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Published: February 7th 2011
Back on the road
along with other creatures!(N) New year, new continent. I can’t believe how time is flying. South America already feels like a distant memory, as does the wonderful month we had in South Africa, where we spent Christmas, rang in 2011 and witnessed Sarah and Neil tie the knot. Now we are in northern Laos, a place very different to anywhere we have been in the last 7 months. It’s remote and beautiful, with pockets of unspoilt traditional life I imagine to be not much different to that of 20 years ago. We have found a little paradise, but it took a long time to get here.
We left South Africa with amazing memories of the beautiful wedding and the treasured time spent with friends and family, and more than well-fed. Both Matt and I wished we could have had another week in Cape Town (doesn’t one always), but crazy Bangkok was waiting for us. After a long but pleasant enough flight via Doha, we jumped in a cab and headed for the Khao San Road in search of cheap accommodation. I had been looking forward to going back to Khao San; I had loved it when I first got there three years ago,
perhaps because it was my first taste of backpacking life. This time however, whilst it was busy and buzzing and packed with even more people and travellers’ bars, it also felt a little more tired. Cheap accommodation we did find though, and were rewarded with bed bugs on our first night. Welcome to South East Asia. The next morning we went searching for a different hostel, so Simona, who was coming from Munich to travel with us for a while, wouldn’t turn straight back around and get on the next flight home. We succeeded and welcomed her the next day in a decent place to crash and with a tight schedule of sampling Bangkok. In the next couple of days, we rode tuk tuks through town to visit historic sites like Wat Pho and the spectacular Reclining Buddha, took a boat down the river to marvel at all the cheap plastic on sale in Chinatown, went for massages, ate delicious street food and listened to karaoke bands of varying quality whilst judging drunken gap year students falling over in the street after one too many a bucket of Samsong & Red Bull. We also ventured across town to enjoy the
view from Vertigo bar and sample the legendary Wasabi Martini that Matt tried some decade ago in a Japanese restaurant – which did not disappoint.
Come Sunday, we had enough of Bangkok and hopped on a bus to Kanchanaburi, of the Bridge over the River Kwai fame, where we spent three days in a floating bamboo hut on Kwai river, catching some rays at the pool and some peace and quiet. Well, peace and quiet only some of the time, as we spent some time at the infamous 10 Baht Bar and partied the better parts of two nights away with some local working girls we befriended... Simona dancing on a bar chair, hands in the air, comes to mind. Once recovered, we also packed in some serious sightseeing, comprising a visit to the Hellfire Pass, the infamous section of the Japanese built “Death Railway” which some 200,000 workers and prisoners of war lost their lives building, a highly interesting war museum, and a ride of the original railway line itself. The Bridge over the River Kwai was more of a disappointment; it almost collapsed under the weight of camera toting tourists– but if you can’t beat them, join
them, and we managed to get a couple of decent shots.
After three days, it was time to head to our next destination, Chiang Mai. As the sleeper beds were sold out (we were told – wasn’t true), we faced a 16 hour overnight train in the Pullman carriage. Which, if you managed to overlook the filthy floor and broken drop down trays, wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t foolishly chosen an air-conditioned carriage. My guess is that the average temperature during the entire journey was around 10-12 degrees. Along with our fellow passengers, we raided our packs for all available clothing, donned winter jackets and pulled blankets over our heads, but that didn’t drown out the sound of 50 sets of teeth chattering. Thanks to Zopiclone, we managed to get some sleep and arrived in Chiang Mai more or less rested and definitely relieved. While both Matt and I had been to Thailand before, Chiang Mai was a first for all of us and we were looking forward to exploring. And it is a lovely little city, much more chilled than Bangkok; you can spend days wandering round the alleyways of the old city, where one
Rice terrace
One of the more pleasant moments of our 2-day "trek" near Chiang Mai magnificent temple after the other lines the roads, and the nights meandering through the colourful stalls of the night bazaar or Sunday market.
Chiang Mai has loads of cute little restaurants and bars; unfortunately many of them are filled with the same sort of people you would find on the Khao San Road or in Kho Phangan during a full moon. “Thailand is dead”, Matt was to declare, his disillusion increased after our return from a 2-day “trek” that promised hikes through lush jungle forests and an insight into the life of the region’s many hill tribes but ended up being something quite different. We “trekked” for a grand total of two and a half hours in two days, the jungle was more of a forest, and the ethinic minority villages were tourist camps with old ladies trying to sell us handbags. The rest of the time we spent rushing from one activity to the other: riding elephants’ backs, “white water rafting” in a river so shallow that we sometimes had to push the boat, and bamboo rafting with 30 other “falangs” (white foreigners). Some of it was very fun, and the scenery was undeniably pretty, but it wasn’t
Wok action
Chiang Mai what we had signed up for. Oh, and then of course there was that incident where a Rambo-wannabe guide caught a snake with his hands and proceeded to swing it in circles by its tail violently, posing for pictures and then discarding it in the bush. Twenty minutes later, the snake was dead.
We wrote the tour off as one of those things and looked ahead. We had met some very cool people on the trek, a Japanese Brazilian diver, two lovely girls from Argentina and Ana, a photo journalist from Portugal, who we had two lovely evenings with once back in the city. Next on our to do list was a cooking course, for which we signed up the next day despite some skepticism about entering another tourist trap. Luckily, we were completely positively surprised. Our teacher, a twenty-something Thai girl called Ann, was amazing and the whole experience was great. We went to the local food market to learn about different kinds of rice, herbs and spices, chose five dishes each, then started chopping away under expert instruction and finally took to the woks and assembled one mouth-watering dish after another in five minutes flat. Very Ready
Steady Cook, and so much fun! After polishing off the fruits of our labour – the seams of our fishing pants nearly burst! - we were each given a recipe book, so hopefully we can duplicate the dishes in the future. Mmmhhh.
Unfortunately the next day we had to say goodbye to Simona, who was heading down to the islands before meeting Dave in Singapore. It was a bit of a teary goodbye; our time together had gone so quickly and we don’t know when we’re going to see each other next. But it was no use moping; there were flights and buses to catch; and we had a border to cross.
Laos
We spent our last night in Thailand in Chiang Khong, a typical border town with not much to see or do, other than inquire about border and transport issues. A friendly Kiwi we met on the bus had a spare single bed in his room and let us crash there for free - thanks Daniel! Early the next morning we rushed to the border, which opened at eight – we had a bus to catch up north on the Laos side. We were the
First glimpse of the Mekong
Chiang Khong, Thai-Lao border first, paperwork was quick and we took a shuttle boat to the other side. We were sleepy, but a wave of excitement washed over us when we crossed the mighty Mekong River that morning.
Immigration procedures took a while, we still had to organise some kip (name of the local currency; very appropriate choice for sleepy Laos), and the bus station was a few miles out of town – the 9am bus began to look unlikely. But we grabbed the next tuk tuk, motioned to the driver to put his foot down and arrived just as the bus was pulling out. I jumped off, waved and shouted “Luang Namtha”, our destination, and luckily the bus driver stopped and let us on. We shoved our backpacks in the back, settled into our rickety seats, exhaled and looked around us... You could definitely tell we were in a different country now. The 95% foreigner - 5% locals ratio was reversed, and the only familiar language we could hear was French. The bus was totally ramshackle, my reclining seat was broken and fell back against the man behind me every time we drove into a pothole, which was every 30 seconds and
Bus journey
...the driver's son rode much more comfortably than we did! prompted repeated complaints by the man and apologies from me. We also became acquainted with a Lao habit I had previously thought reserved for the Chinese: spitting. Full on, noisy gathering of phlegm and disposing of it enthusiastically through the window. And it wasn’t just old men, in fact the main culprit was a pretty teenage girl listening to tunes on her mobile phone.
After an hour, our stomachs started to make noises. We hadn’t had breakfast and no time to buy food for the journey so we peeled and nibbled on some sunflower seeds we still had in our bag, fellow passengers looking at us curiously. The road up the mountains was terrible; it was almost a relief when we stopped to pick up more passengers, reload all the luggage from the inside to the roof of the bus, or have a toilet break. Toilet break meaning trying to find a private spot on the roadside with 25 other people doing the same – other than at bus stations, there are no public toilets in Laos.
As uncomfortable and strange as the journey was, we felt good about our decision to go north. Everybody we met crossing
Monk novice
Muang Sing from north Thailand into Laos chose to take a slow boat down the Mekong straight to Luang Prabang. We had toyed with the same idea, but as stunning as that journey may be, we were desperate to get away from the backpacker trail. So after a bit of research and a tip off for a place in northeast Laos, we decided to skip the classic journey and head into the far north, said to be one of the least visited regions of Laos. And it was apparent. When our bus arrived in Luang Namtha, the majority of the already slim number of tourists headed into town, whereas we faced another 2 hour bus ride to our final destination. In the tuk tuk to the local bus station, we got talking to an older couple from Montreal and a couple our age from Belgium who were also on their way to Muang Sing. After a more comfortable, but no less interesting journey in a minibus, during which we passed locals carrying 40cm long bamboo rats on pieces of string (dinner), we arrived in Muang Sing and were the only foreigners in town. You could tell by the still genuinely curious stares
of the locals and by the children; some would wave at us from a distance, some would run after us and shout “Sabaidee!”, one small child cried when she saw us.
We found a nice guesthouse overlooking a rice field, went for a sample of the local cuisine (interesting) and decided to team up with the French speaking contingent for a trek the next day; a proper one this time. Martine & Daniel and Cedric & Virginie turned out to be a godsent; trekking in this area of Laos is forbidden without a guide, and guides are rather expensive when you do it on your own. Moreover, they were lovely people - in fact we are still travelling with Ced and Virginie 10 days later. Kit Keu, our guide, was an absolute gem and responsible for one of our best experiences since we started our travels. For two days, we hiked up and down the beautiful mountains in the area and even glimpsed China from a hill top. We ate our lunch in the forest out of banana leaves and visited a range of ethnic minority villages – inhabited by the Buddhist Tai Lue people, and the animist Akha
Local kids
escorting us from their village, Muang Sing and Hmong. We spent the night in an Akha village, in the chief’s house, on a few mattresses on the floor. We had caused quite a stir when we arrived in the village, and felt slightly uncomfortable at first. The irony of visiting unspoilt villages as a tourist is not lost on us, but I like to think that as a group, we were responsible and took care not to offend or take intrusive photographs. The next morning, as we got ready to leave, the lady of the house pointed to the pair of socks I was putting on, and we gave here two pairs as a gift - she was all smiles and repeatedly pointed at each of us and communicated to us in Akha language/with hands and feet that anytime we are back in the area, we are welcome to stay at her house. It was so nice and made us feel much more positive about our visit. It was quite hard to leave the village in the end; all the children were running after us to prevent us from going, wanting to pose for our cameras and generally being too cute for words.
The second day
Local boy
Akha village, Muang Sing district of the trek was beautiful. We crossed a river over a tree bridge, and trekked through the bush with Kit Keu clearing the way with a machete. It was apparent that not many people came through here; at some point along the route a fallen tree blocked the way, and it had been there for a while. Mostly however, we walked on more exposed ground that day, with views of beautiful rice terraces and sugar cane fields. We also stopped at some more villages, experienced more hospitality and played with more children, puppies and pigs that were running around. It was an amazing experience, much more than we had hoped for.
The next day we began our journey to Muong Noi, Ana’s recommendation in the northeast of Laos. The trip there included 3 crammed bus journeys (on one of them I had to sit squished on the floor), a boat trip and an overnight stopover in Oudomxai, a town that the Rough Guide fittingly describes as a “Last Chance Saloon” for Chinese truckers on their way back home, who are not impartial to sampling a bit of local young flesh. When the bus pulled in, the town didn’t look
so bad but the area around the bus station is just plain seedy, and prostitution is rife. Our next bus was leaving at 9am the next morning, but we knew from experience that departure times in Laos are notoriously unreliable and in reality, buses can and do leave up to two hours earlier if they are full already. So we decided to stay near the bus station to be able to queue up early and get our tickets as soon as the office opened at eight. Finding accommodation proved quite difficult. Most of the Chinese-run guesthouses turned us down, presumably for not being able to hire out rooms plus benefits. We ended up sharing a twin room between the four of us, which was cheap but very uncomfortable, and Virginie and I labelled Oudomxai the worst place we’d ever been. Perhaps thanks to our determination not to spend another night in this place, we won the rather uncivilised fight for four of the 12 sought-after bus tickets, and were on our way. It was another hard day of travelling, the minibus was once again crammed full and I was feeling ill, but once we arrived in Nong Khiaw and boarded
a slow boat up to Muong Noi, it was all worth it.
This area of Laos is absolutely stunning, and one of the most beautiful places we’ve seen. Huge limestone cliffs line the Nam Ou river, which has water so clear and turquoise it can rival the Seychelles when the sun is shining. Nong Khiaw, we are told, means “clear water” in Lao. Buffaloes are everywhere, grazing on the riverbanks, going for a dip in the river, or blocking the way to your bungalow at night. We spent four days and four nights in Muong Noi, going for walks, swimming, paddling & tubing (both slightly less successful), ate decent food again (Ced, Matt and I had joined Virginie in temporary vegetarianism after some gross experiences before) and played poker on our verandah overlooking the river. Heaven. Unfortunately, time hadn’t stood still as we thought and we had to think about getting to Luang Prabang. We took the boat back to Nong Khiaw, where a planned overnight stay turned into another two beautifully lazy days, and we realised we were dutifully obeying the slogan of Laos’ tourism department: “Stay another day.”
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Dave & Dave
non-member comment
Too young to love?
Matt, even we thought you'd draw a line about young love?