Fresh weather in Laos reminds us that this is the festive season.
31st December 2005

The scenery has hills and the road is good. All's well with the world
Cool temple but numbness sets in
A capital that we like. Wonders will never cease.
Steering clear of backpackers to meet up with a professional traveler

Laosy road but only briefly

Yes, the road was dreadful for 10km but we knew it would be thus in advance. From that point up to the very north of Laos is the Chinese-built route 13 that is tarred all the way. We’re told that many side roads have been improved in Laos, too, but we’ll just have to see about that. As for whether we can cross to the east into Thailand from the northernmost area remains to be seen. There is a tar road out to a river port and then a boat ride down to Thailand. We don’t relly want to do that and find ourselves in the usual squeezing our Teutonic behemoth into a canoe. Again, it is funny how protective and unadventurous we have become. Dare I say conservative? Jan certainly had our square credentials well noted. There was a time when we thought of taking Bertha down the Amazon in a dugout. I digress.

Even with our frustrating 2 hour wait for the ferry at Strung Treng we still had plenty of time to make it up to Ban Nakasang, the stopping off point for trips to the islets of Don Dhet and Don Khong. So we went to the waterfall of Kho Phapong on the way. Clearly self-driving to the falls is not the usual approach and so there’s no need for signs ‘cos the tuk-tuk drivers all know where they are. There’s a lovely tar road but we only found that on the way back having raised a few eyebrows in the dusty village on the way out.

It was well worth the aggro though as they’re rather picturesque. Between the outcrops of rock are single bamboo poles which fishermen use to traverse the tops of the falls to access the best sites. Or so we are told - there were no fishermen around to demonstrate the precarious practise. Entry fee was 50 cents which was, if anything, too cheap. Clearly this little stretch of tar road and the delightful viewing verandah had been built solely for those who wanted to take in the vista. Compare this with 20 dollars to be allowed through the rusty fence and along the muddy paths to see Vic Falls in all it’s thundering splendour. This was more the light whisp that hisses than the smoke that thunders but should one be paying a premium for the works of nature or the cost of infrastructure? We think the latter but our theories of tourist economics are poo-pooed by many.

Regrettably the little village of Ban Nakasang was a disappointment. We’d read somewhere that there was a lovely guesthouse overlooking the Mekong but all we found was an overpriced, squalid guesthouse with views of the neighbours. The boats on the bank could not possibly convey Berthette and the village didn’t really inspire confidence as a place to park her up for a couple of days. Snap decision called for and the result was a rapid hoon up to Pakse in the gathering gloom. Thankfully the road lived right up to its reputation and the cattle placidly grazed at the side rather than criss crossing randomly as they have been wont to do in other locales.

Pakse backpacker centre

Pakse is a popular stop-off on the farang trail as it sits on Route 13 in a convenient spot for accessing the Bolaven plateau and the ruins of Wat Phu. Our hostel was full of moped-hiring more adventurous types and a high proportion of pot smoking bores. Hippy found the latter rather too tedious. I guess it is because she has had to put up with me being a giggling senseless prat in my formative years. The ozzie who watched ‘Me Myself and Irene’ with us was suffering from the familiar short term memory loss, pointing out every few minutes that some footage had been cut from the film only for it to appear a matter of seconds later. By this device we were kept well informed of what was going to happen next. Just what you want in a comedy movie where timing is all.

Wat Phu is on the other shore of the Mekong and so passage by ferry was called for. Once again we were forced to wait for a boatload to amass while fending off the offers of wobbly options. Fortunately this is the only practical way to access the ruins and so a slow but steady stream of tourist vehicles passes through. In theory, well on our map anyway, is a white road on the other side of the river, but no locals seemed to be confident about its existance. It’s a pretty small site and people had come away somewhat unimpressed especially as it is mostly unrestored. As ever, this ‘uninteresting’ little pile was, for us, a favourite. OK, so you had to use your imagination a little but the setting was splendid with the usual local style of approach running up the face of a hill and the temple itself in an elevated position gazing across the Mekong valley. Are we so unusual in not finding the level sites like Angkor a bit dull. Give us a Delphi any day.

We’d left our guide book back at the ranch and so had the bonus sense of discovery with each carving we found hidden away on huge boulders in the verdant growth to the side of the temple. When we got back later we found that we had independantly found all the highlights described in the text; the huge elephant emerging from a huge rock, the bulbous shape of which must have inspired the sculptor to think “elephant” in the first place, the deeply incised crocodile which appeared to have a fish in its belly and staircases to nowhere and linga bases that were carved in rocks that have slumped over sideways over the years.

On our way home I got so cold that my hands went numb. Yes, it can get cold in the Mekong valley. The hostel staff thought us very odd clutching our cups of tea to reinvigorate blood flow. I was so cold, I imagined that this was freak weather for these parts and that they would be feeling it more than I. Clearly not. Most of the farangs thought that we were equally odd, but we were so cold that night that the blanket on the bed we supplemented with our sleeping bags. It was probably about time that we gave them an airing. There was something kind of more Chinese-y about the place that we were staying. actually neither of us have been to China, so what do we know, really it is more what we imagine is chinese-y. It was the woven palm walls, the teak floors and stuff.

Patrick likes Loas already, beer is cheaper and there are 3 curry houses on the main street and there is still the good bread and cheese availability.

Weather better next day, up onto the plateau. A bit drab but a couple of nice waterfalls. One was called Tad Fanne, Tad meaning waterfall, this I assume because all the waterfalls have the name Tad at the front. Now it was not until we saw Tad Fanne that we wondered if actually some Brit had named it. I leave you to decide from the photo if it was a fair description. Back in town we had a bit of a shock in the internet cafe. They were knocking out copies of software for 3 dollars a disc. The copy of Autocad that they had still had the dollar price photocopied on the front. $3740. Now that is what I call a saving. They obviously didn’t have a copy for the Mac. OK so it’s a copy and may not work, but at that kind of price differential it is worth taking the risk, they even had the foresight to provide a registration name and number. I wonder if you can get free updates with that. any orders for expensive PC programs by email, please.

All roads lead to Vientien - there is only one

Next stop Savannakhet. Dusty run down and famous for being a major truck crossing to Thailand. The promenade seemed to be an endless line of gas trucks queuing for the ferries that incessantly relayed cargoes. It is meant to have a lot of fading French architecture, but truth is that with shabby, concrete buildings, generally fail to inspire.

310 miles in a day. What, us? Surely not. There was the option of stopping in Tha Kaek on the way but it didn’t seem so inviting. The cave containing 160 Buddha statues that has been discovered nearby had received a poor rating from a reasonably savvy lass we’d met in Pakse - “Just a load of little Buddha statues in an ordinary cave approached by a tourist staircase”. I’m sure we’ll regret not having visited for ever more. I pulled off the highway to have a look in at the town and to take a bit of a break. I thought Hippy would appreciate that on a day when we were just going to be making distance. Big mistake.

The generally rule is that when we have a long way to go in a day, then we rise and leave early-ish and tend not to make stops until we have completed the lion’s share and we don’t have far to go. I have learnt that typically Pat is single minded on such a day, and asking to stop for photo ops is often treated with reluctance, so I had refrained from mentioning the options. So he decided to do a detour into a town with only a third of the milege under his belt, I was dumbfounded, and confused. I was annoyed because I felt that if I had asked to stop for photos he would have mithered about time and stuff but if he wants to do a diversion that’s fine. OK, I hadn’t asked to stop, so I don’t know for sure. But anyway we had one of those rows in the middle of traffic, tonally the emotion behind the words were internationally understandable and I was embarrassed that everyone was staring at us.

So we found our way to the capital, Vientiane. Pretty good question for a trivia quiz. Not sure I ever knew the capital of Laos. We thought it would be a good place for Xmas. Guide book mentions of words like delicatessen, wine cellar and gift shops rang all the right festive bells. Vientien is probably one of the most variedly spelt and unconvincing capital cities of the world. Come on Lilongwe that stretched out capital, or Addis Abbaba, the overgrown village. The only building that seemed to be over three stories is a new hotel out of the centre down by the river. Population is reconned to be around 150,000. There is a midnight curfew and so there is none of the thrill of big city nights out. In fact, all things considered, I would place it pretty firmly at number one in my list of all time favourite capitals. I was also really taken with Viantianne, there was something nice about it’s smallness. It had the usual capital things, like embassies, palaces, temples, flash restaurants, antique shops and exquisite silk shops, but all within half an hour’s walking distance of each other, along the Mekong is a delightful promenade, lined with baguette sandwich stalls and juice stands. Even the traffic is laidback, and never seemed to even be contemplating becoming a rush hour. It feels safe and people are friendly. Buy your flight ticket now to avoid disappointment.

Christmas Eve was spent in traditional fashion; a few beers and a curry. Sadly we did not discover until a few days later that there’s a far better curry house a few blocks further back from the river. Oddly, Laos seems to be the entrepreneurial destination of choice for Pakistanis. Numerous curry houses are popping up all over the place. There are at least 6 in Vientian which is a level of provision almost on a par with Bradford. The vast majority of Internet caffs seem to be owned by Pakistanis, too. Just for the record there are several mosques in Vientian.

Christmas Day was traditional as far as the entrees; smoked salmon and cream cheese washed down with wine. Thereafter the entrees were repeated for main course and, indeed, for supper. I have seen turkeys here amongst all the other domesticated animals wandering in the road but nowhere was offering a dinner made thereof. We splashed out on chocolate as well. Our thrift is begining to take on wartime privation levels and here we were being treated to chocolate like there was a GI in town. The chocolate was something of a disappointment after the gloriously decadent chocolate of Phnom Penh. It has suffered from the vagaries of tropical heat and had gone through those processes that make this luxury chalky, crystalline candy.

What does one do to fill the time that would ordinarily be spent watching Star Wars and the Queens Speech when in a Buddhist country and without a TV, anyway? We opted to take a look at the local temples but got bored after a while and returned home to read and chat with other Christmas-starved travelers. Berthette’s Christmas was not good. This was the day that the plonker chose to tip her over in the car park.

Concerns about not being able to see Boxing Day Premiership footy due to the curfew were quickly dispelled when it was pointed out to us that the curfew really only applies to the generation of noise and so drinking and watching of footy can last ‘til the landlord wants to shut up shop. All well and good but Sunderland vs. Bolton was not being broadcast and didn’t even feature in goals extra at the end of the prog, there having been none. Yet another example of a wasted opportunity of getting points off the whipping boys. We’d had an interesting evening, anyway, in the company of Sid from Manchester, John from Blackburn and Jock McTavish from Barbados via Edinburgh and diverse points randomly disributed throughout the world, all of whom are now resident in Laos. There is something nice about people from the North of England, a simple honesty and humbleness being two of their finest qualities. John had been through the phase of going out with a youngish Loas girl, and was open about the big mistake it had been. Her wanting to party every night and being seriously high maintainance, he was made up that he had seen the light and had now moved on to a much healthily relationship. It is a pity, more Westerners do not follow his lead.

They were much better company than the God-botherer who had greeted us when we arrived in Vientean. It was all a little scarey really, an unassuming chap and his 2 sons accosted us while we were still on the bike, before we had even been able to orientate ourselves and get out of bike gear, by trying to persuade us to join them at their Christmas Eve service. There was no really harm in asking but they were a tad OTT and parted with ‘Jesus Loves You’ thing. We thought that a carol service would be good fun but thought that this was more likely to be a load of “Dance then, wherever you may be” and other modern offerings which don’t really seem Christmassy to us.

We did a wee side trip back down the Mekong to a Buddha Park. Which is a Park with a bunch of Buddhas in it, sculpted out of reinforced concrete. All manor of Hindu mythical creatures and a 3 storey depiction of heaven, earth and hell. This was a personal favourite as it was active art. It was designed to be able to be climbed through, a sphere with gargoyle entrance from the outside the layers of eternity only discoverable from the inside and you can eventually emerge at the top to see the tree of life. All very symbolic. But it was nice to see that some artists believe their art should be an entertainment.

Back in town we just managed to find the national symbol golden stupa. I didn’t really find it that inspiring. It was large and covered in gold paint. End of story. Other people seem to love it. I guess it’s just us being quirky again.

Northwards for and unexpected reunion

The shock absorber started to leak again which meant that it is a sure thing that we’re going to bump into Sjaak Lucassen again. As if by magic we got an email to say he was just about to enter Laos from China and we started planning to hook up for New Year. We did our best to plan where we were going to be for once but it seemed if we were really going to meet, staying somewhere for a while would be in order and there really seemed only one option. Just north of the gringo town of Vang Vien (also know to locals as Ban Farang - foreigner town) there’s an organic farm that has a work option which reduces the bill. We’re really ready for a change and a bit of toil on the land sounded just the thing. Those that know me, will know that any excuse I am in my element pottering in a garden, and my logic was that an organic farm is just a big garden isn’t it? We really could afford to stay there without having to work, but after so long on the road, now and again it is nice to be able to do something constructive.

So we set off north. The scenery was splendid and for the most part the road didn’t have any holes in it so, for once, I got to see the mountains as well. The mountains that we’d been following up the side of the Mekong now became the hurdles that the road snaked around. Cattle were now replaced by buses as the most likely cause of grief on the road. As we came into a village Hippy spotted an unfortunate motorcyclist who had for some reaason been forced down the side of the embankment and was trying to drag her bike back up to the road. She was obviously happy that the helpful farang jumped off and ran over to help her back to the carriageway. There but for the grace of God and all that.

The road was so good and we were making such good time that took a brief diversion, this time with Hippies sanction, nay, request. There are a load of Buddhas carved into living rock of uncertain provenance; some say 16th century, others 11th. How can they be so far apart, we wondered. At last we had found a virtually farang-free attraction, there being only one other tourist who pointed the direction. At the end of the worryingly narrowing lane we found a tranqil little paradise full of butterflies and the promised Buddha carvings. Dating of these figures is probably rendered impossible by the coats of ubiquitous gold paint that have been applied. Nice spot, though.

We bypassed Ban Farang and went straight up to the farm north of town. The setting was perfect, a river dramatic rugged mountains on the other side. Mr T., who could not have been more unlike his namesake from the TV series, was a diminutive softly spoken Lao, who was more than a little evasive when we mooted our plan to offer up our services for a while. Before we were allowed to see the accommodation and discuss working prospects he pretty much pressganged us into eating in his restaurant, where we were presented with a menu covering all things mulberry. This being a silk farm, you could have
mulberry leaf tea,
mulberry leaf tempura,
mulberry wine,
mulberry pancake,
mulberry shake,
omelette with mulberry leaves,
stir fried greens with mulberry leaves
mulberry jam and baguette
and 10 pages of A4 on the health benefits of eating mulberries.
I was impressed with our luncheon choices of the mulberry tempura with honey and lemon and veg fried rice containing only a fraction of mulberry and surprisingly the prices were uninflated given their organic origins, but I was still a little sceptical about why exactly he was being so cool and noncommittal.

There was no work, maybe its only a seasonal thing, or he has just got fed up of farangs that promise to work and then doss about, the rooms were pricier than their facilities would warrant. But we had already arranged to meet Sjaak here.


Should we stay or should we go? We stayed as there seemed to be a nice bunch of eco-warriors in residence