilst I sat on the riverbank watching the world go by. I also tried Jeaow Hate which is a spicy mushroom dip. It came with crudities which had been cooked. I could have eaten just the carrots and pumpkin alone. I only wish I had enough space in my stomach to try the home-made goats cheese!

The festival of Awk Phansa celebrates the end of Buddhist Lent and the end of the rainy season. For the past few weeks monks (and villagers) have been crafting boats made from bamboo. Whilst in Luang Prabang I had walked past temples and noticed groups of young monks stripping bamboo and building small longboats but had not realised what they were doing. Small villages also come together and build their own bamboo longboat – I had seen one ready and waiting by the banks of the Mekong as we began our kayak ride. The cylindrical tubes you can see are to hold lit candles.
Saturday 19th October was the day of the river festival in Vang Vieng. From early morning boat races had been held along the river. I saw two boat teams driving down the road at 8am, music blasting out, the team members dancing and cheering at the back of their jeeps. My kayak instructor was himself competing in the yellow team later that afternoon and was visibly excited. This was the morning I went kayaking – it was the only activity running today as it was guaranteed to be finished by 1pm. All other trips by all all companies had been cancelled. The kayaking was great fun. We were driven 15km upriver and left to kayak back. Because another girl had joined us at the last minute – literally as we were driving off, it meant I was no longer in a 2 man

kayak with the instructor but in a 3 man kayak. I didn’t think this would make any difference, if anything I thought it would be a little easier. How wrong I was! These kayaks were different to others I have been in – there was no well or dug out in which to put your feet or legs. Your legs had to go outstretched in front of you, whilst the person in front sat in between your feet. I was lucky in that I was in the front, which meant no one was in front of me so I had slightly more wriggle room . I cannot sit with my legs outstretched in front of me on the floor – I never have been able to. I sit with my legs crossed normally. Within 10 minutes I had shooting pains going up my legs, my right foot kept going into cramp and I had thought kayaking would be hard on my arms and shoulders! Despite this the kayaking was good fun.
By the end of the morning my legs were so sore that I could only walk in a comedy John Wayne manner. I also had a huge blister on my thumb – but it was on my left hand so it wouldn’t affect my eating! I watched a couple of boat races before going back to my guesthouse to freshen up. I was still wearing wet clothing. As I changed I realised that I had also caught the sun – and horrifically so. It turned out to be the worst sunburn on my legs in years. A huge thunderstorm meant

I didn’t venture out to watch the remaining boat races, instead I waited till dusk and set off to find out about the lighting of the fire boats. When darkness falls, the handmade bamboo crafts are set alight and drifted off down river. Offerings are also placed on the boats. My kayak instructor had explained that these offerings represent your entire bad luck and negativity for the year, and if you send them off down river, then hopefully they will not come back. As I walked through town, the place was awash with small children with sparklers and firework rocket sticks. These were long sticks that when you lit them a series of small rocket like fireworks shot out of the end. They went quite a distance. The night sky was lit up by these fireworks. The rivers edge was crowded. Families had been buying the flower offerings, inserting incense and sparklers into them, lighting them and launching them into the river. I was stood on a banking watching but I wanted to be more involved so I made my way down the slope. Only I had forgotten that my painful sunburnt legs weren’t working as well as usual and I ended up losing my footing and falling towards the river’s edge. Only my pride was hurt and I hobbled off to watch a lady give a blessing and launch her offering. Slowly I made my way across the bamboo bridge to where I had seen the bamboo boats earlier.Offerings had already begun to be placed on the boat but most people were

hanging back. They had their floral tributes in their hands but they appeared to be waiting. Then the monks came. For some reason it had not occurred to me that the monks would be involved – in this Buddhist ceremony! They lit candles and placed them in the boat, even better, the younger monks were having a go with the firework sticks. Everyone was clearly enjoying themselves. The boat was launched as the flames got higher, and as it drifted off into the darkness of the river, the flickering flames being the only things still visible, you really did feel as if you were banishing all ill-fortune. But still people were hanging back. Then I heard drums. Faintly at first but getting louder and louder obviously coming in my direction. It was a procession of the chief monks, along with nuns and alot of locals shouting and whooping in time to the drumming. They stopped on the riverbank opposite and chanted ceremonially. Then they crossed the bridge and came exactly where I was stood. Somehow by extreme good luck I had managed to place myself at the epicentre of the ceremony. From out of nowhere large straw mats were placed on the ground, covering the muddy path. Those people “hanging back” together with the nuns and the others from the procession were now knelt on the mats. Accompanied by rhythmic drumming, the chief monk began giving a mass blessing. At the same time, another monk in another larger, more decorated raft began firing off firework rockets in time with the drumming. As the blessing finished, the offerings were slowly lit and placed on the raft. The flames crept higher and higher at time seeming to engulf the monk who was still on the raft. When the raft was wholly alight, it was cast off with the monk still onboard to cries of loud cheering. I am assuming that the monk had somewhere safe to stand but from my vantage point it did look as if he was rising from the flames.

There are many clichés often used when describing travelling: awe-inspiring, horizon broadening, mind-blowing, mystical, eye-opening, spiritually awakening, finding your true-self and life altering. But the truth of it is, stood there in the midst of this ceremony – being encouraged to join in by those for whom this ceremony means so much, was truly magical. I felt honoured, bewildered, amazed and in love with the world all at the same time. This is one night I will not be able to forget.
I was supposed to leave the following morning but seeing how much lao lao (rice whisky - up to 70% proof) was consumed by the local population after the monks departed, I decided taking the morning bus would not be a sensible idea. Drunk driving is a big problem all over Asia. Nobody thinks twice about driving home after a big night despite not being able to stand up. Vang Vieng was certainly suffering from the morning after the night before. The place was a ghost town. Nearly every business was shut - even the tubing office was closed and that place never shuts. I spent my last few hours walking through the rice fields, exploring caves found among the way and generally being a source of amusement to the local children. In typically Zoe style, I was wearing shorts and flip-flops for my adventures through the sharp thorny undergrowth and scrambling over rocks in cave entrances. Needless to say my legs which had started off sunburnt and bruised (from the fall down the banking) were now scratched to ribbons and covered in bites from the myriad of small biting insects that live in rice fields and thorny undergrowth. I considered it a successful afternoon. After a final meal in AMD (red curry this time), I packed my bags and said goodbye to Vang Vieng - the town I expected to be a tourist nightmare and ended up being one of the highlights of my entire world travels.

Phonsavan – bombs, bombs, bombs, more bombs and Jars.

After visiting the baguette stall to get a fresh cheese and tofu sandwich to pack up for my lunch, I was on my way to one of the many bus stations dotted around Luang Prabang. My tuk tuk driver pointed out which minivan was mine, my luggage was passed up to the roof and secured and I was off again. This time to Phonsavan – a town which is certainly off the backpacker trail. The journey passed without incident, I was the only foreigner on the van, the scenery was even more stunning than before. The mountain twist and turns does mean that the maximum speed is approx 30 - 40kph – perfect for taking in the views. After going nearly 4 hours, I thought I might actually be the first one to ask for a toilet stop but then the van stopped at the top of the mountain. All the blokes piled out and started to relieve themselves. Luckily my overland truck training meant I can spot a patch of long grass at the side of any road and quick as a flash I was there. I am always prepared for toilet stops and carry toilet paper in my pocket at all times. The remaining three hours of the journey passed quite comfortably.

As the van pulled into Phonsavan I was immediately surrounded my tuk tuk drivers trying to grab me and sell me a guesthouse. I don’t take well to being grabbed – my luggage hadn’t even been unloaded. From my research I knew where the minivan station was in relation to the guesthouse I was going to try first, so I walked. Much to the amazement of the tuk tuk drivers who started to follow me down the road. After 10 minutes I had pretty much walked down the main street and found myself a room. I had come to Phonsavan primarily to visit the Plain of Jars. These are thousands of limestone jars spread across the landscape. No one knows how old they are, or what they were used for. My guesthouse said it did tours to the Jars site, so I enquired. The chap told me alot about the places of interest around Phonsavan – each place of interest roughly 35-70km away. Then he told me the price $90. Of course – it would be a private tour. He doesn’t do group tours. He said he could offer me a cheaper price if we went by motorbike, but still, it was far more than I was hoping to pay. I headed off to the various travel agencies I had seen on the main road. They all had signs outside offering their tours but when I enquired, they all said the same thing. The tours were not running yet, there were no tourists – I was the only falang about. I had one more place to try. A guesthouse on the outskirts was recommended for his tours. I went off to find Mr Kong. When I got there, my heart leaped, I could see other westerners. Mr Kong told me he was running one tour in the next couple of days. It was 150,000k, just under £15. Great. He runs six different trips and the trip that was going was option 2 – he pointed to the noticeboard so I could read up about it. My heart fell again. Of the 6 trips, 5 visited Plain of Jars sites plus various other locations, the other one, option2, visited the local waterfall and a village in the hills. I couldn’t believe it, I was so close to finding a group tour – silly Dutch tourists coming all the way to Phonsavan and booking the waterfall trip! Mr Kong

wished me luck in trying to find another group tour but he did not believe I would be successful. He was right. I was in a foul mood. I had come all this way and it looked as if I wouldn’t be able to get to the jars without spending an absolute fortune. I had already been advised that the road to Jars sites 2 and 3 was atrocious, dusty and dirty and under construction and not really suitable at the moment for taking a motorbike down. After witnessing some of the other Lao roads I knew what that meant. I stomped and sulked for a bit and went to get some food. There was an Indian restaurant close by that had really good reviews, so I thought I would try it out. My aubergine and potato curry was so oily and greasy that I couldn’t eat all of it. Garlic naan was ok. This did not improve my mood at all. It was half past 6 now, which was the same time that a film was being shown free in a local establishment, so I went for a look.
The local establishment was a place called MAG. This stands for Mines Advisory Group. Phonsavan and the surrounding area of Laos has the dubious honour of being the most bombed place on the planet (per head of population). A barrage of bombs was dropped every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day, for 10 years. The most incredible thing is that Laos was being bombed by a country it was not at war with, a country that had sign a pact in Geneva stating it would not drop a single bomb on Laos. Laos was bombed to smithereens by the Americans during the “Vietnam” War. Between 1964 and 1973 over 2 million tonnes of bombs were dropped. Did I mention Laos was neutral towards America. Even more astonishingly was that this was done without the knowledge of the American population or even half of congress. Most of what happened has only just been made public in America – within the last 8 years or so. It is known as the Secret War. The film I was going to watch was made by MAG to raise awareness of what happened and what is still happening today

At first American bombers targeted military operations, then it started bombing the cattle and agriculture trying to destroy the food supply (all in the name of preventing communism) then when the war in Vietnam got so bad that the planes could not close enough to the Vietnamese targets it simply blanket-bombed Laos on the way back to the airbases. It was too dangerous and risky (apparently) to try and land the planes that still had live bombs aboard so they dropped them on the East of Laos instead. [Sometimes they dropped them on Cambodia too – just to make a change. Its not like a revolutionary group who were anti-American and against being bombed for no reason, sprang up calling itself the Khmer Rouge. That worked out fine!] Unfortunately the majority of bombs dropped were cluster bombs. These are tennis ball size bombs full of ball-bearings that detonate on impact. But not if they land in water or in mud – which is what alot of the Laos countryside is. It is estimated that over 30% of the bombs did not explode. Cluster bombs are often referred to as terrorist bombs as they use the same principles as say a nail bomb. They will not do much damage to military

targets but will maim and kill the local population and livestock. The film I watched called ‘Bombies’ showed the work done by MAG to try and clear areas of unexploded cluster bombs. Because they look like tennis balls, children often pick them up when they see them, with devastating consequences. They will explode when hit, and as Laos agriculture is done by hitting the soil with a hoe many farmers are victims, losing arms, eyesight and often bleeding to death. MAG have trained up hundreds of locals (alot of them women) to become bomb disposal officers. It showed them diffusing 4 bombs found outside a school – a school that has been visited 17 times before by the bomb disposal unit. Last year they found 100,000 bombs yet at that rate of disposal it will still take over 100 years until Laos is clear of bombs! After watching the harrowing film, I was no longer in a bad mood – it was worth coming to Phonsavan just to see the work of MAG. Next door was the UXO shop (unexploded ordnance). It had maps of the area showing the positions of the bombs and a list of people and their injuries who have been victims of the bombs within the last few months. It also showed some of the rehabilitation work they were trying to do. It was eye-opening stuff.
I had a slow start the following day pottering around trying to find food. My plate of veg was very uninspiring (think bowlful of watery pak choi) but at least I had realised that the first Plain of Jars sites (there are 3 open to the public) would be accessible by bike. The road was in good shape and it was between 8 – 15km away depending on who you asked. I felt it was a little late to go cycling today so instead I thought I would walk through the rest of town. Turns out the rest of town was a very long street (approx 3km) that led onto the road going south. On the plus side I found the tourist information shop – literally miles away from the tourist main road. There was not much in the way of information but they did have some items to sell from the village of Ban Napia. When you are surrounded by so much used bomb casings – what do you do? Some people turn the bombs into water troughs for animals, window boxes in which to plant herbs, gateposts seem very popular but the ladies of Ban Napia use the aluminum to make tablespoons, bracelets and necklace charms. I bought myself a bracelet and a

spoon. I must admit I am rather taken with my bracelet. On the way back I detoured and climbed a couple of hills to visit the war memorials and take in the views. This area of town obviously sees no westerners at all. I was definitely an attraction and particularly scary for the little children. My blonde hair and blue eyes set a couple of children off screaming. One woman brought her toddler out of the house so he could meet me. He was very hesitant at first but eventually he mustered up enough courage to touch my hand. Oh the joys of travelling – making small children cry!
Treated myself at the foreigner aimed restaurant Bamboozle. I said earlier I was one of the only tourists in town but there was a large western contingent who do volunteer work for either MAG or the UXO people. These are mainly specialists in the bomb disposal world or specialists in false limbs, amputation and rehabilitation field. I had a goats cheese sandwich – it was divine. Also tried a mulberry shake – after the initial taste which is unusual and unknown, it became quite pleasant.
Next morning (after waiting for the thunderstorms to stop) I rented a rather pricey mountain bike and made me way to the Jars. It was rather hilly going but I made very good time. There was an impressive visitors centre – not much in it because not

that much is known. The Jars are believed to be stone-age but they were re- discovered in the early 1900’s by a French archaeologist. She recorded finding bones and other things inside then, but all the evidence and her findings have since vanished so no one can validate the claims. After coming all this way I was a little underwhelmed, if I am truthful. I don’t know what I expected but I got a field full of mainly broken pots. The large group of very loud Chinese tourists (no idea where they came from – don’t say China!) did lessen the mood to be truthful. I walked to the furthest point and waited for them to go. The furthest point involved walking up a small hill to a viewpoint. The path up the hill really caught my attention. It was full of MAG cover stones. I had read on the entry gate that MAG had removed 117 bombs from the site and it was declared safe to walk around. When they removed a bomb they laid a cover-stone to show its position. As I walked up the path I saw cover-stone after cover-stone. At one point I could see 8 cover-stones in my line of sight. It was shocking how many there were and in such a tiny space. For the first time I really understood why they were called cluster bombs and the damage they would do. There would be no avoiding them, if you dodged the first 11 or 12 you would inevitably step on the 13th. Feeling very sombre I returned from the viewpoint back to the now quiet field of Jars. The Jars now looked mysterious and eerie and quite frankly I was surprised any had survived the bombing intact. I spent a couple of peaceful hours here just mulling around, daydreaming. There was a small cave next to the field in which locals had sheltered during bombing raids. Bomb craters were everywhere including right outside the mouth of the cave. You could see the marks from the fires used for cooking and the small hole that had been dug out of the roof to act as a chimney. It was a spooky place. After having my picture taken with the largest Jar – it was taller than me and thought to weigh 6 tonne (which is definitely heavier than me) I set off home. The rain had started again and very quickly it became very heavy rain. As I am cycling, I hear a loud bang. I flinch but the people I am passing at the time don’t seem to notice. Then there is another loud bang, then I remember seeing a quarry on the map – it must be the quarry. Wrong. As I turn the corner I see 4 jeeps with UXO logos on them. Through the rain I can make out an awning in the next field. There are another 3 explosions. They are actually detonating bombs as I am passing. The field was only a couple of hundred metres away from the Jars site. How dangerous must living here be?

Going home seemed to be more strenuous than getting there – don’t know if it was the rain or the thought of bombs exploding the made the journey drag. By the time I got back to the guesthouse I was shivering. The temperature had dropped to 19 degrees. I had to hunt out socks. Had to climb into bed and watch Pirates of the Caribbean till I felt warm enough to venture out again. My final meal in Phonsavan was tofu laap. I am getting quite a liking for the traditional Lao dish of laap. That will be one dish I shall try to recreate when I get back to the UK. Next stop is going to be the backpacker mecca that is Vang Vieng – I sincerely doubt I will be the only tourist there!

Luang Prabang

There is a reason Lao people arrive up to an hour early for the bus – there is one public pus a day that goes to Luang Prabang, its a 10 hour journey and it leaves at 9am. Which is the same time the minivan leaves but it only takes 8 hours, hence is more expensive. Our minivan was being loaded up at 8.40 (the backpacks and other assorted agricultural sacks being lifted onto the roof and tied down) when we heard the splutter of an engine and the public bus pulling out of the station. The bus driver obviously couldn’t be bothered waiting anymore. Our minivan driver left it till 8.55 before departing. The journey ended up being an adventure in itself. The road was across the mountains, so winding roads and beautiful scenery, not to mention a top speed of 30kph. After an hour or so we stopped to pick up a local man who was flagging us down. As we stopped a couple

of children pointed to our wheel, so the driver got out to have a look at it. Turned out it was losing air so he changed the wheel, giving the passengers a 10 min break to stretch our legs. A Lao lady from the van climbed out, her machete swaying from her belt. She walked to the undergrowth on one side of the road and started hacking large branches. The she peeled (de-barked) them and chopped them up into bitesize pieces. As we all boarded the van she had a full bag of edible unidentifiable treats. The flagging down man also climbed aboard but not before picking up his chicken. During the break I had discovered to my horror that the pack up I had loving made for my lunch had become infested with ants and so I left it on the roadside. When we pulled into a local bus station for a lunch stop – not surprisingly I couldn’t find anything to eat, though pork intestine seemed to be the delicacy of the area. My packet of crisps was not the most filling. Back into the van and we drove for at least a minute before the driver stopped to look at the tyre. Back in the van again and this time we drove for a couple of minutes before pulling into a garage. Both the new and old tyre were taken off and patched up whilst the rest of us loitered in the garage. Local man went off to let his chicken run about. Machete lady came over to me to offer some of what she had been nibbling on. She was carrying bunches of what looked like long grasses. She carefully peeled each pod and inside was a tasty rice grain. She gave me a little bunch but after 10 mins I had only managed to get inside about 5 pods. She thought I was highly amusing and probably a little slow. Eventually we all climb inside the van and the journey continues. Lao minivans don’t have aircon they have windows, which is great until you get to certain stretches of road. I was staring out the window when I noticed all the vegetation had turned brown. What on earth could have killed off so much plantlife. For as far as the eye could

see, everything living by the side of the road looked dead. Plants 4 metres away from the road looked fine – had some sort of mass pesticide spray happened? Then it dawned on me. The plants were not dead – they were all covered in a very thick layer of brown dust. The road was also covered in it – in fact the dust was now coming in through the windows. To avoid death by suffocation, all windows had to be shut, which did not help the temperature levels. The dusty dirt road continued for another 3 hours – the only road I’ve known worse than this one for dust was the infamous northern Kenyan road. Somewhere in the middle of this dust nightmare, man and his chicken got out. The chicken had not made a sound all journey – very well behaved – if only the Lao children could be brought up in the same way! Eventually, an hour later than scheduled we arrived in Luang Prabang. Sun had already set so I could not see any of its famed beauty but what I did find only a couple of minutes away from my guesthouse was a small roadside stall that sold fresh baguettes for only 10,000k. After my paltry crisps my cheese spread (laughing cow) and tofu sandwich was bliss. There was even a tv in my room, so I settled down, breathing in deep clean air, eating my sandwich and watching the remake of the Italian Job – in English!The next day I strolled leisurely around Luang Prabang. Some people claim this is the most charming city in South East Asia but I am not one of them. Unesco does alot of work in the city and whilst the buildings have been preserved well and are not covered in tacky plastic advertisements, it can not disguise the fact that all the shops along the main road are either travel

agencies, tourist restaurants, tourist handicraft shops or upmarket boutique hotels. It is almost surrounded by the Mekong river and the Nam Ou river and I love to sit on the banks of a river watching the world go by, but when the river is a murky brown colour, it loses that magical quality. The Mekong was the same sludge brown colour when I was on it in Vietnam during the height on the rainy season so I do not know if that is its natural colour or whether it would revert to a blue colour during the dry season. If the river itself was a disappointment, the bridges crossing it were not. Lao bridges are more temporary in nature tending to be made out of bamboo. I found a main bridge that would allow motorbikes across but not cars. There was a little walkway for pedestrians on the outside of the bridge. Crossing the bridge was an extreme activity in itself. I scared myself senseless edging across the bamboo slats while peering through the iron girders. I am going to have to toughen up if I am to survive Laos! From 5pm onwards the main tourist street is closed to all traffic as stall holders setup for the daily night market. Unlike the Thai markets – there was not a huge food selection but there was alot of different handicrafts for sale. The market was vast – walking through took a long time. I found a cafe near the

entrance to the market where I sat, ate and watched the comings and goings of the market. The next day I hit the tourist trail and visited the former royal palace. There was the most amazing temple in the grounds (although as it did not contain a Buddha – I don’t know if it was officially a temple) which was decorated unlike any temple I have seen before. It was stunning – with red walls and gold overlay. The former palace was an eye-opener for its sheer size. It was tiny! Apart from the main reception room with its glass mosaic walls and thrones, this could have been the house of your well off grand-parents. Lao royalty ended after the 1975 revolution but the palace was last decorated in the 1950’s. The kings bedroom consisted of a bed, a small 1950’s wardrobe (very similar if not identical to the one Grandad use to have in Paul’s bedroom) and a small desk. The dining room had a 1950’s plain table and a simple sideboard. I was gobsmacked. As well as the former palace I walked around the former garages which still contained some old (classic) cars and a 1950’s speedboat. Admittedly most grandparents don’t have one of those. I also spotted the old petrol pumps – long since abandoned in a corner of the garden! There are loads of temples in and around the city – it is sometimes called the city of 100 temples, so I actually consulted my lonely planet for recommendations on which ones to visit. (After 4 months of carting the

thing around – I finally found a use for it). By all accounts Wat Xieng Thong was the one to see. They were not wrong. I have visited so many temples on this trip but this complex was so different to all the others. The minor temples had pink walls and were covered in glass mosaics. The main temple had black walls and were covered in golden designs – both visually stunning. The back exterior wall of the main temple had a beautiful drawing of the tree of life. There was so much gold and glass that the reflection of the sun off the temples made photography very difficult. I had timed my visit well, so that I would still be in the temple complex at 4pm. This is when the monks symbolicly beat the drums. Unlike some other temples, the monks here have made the drumming into an art form which lasted over 20 minutes. It was beautiful to listen to and very strenuous for the monks – the main beater had to be replaced twice during the drumming. The gong the main beater was drumming was enormous and he had to use both hand to hold the beater. Even whilst swapping over, they never missed a beat. Listening to them you can understand why drumming is used to go into a religious

trance. As Luang Prabang is situated on the mighty Mekong, it was only right to take a boat trip down the river. I visited the Pak Ou caves which were over an hour away by boat. It is planting time here and many people were working on their stretch on the river bank, tilling the soil or maintaining and building fences for their plot. The caves themselves were more of openings in the rock face in which people over the years have left hundreds of tiny buddhas. The climb to the top cave offered great views over the Mekong and a workout as well! On the way back we stopped at a tiny village that sells alot of the local rice wine to tourists. We were offered a free shot – this stuff is 50% and it was still mid morning and asked if we would buy some. The guy also had bottles of snake wine for sale. This is the same cheap distilled rice spirit but with a snake or perhaps a scorpion in the bottle. Traditionally in S.E. Asia these drinks were considered good health tonics. The girl on the boat with me could speak fluent Northern Thai and that is similar enough to Lao for them to understand one another. She asked about the snakes and found out the chap doing the selling actually goes into the forest himself and catches the snakes. The snakes are not killed though. They go into the bottle alive. If the seal isn’t put on the top of the bottle correctly, the snake can live for a couple of months. In fact in Thailand a woman had opened a bottle only to be bitten by a live snake. The girl had read this news story which had prompted her to question the chap today. So if any of you fancy a bottle of snake spirit – always check the seal carefully!

My final afternoon in Luang Prabang was spent visiting the Krungsi Waterfalls. At the entrance to the park there is a bear rescue centre. Here Asiatic or Sun Bears have been rescued from farms where they are kept in cages hooked up to syringes so fluids can be “farmed” from their livers and stomachs. These fluids are vital (apparently) to Chinese medicine. The enclosures here were a decent size and more importantly the syringes were gone, replaced with climbing frames and tyres. I could see three bears lolling around in the afternoon sun and they did look ridiculously cute, however they were very far away and my blind mans eyesight wasn’t doing me any favours. I’ve never seen a brown bear before – they reminded me very much of the pandas. I continued walking through the park until I came across the most dazzling blue set of pools. Krungsi consists of a number of small waterfalls and pools and a much larger skyscraper sized waterfall. Some of the lower waterfalls are safe to jump from and alot of westerners were swinging from rope swings and jumping down the waterfall. Despite the heat in town – it was 33degrees, the water was very cold. I had come equipped with my bikini but like alot of the visitors, once I had a quick paddle, I decided to remain fully clothed and walk around the pools rather than through them. I walked up many layers of staggering blue pools – this is one of the most beautiful waterfalls I have visited, second only to the amazing pools at Huanglong National Park in China. I spent a couple of hours here walking around but as the sun began to go down it was time to head back to Luang Prabang and pack , ready for the next town.