Following the Tourist Trail…
Laos
Vientiane bus station was a hive of bustling activity, like a full on market within a rank of buses. Sellers of all goods imaginable were bantering their trade on foot from bus to bus, a mobile market. A few food vendors around the peripheral flanked by people trading their various wares, torches, balms, nasal sprays, earwax scrapers and even a guy selling tailored trousers from a bunch of fresh pressed ones hanging over his forearm like a waiter with his cloth serving food in a swanky restaurant. All maintaining a steady procession getting on each bus in turn, walking (shoving, squeezing by and generally getting in the way) up and down the aisle of the buses before departing and moving on to the next one. Sellers with trays around their necks reminding me of the old time popcorn sellers in cinemas when there used to be intervals, trading their scissors, cigarettes, sunglasses and chewing gum amongst a host of offer little trinkets. The atmosphere was exciting and fun, just to watch the tactics raises a smile on your face.
Half an hour early the bus was jammed. We left early, picking up a few last minute patrons on the way out, seats were full and the aisle was lined with plastic stools on which a few last minute people were able to sit on. Lastly there was the bunched cacophony of people crammed like sardines just within the doorway, all nudging another to win an extra inch of foot space. More white faces than dark, we were on the tourist trail up north.
Vang Vieng was I suppose a small, quiet, unassuming village. Just two years ago very few tourists ventured here, now with the advent of the tourist dollar, it’s changed massively. The streets are lined with guesthouses, restaurants, cafes and bars, people hanging out having a few beers, western menus and VCD bars showing the latest pirated movie, cappuccino replaces the strong thick treacle-like local coffee and pizzas are favored to laap (local dish). I feel cheated somewhat, where’s the real Laos? When will I feel like I have arrived?
Having said that, we had a great time. This is the adventure capital of Laos. Trekking, kayaking, rock climbing, caving, the list goes on… for a price! If you want an easy day, pick up an outsized inner tube and take a tuk tuk upstream where you can be dropped off to leisurely float down the river with a cold beer in hand, stopping at a few caves to explore and replenish those empty bottles. I can see why it’s so popular here; it hard not to have a good time, but it’s also hard not to spend your hard saved kip.
This was the first time I ever tried rock climbing. Typically, the other two who signed up had done it all before and showed me up – worse still they were girls! (Not that I’m a chauvinist or anything…) But it was great, adrenaline pumping, mentally and physically staining, I thought I was quite fit, but after a day’s worth of short climbs rated moderate I was truly knackered.
I had fallen off many, many times to be saved by the belay rope (technical term that I’ve learnt) and left hanging, swinging and suspended catching my breath and learning to trust this rope that held me several meters up in the air with nothing but a rocky landing below! My forearms ached like a thousand pull-ups (I can normally only manage about 10!), my neck strained, my calves pulled. My hands shook uncontrollably like wobbling jelly and I was concerned about not being able to grip my beer that evening, let alone get it to my mouth without spilling most of it. But I felt elated! Everybody should try it. Wow.
The first time I reached the top was a moment of triumph. I could scream, but only in my own head, it would be a bit sad to really scream it out aloud… The guys (gals) were full of praise, slapping my hand in high fives (one American and one Canadian, it’s the way apparently), “good climb” and other such adornments of appreciation. Many a beer was taken that evening with the instructor, an English guy out here to do some fresh water biology for the Laos government, and the two girls. Eddie and I got so drunk we crashed at the restaurant at about 5am to awake at 08:00 to be ready for a two-day trip up into the mountains…
Itinerary: one day’s trekking, view a couple of caves, trek a bit more, stop at a tree house somewhere, get plastered on local brew (not again….).
Second day, lazy kayaking day downriver, more caves, home (is wherever we lay our packs; in this case Vang Vieng). Tired, weary and still slightly drunk, we set off with the company of the American girl who climbed with me the day before and another English couple (drinking partners). As it turned out, Ian and Rene were even less fit than us (Eddie) and we stormed ahead in the refreshing drizzle of the day.
Up mountain down mountain, up again, down again, can’t they drill a hole through the middle? Not for us of course because we love this kind of strenuous trekking thing, but for the local guys who have lopped all the trees near the road and now are logging the far side of the mountains. The only mechanical item they use is a petrol chain saw. Once cut, cleaned and roughly sawn into long thick planks they carry these huge lumps of wood the weight of which I had difficulty in lifting let alone lugging up a rocky mountain track with pit falls and wandering tree roots. A little padding on the shoulder and off they trot, not particularly breaking a sweat (we were, just with our daypacks!), men half the body mass and lesser in height walking in flip-flops!!! Sabaidee, (greetings in Lao) they call out as one by one they trek past, half a tree on their shoulders, Sabaidee chirp the kids accompanying the elders with just a quarter of a tree on theirs…
The forest is thick and damp and humid, the drizzle cools us but it’s still warm and we sweat profusely. The only sounds around us are tree frogs, birds, crunching leaves underfoot, the rustle of branches overhead, oh, and the buzzing of chainsaws a little way off in the distance. It’s amazing how far sound travels in the valleys. It’s tranquil and it’s away from tourists, we are the only people here apart from the local wood men who put us to shame with their determination and strength of character, their cheery smiles and greeting ringing in our ears whilst they toil in a manner we could never do. Caves are interesting, but they are like Wats, you see a couple and they start to become less interesting. So I won’t talk about them then…
Our guides showed us the Lao way of drinking, start as early as is practical, drink the hard stuff by slamming it and then pass out early. Two bottles of local whiskey in 1� hours, we were merry, one guide is asleep in the corner, the other brings out a local Lao rice wine, fermented rice in an earthenware jar that probably holds about four litres. Once opened the rice has absorbed the liquid and fermented it within the grain and you have to add water to release the potent brew from the rice. After it’s been left awhile you stick a couple of hollowed out bamboo straws in and suck for your life, adding more water as you go.
A jar is said to be enough for 10 people. We were six, then five when the second guide retired to the corner of our open ended tree house, and only four when Nan (Canadian girl) collapsed (only to spend the entire night being violently sick after trying to beat the local guides at a whiskey slamming match earlier on in the evening! Good on her…). The usual card and coin tricks ensued for most of the night (my party tricks, Eddie is soooooo sick of them now).
Nan didn’t eat with us next morning, and took the offer of sitting in a dual kayak with one of the guides doing the hard work. Lazy day, Nan in and out of wellness after a few dunks in the river and ending the day at low ebb. The English vowing to meet up in the evening for another session. And so it goes on.
Many Lao people travel by bus, lots of them, most of the population don’t have their own transport and rely on the government buses to transport them from place to place. What surprises me is the amount of Lao people who get travel sick. To be fair, it’s not only Lao people – the Nepalese, Myanmanese and others spend a great deal of the time redecorating the side panels of the bus, not to mention the floor inside. Sick bags are provided (how thoughtful) but aiming the projectile vomit has not been mastered thus giving a cunning pebble dash effect wherever it lands. Nice, eh?
The funny thing is they must know they don’t travel well, even if they only travel occasionally, but still they bring great picnics of meats, pickles, eggs and sticky rice… Why? What a waste. It’s enough to put me off my own food, having to listen to the wretching going on around us (well, almost, not much puts me off my grub to be honest). My favorite bus grub is the BBQ’d meat on a stick accompanied with sticky rice and chilli sauce which seems to be the locals’ favorite too. I can’t imagine the state of one’s throat after yacking up a load of that!
We traveled by local sick bus to spend a couple of nights in Phonsavan for the Plains of the Jars. An unreal collection of huge stone jars stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no known history, not even where they came from or where the stone was cut to be chipped into these jar forms.
It was here that we confirmed the reason of the Festival of New Life back in Four Thousand Islands we were invited to join. Our host explained to us that after the birth of the first child or the first son into the family, the friends and family come around to eat and toast the new born every night for a period of about six weeks. (While he is explaining this the occupants of his guest house are obligingly eating and toasting the baby’s health with a variety of local hooch including one said to be derived from porcupine livers that makes you wretch the moment you swallow it). The wife and child is unseen during this period as she is tucked up in bed with babe with a fire underneath her to “dry her out”… a bit odd we thought, slightly medieval way of thinking but what else is tradition if not a bit unusual.
On the last night a big loud musical party of all friends and family welcome the new life and new mother and all get absolutely slathered. There seems to be a lot of drinking going on in this country. So if you have a wide enough group of friends and a large family, life just becomes one large ongoing procession of visiting, celebrating and generally getting wrecked all the time! These people have large families, you know.
Luang Prabang is where we currently are, the last place I believe where we can get to an internet place for 10 or so days. The idea now is to continue to head up north, and north more eventually to a small settlement called Phongsali. From there we will attempt to hire a local guide to take us off the highways and byways of tourism to trek to the highland villages close to the Chinese border. Phongsali is supposed to be away from tourism already, but we want to make sure, find a part of real Laos, real Lao people and their cultures and beliefs. It all depends on the water levels of the Nam Ou and the accessibility of the north at this time of year.
In the meantime, Luang Prabang is another tourist town with its caves and waterfalls, local villages and cultural theatre. A place to eat the last bit of western style food and to stock up on essentials that the north can’t provide and, of course, write my travelogue in the local internet gaff.
Actually I have to say the waterfalls here are one of the best examples I’ve seen in SE Asia, if not all of this trip. Several levels of cascading water covering whatever it touches with a skin of lime, beautiful plunge pools and great views. All set in a tranquil park of trees and bushes ornamented with a vivid variety of colourful butterflies. The caves of Pak Ou were less interesting apart from the thousands of Buddha images that lined the crevices and natural shelves.
Only spoilt by marauding package tour cronies who have the absence of mind to gently wander in front of you while you are trying to take a photo of one’s gorgeous wife in front of an antique looking image of the deity. It’s amazing how oblivious of their surroundings people can be, how thoughtless and rude. I will not mention the nationality of this particular group who seemed to be particularly adept at one by one wandering in front of my camera lens even though I was being as plain as I could taking a photo.
In the end, after asking politely for a few of the intruders to “Excuse me please for just a second while I take this picture” only to be replaced by another unseeing, uncaring, oblivious to their intrusion person, I gave up. It has been a long time since I lost it, having learnt in India that temper does not solve anything, but I did slightly let off some steam at these stupid and dumb people that thought they had some higher superiority because they were on an organised tour. Having made our point, especially directed to a couple of “I’m a pseudo-Buddhist here to worship my God” who hadn’t learnt the basics of awareness obviously, Eddie and I trotted off leaving the astounded group in their awkwardness to continue their tour. I felt a little better and I hope they felt a little disquieted. We were probably the subjects of conversation afterwards as in “How rude!”
Unfortunately, Laos is becoming a social gathering for travelers and package tours alike. The combination of cheapness and ease of travel unites together most of the budget travelers, whereas the easy accessibility and the intrigue of SE Asia pulls the tour companies. Although there is so much to do here, the activities are well populated, and it is now getting hard to remove yourself from the tourist trail without forward planning. Many people we have talked to rage that Laos is the best country they have been to in SE Asia, and for some Asia as a whole.
I guess we are looking for something different, people seem to be content with tourist town, western bars and menus, hanging out with same, same people as you but a little bit different. I feel there is a distinct loss of character to the country due to the influx of tourism. It was bound to happen, and it’s unfortunately almost impossible to stop. But I do think the country is losing its identity a bit with customs and character being replaced by feeding the tourist greed. We are hoping that when we find our way to the northern reaches of this country we can find the remnants of the old Laos where the culture still exists such as it has for many generations. I am sure there are other places to do this but this is the area we have chosen to explore.
Funnily enough we were talking to a French Canadian who by accident got on the wrong bus and found himself in an area that is similar to where we want to reach. His was unintentional and took him three days to return to civilization as the buses didn’t run every day to this remote outpost on Laos. There were no guest houses or restaurants and they were kindly put up and fed by local villagers. Without a local store he was unable to buy water, and the boiled water looked dubious to him. He drank Pepsi for the three days; some western traits reach even the remotest areas…
Tomorrow we head for Muang Ngoi, where we will arrange a boat north, the trip being probably two days with a stop in Muang Khua. Onward and upward. If you would like to email us any suggestions or questions, email to [email protected].
