The Big Chill

If I was to compare SE Asia to a compilation of musical genres...Vietnam's chaotic energy with undertones of cynical agression would scream punk...Cambodia's persevering struggle to overcome loss would be singin' the blues...And, Laos' laidback attitude would have to be reggae.

We had absolutely no preconceptions about this small country congested between dominating land masses in every direction. But, without any expectations, Laos would soon become the utopia we have been searching for. It is, simply, the most relaxing traveling experience in SE Asia and, within an hour of arriving, we are tranquilized by its calming influence.

Sweet streams are made of these...
Since Laos has no coastline to claim of, I wasn't expecting water to play such a prominent part in our introduction. But, the Mekong River has filtered through every country we have traveled in SE Asia - although we hadn't truly appreciated its beauty before arriving in Si Phan Don.

Also known as the 4000 islands, Si Phan Don is an archipelago of sand bars and islets strewn across a wide section of the Mekong. A splinter thin boat traverses through this streamlined scattergram towards Don Det - the smallest of the islands that invites tourism. There are a few places in this world that I can only describe as 'magical' - Goa, Cornwall, Aswan, Caraiva - and Don Det conjures the same feeling. The beauty of its riverside setting is enhanced by a rural existence that has remained untainted for hundreds of years - although the imminent arrival of electricity could change all that. Until then, this may be the last opportunity to experience the magic before it turns into a disappearing act.

We stay in a basic stilted hut beneath the canopy of tree shaped like an enormous brocolli floret. Below us, a stream of jade green water idles by our balcony while we let hammocks gently rock our world - it's exhausting working this hard at hardly working:)

Ironically, we appreciate the absence of electricity during the night when curfewed generators still supply enough energy to sprinkle the darkness with a constellation of star lights across the island. The peaceful silence is only broken by a singing contest between sibilant insects and throaty amphibians. We fall into a hibernating sleep until...

Thunder and lighting. Very, very frightening!
With monsoon approaching it is Jam Hot during the day, but the humidity gradually swells dense clouds until, at night, the heavens open. During our first evening we are woken by the sound of the sky apparently being torn apart. Blue-white flashes of lightning then strobe through the fractures in our wicker hut before an applause of thunder so deafening we expect the arrival of the Four Horsemen of the Appocalypse. I would like to claim more courage, but I'm so concerned by the potential electricity conductor of our metal roof that I secretly sleep in flip-flops until we wake to blue skies in the morning!

The way we were
The difference in Don Det is that everyday life hasn't been overwhelmed by tourism - we are the audience instead of the star attraction. While wandering the paths that perimeter the island we pass scenes of an Arcadian life long since forgotten in the West - women tend to gardens carrying swadled infants, men fish in longboats with primitive nets and children inspire their own ammusement, blissfully ignorant of what a Playstation is.

There's a sense of community that can only survive in small places where age old friendships have probably been forged since chilhood. Every occasion from a birth to death is shared by the entire village...and usually involves an excuse to party!

The Laos people love a social drink - either the surprisingly good Beer Lao or the bad and ugly local spirit Lao Lao, which apparently includes deisel as one of its ingredients. While we are here an old women passes away, which leads to an alcohol fuelled (literally) wake that lasts for five straight days! Visitors stop at the house to down spirits and destroy karaoke songs blared through oversized speakers - I can only imagine what a wedding would be like! The village chief even invites us to share a drink with him, although he spends most of the time admiring Flo's legs.

Animal farm
Another immediately engaging aspect of this village life is the assortment of fun-size animals roaming free - it's like a never ending petting zoo. In scenes that are guaranteed to make any girl (or Billy) cry with adulation, we pass downy ducklings, chirping chicklets, cute kittens, playful puppies and even pretty piglets. When baby bunnies hop around our legs during a meal I can literally hear the moment that Flo's heart breaks!

When not heavily petting animals or chasing the smallest frogs I have ever seen (much to the ammusement of the locals), we spend days chilling the f*ck out. I dare, I double dare anyone to imagine a more relaxing afternoon than one spent floating down a slow river in an oversized inner tube - with the use of a wet bag you can smoke and take a cold beer to drink en route...while you don't even have to move to take a piss (apparently:) It's like the ultimate Lazy buoy!

We had expected to stay here for two days but a week passes without notice and we only leave when the absence of an ATM forces us to - or else we could have probably stayed here happy for ever after.

Village people
We head for the hills of the Bolevan Plateau - a fertile highland of forested lakes and waterfalls where the delicious Lao coffee is grown in sprawling plantations. It's the first time we've taken the high road in SE Asia and the scenery gradually changes from tropical flatlands to mist laced mountains. Then, just when we thought that Laos couldn't hang anymore loosely, we arrive in Tad Lo.

We immediately meet an English couple, have a few drinks and yabber the evening away without realising the natural beauty around us - except for the sound of torrents of cacscading water falling somewhere in the darkness. When the light exposes the scenery in the morning we are awe struck. The tiny village settles at the base of a beautiful waterfall system leading to the river with stilted bungalows scattered around the surrounding rocks - it looks like a silk screen painting in motion.

The teired waterfall descends over three levels before crashing to its conclusion in a deep bathing pool. Once again, ethnic life continues around it without effect - men perch precariously on the edges holding fishing rods, women wash their clothes and children laugh and play. Insect dragons fly in a myriad of metallic colours and we see the first of a million elelphants that gave Laos its name. I skip across the rocks towards the source with childhood memories of a game I used to play with Kearno in my mind - James, you would love it (at least more than the reluctant Flo:)

We also take a trek across the ragged terrain and I give the local guide a nervous afternoon while leaping like a gazelle (or at least an old mountain goat) between rocks. We pass through several tribal villages that have stood the test of time - save for several oversized satellite dishes dwarving the small huts. And, everywhere we go we are greeted with the word 'Sabedi' - which essentially means 'Feel good'. And, we do.

Leap of faith
I had been told it was possible to take a running jump into the waterfall...and survive. But, without any idea of its depth or seeing it done first, Flo wisely warned me against it. Still, I was intrigued...

While swimming in the bathing pool at the base of the final fall, my eyes met with my Laos double. Without saying a word he signalled to a small outcrop on the cliff's edge some 10m above the pool. Using only sign language we engineered a meeting at the top. Once there, he smiled and pointed towards an opportunity to jump first. I returned the smile with a shake of the head that said, 'No fucking way!' This continued back and forth until he unexpectedly let out a wailing sound and ran off the edge, with his legs still moving in mid air until he landed. If he jumped off a cliff, would I do the same?

I spontanteously followed (without the accompanying scream). We both rose from the water with huge smiles, gave each other the thumbs up and went our separate ways. It was an exhilarating experience that would become the catalyst for more depth defying leaps of faith later - but the brevity of the jump caught me afterwards with my legs turning to spaghetti and a five minute sit down needed before I could even stand!

Angels with dirty faces
Another abiding memory of our stay in Tad Lo will be the time we spent with the village children. The cherubic faces of small children outnumber adults everwhere in Laos and it often feels as if we are experiencing the country through child's eyes.

Since the veranda of our hut faced the village we would see children passing and playing. Each day, their curiosity would tempt them closer - until it was difficult to remove them from our laps! The girls would often put on impromptu singing performances while the boys attempted to shock Flo with the delivery of dead lizards.

Our first guest was a doe-eyed boy named Buhn who could cast the mould for choir boy looks. He began shyly inquisitive - inspecting our property, trying out my sunglasses and drawing pictures on our paper. During one of these art sessions I drew him a copy of Homer Simpson on his hand - mistake, or 'Doh!' as the man himself would have put it. I had inadvertedly started a craze that would see hordes of new children arriving everyday with puppy dog faces and outstretched palms requesting, 'Tattoo?'

The experience has made me wonder more about a career with children. Not in a Michael Jackson sense - I love Michael, but I wouldn't let him watch my kids...if they were on television:)

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