Luang Prabang and Vang Vieng

We're in Vientiane at the moment - the capital city of Laos. There's not a lot to do here. Bizarrely, the place closes down at eleven o clock - there is pretty much a curfew on the city. Walking back to your guesthouse at night, you see policemen with AK47 machine guns on street corners.

This is because the Asia Summit takes place in Vientiane later this month and the authorities don't want anything to disrupt it. All tourists have to be out of the city by 21st November. So, on Thursday we embark on a twenty-four hour bus trip to Hanoi in the north of Vietnam.

Vientiane may not be the most beautiful and exciting place in the world, but the two other towns we've visited in Laos - Luang Prabang and Vang Vieng - were pretty special places, as these pictures will hopefully demonstrate.

The city of Luang Prabang

Me

Steve

A tree on a hill

A temple drum

A reclining Buddha and a dragon's tail

How's my composition?

Sausages curing in the sun

Our accomodation in Vang Vieng

Steve gets back to nature

Streethawk

Streethawk wannabes

At dusk a local child returns home from the fields

The sun creeps behind the mountains...

... and finally disappears from view

Laos is a very special place. It has defied all my expectations.

The mighty Mehkong

We entered Laos ten days ago. An incredible country.

After spending the night in the border town of Chiang Khong on the banks of the Mehkong, we crossed the river. We got off the boat and found ourselves in Huay Xai in the People's Democratic Republic of Laos.

Steve and I were ill prepared for Laos. Actually, 'badly organised' would be a better way to put it, but that is another story and will probably be told another time.

This is a picture post about our three day journey from Chiang Mai to Luang Prabang, the second city of Laos, which included a two day boat trip down the mighty Mehkong river.

On my last day in Chiang Mai a dark cloud blocked my sunshine

The Royal Guesthouse, Chiang Mai: "A nice place to stay"

Mama Honey, businesswoman extraordinaire and madwoman, sorted our Laos visas

Steve leaves Thailand after five golden weeks

Ollie does likewise

The mighty Mehkong #1

The mighty Mehkong #2

The mighty Mehkong #3

The mighty Mehkong #4

The mighty Mehkong #5

A boat bears a precious cargo of Beer Lao - the undisputed king of SE Asian beer

Tired, hungry, dirty but elated, we finally arrive in Luang Prabang


On my second day on the boat, cramped on incredibly uncomfortable wooden benches along with fifty other weary but contented travellers, I managed to record my impressions of the river that has impressed me so much, while the journey was still fresh in my mind.

Friday 5th November, 1pm
Location: The Mehkong river, Laos

The Mehkong river is epic in scale. It's the biggest thing I've ever seen. In places it seems a similar size to the Thames - it's the same unsavoury brown colour - but it's much, much longer. The Mehkong is brown not because of pollution, it's because brown is the colour of mud. It is a very muddy river, it's water deep, dark and mysterious. It's hard to imagine that fish live in there, that they can survive in such a black swirling vortex. But survive they do - and thrive. Huge fish. In the 1970's, American soldiers pulled a 'fish' out of the river that was fully twelve metres in length - some kind of sea snake; scaly, thicker than a man's waist and with a dragon-like head. Completely unique. Nothing like it had ever been found before, or since. It gives you an idea of the kind of creatures that might live at the bottom of this dark, ageless river.

The Queen of Nagas

Yesterday, after being stopped from climbing out of the window and onto the roof of the boat, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself. A gentle Canadian in his fifties, with a twinkle in his eye, suggested I go and sit on the front of the boat, in front of the 'bridge'. Anxious to find a spot where I could enjoy the river and the staggering scenery along the shoreline, I quickly made my way to the front.

It was about five in the evening. The sun was low in the sky. The light was perfect, warm. Occasionally the sun would disappear behind the cliffs and hills that rose and fell on the banks on the west side of the river, to reappear suddenly and dazzlingly. Occasionally you could see sandy beaches, huge rocks jutting out of the river, tiny villages with houses on stilts, fisherman paddling upriver, returning to their homes and families after a day of fishing.

Our boat weaved from side to side, seemingly at random, swaying gently with the current and the movement of the increasingly impatient passengers aboard. It was not random though. The river seethed. It seemed to be alive. In the water there was movement everywhere you looked - so much that you're brain couldn't make sense of it. Currents running in every direction, caused I suppose by invisible rocks beneath the impenetrable waters. Whirlpools, frothing and foaming down into the blind oblivion of the riverbed. Beneath these inexplicable currents, the force of the great current of the Mehkong pulled the boat inexorably downstream.

I sat there, the boat and all the other passengers behind me, invisible, forgotten, my legs dangling to within a couple of feet of the churning brown river below, a stiff breeze on my skin which goosepimpled my flesh, the sunshine in my eyes, in awe of what I was seeing and feeling. I sat for an hour, silent, intense, other passengers coming out to enjoy the view, then disappearing back inside. I marvelled at the beauty and the grandeur and the peacefulness of this place, a river in the heart of Asia, providing life like blood. I thanked God for letting me be there to experience it, wondering exactly what I had done to deserve such luck.

Jumping and tubing with Ollie and Steve

I love jumping

Here's Matt, Steve and Ian - they love jumping too

This is where we jumped

Matt jumping

Steve jumping

Ian jumping

I really love jumping

Here's me, after enjoying some jumping

Steve loves tubing

Steve loves bandanas too

Lots of people love tubing

Tubing is beautiful

Ian really loves jumping too

So does Linda

Ralph loves diving

I really, really love jumping

I love jumping so much I keep going back for more

Who's the daddy?

Same old story. I'm behind with my journal. It irks me: I don't want to forget any of this experience. I had something of a breakthrough last week though. I began to develop a slightly different style in my writing, thanks in part to the novel I'm currently reading: 'The Shipping News' by Annie Proulx. It's allowed me to condense a number of anecdotes into a single, short, structurally sound story. Smashing.

Saturday 13th November, 2004
Location: Vang Vieng, Laos

"Who's the daddy?! Who's the daddy?!" I shouted, exultant as I raced Steve down the river in a tractor inner tube. I had pulled ahead, using my flip flops as paddles. I sat in my inner tube, my half-finished bottle of Beer Lao balanced precariously between my legs, with my back to the finish line: yet another makeshift riverside tubing/jumping bar. "Who's the daddy?!" I having the time of my life. I didn't hear Ian's shouted warnings, only saw the look of horror on Steve's face as he realised what was about to happen a split second before I hit the rock. Wham! Net result: no injuries.

Late afternoon. We were amongst the last people tubing the river. I had returned for the third time in three days to the riverside bar with the big jump. Six metres, maybe seven. Quite a big one, big enough to scare me a little, big enough to scare some people a lot. Reborn as an adrenaline junkie, I loved it, couldn't get enough of it. The moment you launch yourself into air you ask yourself the question: why did I just do that? The answer, most definitely: because it's there. Hitting the water, no fear of drowning, finally good friends after a lifetime of polite aquaintance. Being swallowed up by it, sinking then feeling it's pull, inexorably towards the surface.

Stood psyching myself up at the start of the run-up, the only group of tubers behind us now scrambling up the slippery mud steps leading up to the bar and the jump. I took off sprinting, planning to launch myself up and far out over the water. I looked down with a metre of runway to spare. Two tubes below me, a couple idling in the water in the exact spot where I would land. Where had they come from?! Grabbed the bamboo rail, pulled myself up sharp, but it was too late. Rocks jutting out of the water at the base of the cliff, directly beneath me. In the final moment able to launch myself just shy of them. Still, when I hit the water, heart pounding, I expected to hit something below the surface. I surfaced a couple of metres in front of the tubing couple. Shouts from above. I looked up, a dozen faces stared down, incredulous. Net result: no injuries.

Luang Prabang. Our last day there, which ended with a massage, a sauna, a chicken tikka massala and an early night, could so easily have ended with lacerations, an emergency trip to a hospital in god knows where.

The Little Waterfalls. Fifteen kilometres out of town. Larking about in the water - climbing, jumping, diving, swimming - indestructable. Camera poses in mid-air. We find a spot on the edge of a tiered pool where the riverbed had caved in, water gushing down into the next pool, six feet below. This hole: six feet deep, jagged, disappearing into frothing darkness. We swam up through it, underwater, from the next pool. Steve first, then me, Ian, Matt, all receiving little cuts and grazes as we climbed up out of that spiky hole.

Then, laughing with Ian, I forget what's behind me. I step back. My feet feel that the riverbed is falling away. In the second I bought myself as I tried to regain my balance, my hands swept back knowing already it was too late, knowing the pointy frothing hole was behind me, that I would fall in. Knowing that at the very least it would tear my back to shreds. But before that hideous thought even had the time to fully form in my mind, I stopped falling. My hand found support. A tree stump, the tree long since felled, it's roots perhaps responsible for the caved-in riverbed. I teetred, I regained my balance, I teetred again, spread-eagalled over the dreadful hole, everyone's eyes wide with shock, fear. Net result: no injuries.

We laughed it off. Only later, lying in bed unable to sleep, did the shock hit me. What if. I shook. I thanked God.

Bamboo rafting in Chiang Mai. Poised with my bamboo pole at the back of the raft. Rapids. Falling into shallow, rocky, fast running water, dragged along behind the raft. My shorts, town open from crotch to knee. My bollocks blessedly intact. I thanked God then too. Twice, one for each.

Net result: no injuries. Conclusion: I have a guardian angel.

The children of Laos

The children of Laos are happier, I think, than the children of Thailand. In the last few weeks I have wondered why this should be. I can speculate, but that's all. It's very humbling being farrang - a foreigner, barely getting to grips with a country before moving onto another, different, country - a stranger in strange lands.

Same same but different, they say over here. Malaysia, Thailand are countries that, to the casual observer, may seem to have a lot in common. They are all poor countries, relatively speaking. There are people in these countries, living in the jungle and the mountains and the cities, who have next to nothing, earning as little as a dollar for a day's work.

Laos is the poorest of the three countries that we have visited, and yet somehow the people here seem happier, more open and friendly, more sincere. I think this is because tourism hasn't really damaged Laos' culture yet. You fly to Bangkok, you jump on a bus from the airport into town, you set one foot on the Khao San Road and you will be left in little doubt that Thailand has been damaged by tourism. The Thai people understand how much money can be made from tourists. They know how easy it is to make money from tourists. They understand that there are diffent kinds of tourists, looking for different things.

We use the phrase 'sex tourist' out here quite a lot, to describe an older western man who is with a younger local woman or man. You see a lot of sex tourists. It's easy to be cynical, to judge them harshly, but who am I to judge these men, not knowing anything about an individual situation, an individual relationship? In reality, there are an awful lot of western men in SE Asia who would be shocked if they were described as sex tourists, but in fact are: maybe they're not here purely for the sex industry, but they understand that it is easy to sleep with an asian girl and they make the most of it. Men are men all over.

Again, I don't want to judge. The point is that Thailand understands that there is a huge market for sex, that a lot of money can be made from it, both directly and indirectly. Of course there is prostitution everywhere - they say it's the oldest profession, don't they? In Thailand there's a kind of pseudo prostitution. Girls will attach themselves to men in order to get a free drink, a free meal, a bed for the night, a gift or two - perhaps a mobile phone or a new pair of shoes. These girls are being exploited, but they in turn are exploiting. When their farrang boyfriend has left, will they keep there mobile phone or there new pair of shoes? Probably not. More likely they will sell them and send the money they make home to their families. Families who live in poverty in the Thai countryside. Families who know what their daughters are doing and who bless it. Mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles who know that their daughters (and their sons) can lift them out of poverty.

How must this knowledge subtly twist and pervert a natural family dynamic in a culture where sexuality is expressed freely and simply, where little is taboo? It's a complicated question, one that I don't really understand, one that I'm not really qualified to answer. I just want to express an opinion. I don't think that the children of Thailand are loved as much as the children of Laos. They are not as safe, not as secure. Materially they may have more, but emotionally they have less.

In one week's time, officials, diplomats and businessmen from all over Asia will meet here in Vientiane for the tenth Asia Summit. Top of the agenda: how to increase tourism in Laos.

There is a bridge over the Mehkong, spanning the waters between Thailand and Laos. Built a few years ago with Australian money, it is called the Friendship Bridge. The people of Laos have another name for it: the AIDS Bridge. Perhaps they understand only too well what tourism in Laos will lead to. Perhaps they are powerless to stop it. Perhaps they don't want to. The flow of money into this country, increasing as tourism increases, will make things better - and worse -for the people here. I think it's something of a tragedy, really.

But who am I to judge?


Village children we encountered on our way down the Mehkong

Trouble, I reckon

Stunned by his first experience of Sasha and Digweed

Fascinated by my magical musical machine

The adorable little girl in the background didn't want her photograph taken

A shy little girl we met as we cycled down the road to the blue lagoon

Some kids from Vang Vieng

A really big smile