Thursday 14th November 2013 – Phonsavan to Vientiane, Laos
It's a strange existence travelling in a cramped sleeper bus overnight, as you don't really sleep you just occasionally nod off and then wake up with a jerk very confused – to wonder where the hell am I, and how come either only 5 minutes has past or 2 hours has past. After midnight we were awake on the steep hills when he drove past a very large lorry which had come off the road and toppled into the ditch. In the road infront of it a few locals sat with torches, and one held up a blood soak blanket in our headlights as we past, where small one said was a very dead looking body underneath. Small one didn't sleep too much after that, though in fairness the bus driver was driving very well. Small one was also hit with bad diarrhoea, and the poor people sitting next to the bus toilet must have had trouble sleeping the rest of the trip.
We arrived at a large bus terminal at 6am, where half the people got off, though there was no announcement that this was Vientiane, and (again) no signs. We finally decided it was and collected our bags and drearily went inside the terminal to find out where we were and how to get to the town centre. In the end we hooked up with the 3 french guys and haggled a persistent Tuk Tuk driver down to 15,000 Kip per person to take the five of us into town. Once dropped in town we wondered the streets searching for the non-existent cheap hotel. We weren't the only people who were roaming the streets at 6.30am with backpacks, clearly looking for accommodation having just arrived on either the same bus or another one. We bumped into the 3 french lads a few more times who were having little success, we also saw the large cat stroking Dutch girl who we'd met in Vang Vieng and at the waterfall in Luang Prabang, and then bumped into the Taiwan guy from our Plain of Jars trip who had come down on a separate bus to us.
We tried the Mexok Inn again, though they only had a triple room – Tall one sat outside and had a coffee and guarded the bags whilst small one went and found us a cheapish place down the road called RD guesthouse (private room, air con and bathroom for 80,000 Kip a night – compared with the 150,000 we'd paid last time in Mixok). We were even aloud to check in early and collapsed in our room. Was a strange ensuite, with old cowboy saloon swing doors to the bathroom, leaving un-necessary smells from the toilet easily able to drift into the bedroom. We turned the TV on and listened to a CNN reporter ho sounded a lot like Alan Alda (though looked nothing like him). After a needed shower we handed in our large 6kg of laundry next door then went for breakfast in a cheap cafe a few doors away. Small one had fruit, and tall one opted for the French toast – the waitress frowned when he ordered this and ran her finger along the listing for French Toast printed in the menu. When Tall one's order finally showed up he was handed three dry slices of white toasted bread, with 2 fried eggs and a side dish of honey and a side dish of milk?? The waitress had literally just read the ingredients and given them to him, not knowing how to put it together. We explained to her that she needed to mix the egg and milk in a bowl, then dip the bread in the mixture before frying the bread – but we said not to worry at all as it was nice as it was (though a little strange and Tall one did not know how to incorporate a dish of milk with eggs on toast). After breakfast we booked our night train to Bangkok, Thailand for tomorrow night, and wet back to doze in the hotel room.
After a long doze, we skipped lunch and headed out for dinner. Went back to the same cafe we had the French Toast in.... it was empty like this morning, except this time the Thai ladies husband was their – a french man. We discussed the french toast, which he had apparently talked her through the process over the phone after Tall one had ordered it, though it didn't quite work out. Small one had a chicken Mexican wrap and Tall one had meat balls with chips, it's an eclectic menu though the food (and the coffee) was very very good. Afterwards took a stroll up the night market, and found the streets very busy with cars and hard to cross. Small one collected our laundry and when we arrived back at the Guest House we past the 3 french lads in the hallway, who had apparently ended up in the same hotel as us (if they show up for the Bangkok train, something will be very wrong).
That was the end of our last full day in Laos, as we now prepare to return to Thailand tomorrow evening. We coloured in our map of South East Asia and realized how very little we covered of Laos, just 4 main places in under 2 weeks. We can't claim to have gotten to know the Lao people or country in such a short time, though it has made a good impression on us. The people certainly seem more reserved and quieter compared to our recent trip to Cambodia, there is no real pushy hard selling, they all seem quite laid back in their approach (with a few exceptions anyway). The scenery was all stunning, from the Mekong river sunset in Luang Prabang, to the lagoons and mountains of Vang Vieng, or the rural villages and Plain of Jars in Phonsavan – we were probably more taken with the scenery here than in Cambodia, though the Laos cities all seemed a lot less appealing. The country did seem a bit more advanced however, prices were that bit higher (especially accommodation in Vientiane), and the tour buses seemed to be better organized. It's definitely a place we would like to come back and explore more of, at the very least so that small one can finally learn that to say 'Thankyou' in Lao is pronounced 'Kawp-Jye' not 'Cop-Chow'?? which God only knows what that means.
Wednesday 13th November 2013 – Phonsavan, Plain of Jars and Night Bus to Vientiane, Laos
Stored our bags in the not so Nice Guesthouse, and had breakfast in the Italian place down the road, where they took 45 minutes to prepare a fruit salad (and we were the only customers). The smoking Italian man was joined by another staff member, this Lao fella with a bandana and a wirey sparse goaty. The Lao fella was apparently called, Mr Kong, and announced his presence at 8am by saying loudly how fucking drunk he was. This man then showed us around the scooters and quad bikes they had for rent. The Italian told us that their were 3 sites to visit to see the Plains of Jars, the first was the largest and on a sealed road, 2 and 3 sites were on a dirt road, very muddy and very rough road. As we had had rain last night we decided to pay the extra for the Quad bike for the two of us (120,000 Kip for the day). We were joined by the Tawaiin and Malay girl (Meng Shiun and SheauChin) who also opted for a quad bike. The french girl arrived a little later (smoking as usual) and opted for a scooter on her own, but would follow the four of us. Before we set off the Belgium lady from our bus yesterday saw us and asked how we were getting to the Jars, as she wanted to go but did not want to take a bike – she then wondered off in search of a public bus that did not exist.
The five of us gased up in a petrol station and headed out of town towards the Jar sites. For the whole day every local man or child we past was smiling, waving and laughing at us on the quad bikes – it seems that they have not seen these on the roads very often. Small one would encourage them by merrily beeping the horn and waving at them, they in turn would coming running out waving like Santa Claus was going by on a float.
Jar site 1 was our first stop, which had a lot of tourists. The jar themselves were interesting enough, these large 1-2 metre high old reclics, from over 2,000 years ago – which had largely been bombed inadvertently by the Americans during the Vietnam war. We bumped into (yet again) the Belgium woman who had hired a Tuk Tuk just to this site. She told us she had chatted with a Lao man at this site who was near tears as his parents had been killed here in the bombing, and all he had of them was a photo of them sat on one of these jars which he was trying to find.
The five of us headed off again, the french girl leading on her scooter, though she managed to miss the dirt road turn off to sites 2 and 3. We turned off without her, but she did catch up in the end. The dirt roads were hard work, though did not turn out to be very muddy at all. Luckily the weather stayed sunny all day, though pretty cloudy. Tall one sat on the uncomfortable metal bar rack on the back of the Quad bike, bouncing up and down over the bumps holding on to his hat like a Beverly Hill Billy. Outside a small rural school the Taiwan lad and Malay girl's quad bike stopped. We examined the bike and found that the chain had come off the gears (the same as a push bike). They started digging out the phone number for the Italian man to come out, until Tall one suggested that they first just try and get the chain back on. Tall one managed to do this, though in the process got his hands covered with black oil and grease. It came off again just as we were pulling into the ticket booth for Jar site 2 – and Tall one managed to get the chain back on for a second time, so they held off phoning the Italian.
While they were getting the chain back on the second time the french girl said she'd go on ahead on her own, and so she abandoned us by the ticket booth and a small cafe. Once the chain was on the ticket man took Tall one into the small cafe and handed him over to a small, elderly Lao woman to help him wash his hands (as the public toilets had no soap or running water). She led Tall one out the back of the kitchen and got him to crouch on the floor and hold his hands out, she then poured water from a bucket over his hands and squirted industrial soap on. Tall one scrubbed his hands while she kept on lathering on more soap and water. Just when Tall one thought this process was over she led him to her fridge and took out 2 wedges of lemon and gave them to him. Tall one then rubbed these in his hands, which in fairness did absolutley nothing to help. He thanked the lady and brought a can of Fanta from her shop in gratitude. His hands were still quite stained, though at least they were dry and not sticky any more.
The ticket booth man then pointed us up a bumpy dirt road to the site 2 of Jars. The two quad bikes headed up here, past two parked cars and a few steps, and down a steep dirt hill. The hill was pretty ugly to get down and we hoped we would not have to come back up this way. We drove for 5-10 minutes through some nice open countryside, and then struggled to get the bikes over some very bumpy and rough dry river bed terrain – having to push and lift the bike in places. It was then that the french girl greeted us coming back the road we were headed. She told us that the jars were not down here and she thinks they were back up the top of that hill we came down by the cars and steps, she said three french guys had also missed them and were down here on scooters looking without success (these turned out to be the 3 french guys from our Luang Prabang mini bus to Phonsavan yesterday). The french girl left us to it again and disappeared over the horizon. He got small one's quad bike turned around, though we could not get the Taiwan lad's bike to start. The chain was on so was not the problem, but then we checked his petrol and found that he was empty. We then remembered back to our petrol station stop when we set off – the Lao fella at the rental station told us we'd need about 3 litres for the trip we were doing, and when we got to the petrol station we explained this to the Taiwan guy, who then preceded to order only 2 litres, whilst we ordered 3.
Tall one and Small one said they;d go for gas for him, and drove back up that doodgy hill – which was actually easier than coming down. The cafe and ticket booth sold no gas, so drove for 20 minutes or so until we found a small homefront store which had some barrels of gas. She topped up ours and also filled up a 1 litre water bottle with pink gasoline. Twenty minutes later we were back down to their quad bike. We filled the engine, and finally got the engine to start after a lot of messing about. We got both quad bikes back up the hill and found the site 2 Jar site was infact by the steps we had driven by (not a single sign to say this though). When we came back from looking at the two small sites of Jars we found that the Taiwan fella's quad bike had leaked its gas all over the dirt road – and had a steady leak from the engine. We drove very quickly to get back to the cafe and ticket booth, where some locals gathered around and tried to fix it without success. A tour guide with good english (what we thought was good english) showed up and asked if we needed help. We asked him if he could ask the locals if they could fix themselves or if we should try and call the rental station... his answer was that the farmers had to go back to the paddy fields soon.
The Taiwan fella and the Malay girl then made contact with the Italian and he sent someone out to them. In that case we left them to it, and we set off on our own, and original small group now disbanded. Was a bumpy 5.4km to site 3 of the Jars – but was the nicest rural scenery to get there.
We were lucky we found it as there was no sign pointing down the entrance to the site if you were heading from our direction, but there was one if you were comiing from the other direction of the road, and by chance Tall one had turned around and glimsped the sign behind him as they drove past it. We parked up in Site 3 and walked about ten minutes across a stubble field, and a narrow windiing path through a paddy field, then up a hill to the final Jar site. Was more like a solemn graveyard, these scattered stone jars, fenced in a top a hill. We soon left and on the way back to Site 2 (to check the guys had got a replacement or fixed bike) the Taiwan guy and Malay girl showed up in the opposite direction on a large dirt bike. Apparently Mr Kong had driven out and collected their quad bike in a pickup and given them a replacement dirt bike – he didn't charge them any extra costs for time or damages either. They continued on their own to site 3 and we headed home.
By now we were both filthy, not just from the petrol and oil on our hands from trying to fix the bikes, but also as the numerous muddy brown puddles had slashed up our feet and bare legs. Tall one still had not brought a pair of shoes to replace the ones he lost, and so still only had flip flops to wear on these hikes and roads. We got to the junction back to town and thought we had still not seen the 'Russian Tank' abonded from the 60's, that had been mentioned – so took a left at the T junction to have a quick look for it. After 5 minutes drive there was a blue sign with a photo of a tank pointing to a dirt track off the main road. We headed down this track, and kept driving and looking out for a tank. Went through a lot of bushes and the track got narrower, until we stopped to turn back. Then the 3 french lads turned up on their scooters to look for the tank – we let them go on ahead, where the path turned into a muddy ploughed field. We all looked around for another ten minutes without success and so gave up and headed back to the road (yet again no signs). Back at the main road we looked at the blue sign we had seen and noticed it was kind of piinting to a very small footpath leading into some bushes right next to the main road. We took a quick look down there and sure enough there was the tank.... not the most interesting of highlights after spending so long not finding it.
Got back to town at 5pm (having set off at 9am). Dropped off the bikes with Mr Kong and went to the Bamboo Restaurant round the corner and had an amazing chicken burger, and pork steak. Tall one used their bathroom to hose down his dirty bare legs. Small one then did a count of our remaining Kip currency, he got worried when he found he only had 200,000 Kip (about $26USD), until Tall one counted out the Kip he still had and found he had 1.1 Million Kip (small one does all the purchasing). Afterwards we collected our bags from the Nice Guesthouse and they let us pay 20,000 Kip to use a spare room to have a shower. We took half an hour but felt good to get the dirt out our skin, she knocked on the door just as we were finishing as two people were waiting to check in – that made us wonder if she'd just let them go straight in with the towels used and bathroom sopping wet?
We soon met up with the Taiwan guy, Malay girl and the French girl and toasted our survival of the trip with a Beer Lao. Tall one and Small one took a brief look aroudn the MAG (UXO disposal charity) visitor centre on the high street, and joined the guys for another final beer in the Bamboo restaurant. At 8pm we were back at nice Guesthouse where the sleeper bus arrived to take us to Vientiane (10 hours over night). We were given a ticket each, with seat numbers A1 and A2. Boarding the cramped bus, we first had to take our shoes off and put them in a ccarrier bag to carry on board. The bus had three rows of narrow, awkward bunk beds running the length of the bus – we found that seats A1 and A2 were the front two bottom beds at the bus, and above them (top bunks) B1 and B2. Only in beds A1 and A2 sat two local, middle aged Lao women snuggling clutching their blankets and shopping. When we told them these were our beds, these shook their heads and pointed to the top bunks, small one told them without question that “these are our beds, we paid for them”. The ladies left the beds without comment, and looked at the available bunks down the bus (the locals must not get allocated numbers as we saw several locals in bottom bunks be shifted out by foreigners with tickets with seat numbers). We were also joined on the same bus by the same 3 french lads who virtually seemed to be travelling with us a this stage.
One of the driver's seemingly many assistants then hand out to everyone a small bottle of water and a carton of warm, UHT strawberry milk, he also later went on to hand out a sick bag to the local women who always seem to get travel sickness. Tall one squashed himself into his strange bed / chair, which had a strange foot cover that was very awkward to actually lie down – as the bed seemed designed for people who were four and a half foot tall. Leaving everyone to sort of sit and try and twist their bodies to fit their legs and bend their knees as comfortably as possible. The bus then headed out of town and collected yet more locals at the outside terminal. Their were not enough seats for all the locals and bus drver's assistances, and so pretty soon people were lying down in the aisles next to us, Small one had a little old Lao woman lying on her back in the aisle between him and the person in the bottom bunk to his right, as well as a driver's mate lying in the aisle to his left, between him and Tall one.... if we crashed we would essentially be bollocksed. Never the less we headed off into the night, to go back the hilly steep roads we had come to the Vang Vieng road, and then back down to the capital of Vientiane.
Tuesday 12th November 2013 – Luang Prabang to Phonsavan, Laos
Checked out that flea pit and went round the corner to a small, fancy little cafe run by an American woman. She had a Lao girl behind the counter and was also training a young Vietnamese girl on how to carry food, take orders and greet customers. We had tea and oatmeal, and ordered two takeaway chicken sandwiches for the 7 hour bus today. At 8.30am we boarded a Tuk Tuk which picked up another 7 people (all french, including 3 young french guys travelling together). We were then dropped at a bus terminal where we were all 9 of us pointed to a black, crappy minibus for Phonsavan, we looked inside and it was full, so no joy there. We stood about for a while, until finally some driver brought a new mini bus round. Small one hopped into the seats behind the driver which are more spacious and near the door – we have twice now tried reserving seats at the booking desk, to which we are told it was done, but the drivers never ask for reservations which is no real surprise. We were also joined by a middle aged Belgium woman who sat in the front with the driver, she was akin to a Belgium Mr Bean, mumbling away to herself and fiddling with everything on the dashboard curiously.
Set off after 9.15am, and the road back down towards Vang Vieng, then cutting inland to Phonsavan was very steep, hilly and full of hard turns, this meant everyone on board was very queasy, Tall one felt ready to throw up. We stopped after a couple of hours at a small hillside stall, the villagers had large round wicker baskets of red chillis out in the sun to dry. The Belgium woman joyfully took a photo of a disabled Lao midget who was collecting the 2,000 Kip by the toilets for people to use. Back on the bus Tall and Small one took out their takeaway chicken sandwiches to find the tomatoes and drained through the box and filled the bag with an inch of juice. We preceded to eat our soggy sandwich, though due to the road type it was like trying to eat lunch on a rollercoaster. The rest of the road gradually smoothed out for the last hour, though on one strecth for about 10km the locals had decided to leave piles of ballast heaped a good 5 foot high I the middle of the road, which we kept having to drive around.
Arrived in Phonsavan on time around 4pm and were harassed by Tuk Tuk drivers. We took a free ride to the 'nice' sounding Nice Guesthouse (which was in the Lonely Planet) and though the driver told us 80,000 Kip a night, reception charged us 70,0000. The room was basic, and though there was no air con we did not need it as strangely it was quite cold. However the room did smell of something dead. We priced a tour to the Plain of Jars with reception (the main attraction here), he took us to sit down at a table and showed us various maps, photos for ten minutes and explained the myth that locals believed these giant 2 metre stone jars (over 300 spread across site 1) were made for giants to drink whisky. After all this small one asked how much for the tour, and he told us 250,000 Kip EACH (that's about $60-70 for the two of us), the most we;d paid for a tour so far was about $10 each. We declined and priced a scooter to do it ourselves.
We walked the streets up and down and found there was literally nothing to see in thetown and very few cafes. Dark clouds loomed over head and it then preceded to thunderstorm and rain hard for a few hours. We ate in a fair size guesthouse cafe run by a middle aged Italian man, who would stand smoking his cigeratte in the kitchen. We ate a french fries pizza (a pizza with french fries for topping) along with a side of mash potatoes and chicken/onion spring roll things – it took an hour for them to cook this though. The Italian man had a specific habit of not wearing his flip flops on tiled floors, so each time we asked for something he'd have to walk out to us, stop to put his shoes on, see what we wanted, walk back and take his shoes off – go across the tiled floor, get it and come back – take his shoes off, come out to us to give us the menu, then go back and take hi shoes off again. This was a guesthouse not a temple, so couldn't understand the shoes off thing for the tiled reception area. At 6.30pm he put on a 'free movie' which was a documentary recorded off TV about the secret war in Laos. Was very interesting as it involved a secret Air America base set up outside Phonsavan, and how the Americans had wiped out the local civilisation based in the Plain of Jars to conduct their secret base against the Vietnamese. We sat with 3 backpackers travelling alone, a French girl (always a french person in Laos), a Malaysian girl with very good english and a young lad from Taiwan (glued to his IPhone). The lad and the Malay girl met on their but this afternoon and were already sharing a room and their pizza. They agreed they may do the tour tomorrow with us, especially if it was raining and we could all get a cheap van together. By now the movie had gone on forever, and as he was projecting from his laptop a popup kept coming up over the movie saying that 'this is no an authentic copy of windows'. We left before the end and went to bed in our chilly, smelly room.
Monday 11th November 2013 – Luang Prabang, Laos
Out for breakfast and stumbled in to Nicholas from Vang Vieng, who was sat in the most uncomfortable chairs in Mojo Cafe singing the praises of a local massage he'd had. We left him to it, as he was catching a 20 hour bus to Chaing Mai this evening. Small oe was getting sick of the similar menu selections (With his restricted diet to avoid potential fish/fish oil contamination) – having eaten his fill of muesli, yoghurt, fruit, baguettes, eggs and banana shakes.
At 1.30pm went to our crafts and travel shop and were eventually picked up late for our 4 hour afternoon trip too Kuang Si. The mini bus filled up with mostly french people – behind us a young couple with a 9 month old screaming baby – South East Asia seemed an odd choice for a holiday with such a young child. In front of us was a snobbish American couple, next to them a very quiet Asian girl on her own, and in the front passenger seat a french lad falling asleep. We had lost about 40 minutes of time as outside the city our driver got a call and had to go back and pick up more passengers (who had been the American couple). This meant e only had an hour and a half at the destination. Compared to Cambodia, there seemed strict rules on how many people a mini bus or Tuk Tuk can carry, and each vehicle had a red sticker with a number (ie. 12p) showing it's maximum, and they never exceeded this – on route to the waterfall we were briefly stopped by tourist police, who we presumed were checking our numbers.
Prices at Kuang Si were reasonable, only $2.50USD each to enter, to see both Kuang Si Bear Rescue Centre and the Kuang Si waterfall (they also didn't charge for the public toilets which made a change). The water fall was stunning, this turquoise waters spilling over multiple layers of the river bed, and cascading down various levels of rocks surrounded by forest and ferns. The only problem shattering this paradise was the vast groups of tourists – from the Japanese bus loads, to the young British backpackers swimming and talking about the drinking games they had planned. The Bear sanctuary was a somewhat random addition to this waterfall, but the odd pairing gave us something else to go see. A fenced enclosure surrounded Asiatic Black Bears and Malayan Sun Bears which had been rescued from hunters traps, illegal fur markets, people's pets or former dancing bears. The enclosure's were quite substantial, with a variety of habitats and play areas – though most of the bears had decided to huddle on the concrete near the building. After the bears we wondered the nearby market, which sold the same crafts as in town (here and in every other town in Laos). We ordered a chicken baguette and the girl took ten minutes to just put the mayo, butter and salad in – by the time she got to putting the chicken in it looked like it had gone off, so we opted to just have a salad baguette. On the way home we stopped at a small, poor rural village – and the tourists where ushered off a bus and told to follow this loop path around the village where the residents tried to get us to buy the usual crafts we'd already seen. Was a bit bizarre, and a bit sad.
Back to town and the American couple were disgusted that they were not dropped off at their hotel. Small one spent about 2 hours trying to upload his photos on our terrible internet. Went out for dinner and tried Utopia cafe that Nicholas had recommended – the place had loud music, had no chairs, and just lots of hippy types in baggy trousers lounging on floor cushions talking about “so why do you take drugs?....”..... we got the hell out of there and went back to Cafe Mojo. The chips there didn't let us down (unadventurous as we are). A local boy of about 4-5 years old, who seemed to have down syndrome and a very bad hair cut (front half of head was crookedly shaved) approached our table and started doing a strange break dance on the floor. We played a game of high five, and showed him our meagre tattoos. The waiter came and told us that the boy had a problem with his brain, but we said that the boy was perfect, and he was okay and not bothering us. Soon a group of kids came and seemingly took him to the hairdressers up the street who finished his hair cut.
Sunday 10th November 2013 – Luang Prabang – Henri Mouhot's Grave, Laos
Showered just in time before the electricity in the town shut off (again). Headed out to the bicycle rental and craft shop we had priced yesterday, avoiding a Tuk Tuk driver who followed us up the road trying to get us to go with him for the day (he even waited outside a cafe whilst we had our cold sausages). The bike rental was 60,000 Kip each, and he gave us a photocopy map. We were setting off to visit the tomb / memoriam of French naturalist and explorer, Henri Mouhot - who received funding from the UK to explore parts of Siam, Cambodia and Laos in 1858-1861. Logged extensive findings of previously unrecorded languages and animal species and credited with bringing the Temples of Ankgor to worldwide attention following the publishing of his journals posthumously. He died outside Luang Prabang, Laos of malarial fever on 10th November 1861 (by coincidence 152 years ago to the day, making us somewhat late in bringing him malaria tablets).
The rental shop gave us a map and directions to the small village of Ban Phanom, where Henri Mouhot's grave lay about 3-4 km after. The route was relatively easy, neither of us being cyclists – we found the hills only gradual and easy to cycle – the roads were also pretty good, and thankfully was an overcast day so not to hot for cycling. We made it to Ban Phanom from the map and directions in about half an hour's leisurely cycling. The otherside of the village the road headed down some small hills and then ran alongside the Nam Khan river which was on our left. We then headed through a construction area where they seemed to be building a bridge across to the otherside of the river. We kept heading straight ahead and soon the road changed to loose, white stones which was a little harder to cycle. Soon the road takes a corner to the right, and heads away from the river. On this corner where the road leaves the river is where the track to Henri's grave is. There is no sign for the grave on the main road, though the track was right next to a colourful sign for the Elephant rides. On the left side of the road, on the corner - a 3 foot wife dirt track headed down hill to the river. About a minute down the track there was a small white sign on a post saying 'Henri Mouhot' which pointed across a small wooden bridge. We locked the bikes here and followed the forest track past numerous of misty spider webs in the undergrowth. The track then opened out into a somewhat gloomy, though peaceful clearing. Here was the white tomb of Henri Mouhot, a statue about 8 foot tall of his large bearded figure, a statue of an elephant, and a board with description in French of the man. A path led down to the river's edge, where the Nam Khan river flowed fast, and the otherside of the river a group of young locals were playing music. We stayed around ten minutes and headed back.
As there had been no sign from the main road to the grave, we had actually missed it the first time. We had cycled for another 20 minutes or so past the grave, though this hadn't proved a bad thing as the scenary was nicer further round the road. There was a large mount on the right side of the road, and then we also rode into a small rural village (do not know the name). The village had the dirt track, wooden shacks, chickens and dogs everywhere, and locals sat by the street cooking – was more the small village you'd expect to see compared to the slightly more established village of Ban Phanom, where the buildings were mostly bricks, and had substantial cafe fronts. We had asked directions but nobody had english, but decided we must have missed the turning and so turned back. Luckily we met just outside the village a group of 6-7 men on bikes on a 3 day cycle trip. The guide had good english and told us the tomb was about 3-4 cycle back the way we had come, on a corner.
We headed back and found after at least 5 minutes cycling there were a number of corners with small unmarked tracks leading into the forest. Went down the first one (about a foot wide) and pushed our bikes through the dense bush like fools until we decided this was the wrong track. Cycled for another few minutes and saw a more substantial dirt road on the left of the road. Headed down here through thick wet mud, which clogged the bike and sprayed our legs. A stream crossed the road where we heard loud gurgling sounds from the wood – at first we thought it was some large animal drinking, but then realized it must have just been the stream slurping it's way through the mud. A little further down the track a Lao family in a farm house were shouting at us, we thought they were angry as the woman and two men were brandishing knives and axes. Then they waved us down into the garden and the older man had very good English and was happy to explain where the grave was, we had still not gone back far enough down the road.
It was at this point that we found the track on the corner by the river, which ironically Tall one had stopped at on the way past wondering if it was the right one. After we had seen the tomb we headed back to Ban Phanom village and stopped for a cold can of Beer Lao. Small one asked to borrow their hose to wash some of the mud from their bikes – and as one of the local girls turned the hose on for him, it all sprayed back in her face and she got drenched. They all found it funny. After a half an hour rest we headed back on a nice smooth, calm cycle back to town, where we dropped off the still dirty bikes and booked a bus to the waterfalls for tomorrow. The man at the rental store had black slicked back hair, and a little quiff of white hair on his fringe. We had interrupted his english studies, and he had work sheets and books open, which listed true and false questions under an illustration, such as “the hammer is on the shelf” (and the picture showed a hammer under the shelf).... “the pen is on the chair” (and the picture showed a pen on a chair).
Here is an extract from Henri Mouhot's journals, published in two volumnes a few years after his death and now available for free in the public domain at archive.org:
“My friend's light boat glided rapidly down the stream; in a few minutes he was out of sight, and I was again left alone—for how long a period being quite uncertain. I rarely allow myself to dwell on the subject; but separations are painful to the traveller who has left behind him all he holds most dear in the world, —family, country, home, and friends,—to visit countries inhospitable, and in many ways dangerous, without comfort or companionship. It is equally painful to think that, during long months, his impatient family are living in anxiety, and forming a thousand conjectures as to his fate. I know what awaits me, having been warned both by the missionaries and the natives. During the last twenty-five years, only one man, as far as I know, a French priest, has penetrated to the heart of Laos, and he only returned to die in the arms of the good and venerable prelate, Mgr. Pallegoix. I know the discomfort, fatigue, and tribulations of all sorts to which I am again about to expose myself; the want of roads, the difficulty of finding means of conveyance, and the risk of paying for the slightest imprudence by a dangerous or even fatal illness. And how can one be prudent when compelled to submit to the hardest life of the forest, to suffer many privations, and to brave all inclemencies of the weather ? Nevertheless, my destiny urges me on, and I trust in the kind Providence which has watched over me until now.....My principal object is natural history, and with that study I chiefly occupy myself. I have written, as I said before, in leisure hours, when resting from my fatigues, with a desire to implant in the breasts of others a love for the great works of Nature, and to benefit those who, in the quiet of their homes, delight to follow the poor traveller; who, often with the sole object of being useful to his fellow-men, or of discovering some insect, plant, or unknown animal, or verifying some point of latitude, crosses the ocean, and sacrifices family, comfort, health, and, too often, life itself. But it is pleasant to the man devoted to our good and beautiful mother, Nature, to think that his work, his fatigues, his troubles and dangers, are useful to others, if not to himself. Nature has her lovers, and those alone who have tasted them know the joys she gives. I candidly confess that I have never been more happy than when amidst this grand and beautiful tropical scenery, in the profound solitude of these dense forests, the stillness only broken by the song of birds and the cries of wild animals; and even if destined here to meet my death, I would not change my lot for all the joys and pleasures of the civilised world”.
Mouhot's final entry in his journal on 29th October 1961 (12 days before his death in Laos) : “Have pity on me, oh my God!”.
Back in Luang Prabang town centre we were told the power had come back n this morning, but had subsequently gone off again. We took a walk up to the Nam Khan riverside in the town centre, had a pizza and home made chips which were excellent (along with yet another banana shake). We the climbed some steep steps up to 'Phou Si' temples oat top the hill in the centre of town. There were a few dragons headed on banisters, Buddha shrines, a large Buddha footprint and a small cave. The views were excellent overlooking the river, and a young Monk was stood at the lookout reading some school books. He started talking to us and was very chatty and keen to have a conversation with us. His name was 'Jay' and he wanted to know our names, what we did for a living, where we were from, what Universities were there, what we thought of Luang Prabang and where we were going next. He told us he'd been studying to be a Monk for the last 6 years and would last the rest of his life (he only looked about 18 years old). He asked what sport what we liked and then said that he was not aloud to watch sport, and if he did they would be punished, and mentioned 5 or 10 days or somethhing we couldn't make out. We left Jay to his studies and walked back down the other side of the mount, through some shanty town huts on the side of the slopes.
We returned to the Guesthouse, and earlier today when we had left – the unfriendly young Lao fella who checked us in was sat in the private room next to ours, door open – sat on the ned watching TV whiilst the reception was unsupervised. When we got back after our second walk, we found a new young fella in charge – this one was sat in the hallway on a chair – looking in at the TV on in the room next to ours (at least this one thought to be somewhere where he could watch the reception and entrance). He was laughing out loud as he watched TV and it was only as we walked past the room that we saw he was watching Tom and Jerry. After another stint on the Internet we went for dinner in a garden cafe down an alley. The cheerful waiters had no english, and we had a pizza, and a Keng Pet soup (though not as nice as Maylyn Guest House's). We've found that even if the staff have no engliish, that no matter what country you are in they understand the seemingly international sign language for “can I have the 'cheque' (or bill) please?”. Afterwards brought a Kit Kat from a street front shop which was wrapped in two layers of foil, a layer of white paper and then the usual red wrapper.
Saturday 9th November 2013 – Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang, Laos
Out of bed early, small one got up first, and he was followed by a cockroach which had (presumably) been in the bed all night). Had a final breakfast at the bar, and now are both officially sick to death of museli and bannas, and felt bloated and sick for the rest of the day. We paid our bill and said our goodbye's to Joe and the son-in-law 'Hat', there was no sign of Grampa Walton, Al' but we left our email address for him. Walked over the bridge and boarded our quite luxury, spacious, air con mini van – with one person per seat, and everyone else on board being french with poor english. Our Lao driver was a young lad in a pink t-shirt with very long finger nails – which he used to dig out his ears whilst driving for the first ten minutes. In fact the driver spent the first hour seemingly do everything he could to multi task whilst driving frantically around the cows, pigs, goats, children on the roads – making phone calls and plugging in phones and USB devices. A young french lad sat in the front passenger seat next to him, and wore this weird silk scarf round his neck which he kept lifting up to cover his mouth and nose for no particular reason on the trip.
Driving Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang took 6 hours (9am to 3pm), but some stunning scenary on the way. The roads were very narrow and windy up into the mountains, with some sheer drops by the road overlooking vast valleys and ranges, and more peculiar jagged mountains and hills. Scattered road side villages with thatch and bamboo huts, where local children sat by the road and when a car went by they held up dead squirrels in the air to show us (presumably for sale to eat??), and at one point a little girl held up a dead tabby cat. They also had their grain spread out on sheets in the baking sun, and their cooler fridges with cans of 7-UP and Pepsi for the tourists to buy.
Arrived in Luang Prabang on schedule and the driver unloaded our bags which had been tied and netted to the roof. A few Tuk Tuk drivers wanted $5 per head to take us to hotels, but we just walked, without quite knowing where we were. We (by chance) found the National Museum just 5 minutes up the road, where down the side we found the MyLaoHome Backpackers which we'd looked up. It was an unfriendly, but adequate place – and paid 100,000 Kip for the privilege of air con and a proper inside toilet. We went out to explore the town just as the electricity cut off in the Hotel. Priced some tours for the next day and our bus to the next destination on Tuesday, and walked round the night markets which had now taken over the main road. The market marquee's where so short that Tall one had to walk the length of the stalls with a permanent stoop to fit under them. Dinner at an okay restaurnat, small one had pasta and tall one tried a local Lao Chicken soup – though it had some mysterious hard white ingredient with tough, hairy edges which tasted like soap.... he left those bits to last and never ate them. Back to the hotel for the Celtic match and to sew on the new Lao badges to our backpacks. Also today one of the biggest storms recorded hit the Phillipnes, in the area where William of Waterford (our former colleague from Wellington) was currently bunkered down. His last message to us yesterday had been that he was too late to evacuate and was being was moved to safe area and asked small one to pray for him. Cyclone had a lot of new today, but little details other than high death toll expected. Though after 9pm today William messaged through that he was okay and would update further soon.
Friday 8th November 2013 – Vang Vieng, Laos
It's a strange existence travelling in a cramped sleeper bus overnight, as you don't really sleep you just occasionally nod off and then wake up with a jerk very confused – to wonder where the hell am I, and how come either only 5 minutes has past or 2 hours has past. After midnight we were awake on the steep hills when he drove past a very large lorry which had come off the road and toppled into the ditch. In the road infront of it a few locals sat with torches, and one held up a blood soak blanket in our headlights as we past, where small one said was a very dead looking body underneath. Small one didn't sleep too much after that, though in fairness the bus driver was driving very well. Small one was also hit with bad diarrhoea, and the poor people sitting next to the bus toilet must have had trouble sleeping the rest of the trip.
We arrived at a large bus terminal at 6am, where half the people got off, though there was no announcement that this was Vientiane, and (again) no signs. We finally decided it was and collected our bags and drearily went inside the terminal to find out where we were and how to get to the town centre. In the end we hooked up with the 3 french guys and haggled a persistent Tuk Tuk driver down to 15,000 Kip per person to take the five of us into town. Once dropped in town we wondered the streets searching for the non-existent cheap hotel. We weren't the only people who were roaming the streets at 6.30am with backpacks, clearly looking for accommodation having just arrived on either the same bus or another one. We bumped into the 3 french lads a few more times who were having little success, we also saw the large cat stroking Dutch girl who we'd met in Vang Vieng and at the waterfall in Luang Prabang, and then bumped into the Taiwan guy from our Plain of Jars trip who had come down on a separate bus to us.
We tried the Mexok Inn again, though they only had a triple room – Tall one sat outside and had a coffee and guarded the bags whilst small one went and found us a cheapish place down the road called RD guesthouse (private room, air con and bathroom for 80,000 Kip a night – compared with the 150,000 we'd paid last time in Mixok). We were even aloud to check in early and collapsed in our room. Was a strange ensuite, with old cowboy saloon swing doors to the bathroom, leaving un-necessary smells from the toilet easily able to drift into the bedroom. We turned the TV on and listened to a CNN reporter ho sounded a lot like Alan Alda (though looked nothing like him). After a needed shower we handed in our large 6kg of laundry next door then went for breakfast in a cheap cafe a few doors away. Small one had fruit, and tall one opted for the French toast – the waitress frowned when he ordered this and ran her finger along the listing for French Toast printed in the menu. When Tall one's order finally showed up he was handed three dry slices of white toasted bread, with 2 fried eggs and a side dish of honey and a side dish of milk?? The waitress had literally just read the ingredients and given them to him, not knowing how to put it together. We explained to her that she needed to mix the egg and milk in a bowl, then dip the bread in the mixture before frying the bread – but we said not to worry at all as it was nice as it was (though a little strange and Tall one did not know how to incorporate a dish of milk with eggs on toast). After breakfast we booked our night train to Bangkok, Thailand for tomorrow night, and wet back to doze in the hotel room.
After a long doze, we skipped lunch and headed out for dinner. Went back to the same cafe we had the French Toast in.... it was empty like this morning, except this time the Thai ladies husband was their – a french man. We discussed the french toast, which he had apparently talked her through the process over the phone after Tall one had ordered it, though it didn't quite work out. Small one had a chicken Mexican wrap and Tall one had meat balls with chips, it's an eclectic menu though the food (and the coffee) was very very good. Afterwards took a stroll up the night market, and found the streets very busy with cars and hard to cross. Small one collected our laundry and when we arrived back at the Guest House we past the 3 french lads in the hallway, who had apparently ended up in the same hotel as us (if they show up for the Bangkok train, something will be very wrong).
That was the end of our last full day in Laos, as we now prepare to return to Thailand tomorrow evening. We coloured in our map of South East Asia and realized how very little we covered of Laos, just 4 main places in under 2 weeks. We can't claim to have gotten to know the Lao people or country in such a short time, though it has made a good impression on us. The people certainly seem more reserved and quieter compared to our recent trip to Cambodia, there is no real pushy hard selling, they all seem quite laid back in their approach (with a few exceptions anyway). The scenery was all stunning, from the Mekong river sunset in Luang Prabang, to the lagoons and mountains of Vang Vieng, or the rural villages and Plain of Jars in Phonsavan – we were probably more taken with the scenery here than in Cambodia, though the Laos cities all seemed a lot less appealing. The country did seem a bit more advanced however, prices were that bit higher (especially accommodation in Vientiane), and the tour buses seemed to be better organized. It's definitely a place we would like to come back and explore more of, at the very least so that small one can finally learn that to say 'Thankyou' in Lao is pronounced 'Kawp-Jye' not 'Cop-Chow'?? which God only knows what that means.
Wednesday 13th November 2013 – Phonsavan, Plain of Jars and Night Bus to Vientiane, Laos
Stored our bags in the not so Nice Guesthouse, and had breakfast in the Italian place down the road, where they took 45 minutes to prepare a fruit salad (and we were the only customers). The smoking Italian man was joined by another staff member, this Lao fella with a bandana and a wirey sparse goaty. The Lao fella was apparently called, Mr Kong, and announced his presence at 8am by saying loudly how fucking drunk he was. This man then showed us around the scooters and quad bikes they had for rent. The Italian told us that their were 3 sites to visit to see the Plains of Jars, the first was the largest and on a sealed road, 2 and 3 sites were on a dirt road, very muddy and very rough road. As we had had rain last night we decided to pay the extra for the Quad bike for the two of us (120,000 Kip for the day). We were joined by the Tawaiin and Malay girl (Meng Shiun and SheauChin) who also opted for a quad bike. The french girl arrived a little later (smoking as usual) and opted for a scooter on her own, but would follow the four of us. Before we set off the Belgium lady from our bus yesterday saw us and asked how we were getting to the Jars, as she wanted to go but did not want to take a bike – she then wondered off in search of a public bus that did not exist.
The five of us gased up in a petrol station and headed out of town towards the Jar sites. For the whole day every local man or child we past was smiling, waving and laughing at us on the quad bikes – it seems that they have not seen these on the roads very often. Small one would encourage them by merrily beeping the horn and waving at them, they in turn would coming running out waving like Santa Claus was going by on a float.
Jar site 1 was our first stop, which had a lot of tourists. The jar themselves were interesting enough, these large 1-2 metre high old reclics, from over 2,000 years ago – which had largely been bombed inadvertently by the Americans during the Vietnam war. We bumped into (yet again) the Belgium woman who had hired a Tuk Tuk just to this site. She told us she had chatted with a Lao man at this site who was near tears as his parents had been killed here in the bombing, and all he had of them was a photo of them sat on one of these jars which he was trying to find.
The five of us headed off again, the french girl leading on her scooter, though she managed to miss the dirt road turn off to sites 2 and 3. We turned off without her, but she did catch up in the end. The dirt roads were hard work, though did not turn out to be very muddy at all. Luckily the weather stayed sunny all day, though pretty cloudy. Tall one sat on the uncomfortable metal bar rack on the back of the Quad bike, bouncing up and down over the bumps holding on to his hat like a Beverly Hill Billy. Outside a small rural school the Taiwan lad and Malay girl's quad bike stopped. We examined the bike and found that the chain had come off the gears (the same as a push bike). They started digging out the phone number for the Italian man to come out, until Tall one suggested that they first just try and get the chain back on. Tall one managed to do this, though in the process got his hands covered with black oil and grease. It came off again just as we were pulling into the ticket booth for Jar site 2 – and Tall one managed to get the chain back on for a second time, so they held off phoning the Italian.
While they were getting the chain back on the second time the french girl said she'd go on ahead on her own, and so she abandoned us by the ticket booth and a small cafe. Once the chain was on the ticket man took Tall one into the small cafe and handed him over to a small, elderly Lao woman to help him wash his hands (as the public toilets had no soap or running water). She led Tall one out the back of the kitchen and got him to crouch on the floor and hold his hands out, she then poured water from a bucket over his hands and squirted industrial soap on. Tall one scrubbed his hands while she kept on lathering on more soap and water. Just when Tall one thought this process was over she led him to her fridge and took out 2 wedges of lemon and gave them to him. Tall one then rubbed these in his hands, which in fairness did absolutley nothing to help. He thanked the lady and brought a can of Fanta from her shop in gratitude. His hands were still quite stained, though at least they were dry and not sticky any more.
The ticket booth man then pointed us up a bumpy dirt road to the site 2 of Jars. The two quad bikes headed up here, past two parked cars and a few steps, and down a steep dirt hill. The hill was pretty ugly to get down and we hoped we would not have to come back up this way. We drove for 5-10 minutes through some nice open countryside, and then struggled to get the bikes over some very bumpy and rough dry river bed terrain – having to push and lift the bike in places. It was then that the french girl greeted us coming back the road we were headed. She told us that the jars were not down here and she thinks they were back up the top of that hill we came down by the cars and steps, she said three french guys had also missed them and were down here on scooters looking without success (these turned out to be the 3 french guys from our Luang Prabang mini bus to Phonsavan yesterday). The french girl left us to it again and disappeared over the horizon. He got small one's quad bike turned around, though we could not get the Taiwan lad's bike to start. The chain was on so was not the problem, but then we checked his petrol and found that he was empty. We then remembered back to our petrol station stop when we set off – the Lao fella at the rental station told us we'd need about 3 litres for the trip we were doing, and when we got to the petrol station we explained this to the Taiwan guy, who then preceded to order only 2 litres, whilst we ordered 3.
Tall one and Small one said they;d go for gas for him, and drove back up that doodgy hill – which was actually easier than coming down. The cafe and ticket booth sold no gas, so drove for 20 minutes or so until we found a small homefront store which had some barrels of gas. She topped up ours and also filled up a 1 litre water bottle with pink gasoline. Twenty minutes later we were back down to their quad bike. We filled the engine, and finally got the engine to start after a lot of messing about. We got both quad bikes back up the hill and found the site 2 Jar site was infact by the steps we had driven by (not a single sign to say this though). When we came back from looking at the two small sites of Jars we found that the Taiwan fella's quad bike had leaked its gas all over the dirt road – and had a steady leak from the engine. We drove very quickly to get back to the cafe and ticket booth, where some locals gathered around and tried to fix it without success. A tour guide with good english (what we thought was good english) showed up and asked if we needed help. We asked him if he could ask the locals if they could fix themselves or if we should try and call the rental station... his answer was that the farmers had to go back to the paddy fields soon.
The Taiwan fella and the Malay girl then made contact with the Italian and he sent someone out to them. In that case we left them to it, and we set off on our own, and original small group now disbanded. Was a bumpy 5.4km to site 3 of the Jars – but was the nicest rural scenery to get there.
We were lucky we found it as there was no sign pointing down the entrance to the site if you were heading from our direction, but there was one if you were comiing from the other direction of the road, and by chance Tall one had turned around and glimsped the sign behind him as they drove past it. We parked up in Site 3 and walked about ten minutes across a stubble field, and a narrow windiing path through a paddy field, then up a hill to the final Jar site. Was more like a solemn graveyard, these scattered stone jars, fenced in a top a hill. We soon left and on the way back to Site 2 (to check the guys had got a replacement or fixed bike) the Taiwan guy and Malay girl showed up in the opposite direction on a large dirt bike. Apparently Mr Kong had driven out and collected their quad bike in a pickup and given them a replacement dirt bike – he didn't charge them any extra costs for time or damages either. They continued on their own to site 3 and we headed home.
By now we were both filthy, not just from the petrol and oil on our hands from trying to fix the bikes, but also as the numerous muddy brown puddles had slashed up our feet and bare legs. Tall one still had not brought a pair of shoes to replace the ones he lost, and so still only had flip flops to wear on these hikes and roads. We got to the junction back to town and thought we had still not seen the 'Russian Tank' abonded from the 60's, that had been mentioned – so took a left at the T junction to have a quick look for it. After 5 minutes drive there was a blue sign with a photo of a tank pointing to a dirt track off the main road. We headed down this track, and kept driving and looking out for a tank. Went through a lot of bushes and the track got narrower, until we stopped to turn back. Then the 3 french lads turned up on their scooters to look for the tank – we let them go on ahead, where the path turned into a muddy ploughed field. We all looked around for another ten minutes without success and so gave up and headed back to the road (yet again no signs). Back at the main road we looked at the blue sign we had seen and noticed it was kind of piinting to a very small footpath leading into some bushes right next to the main road. We took a quick look down there and sure enough there was the tank.... not the most interesting of highlights after spending so long not finding it.
Got back to town at 5pm (having set off at 9am). Dropped off the bikes with Mr Kong and went to the Bamboo Restaurant round the corner and had an amazing chicken burger, and pork steak. Tall one used their bathroom to hose down his dirty bare legs. Small one then did a count of our remaining Kip currency, he got worried when he found he only had 200,000 Kip (about $26USD), until Tall one counted out the Kip he still had and found he had 1.1 Million Kip (small one does all the purchasing). Afterwards we collected our bags from the Nice Guesthouse and they let us pay 20,000 Kip to use a spare room to have a shower. We took half an hour but felt good to get the dirt out our skin, she knocked on the door just as we were finishing as two people were waiting to check in – that made us wonder if she'd just let them go straight in with the towels used and bathroom sopping wet?
We soon met up with the Taiwan guy, Malay girl and the French girl and toasted our survival of the trip with a Beer Lao. Tall one and Small one took a brief look aroudn the MAG (UXO disposal charity) visitor centre on the high street, and joined the guys for another final beer in the Bamboo restaurant. At 8pm we were back at nice Guesthouse where the sleeper bus arrived to take us to Vientiane (10 hours over night). We were given a ticket each, with seat numbers A1 and A2. Boarding the cramped bus, we first had to take our shoes off and put them in a ccarrier bag to carry on board. The bus had three rows of narrow, awkward bunk beds running the length of the bus – we found that seats A1 and A2 were the front two bottom beds at the bus, and above them (top bunks) B1 and B2. Only in beds A1 and A2 sat two local, middle aged Lao women snuggling clutching their blankets and shopping. When we told them these were our beds, these shook their heads and pointed to the top bunks, small one told them without question that “these are our beds, we paid for them”. The ladies left the beds without comment, and looked at the available bunks down the bus (the locals must not get allocated numbers as we saw several locals in bottom bunks be shifted out by foreigners with tickets with seat numbers). We were also joined on the same bus by the same 3 french lads who virtually seemed to be travelling with us a this stage.
One of the driver's seemingly many assistants then hand out to everyone a small bottle of water and a carton of warm, UHT strawberry milk, he also later went on to hand out a sick bag to the local women who always seem to get travel sickness. Tall one squashed himself into his strange bed / chair, which had a strange foot cover that was very awkward to actually lie down – as the bed seemed designed for people who were four and a half foot tall. Leaving everyone to sort of sit and try and twist their bodies to fit their legs and bend their knees as comfortably as possible. The bus then headed out of town and collected yet more locals at the outside terminal. Their were not enough seats for all the locals and bus drver's assistances, and so pretty soon people were lying down in the aisles next to us, Small one had a little old Lao woman lying on her back in the aisle between him and the person in the bottom bunk to his right, as well as a driver's mate lying in the aisle to his left, between him and Tall one.... if we crashed we would essentially be bollocksed. Never the less we headed off into the night, to go back the hilly steep roads we had come to the Vang Vieng road, and then back down to the capital of Vientiane.
Tuesday 12th November 2013 – Luang Prabang to Phonsavan, Laos
Checked out that flea pit and went round the corner to a small, fancy little cafe run by an American woman. She had a Lao girl behind the counter and was also training a young Vietnamese girl on how to carry food, take orders and greet customers. We had tea and oatmeal, and ordered two takeaway chicken sandwiches for the 7 hour bus today. At 8.30am we boarded a Tuk Tuk which picked up another 7 people (all french, including 3 young french guys travelling together). We were then dropped at a bus terminal where we were all 9 of us pointed to a black, crappy minibus for Phonsavan, we looked inside and it was full, so no joy there. We stood about for a while, until finally some driver brought a new mini bus round. Small one hopped into the seats behind the driver which are more spacious and near the door – we have twice now tried reserving seats at the booking desk, to which we are told it was done, but the drivers never ask for reservations which is no real surprise. We were also joined by a middle aged Belgium woman who sat in the front with the driver, she was akin to a Belgium Mr Bean, mumbling away to herself and fiddling with everything on the dashboard curiously.
Set off after 9.15am, and the road back down towards Vang Vieng, then cutting inland to Phonsavan was very steep, hilly and full of hard turns, this meant everyone on board was very queasy, Tall one felt ready to throw up. We stopped after a couple of hours at a small hillside stall, the villagers had large round wicker baskets of red chillis out in the sun to dry. The Belgium woman joyfully took a photo of a disabled Lao midget who was collecting the 2,000 Kip by the toilets for people to use. Back on the bus Tall and Small one took out their takeaway chicken sandwiches to find the tomatoes and drained through the box and filled the bag with an inch of juice. We preceded to eat our soggy sandwich, though due to the road type it was like trying to eat lunch on a rollercoaster. The rest of the road gradually smoothed out for the last hour, though on one strecth for about 10km the locals had decided to leave piles of ballast heaped a good 5 foot high I the middle of the road, which we kept having to drive around.
Arrived in Phonsavan on time around 4pm and were harassed by Tuk Tuk drivers. We took a free ride to the 'nice' sounding Nice Guesthouse (which was in the Lonely Planet) and though the driver told us 80,000 Kip a night, reception charged us 70,0000. The room was basic, and though there was no air con we did not need it as strangely it was quite cold. However the room did smell of something dead. We priced a tour to the Plain of Jars with reception (the main attraction here), he took us to sit down at a table and showed us various maps, photos for ten minutes and explained the myth that locals believed these giant 2 metre stone jars (over 300 spread across site 1) were made for giants to drink whisky. After all this small one asked how much for the tour, and he told us 250,000 Kip EACH (that's about $60-70 for the two of us), the most we;d paid for a tour so far was about $10 each. We declined and priced a scooter to do it ourselves.
We walked the streets up and down and found there was literally nothing to see in thetown and very few cafes. Dark clouds loomed over head and it then preceded to thunderstorm and rain hard for a few hours. We ate in a fair size guesthouse cafe run by a middle aged Italian man, who would stand smoking his cigeratte in the kitchen. We ate a french fries pizza (a pizza with french fries for topping) along with a side of mash potatoes and chicken/onion spring roll things – it took an hour for them to cook this though. The Italian man had a specific habit of not wearing his flip flops on tiled floors, so each time we asked for something he'd have to walk out to us, stop to put his shoes on, see what we wanted, walk back and take his shoes off – go across the tiled floor, get it and come back – take his shoes off, come out to us to give us the menu, then go back and take hi shoes off again. This was a guesthouse not a temple, so couldn't understand the shoes off thing for the tiled reception area. At 6.30pm he put on a 'free movie' which was a documentary recorded off TV about the secret war in Laos. Was very interesting as it involved a secret Air America base set up outside Phonsavan, and how the Americans had wiped out the local civilisation based in the Plain of Jars to conduct their secret base against the Vietnamese. We sat with 3 backpackers travelling alone, a French girl (always a french person in Laos), a Malaysian girl with very good english and a young lad from Taiwan (glued to his IPhone). The lad and the Malay girl met on their but this afternoon and were already sharing a room and their pizza. They agreed they may do the tour tomorrow with us, especially if it was raining and we could all get a cheap van together. By now the movie had gone on forever, and as he was projecting from his laptop a popup kept coming up over the movie saying that 'this is no an authentic copy of windows'. We left before the end and went to bed in our chilly, smelly room.
Monday 11th November 2013 – Luang Prabang, Laos
Out for breakfast and stumbled in to Nicholas from Vang Vieng, who was sat in the most uncomfortable chairs in Mojo Cafe singing the praises of a local massage he'd had. We left him to it, as he was catching a 20 hour bus to Chaing Mai this evening. Small oe was getting sick of the similar menu selections (With his restricted diet to avoid potential fish/fish oil contamination) – having eaten his fill of muesli, yoghurt, fruit, baguettes, eggs and banana shakes.
At 1.30pm went to our crafts and travel shop and were eventually picked up late for our 4 hour afternoon trip too Kuang Si. The mini bus filled up with mostly french people – behind us a young couple with a 9 month old screaming baby – South East Asia seemed an odd choice for a holiday with such a young child. In front of us was a snobbish American couple, next to them a very quiet Asian girl on her own, and in the front passenger seat a french lad falling asleep. We had lost about 40 minutes of time as outside the city our driver got a call and had to go back and pick up more passengers (who had been the American couple). This meant e only had an hour and a half at the destination. Compared to Cambodia, there seemed strict rules on how many people a mini bus or Tuk Tuk can carry, and each vehicle had a red sticker with a number (ie. 12p) showing it's maximum, and they never exceeded this – on route to the waterfall we were briefly stopped by tourist police, who we presumed were checking our numbers.
Prices at Kuang Si were reasonable, only $2.50USD each to enter, to see both Kuang Si Bear Rescue Centre and the Kuang Si waterfall (they also didn't charge for the public toilets which made a change). The water fall was stunning, this turquoise waters spilling over multiple layers of the river bed, and cascading down various levels of rocks surrounded by forest and ferns. The only problem shattering this paradise was the vast groups of tourists – from the Japanese bus loads, to the young British backpackers swimming and talking about the drinking games they had planned. The Bear sanctuary was a somewhat random addition to this waterfall, but the odd pairing gave us something else to go see. A fenced enclosure surrounded Asiatic Black Bears and Malayan Sun Bears which had been rescued from hunters traps, illegal fur markets, people's pets or former dancing bears. The enclosure's were quite substantial, with a variety of habitats and play areas – though most of the bears had decided to huddle on the concrete near the building. After the bears we wondered the nearby market, which sold the same crafts as in town (here and in every other town in Laos). We ordered a chicken baguette and the girl took ten minutes to just put the mayo, butter and salad in – by the time she got to putting the chicken in it looked like it had gone off, so we opted to just have a salad baguette. On the way home we stopped at a small, poor rural village – and the tourists where ushered off a bus and told to follow this loop path around the village where the residents tried to get us to buy the usual crafts we'd already seen. Was a bit bizarre, and a bit sad.
Back to town and the American couple were disgusted that they were not dropped off at their hotel. Small one spent about 2 hours trying to upload his photos on our terrible internet. Went out for dinner and tried Utopia cafe that Nicholas had recommended – the place had loud music, had no chairs, and just lots of hippy types in baggy trousers lounging on floor cushions talking about “so why do you take drugs?....”..... we got the hell out of there and went back to Cafe Mojo. The chips there didn't let us down (unadventurous as we are). A local boy of about 4-5 years old, who seemed to have down syndrome and a very bad hair cut (front half of head was crookedly shaved) approached our table and started doing a strange break dance on the floor. We played a game of high five, and showed him our meagre tattoos. The waiter came and told us that the boy had a problem with his brain, but we said that the boy was perfect, and he was okay and not bothering us. Soon a group of kids came and seemingly took him to the hairdressers up the street who finished his hair cut.
Sunday 10th November 2013 – Luang Prabang – Henri Mouhot's Grave, Laos
Showered just in time before the electricity in the town shut off (again). Headed out to the bicycle rental and craft shop we had priced yesterday, avoiding a Tuk Tuk driver who followed us up the road trying to get us to go with him for the day (he even waited outside a cafe whilst we had our cold sausages). The bike rental was 60,000 Kip each, and he gave us a photocopy map. We were setting off to visit the tomb / memoriam of French naturalist and explorer, Henri Mouhot - who received funding from the UK to explore parts of Siam, Cambodia and Laos in 1858-1861. Logged extensive findings of previously unrecorded languages and animal species and credited with bringing the Temples of Ankgor to worldwide attention following the publishing of his journals posthumously. He died outside Luang Prabang, Laos of malarial fever on 10th November 1861 (by coincidence 152 years ago to the day, making us somewhat late in bringing him malaria tablets).
The rental shop gave us a map and directions to the small village of Ban Phanom, where Henri Mouhot's grave lay about 3-4 km after. The route was relatively easy, neither of us being cyclists – we found the hills only gradual and easy to cycle – the roads were also pretty good, and thankfully was an overcast day so not to hot for cycling. We made it to Ban Phanom from the map and directions in about half an hour's leisurely cycling. The otherside of the village the road headed down some small hills and then ran alongside the Nam Khan river which was on our left. We then headed through a construction area where they seemed to be building a bridge across to the otherside of the river. We kept heading straight ahead and soon the road changed to loose, white stones which was a little harder to cycle. Soon the road takes a corner to the right, and heads away from the river. On this corner where the road leaves the river is where the track to Henri's grave is. There is no sign for the grave on the main road, though the track was right next to a colourful sign for the Elephant rides. On the left side of the road, on the corner - a 3 foot wife dirt track headed down hill to the river. About a minute down the track there was a small white sign on a post saying 'Henri Mouhot' which pointed across a small wooden bridge. We locked the bikes here and followed the forest track past numerous of misty spider webs in the undergrowth. The track then opened out into a somewhat gloomy, though peaceful clearing. Here was the white tomb of Henri Mouhot, a statue about 8 foot tall of his large bearded figure, a statue of an elephant, and a board with description in French of the man. A path led down to the river's edge, where the Nam Khan river flowed fast, and the otherside of the river a group of young locals were playing music. We stayed around ten minutes and headed back.
As there had been no sign from the main road to the grave, we had actually missed it the first time. We had cycled for another 20 minutes or so past the grave, though this hadn't proved a bad thing as the scenary was nicer further round the road. There was a large mount on the right side of the road, and then we also rode into a small rural village (do not know the name). The village had the dirt track, wooden shacks, chickens and dogs everywhere, and locals sat by the street cooking – was more the small village you'd expect to see compared to the slightly more established village of Ban Phanom, where the buildings were mostly bricks, and had substantial cafe fronts. We had asked directions but nobody had english, but decided we must have missed the turning and so turned back. Luckily we met just outside the village a group of 6-7 men on bikes on a 3 day cycle trip. The guide had good english and told us the tomb was about 3-4 cycle back the way we had come, on a corner.
We headed back and found after at least 5 minutes cycling there were a number of corners with small unmarked tracks leading into the forest. Went down the first one (about a foot wide) and pushed our bikes through the dense bush like fools until we decided this was the wrong track. Cycled for another few minutes and saw a more substantial dirt road on the left of the road. Headed down here through thick wet mud, which clogged the bike and sprayed our legs. A stream crossed the road where we heard loud gurgling sounds from the wood – at first we thought it was some large animal drinking, but then realized it must have just been the stream slurping it's way through the mud. A little further down the track a Lao family in a farm house were shouting at us, we thought they were angry as the woman and two men were brandishing knives and axes. Then they waved us down into the garden and the older man had very good English and was happy to explain where the grave was, we had still not gone back far enough down the road.
It was at this point that we found the track on the corner by the river, which ironically Tall one had stopped at on the way past wondering if it was the right one. After we had seen the tomb we headed back to Ban Phanom village and stopped for a cold can of Beer Lao. Small one asked to borrow their hose to wash some of the mud from their bikes – and as one of the local girls turned the hose on for him, it all sprayed back in her face and she got drenched. They all found it funny. After a half an hour rest we headed back on a nice smooth, calm cycle back to town, where we dropped off the still dirty bikes and booked a bus to the waterfalls for tomorrow. The man at the rental store had black slicked back hair, and a little quiff of white hair on his fringe. We had interrupted his english studies, and he had work sheets and books open, which listed true and false questions under an illustration, such as “the hammer is on the shelf” (and the picture showed a hammer under the shelf).... “the pen is on the chair” (and the picture showed a pen on a chair).
Here is an extract from Henri Mouhot's journals, published in two volumnes a few years after his death and now available for free in the public domain at archive.org:
“My friend's light boat glided rapidly down the stream; in a few minutes he was out of sight, and I was again left alone—for how long a period being quite uncertain. I rarely allow myself to dwell on the subject; but separations are painful to the traveller who has left behind him all he holds most dear in the world, —family, country, home, and friends,—to visit countries inhospitable, and in many ways dangerous, without comfort or companionship. It is equally painful to think that, during long months, his impatient family are living in anxiety, and forming a thousand conjectures as to his fate. I know what awaits me, having been warned both by the missionaries and the natives. During the last twenty-five years, only one man, as far as I know, a French priest, has penetrated to the heart of Laos, and he only returned to die in the arms of the good and venerable prelate, Mgr. Pallegoix. I know the discomfort, fatigue, and tribulations of all sorts to which I am again about to expose myself; the want of roads, the difficulty of finding means of conveyance, and the risk of paying for the slightest imprudence by a dangerous or even fatal illness. And how can one be prudent when compelled to submit to the hardest life of the forest, to suffer many privations, and to brave all inclemencies of the weather ? Nevertheless, my destiny urges me on, and I trust in the kind Providence which has watched over me until now.....My principal object is natural history, and with that study I chiefly occupy myself. I have written, as I said before, in leisure hours, when resting from my fatigues, with a desire to implant in the breasts of others a love for the great works of Nature, and to benefit those who, in the quiet of their homes, delight to follow the poor traveller; who, often with the sole object of being useful to his fellow-men, or of discovering some insect, plant, or unknown animal, or verifying some point of latitude, crosses the ocean, and sacrifices family, comfort, health, and, too often, life itself. But it is pleasant to the man devoted to our good and beautiful mother, Nature, to think that his work, his fatigues, his troubles and dangers, are useful to others, if not to himself. Nature has her lovers, and those alone who have tasted them know the joys she gives. I candidly confess that I have never been more happy than when amidst this grand and beautiful tropical scenery, in the profound solitude of these dense forests, the stillness only broken by the song of birds and the cries of wild animals; and even if destined here to meet my death, I would not change my lot for all the joys and pleasures of the civilised world”.
Mouhot's final entry in his journal on 29th October 1961 (12 days before his death in Laos) : “Have pity on me, oh my God!”.
Back in Luang Prabang town centre we were told the power had come back n this morning, but had subsequently gone off again. We took a walk up to the Nam Khan riverside in the town centre, had a pizza and home made chips which were excellent (along with yet another banana shake). We the climbed some steep steps up to 'Phou Si' temples oat top the hill in the centre of town. There were a few dragons headed on banisters, Buddha shrines, a large Buddha footprint and a small cave. The views were excellent overlooking the river, and a young Monk was stood at the lookout reading some school books. He started talking to us and was very chatty and keen to have a conversation with us. His name was 'Jay' and he wanted to know our names, what we did for a living, where we were from, what Universities were there, what we thought of Luang Prabang and where we were going next. He told us he'd been studying to be a Monk for the last 6 years and would last the rest of his life (he only looked about 18 years old). He asked what sport what we liked and then said that he was not aloud to watch sport, and if he did they would be punished, and mentioned 5 or 10 days or somethhing we couldn't make out. We left Jay to his studies and walked back down the other side of the mount, through some shanty town huts on the side of the slopes.
We returned to the Guesthouse, and earlier today when we had left – the unfriendly young Lao fella who checked us in was sat in the private room next to ours, door open – sat on the ned watching TV whiilst the reception was unsupervised. When we got back after our second walk, we found a new young fella in charge – this one was sat in the hallway on a chair – looking in at the TV on in the room next to ours (at least this one thought to be somewhere where he could watch the reception and entrance). He was laughing out loud as he watched TV and it was only as we walked past the room that we saw he was watching Tom and Jerry. After another stint on the Internet we went for dinner in a garden cafe down an alley. The cheerful waiters had no english, and we had a pizza, and a Keng Pet soup (though not as nice as Maylyn Guest House's). We've found that even if the staff have no engliish, that no matter what country you are in they understand the seemingly international sign language for “can I have the 'cheque' (or bill) please?”. Afterwards brought a Kit Kat from a street front shop which was wrapped in two layers of foil, a layer of white paper and then the usual red wrapper.
Saturday 9th November 2013 – Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang, Laos
Out of bed early, small one got up first, and he was followed by a cockroach which had (presumably) been in the bed all night). Had a final breakfast at the bar, and now are both officially sick to death of museli and bannas, and felt bloated and sick for the rest of the day. We paid our bill and said our goodbye's to Joe and the son-in-law 'Hat', there was no sign of Grampa Walton, Al' but we left our email address for him. Walked over the bridge and boarded our quite luxury, spacious, air con mini van – with one person per seat, and everyone else on board being french with poor english. Our Lao driver was a young lad in a pink t-shirt with very long finger nails – which he used to dig out his ears whilst driving for the first ten minutes. In fact the driver spent the first hour seemingly do everything he could to multi task whilst driving frantically around the cows, pigs, goats, children on the roads – making phone calls and plugging in phones and USB devices. A young french lad sat in the front passenger seat next to him, and wore this weird silk scarf round his neck which he kept lifting up to cover his mouth and nose for no particular reason on the trip.
Driving Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang took 6 hours (9am to 3pm), but some stunning scenary on the way. The roads were very narrow and windy up into the mountains, with some sheer drops by the road overlooking vast valleys and ranges, and more peculiar jagged mountains and hills. Scattered road side villages with thatch and bamboo huts, where local children sat by the road and when a car went by they held up dead squirrels in the air to show us (presumably for sale to eat??), and at one point a little girl held up a dead tabby cat. They also had their grain spread out on sheets in the baking sun, and their cooler fridges with cans of 7-UP and Pepsi for the tourists to buy.
Arrived in Luang Prabang on schedule and the driver unloaded our bags which had been tied and netted to the roof. A few Tuk Tuk drivers wanted $5 per head to take us to hotels, but we just walked, without quite knowing where we were. We (by chance) found the National Museum just 5 minutes up the road, where down the side we found the MyLaoHome Backpackers which we'd looked up. It was an unfriendly, but adequate place – and paid 100,000 Kip for the privilege of air con and a proper inside toilet. We went out to explore the town just as the electricity cut off in the Hotel. Priced some tours for the next day and our bus to the next destination on Tuesday, and walked round the night markets which had now taken over the main road. The market marquee's where so short that Tall one had to walk the length of the stalls with a permanent stoop to fit under them. Dinner at an okay restaurnat, small one had pasta and tall one tried a local Lao Chicken soup – though it had some mysterious hard white ingredient with tough, hairy edges which tasted like soap.... he left those bits to last and never ate them. Back to the hotel for the Celtic match and to sew on the new Lao badges to our backpacks. Also today one of the biggest storms recorded hit the Phillipnes, in the area where William of Waterford (our former colleague from Wellington) was currently bunkered down. His last message to us yesterday had been that he was too late to evacuate and was being was moved to safe area and asked small one to pray for him. Cyclone had a lot of new today, but little details other than high death toll expected. Though after 9pm today William messaged through that he was okay and would update further soon.
Friday 8th November 2013 – Vang Vieng, Laos
Middle of night Tall one went to go to
the bathroom, but when he turned the light on found a spider as big
as his hand, and a cockroach on the floor about 7 inches long – he
turned the light off and thought he'd wait till the morning – guess
that's the problem with sleeping in bambooo huts in the garden. At
8am cold shower and breakfast by the cat. Waited an hour for our
muesli, think they had to goo out and buy it – though don't think
we'll mention it to Joe. Nicholas and the Chinese fella both left,
Nicholas heading to Luang Prabang, and the Chinese fella somewhere
cheaper. Avoided Al this morning, have heard too many stories for
now, and also trying to avoid his re-invitiation to a French
restaurant that we managed to get out of last night.
Walked along to the river through a
herd of cows. Asked the boatman who was asleep, how much for a long
boat up the river (we had priced in town 100,000 Kip for 1 hour). The
man nodded and spoke only in Lao, then shouted across the river to
somebody. The fella across the river was soon in a boat and coming
over, and we still did not know the price. The boat pulled up and he
prepared the cushins and seats and ushered us on. We asked how much
and he thought a while and said 90,000 Kip, we agreed, though when we
got off on his side of the river afterwards we saw a sign for 80,000.
He then took us for a fair way up the river, against the fast flowing
current and through various kayakers (we never saw anybody tubing at
that time of morning). Some stunning scenery from the river of the
shards of mountains and the blue sky backdrop – only ruined by our
driver who persisted in sharply blowing snot out of his nose into the
river every 5 minutes. An hour later dropped in town, and small one
brought a Dragon Fruit from the air strip markets. Had lunch in a
slightly grotty, house front cafe – in which after we'd ordered
from the mother, a little boy in school uniform cycled through the
middle of the cafe and into the back room, then came out and gave us
our food. Then back to the guest house and spoke with Joe and the
cat, before back to the room to plan the next stop.
Stayed in the clammy room all
afternoon, dozing and looking up hotels. Out in the guest house
restaurant for dinner, and met Al' who was still up for his french
restaurant down the road... we declined. He was quiet after that. Joe
came out and sat a while, he spoke about his brother in law's little
4 year old Lao girl who was running around the bar. He called her
over and told us that she wasn't exactly pretty, she had the face of
an old woman. We ordered sweet and sour chicken again and ordered the
rice seperatley as last time it came with none and we were told it
was not included. This time we got the sweet and sour and two
helpings of rice, apparently today's cook thought it did come with
it, but still gave us the separate helping as well.
Thursday 7th November 2013 –
Vang Vieng, Laos
After breakfast we rented a scooter
motorbike and hit the road with Grampa Walton. Up the dusty rocky
dirt tracks through some amazing scenary, and past small bamboo homes
where locals were weaving blankets. Stopped at the Blue Lagooon
swimming hole, where people were diving off the top of a 4 metre high
tree into the water..... Grampa was soon down to his swimming shorts
and he was up the top of that tree asking us to get a video of him
jumping in. Sure enough he did it, and the young athletic guys who
hadn't the nerve to do it, said he'd have to now that Grampa Walton
had. Next we hit the bikes again, riding past several naked children
which Al managed to get in the background of a photo of us (“your
little buddy there's in the photo with his dick hanginng out”).
Stopped off at another lagoon and a cave walk, and had to pay a local
man 10,000 Kip each (around $1usd) for entry. The cave was a big hike
up a rocky hill, which Grampa didn't make it. He cave was a sudden
decsent with a bamboo ladder into pure darkness and we had no torch,
so had to just hike back down. At the bottom we set off on our bikes
only to find both our tanks had been drained – and we were empty.
That bastard local fella had siphoned us both despite us paying him a
dollar – and we had both near full tanks. Made it back to the Guest
house at least and sat down and had lunch.
We were joined by owner, Joe – who
told us about his extension work he was doing. He showed Tall one and
Small one the site and the prospect of them to come back and help
next year – at one point letting out a loud fart without comment.
He was doing most handy work hiimself, but said he did have one
worker (a local Lao fella) but he had apparently hurt is wrist and
couldn't work.... he told this story to several people with some
disdain. Whilst at lunch there were a few different couples sat round
the bar, everyone was in silence as each person was on a laptop. Joe
mentioned that this was like the new weed, all people did was sit
staring at their computers and couples didn't even talk.... though he
admitted he sat on his Internet for hours. He also mentioned how no
guests do anything original here, they all do the same sightseeing,
same activities, and how no one takes the time to look at the scenery
anymore, it's all about just getting a photo, then once that's taken
they walk home – they don't actually stop to look and take it in.
After eating we headed off again over
the toll bridge and into the town. Across the old air strip, filled
up on gas and then down a 6km very long, very steep, very bumpy dirt
road to get to a 30 metre high waterfall, Kaeng Nyui waterfall. The
road got so steep at points Tall one had to get off the back of the
scooter to let small one ride up on his own. When we finally got to
the car park we were greeted by some locals barbecuing squirrels and
chicks on skewers. A short hike up to the falls and we had a swim in
one of the plunge pools at the base of the falls, surrounded by
butterflies in the forest. Tall one's sandals broke, and after losing
his shoes in Cambodia was now just down to one pair of flip flops. We
got back to the guest house exhausted, and battered and bruised. Tall
one burnt his leg on the bike exhaust, and small one scratched his
leg on the bike stands each side of the bike. We were both pretty
tired from listening to Al's endless stories which grow each time we
here them.... he now seems to have had 3 wives and not 2 and has 5
children and not 2??
Had dinner up town and booked our bus
to Luang Prabang for Saturday (6 hours, 70,000 Kip). The young guy
'Joy' we spoke to yesterday remembered both our names.... 'Michael
Jackson' and 'Corner'. The town was busy around 6-7pm with a lot of
very noisy, hideous (mostly British) backpackers getting back from
tubing pissed up – it put us off the tubing. Had some food in a bar
by the river and then headed back to the guest house. Sat and had a
few Beer Laos with Al, Joe, Nicholas and a young Chinese fella (the
latter two smoking like chimneys). Al (Grampa) was making some
inappropriate jokes about doing it doggie style with his girlfriend
and using her back as an ashtray. Al's dinner arrived, which was a
vegetable baguette, he opened it up and showed it to owner, Joe and
asked - “tell me this, how come I get the same sandwich as
yesterday but with half the amount of vegetables?”. Joe's dry
response was, “well a different person makes it time don't they....
this isn't fucking McDonalds with a standardised fucking menu, if you
want more vegetables go to the kitchen and ask for more and i'm sure
they'll give you some it's not fucking rocket science is it?”. We
were also soon joined by a large dutch girl stroking the local cat,
and a thin, weedy New Zealand man wearing a red silk shirt. The Kiwi
chipped in with a few pedantic comments and seemed a bit of a geek.
He then thank Joe for recommending the sunset, to which Joe
responded, “it wasn't the sunset I recommended was it, I said the
sky was good to see not the sunset”.... “oh yes” said the Kiwi
man with a nervous laugh, Joe then asked, “glad you got to see it
then, you managed to drag yourself away from your computer than did
you.... you get a good photo then did you, take lot's of pictures did
you?”. To us everything Joe says sounds like an insult, but not
sure how this little Kiwi fella felt. Apparently th Kiwi fella's job
back home was correcting the grammer in newspaper. Nicolas asked
small one for an irish joke, to which he told him, “whats the
difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish funeral...... at the
funeral there's one less drunk”. The Kiwi man then chipped in with
his nervous laughter that, “it should actually be, 'there's one
fewer drunk”. After that most people went o bed.
Wednesday 6th November 2013
– Vang Vieng, Laos
Awoken in a bamboi hut by the incessant
crowing of jungle fowl at 5am. Had a restless nights sleep – though
was nice to lie in bed listening to the sounds of the crickets and
Geckos at night (and the German girl throwing up in the room next
door, separated by only a thin sheet of woven bamboo). Had a
refreshing cold shower and then sat out in the bar area and had
museli with fruit and yoghurt. Watched the local herd of about
fifteen cows wander by on the dusty road outside the entrance, though
they seemed to have no leader and just decide to turn around and
wander back to the river the way they come (they did this all day).
The bar area was filled with lots of
couples and families, who all seemed to be french. One french woman
(late 30's-early 40s) was departing on a tandem bicycle, with her 8
year old daugther on the middle peddles and behind the bike towed a
small trailer with a little baggage and a 3-4 year old son sat
comfortably in the chair. Small one spoke to her and she had
apparently been cycling Asia for the last 6 months with her children
(and come down from China), and said her husband would be joining her
next month.... and away they went. We were then joined in the bar by
an American man named Al (in his early 60s) who was travelling alone
(met a few American men travelling alone in Laos). We thought he
look like Granpa Walton with his slicked back white fuzzy hair, bushy
white moustache and large jowels – however he corrected us that he
was going for the Mark Twain look. He had 5 dautghers between the
ages of 20-40, and he had been travelling alone for the last 8
months, and had been in China for most of that time (though had said
he'd been travelling for some 30 years). He'd been twice married and
twice widowed. He had planned to go to Cambodia and Thailand, but had
found Vang Vieng much to his liking and so had been here over a week
and planned not to go anywhere else. We chatted a while (he did all
the talking) and he showed us his small palm size computer which he
seemed glued to - chatting with his dautgher;s and the 50 year old
Chinese girlfriend left behind in China.
After breakfast wandered round the
bushy garden, and checked out the various bungalows on stilts
scattered around, and the vast amongst of butterflies round the area.
Went for a short walk up the dusty road (same path as the cows) and
turned off after a few minutes over a bamboo fence and along a path
through the Paddy Fields to a signed cave. Past a small hut with a
waving baby and small family cutting hay, and then before the cave we
had to stop at a self made little bamboo shelter and pay 10,000 Kip
each to see the cave (round a dollar). The cave turned out to be a
deep recess in the cliff, and may or may not have led further inside,
but the only path was a very small hands and knees sized path and we
had brought no torch. We watched a small swarm of ants carrying out
the cave a large segment of giant centipede and then walked back
along the dry river bed.
Back at the bar we sat and had a couple
of hours drinking the large bottles of Beer Lao. We drank with the
owner, Joe (age 67) – who was originally from Waterford, Ireland –
but had moved to the UK and a young age (his accent was mostly UK).
He had travelled a lot over the years and been set up here with the
guest house for about 13 years? Run with his 42 year old Lao wife,
Wan – and their children, and her family. Joe helped himself to a
little of our Beer Lao, though said he didn't drink beer (his drink
was Baileys). There was a wildness to the man as he sat and talked
with us, quite entertaining in a peculiar, unnerving sort of way. He
told us about how nowadays he doesn't like to meet people, refering
to German women as cunts (he swore a lot), and the cheek of guests
who buy cans of drink from the shop across the road and then come to
him and ask for a fucking glass of ice and then another glass as he
gave him too much ice..... fuck off he'd want to tell them, them and
the people who leave their vegetables in his drink fridge, or decide
to hang out their underwear to dry on the bamboo fence in the bar /
restaurant instead of on the multitude of washing lines round the
gardens and rooms. We were also joined by a Belgium / Canadian fella
in his mid twenties, or spoke of setting up a Chocolate / Coffee
making shop back home for an expected 400,000 euros a year.
After the beers we wondered into Vang
Vieng town, up the side of the river and across the rickety free
bridge which Cambodian children were jumping off into the clear river
waters. Stopped in Gary's Irish Bar and had Spagehetti Bologaniase,
and Bangers and Mash which was quite good. Headed back to the Guest
House, where outside in front of the bar two of the local mongrel
dogs (both looking like Dingos) were 'tied' or 'knotted' and a tug of
war insued on the road.... seems to be a popular past time for dogs
in this country, our first day in Vientiane we saw 3 different pairs
if dogs shagging. We joined Al in the bar and continued to drink
Beer Lao. We mentioned the dogs to Al and he told us this had
happened to him once... but the dog wasn't to happy about it. Tall
one had a Ken Phong soup recommended by Al, Al went back to his room
to get the cucumber he'd brought that day and asked us if we saw the
waiter guy to order him some cheese..... small one asked “cheese
what”, “oh just some cheese” said Al, yeah but cheese with
what? Asked small one, “just cheese” said Al. We saw the waiter
fella and deicided not to order the cheese. When Al got back he got
his plate of cheese slices himself and sat and diced up his own
cucumber and sat and ate the two together, talking endlessly about
China. We were joined later by Joe, whose wife made him a few
Baileys. Joe continued to tell us stories of his unpleasant guests
and we discussed some specific bad reviews we had read on trip
advisor. After too many beers headed to be around 10pm.
Tuesday 5th November 2013 –
Vientiane to Vang Vieng, Laos
Downstairs for breakfast and the lobby
was heaving with Japanese who had ransacked the free coffee and
breakfast and had taken over all the free chairs. We finally found
some free chairs outside the front doors and had a Banana Pancake for
breakfast. We were collected in an open top truck at 9.15am, and made
a few stops to pick up other tourists, before we were all dropped off
at a long bus in the centre of town. This bus was far from
conventional, and had 5 large leather, high backed chairs on the back
row, but that's where the rows stopped as the other seating wa sjust
benches round the outside of a hollowed out bus. We managed to get on
the back row seats, past two dopey, typical British laddy Backpackers
who we're already on the bus before us laid out along the benches
looking hung over.
Over the next twenty minutes more and
more trucks arrived dropping off tourists, until all seats and
benches were crammed, and then all standing space was crammed.... we
we're wondering if the whole 3-4 hour trip was like this, but an
American man (who spent the journey talking politics with a
backpacker from Iraq) said he'd done the trip before and we
transferred to a proper V.I.P. Bus soon. Sure enough after half an
hour we all moved on to a bus (the same size) that had proper seats
and was quite comfortable (no TV blaring Asian music videos either).
Journey was then the expected 304 hours, some great scenery towards
the end coming in to Vang Vieng over rivers, and past the abrupt
shard like hills and ranges. The driver drove like a lunatic, though
we are starting to expect it.
Dropped in Vang Vieng we were then
ushered on to another minibus which dropped us in the centre of town
outside a hostel. We were pestered to go to various hostels, but
instead just walked away and headed for the river. Walking for twenty
minutes with bags on, the heat wasn't oo bad – as Laos doesn't seem
as humid as Cambodia. Down the river found the wooden bridge crossing
the river and had to pay the 4,000 Kip toll for a foot passenger
(there are two other's further up which are free). Across the river
past the usual stray dogs and mangy chickens, past the small children
bathing in the river and motorbikes driving through the water – and
we found up the dusty road the Maylyn Guest House.
A few guests were sat in the nice bar
area, and two Lao women were in the open windowed kitchen. One came
out and showed us the room, which was one of three bamboo cabins in a
row, with a balcony seat, own bathroom (toilet flush the pan of water
system, and cold shower) with mosquiote net over the bed and a fan on
the wall. Was very rustic, and in a lovely setting away from the
usual streets we had been used to, and instead nestled in a sort of
over grown garden full of various sized and coloured butterflies, and
alongside a stream coming off the main river.
Sat and had a cold Beer Lao, before a
brief walk along the river and back for a Sweet and Sour chicken. The
bill system was a system for honest guests, as by reception was a
rack of books each with the room numbers on – when you took a beer
out the fridge you just wrote in your room's book how many you had.
When you wanted to order dinner, you wrote your order in the book and
handed it to the kitchen. When you left (and you didn't need to book
a number of nights, as it was just a day by day basis with no advance
bookings) they would tally up your book and you pay when you leave.
The place was run by Joe, an Irishman from Waterford – who'd been
out cutting wood all day, and his Lao wife (we presume) was the lady
who checked us in.
Monday 4th November 2013 –
Vientiane, Laos
Out the smelly room and downstairs for
breakfast (they were out of bananas). Had a sachet coffee and an
omelette with rock hard baguette sat outside – looking at an
enormous butterfly. Had a wonder round the town, past That Dam, then
a moldy book store, then round the Talat Sao mall and Khua Din
Market. Next stop was the free UXO Museum / Visitor Centre called
'Cope', where we watched a short movie about the affect of unexploded
bombs still have on Laos residents – more bombs dropped in Laos
than through all of WWII – this was during the Vietnam war and the
Americans used to 'dump' their left over bombs in Laos before
returning to base ad they could not land safely with them.
Back in to town and priced a day trip
out to the reserve/forest of Phou Khao Khouay, but was quoted around
100 USD each!! Cancelled our third night here and changed our booking
to leave a day earlier. After lunch in a Scandinavian bakery we took
a Tuk Tuk out to the Budha Park. We agreed a price of 150,000 Kip
with our driver (about $20), he took started driving around towwn and
we realized his Tuk Tuk was essentially a piece of shit, struggling
to tow us and wondered how it would make this 50km roudn trip. Ten
minutes in the man pulled over and told us to get in to another Tuk
Tuk with another driver.... fair enough. We then set off in a new Tuk
Tuk, but this fella stopped by a car where a woman stood holding the
door open, we thought we were then changing yet again – but
thankfully had stopped for some other reason and took off again. The
seats on the Tuk Tuk were so narrow, you could only perch on the edge
which was not comfortable as it bounced along dusty unsealed roads.
We ended up just sitting on the floor of the Tuk Tuk – and had many
locals laughing at us as we drove by, for sitting in the wrong place.
Budha Park was quite good, though an
hours drive each way outside of town. A high density of some quite
entertaining Budha statues amongst many animal statues, as well as a
tall dome like structure you could wind your way up inside. When we
went to leave we waved to our Tuk Tuk driver who had just lit a
cigarette, and stood waiting for him as we smoked until we realized
that ur driver was in fact stood the other side of the car park and
we had never met this fella smoking (he was wearing the same coloured
shirt).
Later that evening wondered out to find
some dinner. Past the Nam Phou fountain which only seems to be on at
night. An Indian man stopped us to try food at his restaurant, and
after looking we looked at the menu for 5 minutes he told us our
choice would not be ready for another hour – so we moved on.
Stopped at another restaurant and looked at their BBQ menu outside
their front door, only for the waiter to then point to the menu and
then point to the restaurant the otherside of the street, apparently
that is where this menu was for....?? We finally chose a large
restaurant and got seated on some high stools by the footpath and one
of those signs telling you how far to different parts of the world.
We reviewed the menu and then failed to get the attention of one of
the many many Laos waiters dressed in red. We finally got the female
hostess in green to come over and asked if we could now order, to
which she shook her head and said, “no” and walked off. In the
end our order was taken, small one had an amazing Mushroom soup,
whilst tall one had sticky rice roasted inside bamboo with some pork,
chicken, beef BBQ skewers – was very good. On way back priced some
buses and trains – have so far found Laos very expensive compared
to Cambodia – with Hotel's being cheap at $20 (in Vientiane
anyway), and most meals being nearer to $10USD than the $5 we were
used to each. Though our 3 hour bus to Vang Vieng tomorrow was only
$5, and postcards were only 30 cents (though stamps around $1.25).
Sunday 3rd November 2013 –
Phnom Penh, Cambodia to Vientiane, Laos
Hung around our hotel and restaurant
until 2pm – putting up with Tuk Tuk drivers asking if we needed a
Tuk Tuk despite the fact that we were sat down in front f our
computers eating and drinking. Then just after 2pm took a $7 Tuk Tuk
to the airport. Sat in the quite small departures area surrounded by
Japanese, Polish and one strange old man wondering round with a suit
case on wheels which he kept leaving in different places then
wondering off for a while, before coming back to move it again.
Boarded our half empty Vietnam Airlines
plane at 6pm and the pilot greeted us all by saying, “Good evening
Ladies and Germans.....”. After take off we were served a small
dinner, which we had not expected. Was a cold salad, which had some
of that processed light pink ham – the kind that used to have
smiley faces printed on it when you were a kid. Played on their many
automatically folding in and out mini TV screens was this bizarre
English looking 'pranked' hidden camera show, involving a women's dog
running under a hedge and being run over by a lawn mower.....
Flight was only an hour and a half to
the capital of Laos, Vientiane. As we flew into the City at night
struck by the many small coloured dots of the lights below –
yellow, orange, green, red and white dots of light – and then the
dark black abyss of the Mekong river cutting through the middle of it
all. Was a fast bumpy landing and then we were quickly at
Immigration. We had come prepared with our visa on arrival forms and
passport photos already done, but others didn't have these things and
were sent to back of queue. The process too apply for the visa had
three desk in a row, each with a different man with a number over his
head (1, 2, 3). The number one man took your form and photo and slid
it up to the next man number 2 and you moved up with it. Number 2
printed the visa and stuck it in then past it to number 3 man and you
moved up, and number 3 man took the payment.... it was like buying a
Subway sandwich as you moved up the Delhi counter to choose your
bread, then the cheese, then the salads.... We then went through
immigration, and the usual cheerless man seemed to be having a
coughing fit as he stamped tall one's passport.
Paid for a $7USD taxi to the City
Centre and waited outside for the man to get the taxi. One pulled up
and we started loading the bags, and then our taxi driver who we'd
already agreed to give the token to pulled up behind us shouting that
he was over there – so we had to take our bags out this other taxi
upsetting this new taxi driver. Driving in through the City the
actual streets, buildings and people looked visually so similar to
Cambodia, that we could have just arrived at another town in the same
country.
Dropped off at the Mixok Inn 2 blocks
up from the Mekong river front. In the downstairs reception was a
young Lao lad was was sprawled out in a chair watching TV with his
feet up. He glanced at us as we came in and walked casually over to
the desk – took a while to explain to him that we wanted a double
room and yes we knew it only had one bed in the room. Was $20USD for
the night, though their website had advertised $22. Reception also
had a big sign stating that in Laos they only except Lao Kip and not
dollars, but then the lad took our USD anyway. Up to the 4th
floor for our room, and it stunk of fags, and had strange brown
stains splashed on the ceiling, and some very small ants swarming out
the door frame – other than that it was perfect.
Around 8pm and we headed out to have a
brief look round the main street and draw out some Kip from the ANZ
am machine. The streets were eerily quiet, and there was no constant
flow of motorbikes, most people seemed to be driving cars. There were
a few Tuk Tuks (there had been none at the airport only taxi cars),
and the Lao Tuk Tuks were more like Thailand's – like a giant
motorized tricycle, compared to Cambodia's which were a whole
motorbike towing a trailer with seats. The driver's asked us the
usual, “Tuk Tuk sir?”, but instead of following with the
Cambodian question, “you want weed?”, they asked “you want
girls?”. Sure enough up the dark empty streets there seemed to be a
lot of tall Cambodian girls with long bare legs. Down at the water
front and there were some River front Night Markets, a long row of
red topped marque tents light up. The usual general crafts, tourist
tat and clothing. But a strange experience after being so used to the
Cambodian market stalls and being heckled at every single stall to
buy something, at this one we were stopped by nobody at all – and
walked in complete uninterrupted silence browsing stalls. At one
pointed when we wanted to price some shirts we couldn't even find the
seller to speak to, let alone be heckled by one. On the way back to
the Hotel stopped in a small cafe and small one had a chicken burger
(though essentially was a salad roll with some thin slices of
chicken) and Tall one had a surprisingly decent Flat white coffee and
a funny tasting Kit Kat. Back through the Hotel foray and the lad at
reception was back reclined in his chair watching the TV.
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