For those of you, my avid readership, who have not read my last piece, there are few parts skipped over to save repetition, but you should get the gist of it.

We were picked up in Chiang Rai and steered to our seats next to English and Yank. Little needs be said for their companionship on this van trip than was said previously so look it up if you feel so inclined. To say they annoyed the very essence of me would be to put it mildly.

However we got to the Laotian border, the van driver having very clearly explained what to do and what not to to and who to pay and who not to pay, so we headed on foot to the passport check for exit, then on to the bus that took us across the bridge, to a further immigration passport and visa booth.

Of course it’s a little convoluted, but who cares we were crossing an international boundary and its all part of the fun isn’t it? I saw some ATMs and tried to get some money out, initially a bit hesitant at trying to get a few million out. It’s an odd feeling busting out wads of millions of any currency. Makes one feel like those terrible 1%. Alas, a 1%er I am not as my credit was not good enough for these machines, despite there being plenty, I just think they were being dicks.

The very air itself changes when you cross in to Laos proper. It’s lighter. Time moves slower people give much less care to the stress of the day. Rules seem more to be suggestions as evidenced by the fact that we 10 crossers were squidged into a 5 seater pickup. Again, parts of this were mentioned before…Yank’s attempted coup and her effort to abandon me at the mercy of the Laotian folk. She had made a point of saying “Why has he gone for money? Who comes across a border without their money?” I may have said that before, but keep that in mind. It becomes relevant later.

We get to the slow boat port. Heavens throwing all the wet they can muster at us and we sit down to a coffee and such. Watching the other travellers and the locals slowly gather for the boat. Many talking of how fucked up they were or how terrible something else was, but less of this, we have moved on!

The boat itself is a long wooden affair. Quite narrow, some bench seating at the front, some car seats on wooden rails that are entirely NOT screwed to the floor at the rear. Conny and I took a seat, and did what we do best. We played UNO. We have become quite the international UNO players.

As you may have guessed, the slow boat, is not ironically named. Pacey it is not. The first day was a bit wet and cold, but the views were pretty nice, I also managed to catch a few winks. Strangely, there are a lot of pink water buffalo along the river. They are actually quite beautiful. More striking still is the lifeline that the river is. The settlements dotted along are some times no more than a few little shacks, to a small villages with a basic road structure within, but no road into the village itself. The locals use the slowboats to haul everything they need, even their motorbikes.

The day drew to an end and we docked in the village of Pak Beng. This place now, basically, exists entirely to service the foreign folk on their way down the river. Every other building is a guesthouse or a restaurant or a shop selling supplies. We managed to get a room with a big bed, AC and a private bathroom for practically nothing 50000 kip I think, the restaurant next door was where we dined, as the owner said “you should go there, my wife can really cook”.

The second day was a different boat but only “same same but different”. The weather played ball today and was lovely and clear. These boat guys really must know these rivers like the backs of their hands, manoeuvring these cumbersome beasts around the swells and gentle rapids as the river was looking quite full. Today as we passed, there were children bombing in the water and sliding down clay gulleys they had turned into mudslides, their faces beaming with sheer delight as they splash into that murky clay water plunge pool at the bottom, arising looking somewhat like a dipped Churro.

The most amazing thing however was the scenery. The hills were covered in thick lush forests of bamboo. To a man of my ilk they looked glorious like giant forests of curly kale, thick and untamed, ripe for the picking. Punctuated by more of the little settlements or the odd temple or shrine. The river almost like the one that did for Augustus Gloop in Mr Wonka’s factory, with the locals speeding along on their high speed narrow boats or sauntering on barges like ours. We arrive at the Luang Prabang pier, which is not in Luang Prabang at all, but 10 km away. The thing is, we all knew this. We departed, I even managed to cut my foot between the toe crease of my little toe on one of those rust filled car seat to wooden slat joints on the non fixed seats, but it wasn’t such a bother. Less could be said of our YTC comrades. Everybody that was on that boat has booked the same ticket through similar people, and all read the reviews and infos on the internet, Still, there was a French girl who asked if she could stay on. The driver said yes, but then she asked “And you will take me to the pier in town”, to which he replied “No, I’m going back.” That made me chuckle. But as I got off I could hear some dreadful sound grating at my ear. Violently scratching my ear drum. Ceaseless and unabating. It was Yank. She was yapping on about how terrible it is, it went something like this but I may not be exactly correct:

“This is fucking ridiculous, I’m not getting off. We paid 1600 Baht for this…” I must interject here, because 1600 Baht is merely 42 euros. FOR TWO WHOLE DAYS OF BOAT TRAVEL TO EXACTLY WHERE THEY TELL YOU YOU ARE GOING! Anyway, I shall let her continue… “they just put us on the boat with no water or drinks and they didn’t even feed us” sorry I have to interrupt again here, there was a snack bar on the boat and they would prepare food and she had plenty beer on that boat …”It’s a disgrace this, is ridiculous, I’m not getting off”…don’t start me on this thing of her expecting western style treatment or other such things mentioned in my YTAC article, just her very voice was setting my skin acrawl with it’s tone, then came the piéce de résistance…”You can’t drop us here, we have to pay for the taxi then to get into town” Now I must once again remind you that at no point is anyone under any illusion that this isn’t the case. It is a clear way for locals to get a tourist tax, but who cares? It is what it is, that is how it works, suck it up and deal with it…but wait…here it comes “I don’t have any money to buy a taxi to the hotel, I only have a few Thai Baht, I didn’t get any Kip out yet, I can’t afford to get the taxi, I paid to get to Luang Prabang”

Yes Ladies and Gentlemen. Yank. The lady (loose use of the term) that plagued my entire journey with judgement, whinging and frankly cuntish behaviour since the second we left Chiang Rai, who then decided to stage a revolt for fear of not getting a good seat on the boat despite the fact that we were in the hands of the local operators and THEN had the nerve to slyly chatise me behind my back with her incredulous “Who comes over the border without cash” jibe, is complaining that she came over the border without cash. WHAT A FUCKING TWAT?!

Two minutes later I watched as she was unceremoniously led off the barge and she waited with a face of a lemon sucker for her luggage. Our only goal that night was find our hotel, get some food and avoid the YC’s.

We stayed at the HOSTEL IN LUANG PRABANG. A little place, in a decent location, it was a little ramshackle, but pleasant. The proprietors were a couple of Chinese lads, young, I’d say around 20, who had the balls to move to a different country and give it a go at a business they don’t yet know much about, but they are giving it a good go and are very eager to learn and please their guests. I admire them to be honest and would say that although they got a few minor things wrong (they were in a state of disarray as we got there as they had only just been there two months, and things were dusty and being painted, and the outside looked shabby) I would have no hesitations recommending this place to anyone, and I am confident that they would be in a bit better shape.

Luang Prabang is lovely. The temples are a little more rustic and lived in than those on the Thai side. The town itself is another UNESCO heritage centre. Again, this means physical development is somewhat halted and that the town maintains a uniformity and charm, but not in a pristine clinical way. The buildings are still diverse enough to keep it interesting, just that they mesh quite well, paying hommage to their shared Laotian and French influence. The feel of the town is lovely. The streets are a little more daunting in traffic, as we move east we are finding that the hoards of bikes on the roads are becoming more dense, traffic is fluid and wits must be kept. That said we hired a push bike for one day and moseyed along by the river and looked at some of the temples and the sights of the town. The next day we hired a scooter and headed out to the local falls.

The first falls, were actually intended to be our second…only we went the exact wrong direction out of town and then missed the turnoff that would have taken us right. Instead, we knew we’d come to the second set of falls, Tad Sae and then we’d take a boat to see them. We did exactly that. Got off the boat, and entered the apparent entrance area to the water falls, the guy at the door asked us to pay him, can’t recall the price but he in the same breath said that there is not much water in them, they are dry. Unsurprisingly we decided against it. He then offered to take us on an elephant ride. Something I, as many would, would turn down even if it was free. Knowing how these poor giants are trained is tough enough, to see them in their pens, saddled and waiting is such a sad sight. That people still enjoy coming to these places and paying to do such things hurts my heart. I get that they have done this for thousands of years, and I get that the animals are very well suited to this kind of travel through jungles and such, but the neglect and barbaric practices that have been highlighted innumerable times to all and sundry beggar belief as to why the tourists still support and perpetuate the trade.

So, surprised as he was to see us, 45 seconds after having left his boat, we climbed back aboard and headed back. At least the 1€ we spent was a pleasant little boatride.

The second set of falls at Kuang Si however was an entirely different affair. I loved it there. The ride on the scooter was spectacular. Country roads, wooden rickety bridges, and best of all, butterflies. Thousands of the things. Truly filling the air there is something supremely serene about seeing the flight of a thousand butterflies on the summer warm breeze. Different colours and sizes, equal beauty, it was a sight and feeling to behold for sure.

At the falls, I was semi annoyed by the groups of folks taking up all the nice photo spots/scenery and being loud and inconsiderate, but then again I am a grumpy twat, and why shouldn’t I expect that these beautiful spots be kept pristine and for me alone. Fuck those tourists, ruining my holidays. Of course I am joking. Sadly, this is a thought I hear very often also. Tourists complaining that the places that they visit are too popular with tourists and that to preserve their natural beauty the locals and governments should do more to avoid the places becoming too touristy. Only touristy enough for THEM to have enjoyed it of course…”It was soooooo much nicer when I came 5 years ago…now there are just too many tourists, I can’t believe they let it get that way.” Fuckwits.

Back to the falls, they are stunning, stages and pools climb up to the largest chutes and pool. Here is where the majority of folk stop. Conny and I thought we’d saunter up to the top. It’s quite a steep path. It was longer than we thought, It was bloody hot and humid that day too, so by the time we hit the top I wasn’t sure there was any sweat left in me, but it certainly was worth it. The top has a series of pools, shadier than those at the bottom with a few bamboo structure viewpoints on the lip of the falls, the outlook is astonishing. The water is cool and clean, there is an option of a bamboo raft to its source for a fee, but best of all, are the cleaner fish. The first nibble feels strange, sharp even, but then once the realisation hits that that is just the headbutt or the suck of the mouth, then it becomes an entirely lovely feeling. Before long I looked up to see Conny’s bemused gaze falling upon me. I asked what her issue was and she enlightened me that I was looking somewhat odd, stood in a pool head just staring at what looked like my feet. I elucidated her to the fact that I was watching the spectacle of a good fifty or so fish nibble at me below the knees, and not only watching but feeling too. It was a wonder.

The post Uno way down was somewhat on the treacherous side. I’m not sure we were actually on the right path. It seems that we were following the water path and not the human path. I had to go barefoot halfway down, but we made it despite the fear of infection in my open wounded toe, we made it just fine. The best part of the falls, I have to say, is not the falls at all. Spectacular as they are, pleasant and relaxing as they are to while away some time amidst and take the edge off of the tropical sun, the true gem here is the bear sanctuary. They have a native bear in Laos called the Moon Bear. They have a crested front similar to that of the sun bear but are generally bigger. I suppose they’d fit somewhere in between the US Black Bear and the Sun Bear on the Bear scale. They are adorable. I have a fondness for beasts of all descriptions if you hadn’t noticed. Bears however rank amongst my favourites. I was gutted to have not spotted any in the wilds of America. Although these weren’t wild, they had been rescued from the poachers who had attempted to take them from the wild, and sadly they weren’t able to be released. There is something so emotive about watching the big bears. They simultaneously remind me of my old dog Mufassa, and the great apes, yet are clearly distinct. They just look like such fun, awesome creatures, full of power but clumsy grace. There was even one with three legs, but he didn’t let that stop him climbing trees and playing in his pool. I will struggle once more to fathom the ideas of people who can see these beautiful things as a dollar sign, and those people with wealth, and the education to know better that believe the bile extracted from the magnificent wonders can magically make you strong. Like the people who give the poachers and the traffickers a market for their shark fin soup or rhino horn powders and ivory trinkets. The world would be a far nicer place if they were wiped off it’s face. I’m not saying I would be the one to do it and that there aren’t far more nuanced discussions to be had. “Just sayin’”, as the yoof of today would put it.

The food in Luang Prabang was delicious. From the local restaurants, to the street food of the market, we had no trouble getting something for me, the market in particular had a vegetarian buffet. It wasn’t the kind of buffet where you could go back as often as you like, so I was met with bulging eyes as the other diners saw the extent to which my bowl was piled high. It was like a food Jenga. But with so many delights on offer I was at a loss of what else to to. Plus, I have never been thought of by those in the know as anything but a capable dispatcher of food.

Our next destination was Vang Vieng. Here we stayed at a place called the Orchid. It was fairly cheap, had a nice view, and the aircon and shower we needed. There was a certain amount of mould and it wasn’t exactly spotless, but it was certainly among the cheapest and also certainly passable. Vang Vieng isn’t exactly our kind of town. We enjoyed our stay, but mostly because we kept it brief. The town I suppose is most famous for tubing. An activity in which the yoof float down the river on large rubber tubes, getting spannered and stopping at multiple pubs along the way. Not exactly my cup o’tea, I see it as almost exclusively the haunt of the YTC’s that trouble me so, but that is not to say that ALL who tube are such. Either way, each to there own, I’m not here to follow anyone else’s rules and nor should they mine. We opted to hire a canoe and paddle a few kilometres of the river, with a spot of tubing (without the pubs) in a cave. Most of the group were Chinese or Thai. I was amazed to see how grown humans could fail to grasp the concept of paddling if I am honest. There was one boat in particular was zigzagging from the off, due to their incapability to paddle straight. There was another similar pair who struggled from the off and capsized at the first hint of whitish water, which, if I’m honest, was hilarious. We met a couple of French folk on the way down and got to practice our linguistics, which were in need of some sharpening. We descended some rapids, upon one we even crashed in to the French pair and capsized them. Of course I claim no responsibility as they had managed to get themselves caught up in a tree and had broadsided into our path! They were however lovely and I did feel bad. We then noticed paddles and bottles floating away so Conny and I took it upon ourselves to collect them, most of the boats in our troupe hit some trouble on those rapids and we had quite the collection by the end. Sadly we had not seen the younger French lady’s skirt, which had also vanished in the maelstrom of the white water. Just as all hope was lost, our guide plunged into the water and miraculously had spotted the skirt at the bottom. We were a complete troupe once more! We parked up and had lunch, they even prepared me some vegetarian kebabs to accompany my rice, and fruit which I thought was particularly nice of them. The cave, as they tend to be, was cold, dark and beautiful. The experience was somewhat more intense than we had expected, with the gentle tubing only taking a small amount of the trip, the rest was on foot which the French ladies had not come prepared for. There was even a little bit of scrambling and some of us bust down a water slide! Les Frenchies and Conny were not amongst their number. Afterwards we headed back to the boats and canoed the last two kilometres to home. I was even challenged to stand up like the guides and paddle Gondola style. I fully met the challenge thank you kindly. The evening we ate at the vegan restaurant and had the most amazing meal. Mine was ok, nice even. But Conny’s was spectacular, a bunch of flavours we had not seen anywhere yet on our travels at once absolutely beautiful and unexpected. It was a kind of rice with mushrooms and tofu dish with some herbs and leaves that we haven’t fully identified but were something apart from the norm and above average tasty. The morning of departure came and we decided to try the other thing that Vang Vieng was famed for. No, not the boozy hangouts selling their happy shakes and weed, that was definitely not on our to do list, particularly as we had seen our YTC boat buddies head into one such place from our, in regard to tameness, diametrically opposed seat at the vegan restaurant. The other thing that it is famed for is its sandwiches from street carts. The basic starts with some salad and shredded veg, but then to get the classic one must add an omelet. I eschewed the omelet in lieu of cheddar cheese and fried onions, which was delicious. I did however get Conny the works. People had been telling us that we must get one one girl was so overblown by it that she went on to say she had no idea what it was they did to make such a simple thing so spectacular, that after all was said and done it was an egg and salad sandwich, but there was some magic involved. Well. I watched intently as the lady made the sandwich. A nice baguette, some nice veg, all good so far, but as yet no magic, then she got a couple of eggs, cracked them open, and there it was. It was a blink and you’d miss it illusion or slight of hand, but just behind the bowl of pre whisked eggs there was a sachet. A sachet of magic powder. The mystery of delightful food particularly on the orient for a hundred years or so. Yes. MSG. Much maligned, but that in my opinion is a malignation akin to that of vaccines. Blown up thoughts with very little evidence. Potentially spurious and nefarious reasons to defame it, and also I would make a guess that many who take the mantle do so in an attempt to be intellectually different and as such a bit superior, when in fact the evidence points to MSG realistically being no better nor worse than slat in ones diet, not to be over used, but certainly not the demon death dealer many think it to be…but…I digress. This sandwich was expectedly fucking delicious.

We got the van to Vientiane. Again, for us, not really a destination town, but a place to rest, and more importantly get our visas for Vietnam in order. Vientiane does have its charms, although not plentiful. There is the promenade by the river and night market. The market itself is somewhat underwhelming, the promenade quite amusing as the locals come out in hordes to exercise. Dancing en masse to a lycra clad microphoned leader up front on a stage, the same a hundred metres further along. I kind of imagined at the end it turned in to something like a scene from Gangs of New York, where the work out gear clad combatants fought one another to the bitter bloodied death with nose and ears being the tokens of the day. Runners in droves plodding up and down the walkway.

There is also the giant Arc de Triomphe style arch. Supposedly, as a result of the French offering money and cement to the local government so they could better improve their transport links and to create a new airport runway. Instead they built no runway, and just built a giant arch. Brilliant, useless and a wonderful slap across the French’s visage.

Then there is the COPE museum. This place is the very reason anyone should stop in Vientiane. It is a museum, based in the medical centre that specialises in prosthetics and rehabiliation. Sadly this is a very important and in demand service in Laos as a carry over from the days of war in the region. The landscape bears the scars of war. Grave sites. Ruined buildings and such. However the land is taking those back and development goes some way to cover them up. The saddest legacy is the buried munitions that are still live and unaccounted for. They number in their millions and are responsible for the horrific deaths and mamings of children and adults simply going about their daily lives. It was a horror to me to discover the sheer amount of bombs, particularly evil cluster bombs with the intent of fragmenting and ripping through whatever they came close to. I won’t dwell on the details of the numbers and such, there is only one you need to know to understand the gravity of the situation and it is this:

Laos was subject to so much bombing, that if you were to average the amounts out, to plane loads and their frequency over a given period of time, it would equate to this.

One plane load.

Every 8 minutes.

For 9 years.

Please. Reflect upon that. And the damage that that would continue to do today. Then think about all the horror that our governments perpetrate today in the world. Of course it’s in the name of peace. But we know better. Money, power and influence are the goal, and to my mind, they are no justification for such horror.

We also met Felipe, the Columbian. A proper decent sort, I had wrongly diagnosed as a potential YTC, he too was in the office getting his visa in order. He had been on our bus/boat trip from Chiang Rai to Laos. He had eaten a hideous smelling bun in the overloaded pickup, but not in and offensive way, we all even had a giggle about it. He was one of the ones who tell tailed on the Yank and her miserable faced attempt at a coup. I must say, he proved my assumption to be somewhat asinine. A highly intelligent chap, with a solid heart and an intellectual curiosity not dissimilar to my own. We had a great da out wandering around, we went to a local museum, it was highly amusing that some of the artefacts were made of papier mache by what could at best be five year olds, the idea that a guy was actually paid to make some of those is laughable. However it did actually show us some of the time lines involved and some of the photography brought a startling reality to things that are often resigned to an idea of a long past history when in fact they are quite recent in the scheme of things. We had coffee and lunch with Felipe and I was happy to realise I was wrong. He is no YTC, he was a thoroughly nice chap, most importantly we shared the same hatred of several aspects of YTC-ness, in particular the purchase of the elephant pants. The worlds worst thing. Maybe we will bump into him again, maybe we won’t. He will however find a place to stay in Austria if ever he wants it.

From here, we decided to head to Si Phan Don, or the 4000 Islands as they are known. But I feel that is enough for this piece. You can read about that in the next post.