Leaving Laos

The motorbike wobbled protestingly as we involuntarily headed for the nearest tree.

"Go faster!" said the exuberant bundle of ballast perched precariously behind me. At 82, my uncle was the oldest surviving member of my family and seemed keen to end his innings right there and then. "Not on my watch, uncle", I yelled back, wondering how I would explain this to my parents.

Travelling through Laos, relatives I’ve never even heard of have emerged from the countryside like kangaroos at dusk. It was a most curious feeling meeting my uncle (a spitting image of my own father), and seeing how modest his lifestyle is in comparison to my own.

After much jocularity, his wife convinced me to try eating frogs. My discomfort was exacerbated by the fact that the local specimens look very much like cane toads, only with a more pronounced snout. Unable to contain my curiosity, I stuck my head in the kitchen, unaware that they had deskinned the frogs, beheaded them, and stuffed their round bellies with vermicelli and herbs. Before I had a chance to compose myself, I blurted out "they look like little fat children frying", which caused much consternation, as everyone silmutaneously recognised the similarity.

But back to where I should have begun from...

As I left Muang Ngoi Neua, I could feel the beginnings of a sore throat (don't you hate that feeling?), and I hurriedly attempted to empty northern Laos of its entire Strepsils stock. One massive sugar rush later, I found myself in a great deal of discomfort as I reached Vang Vieng, a town over-run by backpackers "doing Laos". Sadly, the main strip really was as lame as I feared it would be. Crowds of t-shirt subscribing revolutionary wannabes lounged about watching endless episodes of Friends in loud TV bars, eating crap Lao food, crap Western food, generally being too kewl for skewl. A notable exception was the Organic Farm cafe, which serves brilliant food, and is trying to educate people to refuse the mostly unnecessary plastic bags that come with every purchase.

Despite the town’s pedestrianism, I am, however, glad I came to Vang Vieng. The karst scenery that surrounds the town is simply beautiful, and floating through limestone caves on inner tubes really is a lot of fun. As I floated back towards the town in the late afternoon, the skies buckled and unleashed an almighty torrent of rain. Somehow, as the marble-sized raindrops ricocheted off the river back into my face, Vang Vieng seemed more beautiful than ever.

Cough cough… At least, that is, until my sore throat developed into quite a serious chest infection, which saw me arrive in the capital Vientiane looking a little downtrodden. My recovery has taken much longer than I expected, and as a result, I haven't really been taking many photos. Instead, my week in Vientiane was spent recuperating in fancy French restaurants, getting full body scrubs, and sipping G&Ts by the Mekong.

I was still very much under the weather as I travelled south to Pakse, extremely frustrated by the trials one sometimes experiences when trying to travel moderate distances in developing countries. But when I gazed out the back of the bus's window and saw the rice fields evaporating in the moonlit night, I remembered how lucky I was to be able to travel at all. It was a pretty special moment. And then the bus went over a rickety bridge, and I hit my head on the ceiling.

So I have finally visited Laos and obtained a feel for my heritage. The trip has given me a more complex view of the situation there, and for that I am grateful. Yet as my understanding evolves, perhaps the most memorable thing said to me on this trip came from a dentist in Vientiane who gave me three fillings for twenty bucks (caused by the Strepsils, I'm sure):

"It's a shame that you're not whiter, living overseas and all..."

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