Biker chic. Or perhaps not.

Today (September 8th) J and I hired a motorbike for an almost-aimless drive out to some ruins at Muang Khoun, the old capital of Xieng Khonang province, which was flattened by US bombing during the secret war.

The ruins thrilled us little but the drive through the valleys of the Lao countryside was so stunning that it inspired a running away of my descriptive powers that hopefully the reader can forgive.

The fertile beauty of wide open spaces, lush farmland on all sides and the frequent lakes; in the distance the mountains loomed like blue shadows leaning up against the sky.

Sharing the road with us were dozens of school children trotting along in groups of two or three, arm in arm, all Wearing their smart, clean white and navy uniforms, parasols and broad smiles as they waved to the bike and shouted ‘Sabadee’ (Hello!). We zoomed past a man lugging impossibly huge quantities of lumber on a fun-size tractor, more men squat fishing, and naked children swimming in the stream.

Over the sound of the bike’s engine there’s the flutter, peck and patter of fowl waddling or quacking as we pass. We see horses sipping at a lake’s rim or clopping along the verges. More often, oblivious herds of cattle and the odd goat meander into our path causing us a swerve and a giggle.

So captivated by what we’re seeing we don’t want to miss a detail. Buffalo bathing in brown waterholes as if the word wallow was made for them, tops of their bodies like slick black islands in the water. Huge networks of spiderwebs clogging the telegraph lines, their shiny strands catch the light while telltale oblong silluettes mark the resting places of poor dragonflies. The ripples of small brooks sparkle in the sun, puckering where the breeze kisses them.

And surrounding all of this, the overwhelming sight in our senses is the green, green paddy, catching the light of the sun, gleaming almost yellow in places, becoming translucent. It refreshes the eyes as it fills the senses with the knowledge of new life, of renewal and the greenness of fertility, the colour of green diamonds, the sense of youth and life.

And I know as we drive through it that when I remember Laos many years from now I won’t just remember the kindness and generosity of its people, the easy laze of days by rivers and the tranquility of temples, but this ultimate of greens, which will shine on in my memory as part of a Laos rainbow.

Red is the tiny birds’ eye chillis used to flavour the food, or drying in baskets on roofs in the sun. Orange of the monks’ robes as they walk in sedate pairs down the broad streets of Luang Prabang. Yellow labels on a cheerfully shared bottle of Beer Lao, the green of the paddy, the blue of the sky, indigo of the looming mountains and the brown of the Mekong flowing ever downward to the sea.

Risking life and limb to visit the mysterious jars

It’s not often when a visit to a tourist attraction comes with the risk of maiming or death, but the Plain of Jars (just outside Phonsavan in Laos) is no ordinary tourist attraction. Quite apart from the mysterious origins of the plains’ thousand namesake stone jars (no one knows how, where or when the jars were made) the place is notorious, and possibly unique among locations of historic interest, for being riddled with UXO (unexploded ordnance).

The UXO, which is largely made up of parts of cluster bombs known as ‘bombies’, is not just confined to the Phonsavan area but found over two thirds of Laos’ land, where it was dropped by the US Army in the 1960s and early 1970s during the so-called ‘Secret War’.

Despite being legally required to respect the Laotian neutrality in the Indochina (Vietnam) war, as ratified by the Geneva Conference of 1954, American military chiefs led as many as 13,000 bombing raids a month over Laos during this time. Their rationale while they were involved in the war in Vietnam was ostensibly that the Vietcong were using the Ho Chi Minh Trail down the eastern border of Laos to transport goods and men. More often than not, the bombs that landed on Laotian targets were just those that pilots failed to drop on Vietnamese targets because of bad weather or other problems. They would rather dump them on Laos villages than deal with the hassle of returning to base with ammo on board.

How the US managed to carpet bomb a whole country without being found out is an even bigger mystery than the jars' origin

How the US military managed to hide the fact that they were dropping bombs on Laos from everyone – US citizens, congress, and the rest of the world – is mind boggling. The level of carpet bombing that happened here is shown on Laos maps as red splodges – many areas are completely covered. Practically, that meant that thousands of villages were destroyed, many people lived in caves for up to 10 years, and huge numbers of refugees fled to the south and Thailand.

Over two million metric tons of ordnance was dropped on the people of Laos – 2 tons for every person. An estimated third of this did not explode and is still out in the fields and villages of the countryside now.

The particular bombs that the US used in those days (and have used since in other wars like Iraq and Afghanistan) are cluster bombs, used solely as anti-personnel weapons, ideal killing machines. Each fist-sized ‘bombie’ (which are packed 600 or so to an artillery shell) is filled with about 300 ball bearings that, when the bomb is armed, are designed to explode out of it on impact at speeds of about 2,200ft a second, tearing through flesh and bone.

Theoretically the bombs, which leave the artillery shell in mid-air, should become armed on their way to the ground as they rotate and explode on impact. However, many of these bombs failed to rotate enough to be properly armed or didn’t explode because they landed too softly or in water and got buried. These have lain there for 40 years, just waiting for a child to pick one up or a farmer to thrust his hoe or spade into the earth above it.

A Mines Advisory Group image of Laos children looking at one of the unexploded bombies

The bombs, even now, claim more than 500 lives a year. Hundreds more people lose limbs, eyesight or suffer severe and permanent damage. Many of the victims are children who think that the small round ‘bombies’ are toys or fruit and pick them up to play with.

In a society where 90 per cent of the population makes its living from the soil, the problem is a daily worry. Wives worry for their farmer husbands, their small children. The birth rate has risen here since the war and 40% of all Laos people are under 18 so new areas of land are constantly having to be ploughed for food, meaning the farmers must risk life and, literally, limb to grow enough rice for their families.

Bomb disposal charities like the Mine Advisory Group (MAG), made famous by Princess Diana, have stepped in to train local people here in safe bomb disposal. They also go into villages to help locals map known bombies and avoid them until they can be blown up (some villages still continue to find bombs after as many as 20 clearance visits). However the work of these charities is just the tip of the iceberg: currently 100,000 bombies are safely exploded every year but with an estimated 10,000,000 bombies still out there it will be 100 years before Laos land is safe to farm and live.

Over the last 20 years, since Laos opened its borders, tourism and development has brought new money and hope to the country. The government aim to get the country off the UN’s Least Developed Country list by 2020 would seem an achievable aim but for the UXO, which makes building roads and other infrastructure a virtual impossibility without a huge amount of money for bomb clearance. The whole country is still being held back by the consequences of a war that it never waged or fought.

Laos countryside is tainted: will it be more than a century until its people are free?

Worst of all, this type of bomb is still being used by US and British troops in wars today. Cluster bombs are not anti-tank weapons or heavy artillery, they are purely designed to kill and maim people and their effects linger on decades after war has ended.

The US army have now acknowledged the Secret War and, to be fair, have tried to make amends by sending a small amount of aid and many metal detectors. The Laos government refuse their aid as they don’t trust them – who would? – any gesture of remorse is seen as ‘too little too late’. If they really cared they would stop using cluster bombs now and stop other countries from enduring the same legacy of pain.

NB: Laos has been chosen to host the first Convention on Cluster Munitions in 2010. If you would like to learn more about cluster bombs please visit www.maginternational.org or www.stopclustermunitions.org

Parasols on sale at the fabulous Hmong tribal craft market, Luang Prabang

A few days in Luang Prabang will doubtless be one of the highlights of any trip to Indo-china. A couple of weeks there allows you to sample most of what the city has to offer in terms of sights, excursions, food and drink, accommodation and activities. So Jamie and I – having been here for almost two weeks – have compiled a guide to the best, the best value and the best avoided of Luang Prabang tourist culture.

Accommodation

The good
Santi Resort
On the outskirts of the city, this opulent colonial-style mansion has tasteful rooms and a tasty restaurant but would get the award just for the stunning paddy-field view from the bar that floats on the lily pond.

The cheap
Muong Lao
If the free wifi starts working again, this would be the perfect place to stay for the budget traveler, who also gets a very comfortable bed, TV, air con, hot showers and free travel advice for their £5 a night. Also with on-site cafe.

The ugly
Merry Guesthouse 2
The ‘own bathroom’, which has a blocked drain, is the highlight of a grubby living experience that leaves you itching and not with the desire to return. Additional sideshow in the form of the moodiest landlady in all Asia, probably.

Eating

L'Elephant: a colonial cafe with wonderful grub

The good
L’Elephant
It’s worth breaking with the usual traveler adherence to local cuisine just for a sense of eating out in history at this colonial French cafe. Good cafe classics, like onion soup with thick cheese crust, mix well with more exciting options, such as buffalo steak or perch fresh from the Mekong.

The cheap
Ancient House
There may only be three things on the menu (noodle soup, noodle soup or noodle soup) but they’re all great and quite as nice for breakfast (the Lao way) as for dinner. Order the ‘fur’ noodle soup and get a bewildering accompaniment of fresh greenery, chili pastes, condiments and herbs to go with (and all for 6,000kip – about 45p).

The ugly
Sisavangvong bar
It’s not just that the service here is slow and occasionally rude and the food is boring, it’s also that the music, which blazes loudly at all hours, encompasses the worst selection of western pop from the last four decades – Peter, Paul and Mary anyone?

Sights

The gold stupa on the top of Phu Si can be seen from miles around

Royal Palace Museum
Former home of the Luang Prabang royal family (who were exiled in 1975), this early 20th century mansion is now home to many pretty things relating to the reign of Lao kings. The highlight is a room full of gifts from foreign heads of state, including some moon rock from Richard Nixon.

The cheap
Phu si (or Phousy)
This hill dominates LP and the big gold stupa on its summit can be seen from all over the city. Worth the sweaty climb for stupendous views and many beautiful golden Buddhas.

The ugly
Night markets
All along Th Sisavangvong from the Royal Palace to tourist information is closed for a night market selling same-samey overpriced tat, for the most part. More exciting are the offal-wielding food stall owners round the corner who attempt to force feed you the local sausage, oozing with fat, or deep fried chicken feet.

Activities

A cooking class puts the icing on the cake (metaphorically speaking)

The cheap
Big Brother Mouse
This is the single most rewarding thing to do in LP – forget giving alms to the monks in the morning (also a great thing to do), donating time at this literacy centre to help local kids learn English is immensely rewarding. Just turn up any morning at nine (the building’s just behind the Three Nagas restaurant) and spend a couple of hours reading with these friendly interested kids – you’ll be sure to learn more than you teach.

The ugly
Luang Prabang Bowling
Not technically ugly as it’s lots of fun, but messy in the extreme – after all the bars close at a 10.30 curfew this is the place to go to drink (and bowl) until 3pm. There’s no need for bowling shoes but you may need your hard-drinking hat.

Drinking

The good
Utopia
There should be a prize just for finding this place. Despite the frequent flyering done by bored locals down on the Nam Khan it’s hidden down several winding backstreets. The prize is getting there: it’s breathtakingly gorgeous setting over the river provides the perfect end to any LP day.

The cheap
Hive
Hive may not be the smartest bar in town but it’s definitely the coolest. DJs roll out plenty of favourites from the early naughties as well as the latest thing to a mixed crowd. Other bars on the same strip are also cool but this place gets extra kudos for its Laos-shaped bee-hive logo.

The ugly
Khob Chai and Ban Aphay
Obnoxious people beerily peering at football on the largest screen in history is not what foreign travel is all about. Avoid.

Go to Luang Prabang for the sights, stay for the atmosphere, food, and people. A southeast Asia must-visit.

A sticky situation: Laos cooking has some interesting ingredients

Lao food is almost unique in Asian cooking as it uses ‘sticky’ (glutinous) rice as its main staple for all meals rather than – as in other countries –just desserts. This type of rice is named for its high starch content, which means that it sticks to itself and can be rolled into balls with the fingers and dipped into sauces or stuck to dried meats.

Necessity is the mother of invention, they say, and the sticky rice is a perfect example of this. For the Lao people, whose mountainous homeland necessitates the cultivation of a rice strain that can be grown without paddy fields, this unusual rice was a godsend and it’s treated as such.

Sticky rice is what has created subtle differences in their lives compared to other lowland or paddy-growing peoples in Asia: how they eat (with their hands), how they sit (on the ground with shared condiments and sauces) and even how they pray.

It is revered as a spiritual substance and used in various rituals: as an offering to ancestors in the temple, given to monks as alms (for merit-making) or rolled into balls and left on shrines outside houses and in temples to appease bad spirits.

Sticky rice can be eaten as an accompaniment to many things, but especially jaeowbong, a condiment with the consistency and taste of a sweet chili jam, but which traditionally contains buffalo skin and so much garlic that your breath stinks for more than three days after eating it.

I know all this from the excellent cooking course I joined this week (my second of an intended S-E-Asian culinary extravaganza) at the Tamnak Lao in Luang Prabang. Along with the sticky rice and jaeowbong, I learned to cook the famous Laotian Laap (see previous writing), Khua Maak Kheua Gap Moo (Fried Egglant with Pork) and Kheua Sen Lon (vermicelli with pork and fungus).

The fungus isn’t the only unusual ingredient used in Lao cooking – frog, ant eggs and rotten fish are also still seen on menus. In the markets you can also buy rubix-sized cubes of gelatinous pig’s blood, used for flavouring stews.

These adventurous ingredients are – like the rice – a hangover from past times when Laotians of various tribes would make good use of their cut-off but forested and riverside terrains to supplement their diet with ferns, honey and fruit from the forests and perhaps some eel, water rat or frog from the river.

In those days poverty was rife, anything was fair game and no part of an animal would have been wasted. In hard times even beetles or other insects would have been made into stews to accompany and bulk out a meager ration of meat.

Reading this in my Laotian cookbook, I was excited by the idea of trying a beetle stew or perhaps a pig’s blood soup. Unfortunately the course had toned down its dishes for the western palate so we cooked Oh Paedak (a casserole made with pork and ‘paedak’, rotten fish) without the paedak and jaeowbong without the buffalo skin. Very tasty but not exactly authentic.

Still perhaps it’s for the best since I have a cookery book and will be trying these recipes out at home. Can’t see dinner guests thrilling to water rat head cheese or buffalo skin curry, or for that matter asking for woodear fungus in Hackney market – “You ‘aving a laugh?”

[more photos to follow]

Budget food for the discerning (i.e. pov) Laos visitor

Laap is a Laotian salad made with minced meat, finely chopped long beans and a number of piquant herbs and spices that give it a salty, yet sweet and lemony flavour. It’s delicious, tasty and – best of all – cheap and we’ve been eating a lot of it.

However for the last couple of days we’ve laid off the laap after the arrival of a kind benefactor in the form of my dad. Lavish on his holidays, as is his wont, he descended into our lives like Marie Antoinette, complete with doting entourage but without the giant powdered wig, shouting: “Let them eat steak!” So we did, and very nice it was too.

Two delightful days with dad in Luang Prabang didn’t just remind me of the delights of home (and rich food) but also gave me a chance to show him the best bits of our lucky life out here in Asia – and where better to do it in the place that the Lonely Planet describes as ‘the most photogenic city in Asia’.

Luang Prabang is seemingly one of the truly blessed places in the world, having avoided the devastation wreaked on other major cities in the Indo-Chinese (Vietnam) war. Its confines are still full of wats, stupas and colonial mansions, complete with shutters, columns and colonnades. Its streets are still full of bright-orange-clad boy-monks going about their business, parasols up to protect their shaved heads from the unrelenting sunshine.

At the confluence of two rivers: the mighty Mekong and the unassuming Nam Khan, it seems there is no part of the city where a delightful river-view is not seconds away. Many of these views can be taken in from the excellent restaurants, which we sampled with glee in Dad’s company instead of the usual laap.

Hot food and French buildings: a delicious combination

The pick of these is ‘L’Elephant’ – a perfect mix of French style and food with the laid back friendliness of Laos. Dining on the terrace here, you feel that you could be on a hot August evening in Paris, perhaps, were it not for such delights on the menu as Luang Prabang sausages or steak tartare of buffalo. The latter of these came (ordered by me for a slightly bemused Jamie) with a handful of whole green peppercorns and the requisite egg yolk served in a specially carved ‘egg cup’ made of cucumber.

There was nothing unusual about my French onion soup, except that I have rarely had it so flavourful, so cheesy and delicious outside of France. And Dad – who, without exception, orders the soup and the fish at every restaurant – pronounced the Mekong-plucked perch to be ‘delicious’. High praise from the connoisseur. What with the addition of a few large Beer Lao, of course, and brandies at the end for the boys (each costing more than our hotel room for the night), we left the table a very happy party indeed.

On the last day of Dad’s visit I joined his party for a walking tour of the city. This was remarkable not least for the beauty of the temples and many golden Buddhas, but for me the luxury of having a guide. Usually if an explanation for something is not in my guidebook I find that I have to ask a million questions of everybody usually until I find out what I want so being spoon fed information (and having a captive expert) was delightful.

It was a bit of a rude shock to wave goodbye to Dad with a tear and to go back to reality. A bit sad there’ll be no more of that delicious tasty rich food (my digestion is secretly pleased). Very sad to say goodbye to Dad for another 8 months or so. And most of all shocked to realise how much living on the road has become home and our tiny budget is natural to us now. And I’m not complaining – I do really like the Laap.

We didn't want to risk the camera but just google 'tubing, Laos' and you'll see many snaps like this one

Whatever Vang Viene was once known for on the tourist trail of southeast Asia now pales in the minds of the gap-packers beside ‘tubing’. In guesthouses and hostels throughout Thailand and Malaysia a certain type of traveller will ask you: ‘Are you going to Laos to go tubing?’ As if there’s only one place and only one activity in the whole country and that is drinking beer and floating down the Nam Dong river on an inner tube.

The whole tourist trade here is set up to cater for these young tourists: 18 or 19 years old, lean and hungry looking, with moody faces and the requisite day-glo wayfarers and, immediately after their arrival, ‘Tubing in Vang Viene’ T-shirts. Ignoring the stunning scenery and pretty village temples, these cool dudes head straight for one of the many purpose-built ‘Friends Bars’, where they loll dead-eyed in front of episodes of the 90s sitcom until it’s time for the main event.

So loathed are this group of box ticking tourists (go there, do that, get the t-shirt) among other travellers now that we were loath to go tubing at all, but for just this reason it held an undeniable fascination – was the joy of tubing enough to condense a whole country into the sum of its delights?

Of course not. But having been there now, done that and not got the t-shirt, I can report that it is all the things most loved by teenagers everywhere: fun, alcoholic and dangerous.

The fun begins when you rent your tube in town and get on a tuk tuk bound for the jumping off point (literally). The hordes are left by the river at a huge bar which heaves with young bikini-clad nymphs like a jungle version of an MTV pool party. A huge trapeze is set up in front of the bar and two teens from our tuk tuk immediately run up the rickety steps and take their place in the line for the swing-out-and-20-foot-drop.

I feel old, and Jamie even more so, and despite the obvious foolhardiness of the tweenies (as we end up calling them) who mix huge amounts of booze with watersports, we agree it’s time for a little bit of dutch courage ourselves. Beerlao (the much, and rightly, beloved local beer) of course.

And this one...

Young Lao boys with life-preservers tied to bits of knotted rope will tow you into the bars’ landing stages if you want what they have to offer. We turn down quite a few before we see the holy grail. A waterslide towering 100 feet above the water, with a raised end like a jump any olympic ski slope would be proud of. We have to try it.

We buy another beer as our passport to the slide and it makes me feel as brave and foolish as Evil Knivel. Duly, I take my life in my hands and climb the stairs. Heart in my throat, hammering away, I can still take in the view from the top: glorious unspoilt countryside, except for the eyesore bars of course. Then it’s time to take the plunge and the boy running the slide pushes me in the back and I’m off and it’s too fast and oh sh*t this really isn’t safe and OWWW!! I hit the water with the backs of my thighs, my breath knocked out of me, adrenalin still pumping hard. That was awesome.

As I emerge from the water one of the guys we’re talking to tells us that someone died on the slide two weeks ago. “Or was it 4?” I can feel the blood drain from my face and we quickly take to the river again after that comment, and try no more death-defying adventures, contenting ourselves with a bit of tipsy splashing about.

Amusements aside, the tubing is worth it for the sight of the huge towering karsts that rise straight from the riverside, and the feeling of the cool flowing water propelling you back to Vang Viene. Unlike the rest of them, though, the end of the experience doesn’t make me want to move on to the next tick in the box – another country summed up by an hour or two’s drunkeness perhaps – but to linger in Laos, home to some of the most spectacular scenery, friendly people and, yes, tastiest beer in the world.

The slide!

It's not just the Cof E who use bunting!

We were lucky enough to be in Ventiane at the time of Boun Khao Padabdin – a festival of the dead, where the local people come to the temple to offer rice. I went there early in the morning to check it out and wrote this piece for 2camels.com:

The monk is up a ladder hanging bunting. “What’s the bunting for?” I ask. He explains that August 20th is Boun Khao Padabdin, the day when Laotians honour their ancestors and bring offerings to the temple. “Come along,” he says.

Tomorrow dawns and for a second I think I must be in a Muslim country as a call to prayer in a foreign tongue fills the still guesthouse air. Then I remember the festival and scurry across to the local wat (Buddhist temple).

I’ve never seen a wat so busy: it’s bustling with people and colour. Aside from the bunting, there are lots of flowers and a long table has been set up with two rows of metal bowls.

In front of the table, in the temple’s main pagoda, sit at least 50 people holding big silver offering bowls stuffed with food and money. The communicants bow their heads and hold their hands together in a prayer wai, as an unseen monk leads the prayers over a tannoy.

This chanting joins a cacophony of other morning noises: traffic, animals, children shouting from the temple school and the hurry of more people arriving in a steady stream.

I notice that all those who come for the festival wear a ceremonial multi-coloured silk sash over their left shoulder. Most of the offerers are women; some wear full traditional dress, others just a smart blouse and skirt or, in the case of men, trousers and a shirt.

Some of them are parents who drop their children off at the temple school before going to pray and make their offerings. I like the way their morning errands thus include both the living family and the dead, the mundane and the sacred.

My happy contemplation is suddenly broken as the prayer chanting stops. People uncurl themselves from the floor, and move to the left hand end of the long table outside. Much like to a reception committee at a western wedding, they present themselves at each bowl in turn, dropping a small amount of food or money as they go. Fruit, chocolate bars, balls of sticky rice, money in small denominations (usually 1,000-2,000 Kip notes (about 7-14 British pence)), flowers or small candles, soon each bowl is full to overflowing.

Each offering is briefly held to their forehead before being given. When they come to the end of the line they bow low and touch their empty bowls to their head before moving away.

After the offerings have been given to the dead ancestors, many people have to leave to go to work. I see one man, who is wearing jeans and a t-shirt under his sash, simply drop his offering bowl into his motorbike basket, don his helmet and ride away. “How very casual, how very Laos,” I think.

Others venture back into the temple for more prayer, lighting candles or incense in their bowls, and having a moment’s quiet reflection for their dead relatives.

I wait and watch until I see the monks begin to pack up the offerings. There are a phenomenal amount of them: a literal cornucopia.

I am wondering what they will do with them – give them to the poor perhaps – when I spot the monk who invited me to the festival and ask him. “They are offered in alms for the monks,” he says to me, and I am impressed, both by his English, and by the practical possibilities of religion.

This festival allows the community to remember their dead; recognises and rewards the local monk community (who in Laos are all boys in their late teens); and allows people to feel good about themselves – and all before breakfast.

Parents bring their children to school and say a prayer for their ancestors

going going gong...Jamie's off on a two-wheeled adventure

The capital of the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos, Ventiane, is a charming city, thanks to the influence of late 19th century French colonial architeture, wide tree-lined avenues and views across the wide confluence of the magistic Mekong.

A handful of old Wats (Buddhist temples), some dating back to the 18th century, their roofs with flame-like golden flickers on the corners sit cheek by jowl with old paint-flaking chateaux, all louvre shutters and gentle sloping roofs.

A pathway between two cultures: French chateau meets Laotian wat

What better way to explore this beautiful city, then, than by bicycle, transport mode of choice for both rural France and Indochina.

There are countless other Ferangs also exploring on bikes – the city has a large expat population of NGO workers as well as tourists. At times the sight of a westerner leaving one of the many pattiserries or boulangeries, baguettes in hand, and jumping on a ‘bicyclette’ gives one a double take.

The only thing is certainly Asian is the heat. We’re here in the hot season (wet season) and the breeze on a bike is another great reason to jump in the saddle.

First stop is Patuxai: Laos’s answer to the Arc de Triumph. From far away it looks most impressive, dominating one of the main streets with its solid, ornate bower arching across the road, but when you get up close it’s clear that it’s not nearly as awesome, or even as finished, a monument as it should be. Built in the 1960s to commemorate soldiers who died in wars pre-independence, it was never finished and sits as a mound of unclad and crumbling concrete, where local teens gather to drink soda in its shade. We spotted some of them pretending it was a hat from distance so we had a go ourselves.

I went to Laos and all I got was this lousy headdress!

Next we headed out of town to the beautiful gold Pha That Luang, pride of Lao Buddhist history (legend has it that part of Buddha’s breast bone can be found inside the main ‘stupa’). Looking like a big gold candle on a birthday cake, the monument (which appears on Laotian money and national seal) is amazing, and well worth a 5km bike ride with burning sweaty eyes and almost getting mown down by small children on mopeds on the way there. (In Laos seemingly locals seemingly only ride bicyles without motors unti the age of four or so).

Resting place of part of the Buddha?

We wheeled around for several hours more taking in other sites including Wat Si Saket – the oldest temple in Ventiane, built in 1818, That Dam (the black stupa), the Lao Cultural Centre and the Lao National Museum. Then we spent an hour getting hopelessly lost and had to visit yet another two temples just to ask for directions!

Back on the road we were unbeleivably hot and sweaty by this time so we rode to one of the city’s municipal lidos to go for a swim (for 70p). Next door was the Lao Bowling Centre so we had a go at that as well.

By that time it was getting dark so we peddled to the metal down to the Mekong for sunset time. Two litres of delicious Beer Lao for all of £2 and the sky turning bright red over our first night in real Indo-China. What more could you want?

Red sky at night - total delight

We were heading to Laos’ capital city, Ventiane – the place I’d heard nothing but good things about. And we were leaving Bangkok, where sadly the sleaze machine of tourism starts to grate after just a couple of days.

Bangkok: gaudy, sweaty, busy, noisy, crazy

In contrast the city of Ventiane is soothing. Just as hot as Thailand’s megapolis, but tiny: just 200,000 residents to Bangkok’s many millions. Wide tree-lined avenues and tiny air-conned coffee shops do much to diffuse the considerable heat, while the European feel and smiley people make ferangs (Europeans) feel far more welcome than in the Thai capital.

In the first few hours we noticed a few things about Laos:

1. Self-name fever. Whether it’s Small Country Syndrome or the impact of communist rule everything is called Laos this or Laos that. Beer Laos – drink of choice – is made by the Laos Beer Company, as is the main bottled water. Most guesthouses are Laos something. Building materials are made by Laos Cement Inc and Laos Piping Inc. The main swimming pool is the ‘Laos National Federation Swimming Pool’ – even the bowling alley is Lao Bowling Centre.

2. Sense of humour. Despite the relentless self promotion everywhere, the Laos seem humble and modest. A sign on one of their main tourist attractions Patuxai (the concrete arch) reads: ‘Never completed due to the country’s turbulent history, from a closer distance it looks much less impressive, like a monster of concrete.’

3. Huge amount of development. Laos is a country flying to keep up with the rest of the world. The capital boasts a huge nummber of NGOs and development agencies: various UN agencies (anti-drugs, pro-children, pro-environment, among them), and other organisations devoted to literacy, eco-tourism and foreign aid (much of this French or American).

4. Kind people. Friendly, smiling, eager to help – one man even got up from reading the paper in the park to fix my bike chain for me. Spot anyone doing that in Lumpini, or Hyde for that matter? I don’t think so.

5. Full of sex tourists. No – number 5 is not a positive one. We were shocked to see how many people come to Ventiane for young girls and boys and those ‘somewhere in between’ (our hotel terrace was an unfortunate meeting place for ‘nightcrawlers’). Jamie was even propositioned by one young man at 11am, while that evening an older Australian man we’d been chatting to unawares asked us suddenly to pick his whore for the evening out of a line up of teenage girls. We ran swiftly.
I think I must be naive but I just don’t understand how anyone could put their sexual pleasure above the lives of others; I couldn’t get any pleasure at all knowing what my selfishness was doing to these poor girls who are dragged into Ventiane from the villages and are scared beyond belief.

I didn’t want this blog to end negatively. Ventiane is a beautiful, friendly city and a joy to walk or cycle (more on that later) around. I just hope that the rapid development of an educational infrastructure in rural parts of the country will enable the next generation of girls (and boys) of Laos to have a brighter future.

Ventiane: smaller, quieter, gentler...happier?