Laos brought to you in Technicolour

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Luang Prebang -> Phonsavan -> Vang Vien -> Ventiane

Okay, so Laos, well the first thing that hits you, as you stumble off the 29 hour, hot, DVT inducing bus ride, which you will spend with feet wrapped cosily in bundles of wire (until you are all herded off the bus for two hours whilst the wire is offloaded in some random middle-of-nowhere factory) is the colour. It's almost obscene. The Blue Sky, The Green Hills, The White Clouds, it's like Laos has stolen the colour from it's Asian neighbours - fought Bangkok for the golds and blues, China for the reds, sucked the green from the hills of Vietnam, it's almost nauseating, first thing I thought was that God had been messing with the saturation on his TV set. The original Environmentalist philosophers believed that nature was communion with God, well I had just stepped through the wide open oaken doors of his cathedral.

Luang Prebang

So how fitting that we step off the bus into the spiritual capital of Laos, Luang Prebang, where there are almost as many monks as tourists. So add bright orange to that spectrum of stolen colour. Luang Prebang is a small but extremely beautiful French colonial town on a fork in the Mekong, that great uniting river. We accidentally stay a week, it's too easy when your day consists of getting up around noon, wandering to the Swedish bakery for breakfast, cycling leisurely around town, visiting herbal spas and getting massages for about 5 pounds, then drinking hideously cheap lao lao whiskey by candlelight and going the bowling alley to drink Beer Lao until kicking out time. Then Tuk Tuk surfing all the way home. We met the Irish lads again after their expedition into the jungle to become Elephant trainers. We also met some amazing and hopefully long lasting new friends on a trip to the most beautiful swimming pools/water falls I have ever seen. It was a delight to look upon them. We chartered a tuk tuk and headed off (via the drivers house) to a water fall on the edge of town. Powder blue and azure pools, dappled sunlight playing across the waters' surface, natural plunge pools filled by waterfalls. It was better than ANY man made spa. Overhanging giant trumpet flowers. We even had a picnic under a dilapidated old schoolhouse as the rain came down outside (The abandoned house by the falls picture). Munching on 8,000 Kip Dairylea and salad baggettes. There's rope swings off huge trees and even the monks let go and fling themselves pool-wards every so often.

A quiet bike ride around the outskirts of the town quickly turns into an eleven hour marathon as the sealed road (they are just sealing the roads here) ends and rock strewn, mountainous and mud covered track takes over. I was wearing my glasses, so confident was I of a leisurely ride, but It's rainy season, so we climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow....until we stop for lunch.
Lunch is papaya salads and spinach curries served up on banana leaves as we sit cross legged on the split bamboo floor of a shelter over one of those violently green rice fields. The leftovers are fed to the farmers (rather mangy, possibly rabid) dogs and the plates to a small herd of passing cows who gracefully stick their noses into the shelter (Cow here are very graceful I think). Back on the sealed road again (beautifully smooth and traffic free) we stop for an evening tipple at one of the villages that make home made Lao Lao rice whiskey, served from tin drums into stone urns, poured from canabalised Pepsi cans, only the best stuff for the tourists. It's strong and warm and very good as we sip little glasses whilst gazing out over the rust coloured Mekong flowing serenely into the sunset, the last rays dissolving into the water as it slips though Laos (and eventually into Cambodia, then Vietnam, before reaching the sea).

Cycling is Way more fun after the Lao Lao, as we head back to Luang Prebang and we pass families on the warm tarmac carrying those little pink and yellow plastic Ikea style toiletry holders full of soaps and shampoos, wrapped in sarongs, going to or coming from the river where everyone washes. Groups of guys walking home from fields, dogs in toe, tools in hand, occasionally carrying impossibly large lengths of rattan or bamboo.

A quick shower and it's back out drinking by candlelight under the stars (and under the gazebo when it starts to rain) with new friends from the Waterfalls. A menu of whiskey served by the bottle with a bucket of ice and many glasses. Then to the late night venue, the bowling alley, everyone who's been to Luang Prebang will know of this place, will have their own stories of the cheep beer, the uneven lanes, the chipped balls and the brilliant times. We form a UN Bowling match; English, Irish, American, Canadian, French. I forget who won.

Our guesthouse is next to a Buddhist temple, one of the many hidden by leafy trees with courtyards and acres of gold, around which Luang Prebang is built. The young monks hang out on the steps of an evening, when all the chores are done, the lessons learned, the prayers said and tomorrows robes hanging on the line to dry (one can never wear too much orange, it goes so well with the soul). They sit under the wisteria type trees and call out to passing ladies. Oh yes. Holy. 'Can I have your number?' and 'I love you' are the most common. It's rather disconcerting, and I wonder if monks are even allowed mobile phones, and what kind of ring tone a monk would have? If it's the Crazy Frog it would appear Buddha can not protect you from all evils in the world. I did hear a couple of calls of 'Can I have your email?' which made more sense when you found yourself in an orange squash as young monks descended on an Internet cafe. All of us looking at Facebook. God forbid. But don't despair too much for the worlds most enlightened religion, most of the monks are only at a temple for a short time, think of it like a Catholic school, there they get basic education and a good grounding in religion for free, living of the Alms of the townsfolk and can then go on to further education that many of them may not get a shot at otherwise. And although they may not be so adept at detaching themselves from the pleasures of the flesh, at least they are far less likely to end up in cheap porn films which some guy told them would never end up on the Internet.

Inspired, Nilam and I donate or alcoholic blood to the LP Red Cross centre, I don't think this happens very often, they had to call someone in, unlock the shutters and doors. They gave us lots of biscuits, pineapple cakes, strawberry milk shake, even an awesome t-shirt, more biscuits to take home. Madness. Later in the evening, Nilam climbs the temple hill for a spectacular sunset. I, ever the one to take the path of least resistance, go back to the red cross centre with a couple of the guys for massages and traditional herbal steam baths. The steam bath is amazing; 52 Herbs locally sourced, for under a pound. It's not luxury, but it's authentic and cleansing, you change into a sarong, collect your little towel and head into a sort of wooden common room balcony, which opens onto a garden. There are low wooden tables and chairs, a tv at one end, a huge steaming urn of delicious herbal tea with washed chipped mugs piled next to it. The idea is you cram yourself into the little steam room (one for women, one for men) place the towel where you will. The room is filled with very hot steam, piped up from below through a narrow grate, and it is the most amazing smell, if so overwhelming. It reminded me of the film 'Spirited Away', with the many armed man mixing the herbs below, pouring them into the bath house above. It's not like western steam rooms where you stay in for 20 minutes or so, you can barely stand five in these hardcore Laos rooms, and it doesn't help when you have some old ladies boobs in your face. So you spend five or ten minutes in, and then collapse onto the cool wooden benches to watch tv and sip a cup of clear herbal broth, before heading back in. Rinse and repeat. After, it's all you can do to wander through the night markets and get a cup of coffee and a Cinnamon roll (thanks Frenchies) at one of the beautiful patisseries.

We finally rise early enough to catch the monk parade, hundreds in lines as the locals give alms in 6am ceremonies. Rice handed out in balls into gold carriers, silk sashes of the faithful and us tourists lurking in the bushes trying to get that perfect shot.

Phonsavan

After way too much time spent lounging and basking in the spiritual glow, we head north for some old world Stonehenge style culture, Grrr, gritty history served up in man sized chunks with extra mud. So Phonsavaan it was, home of the 3,000 year old (or thereabouts, no one really knows) Plain of Jars. Another perilous, edge of the Cliff bus ride shacked up with bags of rice and onions. But the roads were fine. The guide book warns of the continual breakdowns of buses, the bumpy, muddy roads, to bring plenty of snacks. but there was none of that.

Phonsavan is apparently like South America, wide dusty roads, Toyota pick ups everywhere, even the inescapable ''Gasolina'' song. It's a bit empty, and lonely, with guesthouses and cafes decorated in shrapnel; bomb casings, dud landmines, canons, guns and helmets etc... relics of the Indo-China and Vietnam wars. There was a scary market serving up BBQ rats, fat (live) wasp larvae that you can pluck right out of the honey comb for that fresh taste. Nothing goes to waste, The GIANT OMG wasps that were tending the larvae are picked off and plopped into huge jars of sticky red alcohol, when dead they are left to soak for a while then taken out and eaten whole, like gherkins. In another corner (unfortunately just opposite the booth were you could buy delicious Lao coffee) was the meat section, women shaving the hairs off whole pigs legs with Bic disposable razors, chickens dripping blood. This wasn't just a Vegetarian's worst nightmare though, there were all sorts of cute, fluffy animals stirring in boxes, waiting to be traded for Kip, that would send most hard core Carnivores running for the tofu.

One thing Phonsavan does very well is sunsets, spectacular, day after day, 6pm in Purple. We meet Casey (previously met in Luang Prebang and Hanoi) too, as soon as we step off the bus and with a lack of anything else to do, we wander the streets, looking for a war monument. Ending up in the 'suburbs'' we pass by a playschool type thing full of kids, people are so friendly here, the adults amongst them happily gave Casey permission to take photos of the kids, who at first were totally bewildered by her and her efforts to get them to pull faces. That was until the littlest among them plucked up the courage to go over to her and look at the screen of the camera she was trying to tempt them with. As soon as they realised they were on the screen they went mad! getting Casey to take photo after photo of them pulling faces, messing around, posing like My space pros! Hilarious. After that it was getting late, and we'd forgotten our original reason for walking in the first place, so we rushed back into town to get some of the photos developed to hand back to the kids and the parents (a few of the local guys were particularly enamoured of our rather tall male friend and wanted a photo with him towering above them). One of my favourite Laos moments, handing a photo over to this old grandma and her great granddaughter (or great great granddaughter!) It was amazing.

We booked a tour for about 10 of us to the Plain of Jars, basically grassy plains...full of jars. Huge stone jars that may have contained the bones of ancestors, sacrificial alcohol, grain, no one knows. We had fun climbing in them and on them and all sorts, like kids in a pre-historic Activity World. Wouldn't be allowed to do that at Stonehenge, probably for good reason. Another side of fun is the unexploded landmines that still plague the area, you have to stay within the marked path. And the huge craters littering the fields, courtesy of the American bombers who dropped their excess bombs (earmarked for North Vietnam) onto Laos, destroying many of the jars.

Vang Vien

We convinced Casey to come back to Vang Vien. The place is infamous for copious drugs, drink and tubing. Tubing is an experience, one made horrifying for me by flood waters and rising river levels with rapids. You basically navigate down a river on a tractor inner tube (life vest optional) stopping at numerous bamboo constructed bars jutting out the river like tree houses of depravity. There are jumps, zip lines, swings out into the water, volleyball courts and drinking games to keep you entertained on land. AS well as the free shot (or two or three, of Lao Lao rice whiskey you receive for making it to the bar) The river was so high the day we went that many of the swings were closed and there were bar workers on hand to pull people into the bars with ropes, stop them rushing past in the raging waters. The bars on one side of the river were totally closed. I hear in summer it's a more sedate affair when, if you drop your beer in the river whilst tubing you can touch the bottom to retrieve it. Not so in rainy season, I was TERRIFIED. Water snakes greeted us first off, then I got stuck in the middle rapids and swept past most of the bars, thank God for a quick swimming bar worker who towed me to shore (after rescuing two other girls clinging onto overhanging branches full of spiders for dear life). I would have been swept way past the end point, and search and rescue is an unknown term in Laos, I'd heard horror stories of people sleeping on river banks, waiting for the sunrise. So then I walked back through ants and brambles barefoot to the bar, that kind of took the shine off the experience. Which is a shame as I imagine in the height of the summer, when the river is lazy, all the bars are open, and the volleyball contests are in full swing, it would be unlike anything else on earth. The Bars alone are amazing constructions, drinking on a bamboo balcony over a raging river. Apart from that, there was much drinking, Vang Vien is also famous for it's Friends bars, places that serve up opium tea and mushroom pancakes and the faithful can watch Friends re-runs for 24hours a day in a stupor. Um, no thanks, I mean, Friends is terrible. We tried to see a bit more of the countryside, I went on a night time motorbike ride around the paddy fields. We went climbing which offered up amazing views, as awell as some skinned knees. I got stuck halfway up the cliff face because there was as spider in a hole. Rubbish

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Photos

Eggs of Doom
See the inside of the eggs below

Fun by candlelight
Copyright Nilam Patel, 2007

Cycling on the best road in Laos
This is rush hour, check out that mental traffic!