During the new year period we enjoyed really top class French and Italian food in the busy capital of Laos. For the past few days we have relaxed in a Don Det where the pace is slow and most things are done in the local style. Our bungalow is visited by tree frogs, mice, cockroaches and numerous lizards. All around cockerels and chicken meet in noisy courtship while chicks of all ages point up the success of this easy to rear food source. Cows, cats, dogs and water buffalo are everywhere. No one seems to own them or spend time caring for them they just forage for themselves. Children abound and they receive the same cursory attention as the animals. It is not unusual for two boys about four or five years of age, hot from playing in the heat of the day, to strip off and plunge in to the Mekong without an adult in sight. Four girls of about eight years or so float on a rubber tyre shouting and screaming as they try, unsuccessfully, to all stand up. I saw a three year old girl hacking at a log with a vicious looking kitchen knife.

There are no cars, just the odd motorcycle or out control tourist driven bicycle. Kids are left to have fun and enjoy themselves without the western fear driven and constricting supervision. I haven’t seen any one handed children or small bodies floating on the river so it seems to work! I guess the whole ethos of life here is much more relaxed and H & S does not apply.

Manufactured items all arrive on to the Island by boat. We helped to unload a consignment of Beerlao and the one I had that evening tasted much better. I also watched the arrival of a new fridge for a local shop everybody joined in the unloading and seemed to enjoy the minor success.

We are spending about 16 pounds sterling a day for food and accommodation so it is a great place for a prolonged stay and many of the young backpackers become becalmed here. Being Alan and Bev we will tear ourselves away from paradise and see a few more temples – oh goody.

To more mundane things. Throughout India, Nepal, Thailand and Laos the sewage system is very primitive. Toilet paper is not used but water is used for washing – don’t go there. To prevent sewage system blockages westerners are exhorted by signs in every loo to deposit all paper in the container provided, this can range from a sealed container to a flimsy plastic bag. Toilet rolls are often not provided so everyone travels with a personal supply. In countries were tummy upsets abound this becomes an everyday subject of conversation. Frequency and viscosity are subjects for general discussion. Anyone who knows my Bev can be assured that she has not joined the trend towards openness.

I have enjoyed Don Det and the lovely people. But Angkor Wat in Cambodia calls so off we must go.

Love to all

8^th January – Met our next door neighbours, amongst them Rebecca, a girl from Boston who has been through Cambodia and Vietnam already, therefore is a useful source of information for us. We hired cycles, as it is quite a long way between one thing and the next on this island, also we want to explore neighbouring Don Khon, which is a larger island.

The mossies are pretty bad here and we are both being bitten a lot despite using insect repellent containing ‘Deet’ (supposed to be the best thing). We have given up on mosquito nets as a complete nuisance. If you get up to the loo in the night and don’t tuck it all in properly afterwards, the mosquitoes just pile in through the gaps. But we are taking the best anti-malarial tablets on the market and the antihistamine cream that Cynthia sent us in a Red Cross package via her brother in Thailand is being put to full use.

We have a new room mate who should help the situation, He’s a little tree frog. He was just sitting on our floor when we came back one night. I tried to put him out as I was worried about the effect on his tiny chest of the mossie coil we burn at night, but as soon as I tried to close the door, he hopped straight in again. So he has stayed.

9th December – Up early and off on the bicycles to circumnavigate Don Khon. Our first stop was the rusting hulk of one of the small engines that was used on the railway here. Then to see a waterfall, a very different face of the Mekong (and this is just part of it, as it is off meandering around lots of islands at this point) where the water roars over a wide rocky slope before squeezing into a narrow gorge in a scary, foaming torrent. Not my favourite sort of place!

Then we came to what I consider to be the nicest place we have seen to date on the Mekong. A sandy bay with clear water and so many rocky outcrops, it could almost have been the seaside. As we admired the view, a very large American couple turned up to catch their boat to go river dolphin spotting. As usual the front end of the boat was just beached on the sand and normal practice is for the boatman or helper to allow the passengers to get settled, then to push the boat into the water. So a very small (but no doubt very strong) Lao man tried and tried to get this boat waterborne, but was failing miserably. It was not long before Alan was right there with him and between them they got the boat launched to much hilarity from boatman, passengers and pushers alike.

We are not doing a river dolphin trip here, as our next stop is to be Kratie in Cambodia, where seeing a river dolphin is just about guaranteed, we hear. So we carried on to the farthest point of the island where Cambodia is within a long swim or short boat ride. No doubt they have some means of repelling boarders! The bike ride was quite tiring as some of the tracks were very rocky and rutted, and we were very saddle-sore by the time we crossed the bridge back to Don Det and our little haven at River Garden Bungalows. Still, we rode the four kilometres to the main ‘town’ to visit once more the Israeli restaurant where we had been made so welcome before – plus I had been promised mashed potato on my next visit! Had a lovely meal, but then had to face the ride back up the narrow track in the dark, where all sorts of obstacles lie in wait, such as some pieces of metal sticking up out of one of the bridges we had to cross! We did have our torches with us, but it was still like playing some high-risk video game, so intense was the concentration needed, but Alan was once again my hero, leading from the front with me blindly following in his tracks.

On arriving back at our bungalow, Alan had a bit of a shock when he went to open the loo door and there was our tree frog disguised as the door bolt! Once again I was unable to sleep much due to the hardness of the beds here, so during the night I heard him flopping around the room and climbing the walls. The tree frog, not Alan, you understand.

I’ve probably said this before, but it bears saying again. We are staying in this place that should be a haven for quiet contemplation. But ‘quiet’ is a foreign place for the people of South East Asia. Everywhere you go there is a radio blaring from the private quarters, or a TV set by the bar or in the corner of the restaurant with the whole family glued to it. Back in Don Khong, we even had to disturb the owner from watching some Eastern soap so that we could check out. His wife meanwhile was sitting with such a sad face and his daughter was crying because of the drama on screen.

10th January – We are about to go and hand back our trusty bikes, then spend the rest of the day mostly doing nothing apart from a minor bit of packing. Tomorrow early we set off by boat then bus to cross the border into Cambodia, going to Kratie first. This should be a journey of about nine hours. This evening, as a farewell to Laos, we are going to enjoy a Lao BBQ with Rebecca from next door in our little restaurant by the river. Apparently this is a bit like a fondue, where you cook for yourself, but there are lovely sauces and salads to go with the meats. I’ll let you know what it was like!

Photos

6^th January – Last evening was spent pleasantly in the company of three Israeli girls who had just completed national service and who were travelling before going on to university. They were very interesting to talk to, especially about the situation with Palestine. We were also amused watching the sub aqua water buffalo that go right underneath the water to eat the weed. They then reappear, horns first, like sea monsters.

This morning we caught a boat with four other people for the two-hour trip to Don Det, an island that is apparently more lively and popular with backpackers than Don Khong. Arriving at a small beach (there are no proper landing areas, just river banks and beaches like this one), we disembarked and saddled up with our backpacks to go and look for Mr Aek’s River Garden Bungalows. These had been recommended to us by a waiter at the Champasak Hotel in Pakse, whose brother was married to Mr Aek’s sister. He had also told us that every man on the island was called ‘Mr’ for reasons he couldn’t explain, and which he found as amusing as we did.

There is no main street on the island, just a dirt track that is sometimes only wide enough for one person. Or bike, or motorcycle, as we soon discovered. Each side of the track we walked along was lined with little restaurants and places to stay, most of them these little bungalows on stilts built out over the river bank. Having trogged along for quite a few minutes in the hot sun, we were greeted by Mr Nois of the Thong Bang Bungalows, who asked us if we wanted a room for the night. We told him we were looking for Mr Aek and he said, you need to take a boat, he is about four kilometres away. Having had enough already, we looked at the room Mr Nois was offering and it seemed OK, so we decided to book in for one night. At just four dollars you can’t expect much. Our room was in a terrace of very basic bungalows. Loos and shower were across the track and behind the restaurant. But we did have one hammock, one chair, and a good view of the river on our shared veranda.

We set off to look around the island and ended up walking the full five miles or so of its circumference. On the way we found Mr Aek and booked into his very nice bungalows for the next three nights. These have their own loo and cold shower and are detached, giving a little bit more privacy. Best of all, there is a shady veranda with two hammocks!

Carrying on, we left behind the ‘touristy’ bit and walked through open countryside, punctuated only occasionally by small farms. The main crop on the island seems to be rice. There are some vegetables and herbs grown, and chickens are everywhere as usual, but everything else has to be brought in by boat. There are the remains of an old railway line built by the French to convey goods around the islands of Don Khon and Don Det, but this has long since fallen into disuse. The old railway bridge is still used by pedestrians and cyclists.

By the time we got back round to the beach where we had landed in the morning, we were very tired and thirsty. A pineapple shake never tasted so good! Alan has totally surprised me by starting to drink iced coffees. Back home he wouldn’t touch a cup of coffee. The rest of the day was spent doing nothing much at all and we ended with dinner in a restaurant run by an Israeli couple.

7th January – For a small consideration, Mr Nois took us to our new accommodation in his boat. He was so kind to us, helping us up the steep bank with our packs even though we were moving to a competitor. But people here seem to be like that – as long as you are honest with them, they will treat you well. Sometimes we are still a little suspicious of people’s motives following our experiences in India, Nepal, and (to a certain extent) Thailand, but we have been so impressed by the trustworthiness and no-strings-attached kindness of the people of Laos.

We spent most of the day lounging in our hammocks reading. Then went over the bridge for a drink and dinner. Being surrounded by water, we notice a sharp increase in mossie and other insect activity. In the restaurants they hang plastic bags containing some liquid just below the lights and these soon fill with dead bodies. Not the most appetising thing to look at as you eat! Tired out by doing nothing, we were glad to fall into bed. Having moved to this end of the island for the peace and quiet, you can imagine our shock when a very bad rock band with an even worse lead singer struck up just across the water. This individual felt the need to talk incessantly between numbers that only excelled in their loudness. He also had an annoying laugh and an irritating little verbal tic that went ‘hmmmm’ at the end of each paragraph.

We’d read somewhere that electricity goes off at 11:00pm on the island and we lay and waited with longing for this event. It didn’t happen. Sometime well after 1:00am the din finally stopped. Just time for a quick nap before the cockerels start!

Photos

3^rd January – Our departure from Vientiane was as smooth and comfortable as our arrival was fraught and bone-aching. The taxi picked us up at 5am and we arrived much too early for our 7:30am departure. Was this a problem? No, not at all. In the informal check-in area, we were waved past the baggage x-ray machine and a lovely young man doing the checking in asked if we would like to go on the flight an hour earlier, at 6:30am. Yes please, said we, not wishing to spend too long in this particular airport.

We just had time to check in when our flight was called. This time we and our hand baggage had to go through metal detectors, but when Alan’s bionic knee set off the alarm, as it always does, he was just waved on. None of the OTT removal of shoes, belts, etc that accompanies this event back in the west! We walked out to our aircraft (an ATR 27) just as dawn was breaking – hence the fuzzy photos, which were taken almost on the move. [Apologies to readers, except William, for the number of photos that include the engine as well as the beautiful sunrise. The interior shots are also for his benefit. OK, William, are you back on board now?!]

It was a flight of just over an hour and very pleasant indeed. Not so Pakxe, which shall henceforth be spelt ‘Pakse’, as this is what was over the airport door. Within minutes of arriving in the airport building, a little truck roared up to an open side door and we were all summoned outside to collect our packs. We had selected our accommodation from the guide book based on cheapness and were not disappointed. (But if I never see another wetroom style bathroom after this trip, it will be too soon!)

Usual day of admin, getting laundry done, mooching about. The town sits at the confluence of the Mekong and another river, but does not capitalise on this. The waterfront is inhabited by the ramshackle little restaurants that the locals use and little is laid on with the tourist in mind. Alan and I stopped for a cold drink at one but we are still wary of eating the food, that has been cooked for who knows how long. Speaking of food, when we eventually chose a nice little restaurant for lunch, my salad had a little lodger in the form of a caterpillar. A few months ago I would not have been able to eat another bite. Instead I just removed the offending leaf and carried on eating.

4^th January – Today we treated ourselves to a car and driver to take us to Wat Phou, one of the temples built by the ancient Khmer people, whose works also include Angkor Wat in Cambodia. The journey there would have been a pleasant but dull two hours had it not been for the Mekong ferry crossing. We have seen before the method of creating pontoons out of several boat hulls and a few bamboo poles. This was similar, but on a larger scale, and the photos will show that they pack as many vehicles on as possible, sometimes offloading one to shuffle around so that a new arrival can be accommodated. There was no concept of ‘one ferry every half hour’ or suchlike. No, the ferry did not leave until it was full, even if this meant one of its sister vessels having to tread water just offshore.

Alan and I took up positions near the driver’s seat and passed a pleasant and amusing time watching antics. One young man decided he would sit on the vacant driver’s seat and fiddle with the controls, which consisted of various chains and rods and levers. It so happened that someone at the back end chose this moment to start the engine and there was a moment of pure comedy shared by Lao people and us alike, when the chap thought he had done something to make this happen.

Wat Phou is a vast complex of ruins over a wide area as opposed to one main temple and several small ones in a football stadium-sized site, which is the norm. Some parts date back as far as the 7^th Century. It is located at the foot of a mountain and the site is orientated east to west, extending up the lower slopes of the mountain. This means that the visitor is obliged to climb some very ancient, deep and steep steps to reach the farthest point. Ancient, gnarled frangipane trees burst through the balustrades at carefully measured intervals – it amazes me how such an ugly tree can bear such beautiful blooms (photo of one of these provided in the gallery). It also amazes me that anyone would plant trees in a staircase, surely even ancient civilisations have seen the destructive power of nature?

The climb is well worth it. Stalwarts are rewarded with a magnificent view of the whole site, of its lakes, and of the massive plain and the Mekong far beyond.

Although the site is undergoing conservation by a French and Lao team, some parts have a mysterious, untouched feel to them. For example, off to one side of the highest extremity lie massive stones, some of which are elaborately carved, others more simply decorated. There is one that has the outline of a crocodile engraved in it and another has a relief of an elephant ingeniously carved into one corner. I doubt if the photos have done this wonderful place justice, but hopefully they give a flavour.

Once again Hinduism and Buddhism have united and the small temple at the top of the site contains a serene-looking Buddha surrounded by some very large columns that look about to topple with the least breath of wind.

The heat makes all walking during the day quite strenuous and we find ourselves thinking more and more of getting to the sea for the breezes and swimming. I resorted to the very eastern habit of carrying an umbrella for shade today – it worked very well. Alan kept to his trusty Tilley hat, which is looking these days more and more like the one worn by the snowman than that of Indiana Jones!

A foot massage (they’re addictive!), a meal, and one more sleep and we will be off in the morning on a minibus to Don Khong, the largest of the Four Thousand Islands.

5^th January – We were picked up by a smart minibus at 7:40 this morning. Being first on board, we settled down for a comfy two-plus hour ride to the boat that would take us to Don Khong. Oh no. This nice bus took us less than a kilometre to the travel agency where we had to debus and wait for another mode of transport. This was some ancient hippy-mobile seating about 25 people and, as always with these shared transports, packed to the gunwales. For a change we were all backpackers, most of them much younger than us, but very amusing to watch and listen to – until they fell asleep with their MP3 players plugged in. Like Alan, but at least he was awake and looking about.

The ferry was one of the little long, low boats that seat around 10 people and that have the ‘long tail’ – the prop at the end of a long shaft that’s used both to propel and to steer the boat. We made our way slowly and sedately across the Mekong to Don Khong and found a very agreeable little guesthouse with a double room and en suite wetroom (!) for $13. So bold are we now that we don’t always refer to the recommended lists in the guide book.

A quick patrol led us to the conclusion that there was nothing to do here but ride around the island on a bike. Not a very attractive prospect in the heat. The other alternative was a boat trip to a waterfall that happens to be close to Don Det where we intend to go next. So we changed our plan to stay here for two nights and will instead go by boat to Don Det tomorrow morning. Electricity supplies and internet may be a bit touch and go for a while, so please don’t be concerned if all goes quiet on the Maloney front for a few days. We will be quite happy in our hammocks outside our little island bungalow (well, shack!).

Photos

1^st January – Reckoning on not a lot being open today (we think it’s also a public holiday here) we stayed in bed until lunchtime, then set out looking for a bit to eat. Walking past one establishment, we were loudly hailed by the colourful Filipo, who was sitting having a beer with Christopher, a Canadian chap from Vancouver, who was also one of the ‘boat people’. We joined them and had satay and BBQ skewers for brunch, accompanied by our favourite watermelon shakes. Had a great old chat, we reckon this may be the last time we see any of our boat people friends as few of them have as long as we do, so they are moving on more quickly. Filipo was just passing time before going to the airport to catch a flight to Bangkok, then on to one of the islands in the south of Thailand. Said our fond farewells having exchanged details and Filipo has promised to give us a plan of what to see and do in his native Sicily, should we ever decide to visit.

The rest of the day was about wandering around, dozing on the bed, reading and generally staying out of the heat. Found a great place for foot spas and pedicures, so have booked in for tomorrow afternoon. Dinner near the fountain (that keeps switching off and on!) at an Italian restaurant that served beautiful food. The owner came over for a chat and it turns out he has been in this region for over 20 years, having started in Bangkok. He soon tired of that city (he says it was congested by traffic then – it still is!) and moved to Laos where he has been extremely happy. I am inclined to agree with him that the welcome here, when given, is more genuine. We are both becoming quite fond of the Lao people – some meet your smile with a blank stare, which at least is honest, but more of them seem happy to help and will go out of their way to do so.

2^nd January – The tuk-tuk drivers in SE Asia seem to be fitted with motion sensors. They may appear to be asleep in the hammock slung in the back, but as soon as you draw level, you hear the old familiar cry, “Tuk-tuk siiiir?” In India and even Nepal we eventually stopped trying to be polite as the drivers of these and taxis were so insistent, but here a smile and a “no thank you” are generally rewarded with a lovely smile in return and none of the petulance we have seen previously. Today Alan took great joy out of going up to one I am sure we had refused several times and saying, “Can we have a tuk-tuk, please?”

Our tuk-tuk took (!) us to our bit of culture for the day, the That Luang wat, which is the holiest in Laos. I’m afraid, for me, it was also the dreariest. Using ‘big’ instead of ‘beautifully designed’ and ‘plain gold’ as opposed to ‘intricate fretwork, mosaics and painting’, it sat stolidly in the middle of what appeared to be a large car park that was home to stalls selling all manner of tourist tat. To cap it all, some monks appeared to be having a rave in a supplementary temple. They had massive, pop concert-sized speakers outside and were blasting music that sounded less than holy to my untrained ears. In fact, it sounded like an unholy racket!

Disappointed, but feeling we had done our duty, we set off to walk the 5km back to our area, thus taking in not only our daily dose of culture, but also our daily exercise. (The yuk-tuk driver had laughed out loud when we said we were going to walk back – clearly appalled at the thought!) We were so pleased that we walked back as we saw some of the ‘normal’ streets of the city, with ordinary people going about their lives. We also saw a most beautiful temple with an elaborate gate consisting of a cobra with a Buddha enthroned in its wide-open mouth. Using dead reckoning, the sun, and vague memories of the tuk-tuk ride, we managed to make our way back to home turf and celebrated with a watermelon shake apiece.

Later, we kept our pedicure appointments. Alan changed his mind and had a manicure instead. This was a lovely way to pass an hour – we were pampered and preened, and a head and neck massage was thrown in for good measure. My feet feel a size smaller thanks to the young lady’s ministrations, and Alan says he hasn’t enjoyed anything so much since Annie Brownlee introduced him to manicures in Milton Keynes.

Tomorrow we set off by airplane [William – it will be an ATR something or other, one with high wings, turboprop, I’ll try to get photos] at early o’clock for Prakxe in the south of Laos. This leaves out a very large piece of the centre of the country that is full of national parks, but we have to be a bit selective. Prakxe will just be a stop-over, as our target is the Four Thousand Islands set in the Mekong almost at the Cambodian border. We’ve read of little bungalows with hammocks outside where people can get lost in watching the world not go by. I know some of our readers want to join our Government, you will have to accept junior minister posts initially. We are currently looking to fill vacancies for rucksack carrying and hammock-swinging. No Canadians may apply.

Photos

30th December – As I hinted before, we would have liked to have visited the museum in Louang Phabang, but on the first attempt on 28^th we found it just closing at 10:30am as we arrived. We noted from a sign that it closes between 10:30am and 1:30pm daily (don’t ask why!). When we went back yesterday at 1:30pm we hung around and hung around, being joined by other mystified westerners, until we eventually gave up and went for a very nice lunch instead. There were no signs to say, sorry, we are closed for maintenance/coz we can’t be bothered opening, whatever. I imagined them all inside laughing their socks off at the foreigners hanging about in the hot sun – a sort of cultural ‘spitting in the soup’ – but this is just my jaundiced view of the world, greatly supported, however, by evidence I later gathered in the National Museum of Laos in Vientiane.

31^st December – Hah, hah! Beat the elephants out of bed this morning. Had to leave really early to catch the VIP bus to Vientiane. We were pleasantly surprised that, not for the first time, the seemingly casual arrangement made through the booking agent for a tuk-tuk to transport us from guesthouse to station actually worked.

Things then took a turn for the worse, not good when it was only 7:20am. We saw our bus. It had VIP written in large letters across the windscreen, presumably to remove any doubt, of which there was plenty.

VIP this bus was not, except in some parallel universe where filthiness is next to Godliness and where everyone aspires to a high level of discomfort. Things took a steep dive when we saw the seats we had been issued with. This bus has only one seating level, with enough belly space for luggage and a toilet below. We had been allocated the seats directly behind the steps leading down to the toilet. Never mind the stink, that could have been overcome by sleep, except that sleep would have been denied by the closeness of the low partition at the top of the stairs to the seats behind. This partition came inwards at a slight angle so that any person of normal proportions seated at the window had to sit with feet tucked almost underneath and knees wedged up against a shelf, which the designers had thoughtfully supplied in order to cause maximum damage once bouncing along the road.

When I looked at my beloved husband sitting there with his knees all tucked up ready for the 10.5 hour journey the red mist descended.  Normally it’s me saying, Alan don’t draw attention, but Alan was trying to calm me down as I ranted about how ridiculous this situation was, how they must be joking, blah blah – I can’t really remember, I was in the grip of a type of madness at the time. (Why do we put on posh accents when we are indignant?)

I stormed off to the ticket office and the full momentum of my anger carried me through a tirade aimed at the young man behind the desk. He said there was nothing he could do, the bus was full. Then  - and I admit this to my shame, I cannot recall doing this before – I resorted to crocodile tears, saying my husband was 67, he couldn’t possibly sit like that all the way to Vientiane, etc. But nope, there was still no room on the bus to swap seats.

It had crossed my mind fleetingly to add a few years on to Alan’s age and make him 97 or something, but I was very glad that I hadn’t when, a few minutes later, the same young man from the office came on board to check our tickets. I sullenly handed the tickets to him, he took them and, straight-faced, he ushered us to two good seats further forward and changed the seat numbers on the tickets. Bless him, when he walked back down through the bus he stopped off, smiled, and asked us if we were OK. I rewarded him with what I hope looked like a warm smile and a whole heap of grateful vocabulary that he probably hasn’t yet learned. And lest you are worried about the poor victims who ended up in our seats, they were two young and very diminutive Japanese girls who seemed comfy enough in the limited space.

The countryside was really beautiful and at one stage of the journey we had a view of massive buttresses of rock and a strange mountain towering over them. I didn’t get any photos of this, the bus window was just too dirty and the suspension shot. Not a good combination for photography. Instead I occupied myself with people-watching, but even this became dominated by a very few people. One, a girl with a face shaped like a finch’s beak, who pecked noisily at her boyfriend’s mouth when she wasn’t exchanging views on absolutely everything with an earnest Austrian in the seat in front of her.

We arrived in Vientiane in the early evening to the usual bustle of tuk-tuk drivers saying, “where you go, you want tuk-tuk?” I mentioned the name of our guesthouse to one man and before I knew it our rucksacks were stacked precariously on the rear bumper of an already-full sawngthaew (a sort of stretched tuk-tuk) and the man was doing the usual shouty thing, telling Alan and me to get in the front with him. I hesitated and remarked that I wasn’t happy about the position of our rucksacks, so without further ado Alan hopped on the back step and declared that he would ride into town in this classic position that he himself had said was so dangerous! But there were too many tired people waiting inside for Alan and I to have a domestic, so I meekly took my seat in the front and Alan rode into town like some Roman charioteer. I think he enjoyed this more than anything else we have done so far on our travels! Oh, and the rucksacks arrived safely too. Once again my lack of faith in systems that have worked for years has been misplaced.

31^st December – Our hotel, authorised by the Minister of Finance, is very comfortable and has good wi-fi. What more could a girl want? The increased temperature here, a little further south, is noticeable. Therefore we were glad to do some indoor sightseeing, in other words the National Museum of Laos.

As well as covering the ancient history of the region, the museum holds copies of old black and white photographs that tell the tragic story of more modern times. There is no doubt that, had foreign forces done to our country what we and some of our allies allowed to happen/did to Laos and surrounding countries, I would still harbour resentment. However, it is slightly disturbing that the National Museum has translated explanatory text that constantly refers to “US imperialists and their puppets” and speaks of western forces “rushing to leave” whereas the Lao Liberation Army “courageously defends”. It is not the meaning of what these captions say, rather the lack of political maturity that I find disturbing.

We have booked into a little French restaurant where we will bring in the New Year with a lovely meal including foie gras, scallops and duck. Our 2010 will arrive before yours, so I must dash and get showered!

From Alan and from me, very best wishes for the New Year to you all.

Photos for previous blog have been uploaded

28^th December – We have become a bit casual about booking travel arrangements, so when we went to buys seats on the VIP coach to Vientiane tomorrow, we found both departures fully booked. So we have had to book for 30^th, intending to spend three days in the capital city over New Year. This delay to our departure means an extra night in our accommodation, which at first seemed fine, but then it became clear (according to Alan and I have no reason to doubt his conclusion) that a troupe of performing elephants lives in the rooms above and practises its routines at around 7am each day.

Louang Phabang (this spelling makes sense when you realise that the Pha Bang, the most sacred Buddha in Laos, sits in the local museum (that we would have visited had its opening hours been intelligible) is a lovely little town, set at the confluence of the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. It abounds with places to eat and Laos’ French history (including driving on the right, which caught us out having had left hand driving in neighbouring Thailand) is evident in the architecture, in the menus, and in the prevalence of French patisseries.

It also happens to have perhaps the most charming and beautiful temple we have seen on our travels – I know we said we were ‘templed out’ but I think there would always be room for this one, even in the hardest of hearts. Wat Xiang Thong has elegant, overlapping roof sections and, inside, unusual black-painted walls with intricate miniature paintings in gold telling various stories of greed and downfall or good deeds and reward. In the same grounds are additional little buildings, a couple in particular caught my eye. They were painted pale pink and decorated with tiny mosaic pictures, again telling all manner of tales.

Afterwards we walked on until we met the Nam Khan River and followed it to the little bamboo bridge we spotted yesterday. Today we crossed over and went to the restaurant at the far end for lunch. This was one of those slightly contrived, but nonetheless charming places, where the diner sits in a sea of cushions by a low table. Each table was on its own terrace, so that all diners were afforded a view of the river.

I was reminded of some of my pet hates of travelling on observing the young English couple in front of us. These include foreigners who try too hard to look at ease in their surroundings and who ‘ape’ local customs. Examples: asking for chopsticks when a perfectly good fork and spoon have been provided; eating with the fingers and sucking them noisily to indicate satisfaction (although more with the self than with the food); lounging and speaking with full mouths in loud, lazy voices (look how chilled I am in my surroundings); and girls wearing those stupid big items of clothing that abound out here and that look like a skirt until, about two inches above the ankle, they decide they are in fact a pair of trousers. The overall effect is to make the wearer look like some big baby with its nappy hanging down. But it does allow the wearer to lie back, boney knees akimbo, at those low tables, even to cross the feet ON the table, adding insult to injury.

Sorry, I just had another of my little rants, didn’t I? We had a lovely lunch consisting of dried pork with sesame (the first pig I have been able to eat since leaving home, thanks to India), fried Morning Glory (yes, the weed), and an eggplant dip with sticky rice.  And, joy of joys and thanks to the French, it is possible to buy a drinkable wine.

29^th December – Up with the elephants (as opposed to larks) for a gentle day of admin and booking accommodation in Vientiane. The Minister of Finance has approved a temporary budget increase to allow three nights in a relatively nice hotel. It will cost £60.60 for the three nights. I may have to compensate by skipping the indulgent lunch in a French restaurant that I had planned for today – got to go work on some bribery and corruption, so speak to you later!

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23^rd December – An admin day mostly – there’s always loads of washing to be done (by someone else) after one of these expeditions. We did take time out, however, to walk to Wat Phra Singh. In what seems to be a traditions in these parts, the original temple has been eclipsed by other buildings, all very splendid, but quite frankly lacking the charm of the old wooden building. In a sort of ‘outhouse’ we discovered the most amazing reclining Buddha. He was enormous, with great big feet the size of two occasional tables.

Finished our sojourn in Chiang Mai with a nice Italian meal, quite frankly a nice break from the Thai flavours, which for me have begun to cloy.

24^th December – Said a fond farewell to Noui, Gerard and Kahpoon and piled into a minibus which soon filled up to capacity for the six-hour journey to Chiang Khong, our crossing point for Laos. Met Rosie and Reinhardt, a German couple with whom, together with Jackie and John from Farnham Common later, we formed a little team. Also Filipo, a Sicilian with a big personality and Buddy Holly glasses.

We were disappointed to find that the accommodation was not at all as we had been shown in the advertising blurb for the whole slow boat package. Instead of being shown to a bright, cheery double room with en suite bathroom, we were all parted from our passports and herded into what seemed like a prison camp – long wooden huts stained in dark brown inside and out, the most creaky floor boards in Christendom (or Buddhendom), paper-thin walls and the dreaded ‘shared facilities’. On the positive side, the showers provided copious amounts of hot water from large, dinner-plate sized shower heads.

Alan and I mooched off as soon as we could escape and found a pleasant place for a drink down by the Mekong River. Went back for supper and met John and Jackie, who were also doing the 2-day slow boat trip to Louang Prabang (again many spellings for this place, so please forgive me if you don’t agree with my version).

LAOS CHAOS

A bit of poetic licence in the title – Laos does not rhyme with Chaos, just in case anyone writes in! It’s more like La-ohs.

25^th December – Merry Bloomin’ Christmas. A cockerel with a cockadoodle, but no do, awoke most of the prison camp, sorry, guesthouse, at around 4am. So we all started the day with bleary eyes. Alan and I bought our Christmas presents – two garish cushions for taking on to the slow boat. We’ve been warned that this can be very uncomfortable.

After breakfast of a sort we were all herded out of the compound and into waiting minibuses for the short drive to a fleet of fragile little ferry boats to take us across to Loas on the far bank. Filipo again showed his gallantry by standing in the water’s edge helping people on to this tiny craft. No easy mission with a main backpack on the back and a day sack on the front.

On the far side we walked up a steep hill to have our visas issued. I had thought, because they collected our passports last night, that these would all be ready and waiting for us. Oh no! Instead yet another form was thrust into our hands and we had to scrabble in our packs looking for pens. Forms filled out, we  (mostly westerners) formed an orderly queue at the first window, the Window for Handing Back the Passport. Oh, no, don’t be stupid, you westerners! Our passports were being processed laboriously, one-by-one, by a back-room boffin, who then handed them to Man at Window for Handing Back the Passport. He was then trying to call out, from behind his glass curtain, the names of the owners. His attempts, bless him, were so unintelligible that the people at the front of the queue started reading the names for him and shouting out. Soon it was a whole party scene and we all met each other as our names were hollered out. Filipo showed how cool he was by wandering off to have one of his dubious fags.

Once the MaWfHBtP had finished with you, the next step was Man at Window for Paying for Visa, where we coughed up various quantities of American dollars depending on what nationality we were. Then the Man at Window for Putting Arrival Stamp in Passport. Then to the boat? Oh, no. We had to walk a bit up the hill, then hand over our hard-won passport to some other set-up and listen to a speech from some dude in a t-shirt who, seeing our distressed faces, said he ‘was here to serve, only want you to have good time, know how precious your passports are to you, will look after them’ and flogged us overnight accommodation in our overnight stop, Pak Beng, as it was almost fully booked and we could find ourselves without a bed, blah, blah.

Then we had to walk further up the hill (still carrying backpacks remember) to catch a taxi, but before we did, we had to listen to a diatribe from some child in jeans and t-shirt, who punctuated his speech liberally with the ‘f’ word. He was apparently here to serve us, too and as we squeezed into a tuk tuk style taxi (with John, Jackie, Rosie and Reinhardt – John hanging on to his suitcase perched on the back step), we hoped we had seen the last of him, but no.

After a short journey to the slow boat pier, we were herded into a restaurant where we were ‘encouraged’ on to one long table by the self-same teenage, linguistically-challenged lunatic who harangued us about how busy it is in Pak Beng and we needed to book accommodation through him and there are many agents who would try to make us book through them, but don’t trust them...I was losing my temper with this whole people’s republic of jobs for the boys and commented loudly that we had just met another bloke back down the hill who was saying the same thing, so who exactly were we to believe? Alan hushed me quickly lest we become another case for Amnesty International.  

Eventually our passports reappeared in a dirty plastic bag whereupon teenage delinquent promptly dropped them, scattering enclosed visas. The team took charge and soon all paperwork was retrieved from the floor and those closest started once again yelling out the nationality and name in the passport. Delinquent by now had given up any pretence of being in charge, probably due to the onset of a hangover, judging by the comments from those downwind of him regarding the fumes on his breath.

Finally we were sent complete with backpacks to get on board our slow boat. This is about 75 feet long, with a small cabin at the front where the captain steers and an enclosed area at the rear housing crew quarters, a loo, and the engine (of which there is a photo courtesy of Alan). In the middle are the seats and these vary in quality from airline-style reclining seats to the most Spartan of little two-person benches that are not made with western proportions in mind. Apart from that, there was the floor, of course. Sometimes in life you just get lucky and our little ‘team within a team’ of six all managed to land a comfy seat apiece. There are only around 16 pairs of these in a boat that holds over 80 people.

Finally under way around 11am, we settled back to enjoy the scenery. And what scenery! The Mekong is like no other river I have ever experienced. It is much more like an estuary, with large rocky outcrops, beaches, and whirlpools and eddies that even rocked our heavy vessel. Although called a slow boat, it must have been doing around 10 knots. Maybe the ‘slow’ tag was more to do with the frequent stops to pick up and drop off locals. At one point we even stopped in the middle of nowhere, the captain disappeared up into the sand dunes, only to reappear stage right with a farmer and his odd little mechanical horse affair pulling a trailer with another such implement all disassembled. The heavy parts were loaded on board, with all the crew and some of the locals helping.

All along the length of the river are people farming on the banks (how can you grow veg in sand? They seem to manage it!). Permanent bamboo pole fishing rods are wedged in the rocks just waiting to be put to use.

On board there was a bit of a party atmosphere, but little mention of Christmas and no carols sung that we heard. Little teams within teams were forming (especially the pot-smoking one at the back!), but each event (such as loading the farm equipment) served to underline the fact that we were all in the same boat. On some of the stops there were kids either trying to sell trinkets or beers or just plain begging. Alan decided to do some baiting of the little beggars by breaking out the Pringles, then pretending to reach over and give some to the kids, then eating them himself – you know, the usual sort of thing you do with kids. This thoroughly amused some elderly Lao women on board and I wondered if I was in danger of losing my husband to one of them, for whom he even bought a bracelet!

Pak Beng is still quite undeveloped, but there are lots of guesthouses. It was not really a big shock when we toted our heavy bags up the hill in the deepening darkness and arrived at our ‘booked’ guesthouse to be told that it was full, but the landlady had another place. Our bags were being loaded in a taxi by this stage, Rosie had lost her German sense of humour and I was just a couple of steps behind her. Eventually all six of us ended up in this same place where the electricity went off at 10:30pm (no big deal) and the cockroaches rustled about in the waste bin all night long. If some of my reports or Alan’s occasional blogs make me sound a bit precious about dirt and bugs, then can I say this in my own support? Cockroaches have always been the one thing guaranteed to put me off my sleep, but I am learning to cope, even when they scuttle out from under our bags.

The six of us hit the town together and went into a restaurant just because the guy outside wished us Merry Christmas. Mind you, the competition included one place with six tables and a bed in the corner where two little kids were watching TV. Also, we were offered a free bottle of whisky, which turned out to be some clear stuff in a Jack Daniels bottle, so we raised a glass and wished each other the compliments of the season.

26^th December – Today we were not so fortunate with the seating arrangements on board. We arrived early at the boat only to find some serious seat-saving in operation, in some cases one spotty youth guarding about six seats for his absent mates. It seemed to be all young people who did this, which was a little disappointing as a lot of them then went on to join a card-school-cum-party in the unseated section or to give up their seats to one old local woman who felt no guilt pangs at stretching out to sleep over no less than three comfy seats.

We settled down to face the next seven hours on our bench seats that accommodated some, but not all, of the bits of our anatomy we usually employ for sitting. The scenery was still beautiful, but most of the trip was mostly about dealing with the discomfort and with the Swiss quartet behind us that were on permanent send and not above a bit of personal space invasion including a pair of bare feet that appeared on the seat between Alan and me!

One of the high points was a stop where there were little girls selling scarves. I’d noticed before that a lot of the young folks travelling have these – they are very handy for keeping sun off exposed parts. Alan wanted me to have one, so he joined the throng at the side to reach the girl carrying the scarf I had chosen. Lots of difficulty over money later, I had my lovely scarf. You see, here you pay hundreds of thousands of kip for things. We had no kips, some bahts and lots of dollars. But the Minister of Finance did very well and made one old girl and one young girl very happy!

We arrived in Louang Prabang as the sun set and, having eventually found a room in what seems to be a very popular spot, we met up with our six-ball for a bit of a survivors’ party – great fun, we’ve all exchanged email addresses and hope to keep in touch. We met lots of other people, too, on the boat who we hope to bump into again, as they were great fun and all have their own story to tell about travelling.

27^th December – Today is one of our admin days. We did our usual thing, however, of doing at least one cultural activity during the day and walked up to the Phou Si temple which sits on a hill Slap Bang in the middle of Louang Prabang. There was a great view of the airport and yes, William, I got a photo of a Lao Airways plane (not identified, perhaps you know?) coming in to land. Chilled out.

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