Luang Prabang

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On the conjunction where The Mekong and the Nam Kahn rivers meet, the magical city of Luang Prabang thrives. With streets lined with Frangipani and palm trees, bakeries, restaurants, cafes and French tourists this place is more like Paris than Paris. The obvious difference being the orange clad, head shaved monks, which roam the streets. With their gentle smiles and black umbrellas, they wander around like someone with nowhere to go.

I imagined Laos to be a wild adventure where no man had trod before and here I am in this sophisticated city, with all the other adventurous tourists. It certainly is hard to get away from the maddening crowd these days.

A tuk tuk whisks us away from the bus station and drops us several blocks from our destination. The Lao Wood House. You know what the problem with wood houses is? Every movement of everyone and everything can be heard by all occupants. And yes, Luang Prabang is not quite sophisticated enough to have no roosters. We are still firmly entrenched in Asia.

Eating, overlooking the Mekong and then retiring for a spasmodic sleep. I sit outside, drinking beerlao, whispering sweet nothings to my darling Kathryn realising I may be adding to the discomfort of my fellow boarders.

If there is one thing Kathy loves more than me is motorbikes. Whenever we are in Asia, she has this death wish to go riding and I am supposed to join in this suicide pact. For better for worse, for richer for poorer, the priest never mentioned motor bikes. Daniel is ill and has elected to stay at the hotel. My only solace is dragging Thomas along.

Bikes are duly rented and a map showing us a waterfall, 36km away is produced. Off we ride into infinity and beyond.

All jokes aside, I can see the exhilaration of the two wheel experience. We wind our way through the Lao countryside, past fields of small farms, watered by stony streams with terraced rice paddies, vegetables and the thatched roofed abodes of local villagers. Fields of families bent over planting rice, with cane hats covering beautiful smiles. “Saibdee” (hello) we call to them and they look up and peer under those cane hat’s, reluctantly answering “Saibdee”. Bloody tourists - just when you are trying to get your crop sown. I bet Greg doesn’t have to put up with this shit!

Passing sweaty push bike riders and being passed by speeding, tinted window vans, I realise we have the sweetest ride of all. As long as that truck misses you on that one way bridge.

Visiting the falls and returning to Luang Prabang, we are lucky enough to experience a local custom in Asia. Corruption! Driving up a one way street, the wrong way, the local constabulary drag us to the side of the road, take our licences, and we are required to follow them. A bribe is necessary, he asks for 450,000 kip and we offer 300,000. A mutual agreement is settled and we are on our way. Later the bike renters assure me 50,000 would be sufficient. Philanthropy and the police force; not sure make good bedfellows.

Later that night Thomas is reading the travellers bible (the Lonely Planet) and they suggest you walk past the cascade falls 5 minutes and you will discover the magnificent Tat Kuang Si waterfall. Oh well, only 36km back tomorrow. The road not the destination.

Nothing worse than someone who is useless! The rooster out my window not only starts early, but cannot crow. His attempts are frustrating, I lay in bed going over and over it in my head; what to yell to him, eventually realising there is no hope, his brain is in his neck and mine is probably lower!

One more night in Luang Prabang and Kathy has now caught Daniel’s disease. I decide to move to a quieter establishment to let the sick toss and turn in peace and quiet. The Maison Dalabua is our abode and is a little more up market and peaceful.

Something has been playing at the back of my brain and I realise the money exchanger has screwed me for 1.2 million kip. Money is irrelevant but there is a principal at stake. With the docket in my pocket and Thomas as my support, we confront the lady who to my dismay starts apologising and handing me money. The Loa’s really are beautiful people. Who else would take your word for it? My faith in human nature has been restored.

With the sick in the infirmary, Thomas and I head out on the town for a Museum and Wat. (budda thing). The Museum is about the royal family and very meagre and boring. The only highlight Thomas has to wear baggy trousers to cover his legs The Wat is 364 steps up, a great view and more steps down the other side. There is no greater inspiration than the sarcasm of an 18 year old son!

A beer lao is drank on the river as the monks walk over the bamboo bridge; the children surf down the rapids; 3 dogs fight on the road; the tourists look bewildered with their maps and the tuk tuks barter for customers.

I realise I can’t get that smile off my face.

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