And relax....it is the only way once you are in Laos...

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Only 11kms of the four hour journey to the Laos border were tarmaced but as I was only sharing a row of seats meant for 3 people with just 4 it all seemed relatively luxurious in comparison to my last two journeys. Two wooden shacks in the middle of nowhere turned out to be the Dongkalaw border between Cambodia and Laos. Normally border towns smell incredibly unpleasant but here it just stunk of weed. Parting with a one dollar bill was necessary in order to leave Cambodia and another one was required for the "administration fee" to enter Laos despite it already being essential to have a 40$ visa in advance. At least he had to stamp each passport four times so had to work for his money however I was probably just paying for his and his boss' weed habit. Annoyingly we had to change minibuses only after a few miles into Laos. Nervous that it was a scam we were asked to sit and wait in a nearby restaurant. Expecting the hard sell we were instead simply greeted by a "sabaai-dii". Three pretty, scruffily dressed little girls no older than three bounded over to us giggling and dancing. One had a packet of crisps which she offered to me. Taking a pretend one I happily munched it and thanked her. She continued to offer me the packet until I finally took one. She smiled sweetly and bounced off to offer her crisps to each person in turn off the bus. After that introduction to Laos I instinctively knew I was going to like this country.

A small longtail boat took me away from the hustle and bustle of Ban Nakasang and across to the relaxing island of Don Det, one of the islands collectively known as the 4000 islands. Stepping off the boat a snake slithered past me. Locals relaxing in the shade of their bamboo and wooden shacks together with their family and friends greeted me with many a "sabaai-dii". A three pound a night bungalow on the Sunset side of the island was my home for the next four nights. Don Det is a notorious place for "travellers" to get stuck. I can understand why. I had heard that Laos was relaxed but after New Zealand I thought I knew what relaxed was. I was proved wrong. The pace of life on Don Det (and Laos in general) is beautifully relaxed. People chat, laugh, listen to music together, spend time together, snooze in hammocks, bathe together in the Mekong and voices are certainly never ever raised. Even the animals are relaxed. Dogs never chase cats and I doubt they even contemplate the idea as that in itself would require too much energy. No cars are on the islands, just the occasional moto or silent bicycle passes you by. At 6pm the whirr of generators begins and Don Det is illuminated and powered until 10pm. Locals sit together around TV screens glued to the next instalment of their favourite Thai soap via satellite. Only recently the Laos government allowed a national television station as they realised so many were being influenced by "racy" Thai TV. In one little restaurant shack I actually fainted hopefully due to the excessive heat and not due to the American guy I was having dinner with describing in detail a water buffalo sacrifice he had seen in northern Laos. I felt bad as the whole family abandoned their TV to see if I was ok whilst thrusting tiger balm under my nose. One day Kalle and I hired wonky bikes with no gears, well what can you expect at 50p a day, and cycled along the banks of the Mekong on Don Det and over to the island of Don Khon with its crumbling French era colonial buildings. It gave us a perfect glimpse into rural life as we saw water buffalo grazing by now harvested paddy fields and ox carts carring goods and workers with conical hats to wherever they had to go. Little kids ran along the coconut palm lined dirt tracks to say "sabaai-dii" to us and the Tat Somphamit waterfall was very dramatic; especially considering it was the dry season. The evenings were spent watching the sun set over the Mekong (we were on Sunset side after all) and eating cheap food in the little restaurants built on stilts over the river. What was so noticable in Don Det was how happy everyone seemed. Music and laughter could be heard from so many houses and brightly coloured flowers were dotted everywhere. It just seemed all the more strange after Cambodia. There I had met many wonderful people and had been shown much kindness but it suddenly struck me how little colour there is there aside from the relentless red dust and how little laughter. How many years will it take for the horrors of the 70s to not affect every minute of day to day life?

Time to abandon the hammocks and move on... The boat had left without us but the man didn't seem overly concerned. I reminded myself I am now on Laos time. When a boat finally arrived I wondered how on earth we would fit but of course we did as we always do, somehow. The tourist bus to Pakse was 70000 kip whilst the public bus was only 45000 kip. Obviously in true backpacker fashion I opted for the public bus which was in fact a rather ornate pick up truck. Painted blue, red and green with pictures of houses and trees on the side it had padded benches either side in colour coordinated blue. The floor was full of sacks of rice and pig food. The pig food stunk more than pigs themselves would but for all I knew they would probably be joining me next. Bags of wool were put in at the back, possibly the Laos version of air bags. Only four locals joined me so there was plenty of space. They promptly fell asleep resting on the bags. People on this continent have an amazing ability to sleep anywhere. With a tarmac road and just bars as windows, the best form of air conditioning, the journey was actually quite pleasant. The bus however pulled away before I could ask where the bus for Champasak left. Phrasebook in hand I managed to ask local street vendors "bus, Champasak, where?" in Lao but of course could not understand the reply. A friendly woman put me on her moto and took me to the ferry for a few kip where I joined a bus on the ferry and negotiated my price. Women dressed in pretty sarong skirts and grubby, oversized men' shirts and pointed bamboo hats sold cold drinks and bowls of bean sprouts, noodles and broth. The journey time across the river was perfect for the empty bowls to be returned.

Champasak's narrow riverside road is lined with a mix of traditional, wooden Lao houses, crumbling French colonial-era buildings and beautiful, intricate temples. Girls with ridiculously straight backs cycled along slowly past the fountain circle which alludes to a grandeur long gone whilst holding umbrellas to shield themselves from the piercing sun. Champasak felt so much more real. In Don Det farang (local word originally meaning French but now used for foreigners in general) and locals lounged in hammocks in equal number and now the atmosphere there seemed rather false in comparison to Champasak where I felt I was being shown a more realistic slice of Lao life. Sitting in the courtyard of my guesthouse trying to escape the sun I was joined by the owner who shared her fruit with me. Knowing Lao uses only monosyllabic words and only one tense I thought that over the following month I could learn more than the usual 'hello, please, thank you, numbers 1-5, toilet and how much?' She explained that words are differentiated by up to 6 tones so the word 'ma' could mean 'mother', 'cow' and 'horse' depending how it is said. Ridiculously tricky especially when I couldn't notice the difference in tone in the first place!

An early start on my bicycle meant I enjoyed the delights of the nearby ancient Khmer religious complex of Wat Phu practically alone. After the crowds at Angkor Wat in Cambodia it was a joy to wander around these admittedly smaller but no less beautiful 10th century ruins alone, appreciating the Khmer architecture and the wonderful views across the plains and the mighty Mekong in silence before the hordes of very wealthy and very noisy Thai tourists appeared.

Finding a fisherman to take my bike and I across the small stretch of the Mekong to the island of Don Deang was easy enough. Pushing my bike through the huge stretch of sand the other side was not. Dry season meant that the water levels were very low indeed. Cycling around the small island past family homes was wonderful. A sign to a forest temple took me through the middle of harvested paddy fields. The temple was actually far from a highlight but the group of kids I met there were. Initially hesitant they did actually approach me giggling nervously. Phrasebook in hand I asked them their names in turn and how old they were. They taught me numbers in Lao and I taught them numbers in English. Eagerly they agreed to have their photo taken. In this part of the world everyone seems to think you have to look very formal in pictures so as soon as the camera is poised relaxed, smiling faces are transformed to rigid, blank faces. I tried to indicate to them that they should smile and they all just copied me. Priceless! Suddenly the skies grew black, the wind picked up and men appeared out of their houses and began knocking down coconuts from the high palms. Then thunder, then lightening and then rain like I had never known before. I cycled as fast as I could and pushed my bike through the reluctant sand to meet my fisherman where he had dropped me. Soaked I waited and waited. Fisherman that had offered me a ride across and I had declined had now sensibly returned to their homes to escape the relentless rain. Eventually I managed to flag down a boat and return to Champasak where I was greeted by my original fisherman who told me he didn't want to get wet!

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