And a van left Phonsovan for Luang Prabang full of Falang

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Well, I had a bit of a change of heart after I last wrote and opted to take the bus through to a town called Phonsovan, to the north east of Vang Vieng, where I was when I last wrote.

The prime reason for visiting is to see the nearby archeaological enigma known as the Plain of Jars, stone jars of varying sizes, covering the landscape. What makes them so mysterious is that no one can say for sure why they are there, what they would have been used for, who by, or even when or how they were made.

There are many theories, although it is widely accepted that they are about 2000 years old, and probably carved from boulders. A nearby mountain (nearby if you are driving that is; very long way if your trying to schlep a bloody great hunk of rock) seems to have provided the boulders and possibly the manufacturing location, as many unfinished jars have been found there. The sizes vary, which supports the theory they are made from boulders rather than a man-made mortar.

This region also has the rather dubious honour of being one of the most bombed places in the world, thanks to an unofficial war waged by the US government at the same time that they were trying to tell the Vietnamese what to do. The landscape is very barren compared to much of Laos, pocked with craters and the area's fertility was also decimated by the whacking great doses of Agent Orange the CIA used when emptying the loading bays on their bombers didn't seem enough like overkill towards a neutral country.

We visited three sites, of a known fifty six. Most are inaccessible as they haven't been cleared of unexploded ordenances or UXO. I was very proud to see that these sites had been cleared with the sponsorship of the NZ government. Disappointed that there didn't seem to be any evidence of involvement from US government or charity agencies to clear up this awful mess.

Anyway, that's enough of my political conscience. Back to being shallow.

The jars were impressive, and worth the horrendous 7 hour vomity bus trip to get to Phonsovan by local bus. I was very relieved to meet a group of four australians at the bus station in VangVieng, and we've been travelling together ever since (although they are a little bit posher than me and stay at much more upmarket accommodation!). Relieved as we kept each other sane when the rest of the bus started to climb up ruthlessly windy heights and the locals don't seem to cope with this motion at all. They all seem to start vomiting immediately into plastic bags, which were then turfed out the window, adding to the junk on the roadside.

Finally, we arrived in Phonsovan, a bleak soviet style town high up in the mountains. It was freezing! I checked in to my also bleak and soviet style guesthouse (recommended as it had decent mattresses!), put more warm clothes on and went in search of a masseuse! I was in agony from the mountain climbing the day before and barely able to walk, certainly a war-wound style limp was prevalent!

I liked the people of Phonsovan, they had attractive wide faces and a disposition towards a beaming smile, flashed at me many times in my struggle to find a massage. I asked many people for directions, and eventually someone found a tuktuk for me, told the driver where I wanted to go, sorted out the price and I find myself tootalling off to the local hospital! I wandered around the (bleak and soviet style) grounds trying to find the Red Cross massage place without any joy, however, I had seen somewhere a few doors along. Next mission was finding the entrance, with no one answering at the front door. Thankfully another helpful local came out of their shop next door and pointed towards a side gate, which took me into the house's back yard where stood a row of individual wooden steam saunas, standing like a row of old fashioned longdrops, belching steam from gaps in the wood. This was for me!

I was told to undress and wear a sarong, it was chilly and I wsan't given any privacy to do so; indeed it seemed that the two men were actually hanging around for the view of the falang girls' thighs... Clumsy and unco-ordinated, I managed to put the sarong around myself and undress underneath, preserving the slightest modicum of decency (only the slightest, these white girl's thighs are a bit of horror! Opening the door to the sauna, it was pitch black inside, and adding the steam, I had no idea what I would find in there, so I stepped in and found a bench next to the door, where a small amount of light was coming in through some slats. The steam sauna was divine; warm and cleansing, which I really needed after that awful bus trip, followed up by a massage with a pudgy smiling woman. The only word we had in common was Good? Hmmm, good!! But somehow, she still managed to communicate to me that I was too fat to be covered by her little towels, when I should roll over, and I was able to tell her that my leg was absolutely killing me. I emerged, covered in tiger balm from head to foot, feeling well beaten (there is quite a lot of thumping that goes on!), and limping a little less.

It was cold and dark outside when I emerged, so I wandered back to the australian's hotel, where I was due to meet them for dinner. It was a welcome warm stop on the way! They were still out, so I waited for them in reception, only to find they had already eaten in town, finding the prices here too high. Luckily, the two women, Andrea and Susan walked back to town with me as they were still trying to organise a tour to the jars the following day. It was a dark and dusty road back, and I was a little nervous about walking it on my own.

This left me to my own devices for dinner, which was a rather unappetising fried pork and rice at a vietnamese restaurant, before I crawled back to the comfort of my warm bed and the irritating buzz of a neon light for comany.

The tour the next day was interesting, and slightly bizarre too; when you consider that there is some evidence that the jars were used to hold crematory remains, and arranged much like a cemetary, it seemed a little strange to me that people wanted to climb inside them for photo opportunities!

There were other people on the tour with us, including a canadian woman who had decided to stay in Phonsovan for a Laos New Years Party and try the Laolao (local whiskey distilled from rice) with magic mushroom, a danish couple who had brought their own bottle of Carlsberg beer so they could have a photo having a jar in the jars. We got talking to the danish couple who, like us were dreading the trip through to Luang Prabang by local bus.
For those that know me well, you'll understand that this is well outside my comfort zone! I just don't do vomiting, with a strong tendency to fight from going out in sympathy; flights had been checked out, but alas not until Monday, there were no minibuses, generally a quicker, less crowded option so anxieties were starting to fester.

And so, it is with much shame, but absolutely no regret that I have the following confession to make. Any hopes I have of ever earning the title of intrepid traveller are dwindling by the day: I had a rather inspired solution to our dilemma: hire a minivan and driver! Brilliant!! they all cried. So we did. Thank heavens for my australian friends, they organised the lot: $120 between 7 of us, and what luxury it was in comparison: no vomity vomity, a faster trip, and toilet stops whenever we needed them! Magnificent!

Next problem, finding accomodation in a tourist town on New Years Eve in the middle of peak season. I had already gotten the guesthouse in Phonsovan to make some calls, but had had no success, so was going to try my luck on arrival. I tried about 5 places before I found a dorm bed for $2 a night in a basement room with only two windows and 8 other beds. I snapped it up greedily, having heard tales of people searching for hours, and certainly didn't regret it when I wandered through town later and saw a lot of people still carrying their backpacks, and looking harrassed and frustrated.

Now, 3 nights later I've been too lazy to move from the bargain basement, despite the bed creaking when ever I cough or turn over, and having come down with a cold, worried that my sniffing and snorting must be getting to everyone. Having said that, I would love a good nights sleep too.

Yesterday morning, everyone was awake by 5.30m, unable to sleep we all opted to watch the giving of alms to the monks. Every morning, at dawn, the monks from all the temples walk through the town accepting offerings of food from adherents. It should be a very peaceful, and spiritual experience, even for those cynical non-believers like myself.

Sadly, I didn't feel that this was the case. It has been turned into a tourist spectacle by the tourists themselves, and I felt ashamed taking part. I watched as massive cameras were thrust into the faces of the monks as the proceeded along the street, flashes lit up the cold misty morning and people couldn't keep their voices below a whisper. It was a depressing way to start the day.

I'm not so much of a hypocrite that I don't know that I'm one of those tourists impacting on the place, and otherwise I love Luang Prabang. It's a graceful, at times tatty mix of french colonial architecture and traditional bamboo bungalows crammed into little alleyways; and more wats or temples than the vatican has churchs, all towered over by coconut palms and flowering bouganivillea. Fortunately, it has been recognised as a world heritage site by UNESCO, so it will receive much support in maintaining this charm.

There is definitely a lot of tourists here, and as such there a number of upmarket restaurants and winebars, one of which became the setting for our New Years Eve. My australian friends have taught me a new term: flashpacker. Honestly, we would have celebrated with the locals, but a lot of the riverfront bars were depressingly empty! As it was, our little winebar seemed to double as a gay bar, so there were a few mincing lao men, and camp men are always delightful to be around in party mood!

New Years day was a rocky start; I was feeling rough but more from my bunged up nose than two much alcohol (that's my line, and I'm sticking to it), before I met the australians again and we set off on a walking tour of the town's sights, so we were aiming to see about 12 wats. However, it quickly became a shop tour, so the boys wandered off and did their own thing, while we made our way more slowly towards the wats at the end of town. There were two in particular that took my breath away. The first, the name of which I could not decipher as it was only written in Lao script, had murals and paintwork in maroon with gold stencil imagery, and gold detailing, which the late afternoon light caught beautifully. The second had elaborate mosaic designs, depicting local stories. I loved it! Camera happy! I promise to show you then I get home; for some reason they won't download onto this site, and I've accidentally lost a few photos trying, so I'm not going to risk it again.

What I haven't mentioned yet, is the night market. A shoppers paradise! The first, I wandered up and down muttering that I was in sooo much trouble! About a kilometre of the main street is blocked off each evening and stalls are set up the full length, all selling beautiful coloured silk scarves, weavings, clothing, bags, applique bed spreads and cushion covers, coloured parasols, jewellry, wooden carvings, wallets elaborate paintings; basically a massive colour fest of handicrafts, all dimly lit by 40 watt bulbs. It's all so romantically dne, that it is very difficult to not be seduced. So far, I've resisted temptation, apart from buying a silk bag and a sweatshirt (it get's really cold here), but I'm planning on a rather sordid fling on my last night next week...

Yesterday I joined a cooking class. The class included a trip to the market, with explanations of a lot of the ingredients. I've been through markets in most of the places I've been through so far, and they are fascinating places; although often my western sensiblities can be assaulted a little by the site of dead bats, cats and porcupines, live frogs and pigs wrapped in bamboo baskets. The extra explanation for many of the unlabelled products just added to the experience. For instance, now I know what dried buffalo skin looks like; and that liver I thought I had eaten in Vientiane? Actually it was clotted blood. Hmmm delicious!!

Thankfully, the cooking course did moderate things a little for western tastes, and we cooked about 5 dishes, my favourite being the stir fry pork and eggplant and chicken larb. If you're lucky, I might cook it for you when I'm home!

Another highlight has been changing money; yesterday I converted USD100 into kip. They gave it to me in rather small denomination notes, and now I have two very large wads of cash. Daddy Warbucks, eat your heart out.

So today has been a nothing day so far; a late breakfast of noodle soup and a mixed fruit shake on the river with one of my dorm mates, and nearly 2 hours on the internet typing this up.

Tomorrow, it looks like I will head north to a place called Nong Khiaw, then Meung Noi Neua for a couple of days, before coming back here. I would like to do some sort of excursion when I get back; perhaps some rafting or trekking into a hill tribe, with an hour or so on an elephant for good measure. Then it is on to Houy Xai to do the Gibbon Experience and a flight back to Vientiane.

I'll keep you posted!!

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Photos

Big Boy Jar
This is the largest jar at any of the sites we went to. At about 2 TO, it stands about 6 foot high

So glamorous, even when travelling...
Is now a good time to admit that I felt a little odd sitting on the jars, given that there is some evidence they might have been used to hold crematory remains? Certainly wasn't climbing inside like many people did...

More jars
Lots more photos like this, but you get the picture...
These local boys seemed as interested in us as we were in the jars

War Junk, Phonsovan
Look closely at this photo. The BBQ and seat are made from old cluster bomb casings, as are many of the decorations. Nice legacy, America. Martha Stewart give them the idea?

Alms giving, Luang Prabang
What a shame something so great could be such an unpleasant experience because of tourists just like me.

Another temple
I'm ashamed to admit it, but I haven't been able to figure out the name of this temple; there are about 4 in the area, and the poor detail on the map means that I'm still not certain, although I think it might be Wat Saen. It's name doesn't really matter to me, as I think it is one of the most beautiful temples I have seen. I love the charm of the brightly coloured temples, but the wine coloured walls, covered with gold stencilled imagery possibly appeals more to my sense that religion should somehow be more noble and serene (I'll gloss over the fact that a lot of images seem to be warriors...)

Wat Xieng Thong
Another spectacular sight on our temple tour was Wat Xieng Thong; a complex of many buildings, decorated with ornate mosaics, depicting village scenes and the Lao way of life.

The Hand of Buddha
well, one of them, anyway