Author: thelongmosey

Hariharalaya not only brought us all the excellence aforementioned in the other article, but in introducing us to Millie and James, shaped our destiny in another way. It brought us to Palm Beach resort on Koh Rong.

Palm Beach is bliss. Millie and James had said so, but you never quite believe people, or at least I don’t. I am glad to have given it a shot anyway. They also said that given that it is a long and reasonably pricey (not for what you get, but in relation to the other ferries to the island…more of that later) crossing, that we ought to stay a few days to make it even more bang for the buck. So, we booked 8 nights. To chill out, and relax, I thought I could simply while away the hours catching up on the website. Which I have indeed done a plenty. In fact I am sat in the resort restaurant this instant, at what has become my favourite table, looking out past the palms and the beach towards the see. Really a spot from which to write that is hard to beat, and it has indeed allowed me to catch up on a lot of writing that needed to be wrote.

The trip however started with a bus ride to Sihanoukville from Phnom Penh. It is fair to say when we saw that the only ferry to get there has a meet point at 1pm in Sihanoukville, we were a little alarmed and things started to get all a quiver. A few hours later, we had booked a bus, with what I only call a faultless service from Bookmebus.com. It really was insanely good. We went online to look and as we did we were offered to chat with an agent. I am writing this in the days following the moment when facebook shut down their AI chat bots for being too fucking smart. I think these might have been the same bots, either that or I genuinely had a great member of staff or two helping me out. I explained my situation, that I had a boat to be there for and they told me which buses could do it, but not only that they checked with them, and then they even told me which ones they thought would suit me best. Further still as on occasion the bus company could pick up from hotels, on my behalf they liaised with the company directly and they included free pick up, despite it not normally being available from the hotel or district we were in. Blinding. The next morning came, and we were running late as the pick up had not arrived and our check in time for our bus departure was closing fast. Conny once again got on the live chat and they called and confirmed that the driver was aware of us, en route, but running late and not to worry. Absolutely five star service I have to say. All for two 10$ bus fares. The bus itself (operated by Golden Bayon Express) was excellent. Clean, modern, spacious. Brilliant, and it got us right to where we needed with an hour to spare. It even took us past where our meeting point for the boat was and stopped about a hundred metres away (get off at the Golden Lions…it will be obvious if you are foolishly using me/us as some kind of guide).

Sihanoukville looks like a dump. I was not full of optimism upon arrival. The cafe that they use as a meeting point doesn’t actually operate as anything else but a meeting point and we couldn’t really get a drink or whatnot, but no worries, we were there.

The boat trip was immense. It was a rough crossing. We got on the boat next to David. An older gentleman with a Seaman Stains baseball cap and weather appropriate wet gear on. Even a seasoned passenger on this boat such as he said it was the roughest he’s seen. More about David later. The crossing was rough as balls. I had a blast. Less so the other guests. I think Conny, David and I were the only ones not to throw up! At times, I was daydreaming, imagining deadliest catch scenarios. Had the spray been violently cold and there been crab pots about, the scene would have been complete. Alas, none of either but the boat was swaying so much that as it leaned it’s rail was heading into the dip with the sea coming enticingly close to jumping aboard to drag us down. That said I didn’t fear it. The boys of the boat are clearly salty sea dogs and this is there bread and butter.

We get to the island, bags are dropped off in the restaurant/bar, which serves as the hub of the operation and we settle for a welcome drink and a greeting meeting from the team.

From the less than enticing start at Sihanoukville we had ended up on a little beach paradise in a laid back bar but really, everything about this place is a wonder. We stayed in a bungalow, not the priciest ones on the beach directly, but set a bit back into the resort. The resort is beautifully maintained. The whole team numbers about thirty with about the same amount of bungalows, although you wouldn’t know it, they are so well laid out it maintains a beach hamlet feel. Bungalows are basic, but pleasantly so. They are simple bamboo huts with a cold water shower (you really don’t want hot water) a bed with a fly net and a porch. Really they are everything you need and no more, but that’s how we like it. The locals busy themselves each day by keeping the paths spotless, Conny and I didn’t wear shoes all week. The resort is owned and operated by Roy and Mireille, with able assistance from Craig and a team of locals with Ah Sey a shining light in the service. It should be noted that they are all wonderful, but she has won a special space in our hearts alongside Tive. The food was lovely, the staff were super amenable to my chopping and changing of the menu despite a solid number of dishes on the menu having a vegetarian option already. To come here is a simpler way of being. No hassle. Nothing fancy or schmancy. Just good honest relaxing beach time.

That said there are some activities in which to partake. Craig organises these due to guest interest and weather. A favourite is the waterfall walk. We went in a troupe of 4 Canadians, 2 Americans and us along with Craig. This trip, Craig saved lives. Truly. We had walked past a mother Buffalo, and for some reason the calf had become upset, so mother went on the offensive, silently charging. It’s a good job we saw it, because she was quite close, but Craig, was instantly inbetween the guest and the beast. Big and loud he called out and the cow backed off, but with the calf still crying she kept coming and Craig stood firm. I must say, this isn’t the sort of thing that should put you off, indeed far from it. Such a thing is unheard of, but the lack of concern for himself above that of the guest was remarkable. I really have to say hats off to the guy. While I was there thinking…hmmm do I act…he just did. Of course he was a little nervy but it didn’t show. It truly is a measure of a better human being than most of us because that was a very dangerous situation to be in and he went at it regardless.

Less eventful but equally interesting is the village visit, where you can buy snacks or coconut oil from the locals, see their lives and if you are lucky Mr Hun will be about to show you around. He has a small restaurant by the mangroves which serves as a little cooking school too. We didn’t do that but a couple on their honeymoon did and they had a great time. Mr Hun however is a busy man, he is actually from Kampot and came to do some community work 3 years ago, now everything he does is geared towards educating locals, cleaning up the village and the sea and making sustainable work for them all to thrive responsibly.

Then weather permitting, Craig a keen diver, will organise snorkel trips or walks to lonely beach and such. The resort has beach bikes for hire or kayaks for free use. Conny and I decided upon a kayak trip, but as she is useless, it ended in the same frustrations as ever, still I got a fair workout.

All that active stuff aside, it’s both wonderful and superfluous. Don’t get me wrong it’s great, but what we really appreciated was the personal touch. The sense of a little community. We got to meet and chat with a few different groups. We stayed longer than most, they tend to be two or three night stops in general…one couple who were sick all the way here were only booked for one night…which probably didn’t work out too well for them!

But we spent evenings chatting to David, a wonderfully gentle man who has had one hell of a life, from living in huts on the Amazon with Indians to a floating house in a northern Thai lake with stints in London’s posh bits and many of the worlds poorest bits in between. He really was a gem. He drops amazeballs anecdotes about his life as if they were nothing and not in the slightest showy way. His life story would read like a fantasy akin to Walter Mitty but it’s all true.

We chatted with Bonnie and Hannah the American ladies who went on our walk, and I am sure that if we got in to the politic of the modern world we would have much disagreement but that did not matter, we instead just had a good natter and it is clear that they are lovely folk. The honeymooners were two guy from the Czech Republic, Daniel and Jacob, and they were wonderful, fun great human beings. We learned a new card game (Arsehole…they called it Asshole but I flat refuse) with some young newly graduated Canadian girls from Calgary. We swam with bioluminescent plankton with Craig and the Canadians, and on a different night Hannah from the US, plus a wonderful couple of girls from Cardiff, one called Anna and the other Chloe. We played cards and chatted with Craig, he even let me make a couple of drinks behind the bar a rare treat I love to do when I can. We even came runner up in the pool competition. Mireille is an absolute sweetheart and Roy is a funny chap, who occasionally pops out of the office with a side splitter of a one liner. He will just have picked up on something from afar and crashes the conversation at exactly the right moment to drop a humour bomb. Even the waitresses, in their second tongue English are charming and able to make jokes and have a laugh. Ah Sey is even also chief ice cream maker and her ice cream rivals that of my old friend Mike, who made his Swiss ice cream in Saanen and it is simply the best ice cream I know, so this must at least be the best ice cream in Cambodia if not Asia.

This was almost a holiday from our holidays and could not have been more perfect, that is until Mireille went and took it one step further and as we were umming and arring about staying a final night, she disappeared, only to come back with “if you want you can stay an extra night for free in the honeymoon suite”…

Errr. Yes thanks. Now I don’t think that this is to be expected, and I’m not even sure I should write it, as I wouldn’t want people coming here to push their luck or expect the same, we simply hit it off, but what a nice surprise. It is available due to low season and we stayed longer the most, but still, how kind can they be?

We took the room and will sleep in it tonight. It is beautiful.

Tomorrow we head to the mainland where David who lives in Sihanoukville (he comes frequently to the island and will even be building his own space here, as is the beautiful nature of the host couple) will meet us. He is lending me a motorbike and we are going to ride to Kampot, a place he has all the ‘ins’ and local knowhow. He will show us around and really that is about as good an end to about as good a stay as one could hope for, no?

The day of the retreat, we are called upon to meet at Lucky Mall in Siem Reap, quite swiftly it becomes apparent who is there for yoga and who is just going shopping. Still a varied group ranging from 19 to mid sixties I’d guess, we all hang around until we are greeted joyfully by Tessa. She addresses us with a warmth and a smile that is infectious from the first second. We are checked off her list and our bags are tagged and loaded into a van to be taken to the compound. The people however, we are taken in tuk tuk convoy. We get in the tuk tuk with Chris and Nastiya a quiet Russian girl, I say quiet, she had a booming strong voice, just chose not to use it all too often. Chris was the first person we spoke to whilst sat down waiting. A young Australian lad, with a fine hat and a chatty demeanour, I was glad to hear he was exactly as much a novice as I was. When we arrive at Hariharalaya we are greeted with scarves and a turnout of the staff before sitting at tables filling out the necessaries for the stay and having a chat with the instructor Nu before “GONG!!!!!!!” a sound rings out that will come to be the familiar call to action of the stay.

As I turn to where the general attention in the room is directed I here a voice ring out. It is Joel. A marvellously bearded man in simple cotton attire with a cloth’d head. He tells us a little about the place and its history and welcomes us. It is here that we learn the schedule and hear about a couple of the extras we can perhaps do alongside some of the mandatory classes. We also learn a couple of the rules, the most important being the digital detox. From then until the final day, we are not allowed phones, computers cameras or any such gadgetry. There was a computer for important mail only to be used by guests if needed BUT NO SOCIAL MEDIA! To be honest it was a delightful prospect.

Firstly, I will explain the name. Hariharalaya, at least to my understanding, was the name of the place as it was way before the names of Siem Reap and Cambodia existed and it was the centre of an old Kingdom that was based in the region. It is a beautiful compound. The area is stone and sand paths winding through the traditional bungalows and fruit tree’d gardens. A beautiful balance of sunlight and shade, the compound is set out perfectly to aid and assist in the finding of ones happy self. There are various areas all designed to help find the creativity of living, from the creativity of arts and expression but also to the creativity of free thought, living in the moment of spontinaity and simply having a creative approach to life as a whole. I will never encapsulate the meaning of these ideas in my words and certainly not with the vim and vigour of such an engaging character as Joel, but I think if you look at the piece as a whole you might get an inkling.

Time in Hariharalaya is Gong Time. I have no watch, and without no phone I have no clock. The only clock sits in the dining hall but that I only looked at entirely twice during the week. Gong time is real easy.

6.30 am- Seven loud gongs to wake you up. After that, there are three gongs ten minutes before you do anything, to tell you that something is about to happen and that you ought to get to where you need to be, one gong then signals the start of that activity, this is repeated through the day.

We would wake at 6.30 each day, but I think that most of us were already awake by the time of the gongs. Then we would do a morning yoga/meditation exercise, followed by breakfast at 9 followed by morning activity dependant on what you chose, then lunch at 1, afternoon activity then for the evening we had yoga, breathing, then meditation followed by dinner. After dinner we would have our night time activities that I will go into a bit later. For now that is enough regarding the schedule and plan because really that is secondary to what I want to write here.

The thing I really want to express fully and to the best of my ability is that I fucking love this place. More than I imagined I would. More than I imagined I could. It became so much more than a break to learn a couple of yoga skills to take into the real world. It has as far as I can see, changed my world.

Back to the start then and the important things. We sat at our table, not knowing anyone, and Nu was there to welcome us. Nu is a yoga teacher at the retreat. A beautiful young lady from Melbourne she and we all got to chatting, you know as you do, the obligatory what’s your name and where are you from, followed by the what do you do. We were sat with Chris, and a few others, notably Millie and James. Between those three I don’t think it is possible to meet a nicer group of people. If I took nothing else away from the retreat it would have been enough to make their acquaintance.

It really is hard to know where to start when writing this piece, I feel that if I just do a chronological moment to moment diatribe it will do both the place and the people involved an injustice.

It wasn’t long however before we got into it. Tessa took our first yoga class that afternoon. The only tandem space available was at the front of the class. Not at all daunting. I look around and see that people are sat in what I later learned to be Lotus or simple cross legged positions all looking super serene. I was not among these folk. We had been told that before and after each class we entered and took our mats in silence, which for the most part, save a few stray words I was able to maintain, we were also asked to not lie down on our mats, which I managed, but I wasn’t going to bust out the zen pose straight away, given that I knew no reason to. The class itself was an interesting experience for me. I was thankful to be taught that I didn’t have to have the straight legs in Downward Dog, well actually I was grateful to learn what Downward Dog was and all the other moves we bust out. Turns out my Downward Dog was more akin to a Disabled Cat , but I was learning, trying, and definitely trying to learn. All the classes and all the teachers were excellent. Tessa as I mentioned has an infectious warmth, she is a bright ray of sunshine that exudes her every action. Nu has a style that put me at ease with absolutely everything we were doing, I really felt comfortable while learning…I think it says a lot that when I practice my yoga today, it’s her voice I here guiding me through in my head. Elli, the third, but by no means lesser teacher is a wonder. She has one of those same sparks of joy and mischief about her as one of my favourite people from back in the days when I lived in England, again, the yoga with her felt easy but came with a happy slice of wicked humour to boot which really ticks box on the wonderful human list for me.

So day one was an easy introduction but still tricky for us novices. It got even trickier when it came to the meditation. We did some breathing exercises led by Joel and then are guided in our first meditation. At this point all of us attempted this first one thinking meditation was easy and relaxing, and sat cross legged on the mats. Full disclosure here, I fell into that trap so often a tale is told about with new yoga practitioners. I let out a parp. A bottom burp if you like. Yes folks, that was me, I was THAT guy. Lucky for me it wasn’t a stinker, and luckier still eyes were closed, luckiest of all James on the mat next to me was a decent enough human not to bring it up. I was mortified but James is a solid human being and didn’t mention it after at our dinner. He may have been prodding me a little when he told me he thought I had the meditation thing down, but he treads a fine line between a wicked dry sense of humour and a genuinely nice guy so it could have been a cunning acknowledgement of my parpiness or indeed a compliment as I was indeed quite immersed… perhaps it was both, that’s a happy medium! Conny in the silence had forgotten to give me shit about it, so we had a laugh about it before the bedtime silence started.

Each day the yoga came easier. Still hard as balls but it wasn’t anything like a chore. Neither was getting up at what, for me at least, is dawn’s very arse crack each day. I never felt so completely worked, and tired but at the same time utterly relaxed. One lesson learned though, is safety pants. I have long been an advocate of safe underwear when required, but that memo had not been passed to one of the male attendees. Conny and a couple of others were confronted by full viewing of the undercarriage of one of the more loose under-garmented practitioners swinging, swaying and bunching in all its glory, pose dependant.

Some of the activities during the day, we took part in others we used the time to read, relax in the pool or a hammock, read or do something like write, paint or pick up a guitar. It was really great. One of the activities was the orientation to the climbing/bouldering room. It was great, here was where we first got to spend time with Caybin. He is the assistant manager at the place and was acting as the manager as it was his holiday. We went through some of the safety features and techniques of the wall. Each taking a go at doing a route or adding a move in a game of Plus One. It was a great little go, and I even went in a couple of times since. The real revelation was Chris, a little pocket rocket, he is a climber and competes for his state in Australia. There is one point in the gym that has holds at the bottom and the next step is like a seven foot twisted leap to grab with both hands. No idea how, but this guy could do it.

Caybin also led the class on Vegan Raw Baking. I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but again, not important, the chocolate and coconut balls we made were absolutely mind melting. Plus we had a blast making them. Somehow everything Conny and I said became sexualised, but not hard, “cup the ball Conny and juggle it around a bit…” you get the picture. It didn’t help that Conny decided to somewhat provocatively suck Palm Sugar off my fingers either. But it was nice to chat to Caybin some more. He is a super bloke, his background is as a vegan chef and he also shares a love of the Kombucha as I do, we discussed different ideas as I plan to go into Kombucha making as and when I get back from my travels. A chap who is smart and funny, but also gentle and genuinely caring. I saw him have a chat with someone, and after he thanked them for it, and not in any douchey way, just a genuine nod of appreciation from one human to another. As I feel about most of the team there, but particularly so, I feel it a privilege to have made his acquaintance.

One of the other daytime activities we partook in was the couples yoga. It was a lot of fun. We got to try crazy things, and occasionally we even succeeded. At one point we were stacked on top of each other, on all fours, doing cat cow with synchronised arm raises, then we had to move, I’d like to think gracefully into a strange, counterbalanced free standing pose somewhat reminiscent of that “King of the World” scene from Titanic. We did fail at a couple of other things, mostly due to Conny’s utter lack of faith in me but hey ho, we gave it a whirl!

The daytime activities although fun were more yoga based, the night time was things like game night, traditional dance night and then some of the more esoteric/classic yoga lifestyle things that blew my world apart. I will explain later but first up was game night. That was a blinder. We mostly played a game called Biggity Biggity Bop. Whimsy and childish, it was a game of trying to catch someone out. The rules are too much to go into, but a whole heap more fun was had than I think most expected. It was laugh out loud funny at times when people crumble under the pressure of being pointed out. The game features multiple players having to strike appropriate poses according to the command of the person “in the middle”. The complete ensuing clusterfuck amalgamation of poses, randomly generated new poses that have nothing to do with anything or a gentle progression through the entire series of things was seriously enough to reduce us to tears. But, by far the funniest thing was Nastiya. She was the most intense Biggity Biggity Bop player ever. Basically, between her tone, stare and rushing move I have quite frankly never been so intimidated in my life. I gave up even trying. Crumbling like a weakling and if I saw her finger pointing my way, I just started walking in to take her place as is the custom for the one who fucks it up.

The traditional dance night we had local musicians lining the hall, and a horde of local children and ladies to dance in conga style with well just that, a lot more style. The dance mostly consisted of a few shuffle steps, entirely lost on us Western losers, and some swanky wrist moves, once more lost, but we gave it a whirl. After the dance was a traditional game essentially a bunch of sticks is put in a square, A player from opposing teams has to race to it and retrieve it, but if they get tagged, they lose. The leader of the Cambodian pack calls out “You, Man, you first.” That’s me. I’m paired against Anez, a considerably fitter than I am Australian and really I didn’t think it through, I just wanted the burst of speed option. However not being very bursty or speedy, not much to that plan. Somehow I was getting there first…it was here I realised the real flaw to my plan, I am a fat man with some built up momentum. Worse still my feet are sweaty. I grab the twig but have zero directional changeability, and certainly no brakes. I was tapped almost immediately, now, on the next go there was a revelation that came that little too late given I had just completed my punishment, of having to dance across the hall and present the twigs to my vanquisher, only to then sit down as a loser. The revelation is that the tag only counts if completed in the square that the twig bunch is placed in. Had I known that I of course could have commando styled it out of the way with ease like a lithe but large ferret, but alas, it wasn’t to be. There were some veritable chess matches going on with people coming to a hold up chancing their arms as to when they would snatch and run. Some successful, others not so much. By far the funniest was Chris who swooped and rolled in a brilliant fashion, sending his opponent simply racing past him. An awful lot of fun once more, despite by status as the biggest loser.

As great as these were, the best evening activities were the more learny ones. Firstly Ecstatic Dance. What a fucking blinder. It starts with us on the floor and Joel leads us through to our feet slowly, coaxing us to forget ourselves and just dance. Dancing with all the joy of a child with no care for the cool moves or the attempts to snare a lover. I never thought I’d get it it. But get it I did. I was busting it out, heavy bass penetrating my bones and joy seeping in and out of every pore. Sweat streaming from my entire being I really could not have cared less. I had a ridiculous amount of fun dancing with complete liberation, wilful abandon. Not only was it a pleasure to do, but to see the joy spread across the faces of my cohorts was a greatness all of itself.

The other favourite evening thing of mine was the fire ceremony. There was some chanting and ritual involved, which I fully went for. I fucking love a good fire me. This way I got to combine it with one of my new favourite things. Chanting is a surprising new weapon in my arsenal. I always considered it something of a mumbo jumbo. A prayer to the world and it’s mystical forces. Given that I am very much rooted in the non-mystical, non-mumbo jumbo and am a straight up atheist with basically zero belief in invisible bonds and tales of mystic realms, I never really thought I’d go for it. But…the thing is for me, it is great. It feels great. Repeating mantra is a joyous thing. The simple feeling of the vibrations of different sounds, resonating in different parts of your being is actually a simple physical pleasure. Then there are meanings behind the words, not that it matters in all cases and not that I even knew everything I would be singing, but if it is beautiful poetry about the existence of everything, great! We even sang ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’ as a mantra. Singing with gusto in a group is always heart warming. For me a choir of voice almost always finds a beautiful natural harmony, no matter whether the singers are strong or not. When it came to the fire ceremony we had to then sit by the fire and throw rice in as an offering as we finished each mantra we repeated. There were three mantras, I was in on the second round of mantras by the fire and the others I was with the rest of the group. Each of those mantras were repeated 108 times (it was during this I learned why monks have prayer beads). I bloody loved it. There is even a video on Hariharalaya’s Facebook page if you are interested, but it’s a long one! After the offerings we sat to meditate as the fire burned then slowed. A wonderful evening.

One of the other things I appreciated, for the most part was the silence. At certain times we are asked to be silent until we break it with food or such. The best of these was the day that we had a silent morning. Not a word spoke. We were asked instead to focus perhaps on artistic endeavour or quiet contemplation. It was a great morning…well apart from at the start…Not sure if this is a necessary tale but it happened. Part of the goal in Hariharalaya is mindfulness. That is to both the world at large and simple consideration for others. In mindful mind I went for my morning poo, but took my bug spray in with me, you know to mindfully mask for the inevitable next guest to the chamber. Well, so far so good, poo complete, I then sprayed my bug juice washed my hands and left. It was only upon crossing the next guest on the path that it dawned on me. I had forgotten to flush. I can only apologise fro the horror scene that greeted the next occupant but luckily I think they were either too kind or had simply forgotten in the silence to bring it up. I however spent the next few hours quietly contemplating the very real need to make my first words be of utter apology, at first I thought I should just await the exit of the next person, in full deferential, but silent bow, but then as you play it out, different options spring to mind. Given the awkward logistics involved of approaching someone to apologise for a ginormo shit cadeau in front of a group of hitherto silent folk, I chose the pretend it never happened option instead.

However, once that decision was made, I had a blast. Drew my first picture since university in the early 2000’s, Even wrote some poetry and fully enjoyed myself doing it. James drew the most amazing picture of me whilst we were in the art room that afternoon (he was drawn in by the beardy wonder), so much so I have it still with me, hoping it survives the journey unsquished.

We even had a jam night as that evening’s entertainment. Turns out whereas I am jack of all trades and master of none, James is master too. Boy can that chap sing a song, and his own song was wonderful. Better still, despite my usual shyness and reticence to sing or play to and with other people, there was a nice feeling in the air and we along with Nu (who can also sing and play way nicer than my hamfisted approach) jammed out some songs and it really was nice.

The biggest and greatest revelation of the whole thing came not from without but within. I learned things there that I will never forget. Joel does these things he calls Dharma Talks. He is a very engaging speaker. If a little funny at first because he often closes his eyes, kind of to limit the information overload. Still he has a really interesting way with words and timing that seems to resonate. I’m not able to recite his words nor would I want to, but in the moment, in one way or another a lot of what he says makes sense. I don’t even subscribe to the same philosophies on life and creation and such as him, I don’t even know really where he sits on that, but all of that is kind of redundant. The truths we find or I found to some extent are not in the details and minutae of verbosity, language and terminology. It’s in finding a balance within ones self and the world, or maybe even the universe. I am by no means complete, nor have I found that balance, but still, through the practice I learned there I really do feel I can edge a little bit closer. To live my life that little bit more wholly, whatever that means. The idea of living the moment, embracing the child in us to enjoy the marvel of every second. This is best highlighted when Joel, new to talking on a web stream, remembers that he is and a spark of joy spreads wildfire across his face, his eyes not only open but positively beam and his smile radiates from deep behind the beard. While there is talk of the things that I don’t necessarily agree with (nor do I disagree with those that think them, it ought be said), none of that is the important. I don’t see the world as energy flows or deep rooted invisible connectivity and predestiny or intelligent creator/curatorship, but that is just the terminology employed and chosen by the folk leading the way here. What they do is set you on your own path to follow your yoga. To ultimately through a few simple tools and a mindful approach to become the real you in a way that only you can teach yourself to do.

The people I met there, not just those mentioned but the likes of the inimitable and ever resplendent Rosie, Phil and Anez, the Tamars, Claire, Bronwen, Oreana, Hari and more, I am truly glad to have spent time with you all.

It is by far one of the greatest experiences of my life so far and I think this place is, has, was, and could or should be something for everyone. I could not say with more certainty that the world would be a far better place if everyone got to taste a little Hariharalaya in their lives, and I would see as many people do so as I can. To this day I am practicing my yoga daily, and even increasing my meditation times. It truly is a wonder and the magic is deep and true.

Simply put Hariharalaya is thus far my favourite place on Earth.

 

The feeling upon entering Cambodia from Vietnam is similar to that of entering Laos from Thailand. The relaxed nature is palpable in the air. There is a process to get through the customs and such, but unlike almost everybody you meet in Vietnam, the people are almost uniformly chilled out. The tension that seems to pervade the air, particularly in Vietnamese cities is instantaneously dissipated. The airport in Siem Reap reminded me of Rarotonga. Simple, small, but it was a bit nicer and there were a couple more bigg-ish planes. The hotel in Siem Reap we had organised was nice enough to offer us a transfer, one of the perks of using booking.com so much. We were transferred in such a lovely tuk tuk, it was the perfect start which somewhat oddly, became the perfect couple of weeks, from a decidedly less than perfect start. But the warm air, that relaxed feeling, the bugs swarming the lights and the relatively large yet calm roads set a nice tone.

Initially we had headed to Cambodia with the intent of volunteering to help out a charity and some rural children there. A few years ago, we paid for the construction of a water well in the rural areas of Siem Reap Province. A very worthy charity run by Buddhist monks, we initially contacted them a few months before and offered them our time doing whatever they needed from manual labour to anything else, which they said they would be glad to sort out. A little closer to the time it became clear that they hadn’t really understood and that they were essentially trying to plan a visit where we could then give them more money, which sadly we don’t have, and they hadn’t quite realised this as they weren’t exactly planning with our budget in mind. So a few back aand forths later they seemed to get it and offered to hook us up in some schools teaching English for a few weeks, we thought that would be great. So with a few weeks to spare we had booked our flight to Cambodia with the intent of going to the countryside. However, two days before we got there, the monk in question informed us that as it was Buddhist lent, they were restricted and that we couldn’t actually do anything, so they kind of went back to organising a holiday for us. Instead, we simply asked if we could go and see the water well that we had paid for and that was it. Of course they said yes. We decided, somewhat selfishly that as we clearly weren’t allowed to help other people we’d help ourselves and booked in to a yoga and meditation retreat, with some trepidation because I have never done any yoga and I’m not exactly Mr Hippy.

The hotel we had booked was The New Home Hostel. Again, clean and cheap, most importantly near the centre, but out of the way. A friend of mine does operate the Mad Monkey there in Siem Reap, but we were definitely not in the mood for the backpacker style at this time. The place we stayed at served us perfectly. I actually quite like Siem Reap, enough of a blend of Western and Cambodian to be pleasant. There was good coffee available on the street from little huts. The bakeries are good, and even sell everything half price or some other similar offer in the evening. We chose not to do this as Cambodia does have some persistent ants so bread in the room, or any food for that matter is not a smart idea. We had fun in the markets. We opted for the cleaner fish on our feet. Unlike the puny little things that were atop the Laotian waterfall, these were beasts. The feeling as they swarmed my feet was near indescribably funny. I was tearing with laughter as the tickle of their forceful headbutts raced through my soles right to my soul. It was something of a unique feeling. Then it was Conny’s turn and much the same ensued, as the initial shock dies off it becomes oddly pleasant. We sat at a bar and watched the YTC brigades, in elephant pant uniform, trying to look cool as they strode out down pub street, Conny and couldn’t help but snigger and judge, the fiends that we are came out, but we did at least keep the judgemental sniggery amongst ourselves as we people watched with glee.

The day came for our trip to the water well. In a cunning ploy, the monk we chatted to had sneaked a school visit in to the plan and asked if we had any gifts of supplies for the kids. We know this was a cunning ploy, but we appreciated his guile and could stretch to some footballs and pencils and stuff for a small school so we bought them and brought them along. As we started however we did get asked the question, “is there one particular well you want to see?”…puzzled, Conny and I looked at each other.

”well yes, the one we paid for…” we said.

“but there are hundreds, if you wanted to see a specific one you have to tell me a few days in advance”

“But we discussed… but we said ages ago…but we…oh well” we started to think to make a point of it, but in the end gave up. I had told Conny this would happen, she didn’t believe me as she had been liaising for weeks on this and that she had been super clear, but we later came to learn this is part of that Cambodian relaxedness. Details are superfluous to exactly anything nothing other than what a Cambodian has on their agenda, variations on that agenda virtually impossible to communicate and definitely not going to be implemented. So, with a happy smile, we were resigned to enjoy the experience for what it was. Truly, we had a great day. We hung with the monks, even helped them with their French conversation as they were learning it. We went to tour some of the rural areas and saw plenty of their wells, just not ours. They took us to where the guys build the wells before digging and placing them in the ground, we ate horribly fruit from trees, we visited the school and had a great time, I even managed to punch a monk in the face by accident, then touch his head in the same clumsy shenanigan (touching a monks head, apparently is a big no no, but it was my immediate uncontrollable reaction to accidentally smacking him in the chops). Luckily he was understanding about it. The simple joy from a school full of kids getting four footballs and playing with them, that is a joy I will never forget. Playing with them, seeing their life, their joy and their enthusiasm, despite not being able to communicate in anything other than smiles is truly a wonder.

You might think my view of the monks and their charitable work is negative if you read that last part in a certain light. However, you would be entirely wrong. The whole debacle I merely see as a comical farce. We foolish Westerners wanting to help but not knowing anything. The monks trying but not getting organised as we expect, knowing what we know now, we were just foolish to expect it. These guys essentially do all they can to help the poor and the children get an education and better themselves. The water well work is truly a life changer for those families. The kids that go to the school we visited, wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for those wells. They would be walking for hours and miles a day to find potable water. The crops that they can grow from them allows for trade or a better diet. The work truly is invaluable and when a well only costs a couple of hundred dollars to build, it is a sad thing that they have to search high and low for donations. I really could not praise the CBAVC enough and I thoroughly enjoyed meeting them and seeing first hand what they do, there is zero negativity on my part, despite my drole tale.

Further still, it was the shenanigans that brought us to the Hariharaliya retreat. Without the last minute change of plans we would not have even dreamed it. It was truly a fantastic twist of fate. The essence of Hariharilaya is a yoga and meditation retreat, for people of all sorts of abilities. I had never even done yoga in my life, the shit attempt on Rarotonga on the veranda doesn’t count. Truly this place touched my heart and opened my world, so I will always be pleased things didn’t work out as planned. I shall however leave the details to the stand alone Hariharaliya piece that follows this, as the really special places deserve to be on their own.

From Hariharalaya we left in tuk tuk convoy, all with plans to meet up in the evening at Pub street in Siem Reap, we did, and a quiet night was had with Conny and I heading off reasonably early after fried ice cream and a wander around the market. Somewhat bizarrely amongst the usual tourist tat available at the market, it was surprising to see some genuinely nicely made clothes, with intricate patterns and some cuts that appear to be more unique to this part of the world. Still, I was mesmerised by the ridiculously ornate pipes. It is almost enough to make me want to take up smoking.

The next day we had arranged a tuk tuk to pick us up early and head out to Angkor Wat. A truly remarkable place, we only saw a few of the temples of this ginormous complex. The thing that struck me, is that it had and is being slowly put back together after various periods of neglect had seen it turn practically to rubble. When you look at the pictures of pre and post rennovation, you could be forgiven for switching the word to reconstruction.

That said, the enormity and the intricacy of the place and its stone work is easy to understate. It is super beautiful, especially as the paint of time and life have coloured in the masterful canvas. I love where nature reclaims the work of man. Mosses and lychens are a personal favourite of mine. The greens and the yellows that they smatter or in some cases flat out cover the old stone with just stop me dead in my tracks. I love to see the details hidden or highlighted and I still haven’t mentioned the weeds and the changes of the stones through weathering and such. Some of the temples, are almost entirely reclaimed by tree and vine. The one they call Tomb Raider (a scene from the Angelina Jolie movie was apparently made there) is a wonderous harmony of symbiosis between tree and structure. It looks as if the second you move either tree or stone the whole thing will come tumbling down. That said, they still also require structural supports, but looking at these great structures with giant sinuous trees and vines wrapped through and amongst it all is quite stunning. As ever, I am marvelled by the extent of the twattiness of humans. Seeing fucking graffiti here and there boiling my piss some more.

There are sections where we walked through the woods or through various smaller temples. The elephants in the walls were cool and stuff, but less impressive and totally saddening were the real elephants with fat Westerners atop them struggling around the park. I can not fathom how someone thinks the taming of these beasts for their jollies is acceptable, especially given how this has been documented as essentially a universally inhumane practice. But these fuckers were loving it, bouncing around all belly laughs and points with there fat fucking fingers. The elephants look miserable (I am sure I am interpreting the fuck out of this the exact way I choose, given that I don’t actually know how a happy elephant looks, and that they probably generally look quite sad, but I do not fucking care, I’m right, I know I am) to the point where Conny automatically said out loud “I’m sorry you handsome beast” to which another passer by, an American lady echoed her sentiment and said “I know, heart breaking isn’t it, aren’t we just disgusting?”. Hit the nail on the head.

The main temple is a true spectacle. Fucking massive. It is beautiful, we took the time to have a wander, I always find a sign that reads “Beware, monkey attack” to be amusing. We walked along the flagstones to the old temple and climbed the stairs to take in the breathtaking views. Also the gentle, relief pattern carved into the window sills struck me as particularly stunning. Massively detailed floral patterns on huge stones. As did the huge columns with some kind of prayer or verse carved into their entirety. I was more amazed at the folk who came in the same time as us, walked to the old temple, and then turned around without going in. Fucking baffling.

We headed back to town and met up once more with some of our favourite Hariharaliya cohorts. We had a great night once more full of laughter, too much food and some good chat finished with coffee and once more, ice cream. The folk I met there I will be happy to call friends evermore, some of them utterly brilliant lights in our sky that are pure joy to know and see.

We left Siem Reap, not with heavy heart, but with happy, full ones. Next stop is on to Kratie, where we would meet up with a friend, Lukas, from Switzerland who along with his partner had been the owners of our favourite eatery in the Gstaad neck of the woods.

We arrived in Kratie and went to the Tonlé guest house as instructed. We weren’t going to stay there but this was one of the places that Lukas works at and was close to his house. The thing is, the heavens had opened just before we arrived, and when I say opened, I mean it was like that God dude had picked up the Mekong in his hands and had dropped it upon us for fun. We hijacked the wifi at the Tonlé and let Lukas know we were there but that we could wait it out with Uno and the Green Tea that the guest house very kindly offered us. Wait we did, but lo and behold even before the heavens had ceased too pour, Lukas showed up. He is here in Cambodia having recently completed Hotel School in Switzerland, to help the locals streamline their businesses and make them more efficient, but at the same time, just tweak them enough to have those things that might make or break a visit from the western tourist. The idea is not to make a bunch of western hotels, it is to keep the charm of what is Cambodia, but just bring the styles of service up to standard that us needy folk could appreciate. Things like kitchen hygiene and pleasant table side service. A good example is that there was one hotel, completely redid their bathroom in the restaurant, only they neglected to install a basin to wash ones hands afterwards! That is soon to be remedied. Over the next few days we got to visit a few of the places that Lukas and his friends worked in. We ate more western food than we had in a long time, but we did also enjoy some good local stuff. The Mlop Dong (Shadow of the Coconut Tree, if you are interested) was great. We spent the day there, working on service skills and table side order taking. It was lovely to get to know the lives and tales of the young, cooks, waiters and waitresses there. The waitresses were super charming. They are only in the infancy of their English learning so they have limited communicative abilities with us, but we had a secret weapon. Pisey. Pisey is the translator that Lukas works with on a daily basis. A quiet gentle soul, but a lovely young chap. Essentially self taught in regard too English. I found it particularly funny when it would look like he would be paying his attention somewhere else or watching a football match on his phone, but if someone was trying to converse with someone in Khmer, he would just pipe up where necessary, in the politest fashion staying out of the conversation unless required. Lucky for us he chose to spend some of his free time with us. That meant a; ordering at restaurants was much less hassle and b; we would have the pleasure of his quiet company. He accompanied us one night to Cute, a barbecue restaurant and managed to order me some great food, better still, he managed to order the others some great steak too. It was so tender that in fact we decided that they must have simply cut it straight off a cow. Incidentally, there had been a cow dead on the road mere metres from the door due to some traffic accident. The question is, was this cow ran over to order?

Kratie, a small time a bit off the beaten tourist track is a quaint little place. Still has some of the French influence and most importantly has some more of those pesky Irrawaddy dolphins. We took a trip to see them, this time we were closer to them and there were more than in Laos (the population is estimated around 70). They are wonderful creatures, still a privilege to see them once more.

We stayed in Lukas’ apartment initially with him and his lovely room mate Sofia, a Greek/Swiss girl with perfect Swiss German and they were super welcoming from the start. Better still, they taught us a brand new card game, that we have picked up and continued, Conny is much happier than with Uno because she continues to trounce me every time. A couple of days in two of Lukas and Sofia’s friends who also work in the same programme came for a few days, it meant we took the couch but still, mighty fine of them to put up with us. The other thing we got to experience in Kratie, was KTV. Cambodian Karaoke. It is an odd thing, because you rent a room, and more often than not you can order a lady or two to keep you company. You can even take them to an “exercise room” if you like. We had met up with the group we went with at a restaurant. On our table were two lovely girls, 19, 20 years old, who it transpired were some of these companions. If I’m honest I’m not sure what to think about it. These lovely young, pleasant girls, who were going to sing and dance with us, might also end up bumping uglies with one of the older dudes in the group for a price. The group itself was mostly made of rubber plantation workers, and the owner of the rubber plantation and his wife, along side us and a couple of locals, Pieter and Julie. Pieter is a particularly sound fellow. A dutch chap, looks like a giant Jurgen Klopp, or sometimes, depending on his hair David Guetta, but a really nice guy. We had many a chat about the world in life and general and Conny and I are both all the better for making his acquaintence. Pieter was essentially my singing partner on the Karaoke. My favourite was Always On My Mind, but there were many songs, both solo and duet from both of us. Good job we did too as there weren’t too many of us getting amongst it if I’m honest but Pieter and I truly gave it some and I left the place sore of throat but happy of heart.

Our last day was just about perfect. We moseyed across to Koh Trong, an island in the Mekong.

We went for a bike ride around the island and the afternoon was perfect as we just chilled at a lovely resort that Sofia works with, chilling in the awesome pool, even during a rain storm. Food, cards and fun all afternoon with the crew, Pieter managed to take the greatest photo of me ever, I swear if L’Oreal did beard shampoo, both I and this photo would definitely be worth it.

We left the Tonlé on the last day with a belly full of their breakfast (we ate there every day pretty much, it was delicious, particularly enamoured by their Tortilla for 1$50 I was) and borded the bus for Phnomh Penh.

We arrived at Phnomh Penh with the intent of staying only a couple of nights, which was good, our hotel was not exactly delightful. The plan was simply to go to the prison museum and then on to the killing fields. This is not a joyous thing to see or experience, but one we thought necessary. We actually learned a lot about the genocide, we even met 2 of the 7 survivors of the prison in question, from the tens of thousands that were taken there, tortured and didn’t survive. It really was a devastatingly cruel time for humanity. Lerning how the interrogations and the executions took place, and seeing some of the evidence is truly startling and heartbreakingly so. I’m still a wonder as to how this could happen in such recent history but I am at once reminded that the conditions leading to that time were not such a great stretch from today’s situation in much of the world. Previously strong economies suffering, looking towards populist leaders and right wing insular thought through which to pin the blame on the dark guy or the one who speaks funny, or doesn’t believe in our God. The aim of Pol Pot’s revolution was to start again without the corruption of the modern world, without the heady thoughts of superiority among the educated towards the poor and the under educated. Don’t get me wrong I have zero sympathy for his cause and the methods were fucking devastating. But while it might be a leap to look at the US for example, or even the UK, and think that they could end up in such a dire place for humanity, it is merely only a few small steps away should we let them be taken. The kind of folk that votes for Trump, and loves their guns, and loves the very breath that falls from President Orangutan’s lips are also the ones that would more likely see any removal of him as an attack on their country, or their freedom and act to stop it with violence. In the UK those who would oppose the Brexit vote or would seek to reverse some of the silly notions going around about immigration and such, are not enough to sway the tide if the other side get any more motivation. The seed is sewn for nationalist thought to grow and corrupt and sadly there is a place where this thought is deemed acceptable these days in the UK, worse still, those with such thoughts are far more likely to react with violence should things not go their way. In such circumstances you can but fear for those who don’t fit their plan. It is a bleak and extreme view I take here I know. I am aware that it is unlikely, but do you think that those supporting Hitler saw it coming? And when it did, were they surprised by the inhumanity come as a surprise? I don’t think so. The ill will and the horrible consequences were creepers. I just think, and couldn’t help ut think, when walking through those memorials to such horror, and seeing the graves or the tree where Khmer men smashed the heads of babies to save bullets, that it is a dark step for humanity to take and a frightening thing in today’s climate. The other thing to note is that Cambodia, prior to the Vietnam war was not some poor underdeveloped nation. Yes there was rural illiteracy and poverty, but the nation as a whole was the most prosperous of the SE Asian nations, had developed a cosmopolitan city life under French colonialism and was a wealthy country compared to it’s neighbours. Remember, I am saying that it IS a giant leap from where we are to something as terrible, but it is only a few short steps if we aren’t careful.

From one bleak thing on to the next, dinner was a sorry affair. Vitking House sucks balls. The food was sorry and overpriced. Cardboard meat substitutes, a sorry atmosphere and a boss that just exuded prickiness (probably a bit rich coming from me given my management days!). Truly awful. Altogether sorry. Don’t go. On the flipside however, just around the corner from the prison museum is a cafe called K cafe. Excellent little place, with a real nice breakfast with in house baked bread and coffee ground there. Somewhat bizarrely while eating said breakfast, we even happened upon Joel (well I think he was called Joel…it has been years and I didn’t check his name, even if not, he is called Joel now) and a girl he works with. At first unsure Conny said “oh…he’s from Nice” looking over my shoulder, so I had a look, and indeed it was him. He used to frequent the bars that both Conny and I worked in. Odd that we should stumble into him half a world a way but it was definitely a pleasant surprise. To be honest he was always one of our favourite, more polite and decent French regulars. We enjoyed a chat as he told us he was working for a French news agency and this was his local breakfast spot. A positive aside, they also in the cafe have a small shop, selling the wares of local disabled folk, which is always a nice thing to do.

With some work, which shall be explained fully in the Palm Beach resort piece (for that is another thing we feel deserves such a piece) we booked a suitable ticket to get to Sihanoukville on time to catch the boat to the aforementioned resort for a week on Koh Rong. To be honest, it’s amazing, but I’ll tell you about that later.

We arrived the next day in Hanoi, where we would then get a bus up to Ha Giang the next day or the day after that. We booked another shitty room in the Old Town, and had a little look around but nothing to detailed, we knew we’d be back. We instead readied ourself for Ha Giang and booked our bus, another shit show, this time with twin hobbit seats, but with screened windows. Still. It got us there. Ha Giang is a little city in the North of Vietnam. Ha Giang Province borders China. It was here we had decided to hire a motor bike and do a day loop. We didn’t see much of Ha giang, it actually seemed to stretch quite a ways beyond the two streets we experienced of it as we got off at the bus station, found a hotel across the road, and the place where we hired the bikes from was 200 metres away. QT motorbikes I would highly recommend. The guys took us through a map and told us where we should stay, some we did, some we didn’t but it was nice to have an idea. We went the night before, and sorted everything out. I test drove a bike (the guy was amazed that someone could actually start it, I dread to think of who normally hires these things) and then we would head back the next morning.

Admittedly they were a bit slow as the chap in the office had an issue with a bike on rent he had to resolve, and they didn’t actually give me the same bike as I had ridden the day before (clutch was sticky on this second one) but I thought hey ho and we carried on. The first stretch was to Quan Ba. The ride there was ace, if a little wet at one point. Windy roads, mountain passes. The gears were pissing me off a little but no worries. The views are stunning, particularly when you hit the crest of a mountain. Conny is it transpires a bit scared of going above 60Km/h which does lead to a somewhat less exciting trip but still awesome none the less. That said, she does have cause for worry, given that anyone driving a van or a truck basically thinks that no matter what part or how much of the road they are taking up, so long as they sound their horn, their job is done, it is for you to get out of their way. On one such moment I was actually off the road and Conny was a couple of inches off losing a leg to a truck…but it’s ok, he honked, so he was absolved of any blame had a limb been removed. We arrived at the town of our first nights stop. On the corner in the centre of town is a little place that serves proper coffee and some decent food, so we ate dinner and breakfast there before heading on.

Day two would see us drive up to the very tip of the country and a town called Dong Van. The ride up was equally as spectacular, and again a bit wet…actually, quite wet, but it didn’t matter. The further you get into the mountains the better it gets. The mountains, and the agriculture in them is immense. The hillsides are carved into full scale contour lines of an OS map. The roads wind up into the pine forests and the air changes to that most wonderful scent. At one point we had to stop and queue where the road had slipped away and there were folk just rebuilding it, but rebuild it they did and we were able to mosey on.

We arrived at Dong Van and booked in to a hostel, not the one they recommended but instead the one next door. We headed out and went for dinner. En route, we did see a cooked dog’s head on a table, with the cooked and butchered dog laid out behind it in pieces, which was to say the least a shock, but really, they eat dog here so I shouldn’t be too surprised, plus what makes a cow less worthy of our sympathy than a dog or a horse, personally I see little difference.

The restaurant (the Green Karst) however was excellent. They genuinely understood vegetarian, they had excellent meaty options however for those not of the vege styles, they even asked what music we would like. Better still, the owners take time to teach local kids English for free. I always find it good to try and support such folk so it was nice to do that and have delicious belly-fulls to boot. We ate there again the next morning, their breakfast menu is a winner, I was even given some fruit, that I can’t for the life of me remember what it is, but is the greatest fruit in the entire history of great fruit. Then we headed toward the North Pole. No, not that one, but at the tip of Ha Giang province is a flag pole atop a hill that looks out to China. We climbed it and looked to China. I spoke to a local chap. He was a Mong, the local village were Lolo. These are two very different ethnicities who do not integrate. He was telling me how his village is small and they are only Mong but the next village is also Lolo, this means for him the dating pool is low. He asked me my age and I told him 36, he asked Conny’s, I told him 29, he looked relieved. He checked that she was my girlfriend and when I said yes he told me he is 21, and that his girlfriend is 14. I honestly had no idea what to say.

We headed down the road and onwards towards our next destination Du, but first we had to negotiate the town of Mia Xu. Upon trying to do so, our bike finally gave in. Lucky it was in town to be fair, but full credit to QT bikes, I found a garage and handed the mechanic who spoke no English the card of QT and they organised that he fix the bike, and QT pay me the money back at the end. 45 minutes and a couple of local tea later we were back on the road and the bike was ace. More importantly this stage of the road was the single most epic and breathtaking part of Asia to date. The road at times windy, at times opening up, along the ridges of the mountain or down the windy roads the scenery always astonishing. The karskes climbing out in epic lush green and granite, with the afternoon sun shading it perfectly, on occasion clouds creeping through, other times clear and bright, whether we were snaking through or slinking along a straight road alongside the were nothing short of mesmerising. If there is one thing every visitor to Vietnam should do, it’s this trip. Before reaching the village we headed to for the next night, we came across another village, and at said village, a Spaniard. Somehow, in seeing that the road was covered in a thick layer of washed in clay, I’d guess a foot deep in parts, save for the two tracks of vehicles’ left and right tyres to the one side, this Spaniard had opted to drive over/through the clay, and not the tracks. What a numpty! Me being me however I couldn’t just leave him there. So we both set about hauling the clay-mud-stuck scooter he was riding out of the bog, our own feet sinking in as we did, but with a couple of goes we got it free and headed our merry ways. We got to our hostel QT homestay, where we met Marc, an exuberantly moustachioed German lad, doing our trip effectively in reverse. We had some good chat, I like the cut of his jib. He was also a vegetarian which made it easier for the cooks at the homestay as we three were the only guests. Boy did they feed us. Masses of delicious food, even I couldn’t polish it off. The most amazing platter of spring rolls, morning glory, tofu with tomato sauce and rice. The homestay itself was a big hall and sleeping quarters were a curtained off area with a bug net in each. The toilet was outside and I really had to go as a storm raged, but apart from that I really couldn’t fault the place. Breakfast was a plate each piled high of pancakes, and I don’t mean shitty American ones, I mean proper English ones, or crepes as the French would call them, with honey and lime. Dee-fucking-licious. We headed off in tandem to the point where our paths separated, and we turned left on to a fantastic road. Barely paved, but a big long straight, flanked either side with thick, tall maize fields and little villages. It turned out that the villages were all in their Sunday best. Formally dressed and gathered at the rally point in the village, not sure if it was a wedding, church, market or sacrifice…there were animals, people and joy in the air, but we didn’t see much further. One of the true joys about driving through the countryside was seeing the locals go about their business. They were often remarkably dressed. Brightly coloured and patterened skirts or dress, some with head scarves, some bare headed. Overwhelmingly handsome folk, most importantly the joy for them to see us foolish folk bounding about on our bikes was evident by their shouts and hellos with wide grin! There were even high fives…one kid crossed just in front of me to high five on my right hand…which got awkward when I nearly killed him then had to release my throttle…not ideal, but fun all the same. After the maize fields, the road took a little turn as we headed once more over some mountains. When I say road, that is most definitely a loose term. There was some definite scrambling involved, to the point Conny rathered walk. She got scared if I slightly overcooked it on the throttle and popped a little wheely. I was having a blast. If I am honest, I think the road had only recently come apart in landslips, at times it was much more like riding a bike up a slow waterfall than a road but it was great, Conny never had to walk far in one go, not that she had to walk, I am fully capable! But the road only gave out for short stretches before being paved once more. Another thing to note is not to go anywhere too fast if you can’t see the road ahead, between potholes, complete removal of road surface, piles of grit, rubble or sand, and straight up cement barriers leaping out to surprise you, it is certainly advisable to take it steady, that said there are enough long straight roads to open up a little. The worst part of our final day was my horn giving in. The horn is the most essential piece of kit when driving anywhere in Asia. Every corner must be preceded by a series of toots just to let someone know not to kill you, the same can be said for any over taking move, be it a rider at the side of the road, a buffalo, or a bus struggling up a hill. Unless you toot, death is almost certain. So, being tootless, we were resigned to Conny vocally tooting in lieu of the horn. Not ideal, but we did indeed survive! Back to the road itself though, the views were excellent once more, today had become a little cooler, and the mists were again creeping over the mountain as we rode. We took the odd detour and climbed along the ridgeline of one mountain, literally cliffs falling away each side as the cool breeze hit us. WHERE DID THAT ROAD TAKE US? We got back to the village with the awesome coffee, knowing that it was only 2-3 hours from home and sat to enjoy their delights once more. Before heading back as the sun came out along the home stretch.

The few words I have written here really do not do this ride justice. It is truly a spectacular. A once in a lifetime. A marvel at every second. The landscape everchanging and beguiling from one moment to the next creating feasts for the eyes like beautiful arts on canvas and snapshots in my head that will last a lifetime in memory.

Handing back our trusty (save for the gears and the horn) steed back was somewhat of a wrench, but every second was a joy.

We stayed one more night in Ha Giang before heading to Hanoi.

Here we stayed with an old friend from back home, who lives in Hanoi as an English teacher. We were introduced to the joys of Cards Against Humanity and had a few wanders around the city, including the museum…which if I am honest is an absolute cluterfuck of nonsense. Never have I been in a museum and been so overwhelmed by so much nothing as to leave so underwhelmed. Now if that sentence was as hard to follow as it was to write, let me extrapolate. The museum is full of stuff. Almost none of it with any sort of coherence. Especially for an English speaker. I don’t necessarily think that a museum ought to make concession for the Anglophone, however, this kind of did and kind of didn’t. It had a half arsed translation of a handful of the information, which makes one wonder what the fuck one is actually looking at. Add to that the complete lack of flow and the pure shabbiness of some of the exhibits (some looked marvellous however) then the result is positively negative. Overwhemingly underwhelming and at once underwhelmingly overwhelming. It’s quite the feat to be honest. Usually if I go into a museum I have an intent to learn something but there was entirely nothing to be gleaned from this cube so to speak. Even the shonkiest museum in Vientiane had some educational merit, I left understanding timelines and about the influence of communism and the USSR on Laos, plus got to see some of the real life behind the history, which serves to bring it home just how recent the turmoil in this corner of the world was, whereas I had none of that here.

We met with Barry once more, for this week was Conny’s birthday week. He was no longer with Silvia, as indeed, that too had passed. We had decided to head out to Cat Ba, an island in Ha Long bay. We left some luggage at my friend’s house and borded the early morning train to Hai Phong where we picked up a scooter from Hai Phong Motorbike for Rent (he is only on face book, you won’t find him on tripadvisor, but he is really helpful, speaks great English as he also translates for a living, and his prices are super cheap a weeks rental costs between 15 and 18 dollars) and we headed out of town on a 15km stretch of death road to the port. Flanked by masses of traffic from the swarms of scooters some unconscionably heavily laiden, but also cars a plenty and the worse, giant trucks with scant regard for the mere annoyance that is a Westerner on a bike. They would roar past with scant regard for our space or indeed lives. Barry, almost as oblivious to the perils as the Vietnamese lorry drivers themselves, was almost taken out as he crossed an intersection, without looking (although the right was his) and a truck had decided to turn at the same intersection. In his attempts to not die by that truck, Barry oblivious once more swerved right, only at this point I was shitting myself behind, because I had seen that there was another oblivious truck driver entering the road at pace from his right. Somehow Barry last second managed to snake through nonchalantly like nothing had happened. To get to Cat Ba we would have to travel on to another island, by ferry, not exactly luxurious but fun all the same. The locals, as they have throughout Vietnam, pointed and laughed in aghast and awe at my beard. One guy even thrust his baby into my arms to take a photo of it and me, beard et al. It was very odd to say the least.

Another island and another ferry later we ended up on Cat Ba island, the North no less, with Cat Ba town being to the South. It’s not a long ride to the South however, and the whole island is definitely a rough and ready sort of place, if I was honest, I wasn’t really that impressed. That said we headed to wards town for a bite to eat then decided that given the fact it was really busy and loud, we’d head out a bit for our hotel. We stopped at a nice looking, clean, recently redone place for the night. Whoopsy. The morning came but not before the bed bugs. Lucky, it transpires that the bugs did not dig my vegetarian zero alcohol blood. Conny and Barry not so lucky, Barry in particular got destroyed. Needless to say we did not stay another night. We headed a little further out to the sweet potato. Initially only for breakfast and a drink, but then the heavens opened and we noticed that people were staying there. Turned out they had a room for at least the next couple of nights, and I have to say that I was thoroughly impressed. Breakfast was great, the room was clean, large, had AC and wifi and we got chatting to some other fine folk there. We even had fun during the storm driven power cuts. The only fault was that when the weekend came it was booked. We headed down to the Mountain View knowing that we had reserved a room given we had warning that we were to be turfed out of the Sweet Potato. It’s only a 100 metres down the road, so it was no real hassle. When we arrived, we were greeted(loose term) by a chap with zero English, but a defensive expression. He then handed me the phone and the chap we had made our reservation with a day or two before told us he’d be there in ten. He came all nervous and told us there had been a mistake. Despite our booking, and deposit that the room had been double booked and he was desperately sorry. If I am honest, I saw him note our room on the plan and that he had taken a deposit so I had no quarrel with him, I just think he was the scapegoat for a careless owner. We said no worries, asked if a dorm was available, which it was, and he even gave one of us the bed for free as a gesture. More than enough for us, after all mistakes happen. The relief spread across his face as he grinned and said “Oh I was so scared that you were going to be real angry!” to which we told him that would be pointless and that indeed we have all been there, mistakes are not a mythical boogey man, but a very real part of life…or something to that effect, only perhaps less convoluted. My only gripe with this place was that the breakfast was somewhat pitiful, albeit included in the room price. However coming from the Sweet Potato with their excellent breakfast that was also included, this was mightily inferior. It did however have a mountain top pool which came as a redeemer. It’s surrounds were still under construction at the time we were there but it was indeed a welcome dip in the heat and the view is something of a rarity from a pool.

It was at the Mountain View that they also let us stream the Lions vs All Blacks rugby match on their big screen. We had been into Cat Ba town looking for bars to show it, when we bumped into a bearded Englishman and his Welsh girlfriend, who suggested we try a sports bar around the corner, when that turned out to be a dud, we told them that they would be welcome at our hotel where we could stream it. They did indeed join. We had a nice chat, they had ridden around Ha Giang like Conny and I had done, and Barry was going to. They and Barry drank eight or so beers between them, when the girl was peckish and couldn’t find some crisps, I fetched her my packet from the dorm, which she ate half of and left them on the table. If it weren’t for what happened next I would have said it was a pleasure to meet them and that they were thoroughly decent folk. Only it turns out they are proper YTC prickfaces. When it came to check out on the bill, we were faced with the bill of all their beers, which if I am honest, was a small amount, but at the same time a bit much. As much as we live the life of riley, Conny and I are indeed homeless and unemployed, and they knew this. We have to watch our budget, and I don’t even drink. To be fair I would never really mind paying a beer for someone, especially if company is sound. My problem is that it’s such a shitty thing to do to just fuck off without settling your tab. The choice to pay a beer for someone is not for them to decide, but for me. Really, I now only think back on that afternoon and see a pair of rude pricks. They probably feel chuffed that they got one over on us and avoided their couple of dollars for the beers, and that we suckers got stiffed. Which is sad, I like to save a buck or two, but decency tends to prevail, and it is invariably not at someone else’s expense, regardless of whether or not I have deemed it that “they can afford it”. Worse still, we went out of our way to find them, tell them the bar wasn’t showing that game, and that they could come to ours, and they still chose the cunty option.

Enough of that. Cat Ba town, is a bit rough. I have to admit I wasn’t too enamoured originally, the night turns neon and the Vietnamese and Chinese come out in force, flooding the streets and the garbage that invariably comes with it. That said, it grows on you. There are ways to avoid the shenanigans to a large extent. The first was Yummy 2 restaurant. Much like the Yummy in Phong Na (entirely unrelated as far as I am aware) we went and ate lemongrass and chilli tofu. Very different to Yummy in Phong Na but equally as delicious. It is called Yummy 2, not because there is a Yummy in Phong Na, but because Yummy 1 is actually by the market in Cat Ba. Yummy 2 is a bit more spacious and set back from town making it a bit quieter. The food is the same but we ate many nights at Yummy 2 and it was delicious and welcoming each time. I had a Coconut Ice cream Blueberry shake each time…it was a mindblowing delight. The onion rings starter was ginormous and delightful, so much so that serendipity had seen fit for, at the exact moment I was regretting having not ordered them, our neighbouring table of Swiss folk had ordered them as a side, as such could not fit them in their bellies, and kindly offered them to me to help put them away…of course I obliged. Next on the list of food awesomeness is the Vietnameses Soul Food restaurant. The food there is cooked and served with love by one enigmatic lady by the name of Mrs Blue. The food came out slow, as everything was cooked from scratch, as mentioned, with love, and it was fully worth it. Some of the best food I had in Vietnam, and Vietnam has good food. The third and final place that needs a mention is My Way cafe. This is for when you need a cheese fix. The have western delights such as garlic bread with cheese, grilled cheese sandwich, cheese pizza and chips with cheese. I think you get the point. They do have plenty of other stuff, including a coffee machine, and Italian style coffee if memory serves, but it really was the cheese that got me. I sampled all the above dishes in two sittings and left clutching a surprisingly satisfying giant food baby belly.

By far the most amazing thing to do on Cat Ba was what we had selected for Conny’s birthday. We took a boat into the bay, to snake amongst the Karsts and do a bit of swimming, jumping kayaking and such. We opted for Cat Ba Ventures. Their office is on the main strip by the market, and their price is a little higher than some of the others but they specifically choose a route that avoids all the other clusters of boats and their paths into the main bay. It was definitely the good otion, the other boats can be one amongst hundreds, but we didn’t see a singly other boat until we had finished our afternoon kayak and that boat was coming in to pick up the kayaks we had just left. The day started with a tour out, we passed a floating village and we went around a fish farm, where they have a pet giant grouper, he is quite the beast, and plentiful Kobe, big powerful looking fish that are quite delectable apparently, among others.

Then we got back on board and headed amongst the huge columns poking out of the water, thousands of little islands as far as you can see. The water was much clearer than we expected, all along Cat Ba on the ferry rides there is nought but murky mucky red stuff, but this was clear and clean. We jumped of the boat, and headed towards a beach for an explore before swimming back. It was here that I decided I would go for a dive of the top deck, a good twenty feet. Forgetting, nay, choosing not to accept, that I am a fat thirty six year old and not a twenty something or teenager with any semblance of physical prowess, I opted for a dive. I had the foresight to declare that I knew it would end badly. It definitely ended. Badly depends on your point of view. Even I found the ensuing belly flop hilariously spectacular. I only wish that I had seen it from an outside perspective…and of course that it didn’t sting quite as much. Then to the back of the boat, here I opted for the somersault, again neglecting the fact that my trampolinist days are long gone, I entirely forgot the tuck and whip required to complete such a move. I, essentially entered the water as if II were taking one of those planking selfies of yesteryear, only I had forgot the camera. I broke the water with the entirity of my back in one single, large and maginficent moment. Yet again, I am happy to say that I was in no doubt beforehand that it would go horribly wrong, and even proclaimed such quite audibly. I just wished that for once I could have been wrong…and that it didn’t sting so much. But alas, sting it did, right I was. But hey, at least my front and back were matching in their pinkness, I will call it my Bodily Ode to the Pink Symmetry, and be happy with that.

Lunch on the boat was a veritable feast, everyone got more than enough delectable goodness. Then we headed for some more sailing and to the Kayaks. As is custom when Conny and I got into a Kayak, we realised that Conny is indeed incapable of paddling straight or in any sensible time, so tensions were fraught from the off but no more than usual. The situation was not helped by the fact that the paddles were odd, straight bladed affairs with no offset for the twist of a paddle strok, plus ours had the tiniest blades ever, everybody else had the same straight blades, but the blades themselves were twice the size of ours, it was like paddling with lollipops, that said, the kayaking was great. Round islands, and through caves. One cave ominously had a no-entry sign/danger sign, and our guide took us in. Conny and I took the rear guard, and having noticed he sounds of a clusterfuck of talentless paddlers in front of us in the pitch dark, we decided to hang back. What we hadn’t noticed, given the darkness, that the current had taken our back end away from us. A fact which swiftly dawned upon us a the back of the boat got wedged between the ceiling of the cave and the water, which in turn sent the front of our boat pivoting towards the same wall. The result was that I had to have a full on fight with a wet, dirty jagged wall from a crouched canoeing position while Conny held my paddle and avoided having her head taken off by the roof of the cave. Needles to say in the fight between David and the immovable object, the beast that I am came through and I smote that prick of a cave. We got out and as the light hit us it became apparent that I was more than a bit dirty, but still, victory was mine.

A bit more swimming and diving followed. Conny even learned to dive off the boat. She even enjoyed it so much that she carried on even when Barry and I stopped and called it a day. That lasted exactly one dive. She scorpioned and has been suffering since! Still, it hasn’t got the beating of her.

I have to say it was a truly great day out, the guides were excellent, fun and even wanted all criticism, negative and positive to help them better improve their service, which is actually something I was quite pleased to hear, although I had no negative criticism to offer, beyond a better paddle perhaps, although I could have just asked for that! Most importantly Conny had a great day to bring her into her dirty thirties, and she was pleased as punch, saying that it was the best she could have hoped for and that it couldn’t have been more perfect. Mission accomplished.

Our other time was spent on the island moseying, drinking, eating. We went for a “gentle walk” up a hill in the national park. I was sweating through my pupils by the time we summitted, having walked near verticle stairs and scrambled up rocks, thinking the track was a loop with a much easier descent. There was no loop however, the down scramble was just as taxing. The joy of the breeze at the pagoda on the top or when on occasion it made its way to us on the hillsides was immense and a feeling to be savoured. But still, we got some exercise, not sure I’d do it all again though!

We left Cat Ba the way we came, and ran the gauntlet back to Hai Phong and further on to Hanoi. Here we spent a few more days chilling with Barry, had some fantastic Indian food and enjoyed the evening scene of fresh beer, torrential rain, and random chat with a charming Welsh couple and a lovely young lady who believed in the Anounaki. From here we said our goodbye’s to Barry and headed to Siem Reap, this time we chose to Bigshot it and fly.

So, the bus ride to Vietnam was an odd one to say the least. The worst bus in the history of bad buses. A rickety old thing that had something somewhat akin to a seat/hobbit bed but it was ridiculously uncomfortable. There was no angle to make this thing comfortable. Worse still I was in the middle, with no side bars to my little cot type thing. The driver, I’m sure fully aware of this, was hooning around like nobody’s business and I was sliding out with each hoon. The tone was set for the ride the second the engine started and we were afronted by What is Love by Haddaway, the dutch-techno-pop “classic, followed by several other tunes of that genre and followed quickly and equally as loudly by some more local horror from more techno to achey ballads, just when you thought you’d had enough, back to Haddaway and it all begins again. Furthermore, the aircon unit above me had been broken at the directional grate thingymajig and as such was blowing super cold air upon me incessently, and occasionally a little spurt of water just to shake things up. A few hours in we hit the Vietnamese border. An odd experience in itself with very little signage or guidance. We were simply ushered off the bus into a restaurant. We had some lunch, it was quite the chore for me to explain no meat, despite the fact that I had it written on my phone in Laotian and Vietnamese, due to the illiteracy of the local folk there. Again, no aspersions cast upon them though, it is definitely I the awkward picky dude who chooses not just to eat food. We eventually got to a point where egg and rice were ok, so we kept getting handed eggs on top of rice. The thing is, from what I can gather at least, is these restaurants don’t really work off a menu, they just keep putting food in front of you or on your table and you eat what you feel like. I think the price is basically a fixed one. So each time the ladies were clearing plates and they noticed omelette, they tried to give it to us. It was a few rounds in that we realised that the eggs were seasoned with pork fat, as Conny was handed one with a lump of gristle upon it. That marked the end of lunch. At this point we sat around for some sign of what we ought to do, keeping the drivers in sight, so as not to get left behind. It was only due to the kindness of some entirely non-english speaking locals and their concern that they gestured we ought to walk across the border to the Laotian office to get our exit stamp. We thank them eternally for their service! A long wait later we are given our passports back, we get on the bus, drive 50 metres and are told to dismount for the Vietnam office. Another wait later we head back on the bus from hell.

I had some time ago decided that the best option after the border would be to grab some shut eye. Well. Driver put pay to that. I had thought I could listen to some of my own music to drown out the din, which was a sensible idea until the driver put on some movies. There was a screen, hidden in a place that no one could see, but driver decided he would up the ante on the volume so all we could hear was the soundtrack of chats, choons and banging gunfire. I had no chance.

We arrived at Danang, both relieved and feeling like we had been through SAS torture training. We decided we would stop for the night somewhere near the bus station to save hassle the next day. Finding a place was not as easy as we had hoped and we settled for a seedy looking place down a seedy little street, but frankly it was the only thing available. A bit grotty, but fine for a night. Danang did have one thing. Fried rice. The best fried rice I have ever eaten. All the restaurants were looking very dubious for the vegetarian, so we decided to chance it with one of the smaller places along the street, where a guy just cooked in his wok to order. I practiced my best “An Chay” Vietnamese for vegetarian and we pointed at some vegetables and even a alocal chap who spoke some English described to the cook. What came out was a huge pile of awesome fried rice with vegatables and MSG that tasted immense. Not sure I mentioned this before (I know I did, but hey ho), but I am not as averse to MSG as many are, especially those who love food. The reason being I don’t buy the hype. Of course too much MSG is bad for you, but so is salt. In fact MSG is exactly that, a salt. So those who want to decry it as the horror food that will melt your brain and give you heart disease, firstly put down your salt, then secondly go and fuck yourselves. If you are then gonna bang on to me about it not being natural, it is a chemical process, much like salt, formed from natural ingredients (comes from a root vegetable), again much like salt…wait did I say this before…it is salt. Anyway, the reason it is so delicious and that it was developed in the first place is because it is an umami flavour which we all recognise as being utterly delicious. Well, once again, I digress. Back to the travels.

We also had doughnuts and a coffee in Danang before heading to Hoi An in the morning. Another shonky bus ride away but this time only an hour or so, with fully inflated westerner tariffs and led by a horribly rude man (the man justified his inflation of our tariff by pulling out a scrap of paper that was barely legible and was just some random shit map with scribbles and some prices on it that said 1 hour=costs a lot if you are white, or something to that effect. He then sat down and laughed as he showed a local how much money he had just taken off us, right next to me. Worse still was how he manhandled the women, moving them around by the scruff of the neck or a grab of the shoulder, even a woman who had to be in her seventies had her hat knocked off by the force of his grab. A proper prick) We arrived at Hoi An and got into a taxi, this was my birthday week and Conny had booked us in somewhere nice to hang around and relax. The Corner Riverside Villa was its name and it was wonderful. Situated just outside Hoi An a bit along the river, as the name suggests, there was a pool, breakfast and bikes included. The rooms were lovely and clean and the staff as helpful as can be. Hoi An is a great spot to relax. Another UNESCO heritage town it lives up to the others, and then some. A beautiful old french style colonial town, but full of Asian flare, beauty and colour. Better still the only motorised vehicles allowed in the old town during the day are scooters and such, but after 3pm no motorised vehicles whatsoever may go in. It is a beautiful place to just mosey around taking in the glowing lanterns at night, or visiting the many tailors there in the day. Conny and I had a couple of things made there and they really are worth it. Fitted to you, cheaper than an off the shelf version in Europe and all done to your own specs in two days. We went to Maya tailors on the recommendation of our hotel and we could not have been more pleased. If I’m honest if I wasn’t living out of a bag, I would have spent a fortune in there. Also it wouldn’t be correct if I didn’t make some comment on the food. For starters, are two vegetarian restaurants in Hoi An, both just outside the old town, both wonderful, although the larger of the two (Min Hien) did rely quite heavily on fake meat as opposed to vegetables. The other restaurant, my personal favourite but I can’t find it’s name anywhere, was a small menu, wasn’t set out as starters and mains etc, it was just about 8 things. It was utterly delectable and super cheap, plus I managed to get a savoury vegetarian Bo bun there that blew my socks off, even Conny said it was better than the meat version. There was also one other place in town that deserves a mention. It was a little cafe just near one of the old houses that serve as a visitor attraction. On the stoop is a lady selling lotus tea, which is fucking delicious, and inside they have a nice little menu that they can adapt to vegetarians that was super nice.

Hoi An was the perfect spot for a relaxed birthday week. Conny, at the hotel, booked me in for the single only manicure/pedicure of my then 35 years on the planet. It took some egging on from one of the other guests (a Latvian chap who was there with his Ukrainian girlfriend who were on holiday from their lives in Greenland where the chap served in the Danish Navy. An odd situation to be in, but they were thoroughly lovely folk and it saddens me that I don’t even know their names, so if you do stumble upon this, please do let us know so that I may correct it). We hung out by the pool with our new friends, wandered the streets and markets at night, ate cakes, drank coffees and to top it off we went on a boat/snorkelling/beach barbecue trip on my birthday which was perfect. The snorkelling lovely, the fish were amazing in their colours and clusters of life. As too were the coral gardens. The boat ride was pleasant and to cap it off the lunch at the beach was brilliant. As a vegetarian I even got extra special vege portions.

The only negative I would say is that as Westerners we were tricked into buying an entirely unnecessary ticket at the start of Hoi An. To be honest I thought it was a bit dubious. We were stopped by a lady who shepherded us to a booth selling a day pas to the town and it’s attractions. We asked if it was obligatory and they insisted it was, even when we asked what if we come everyday, they said this covers it. There was however no barrier nor booth and no way of controlling it but Conny said pay, so pay I did. I even heard them saying the same to some other tourists nearby. It was only later that we realised for sure though that it was a pure scam, and we didn’t even want to go to the attractions that were included in the price, and there is no way that the ticket is needed just to enter the town like they told us. SO, lessons learned, don’t listen to anyone.

I must admit that the hotel was a proper gem. Nothing super fancy, but absolutely perfect, I could not have wished for a better week swimming in the beautiful pool at night was a particular highlight.

When we left we organised our travel from Hoi An to Phong Na with our hotel and were picked up in a lovely tour bus which then put us on to another big bus to Phong Na. We arrived at Phong Na in the evening. One of the guys who had travelled from Danang actually worked in a hotel/restaurant there and he told us about a place, next door to the restaurant he worked in. It was brand new, and perhaps not even finished yet, but we got a solid, clean room with a nice bathroom for 10 $ a night, plus next door, the Yummy restaurant, where Su the chap from the bus worked, was exactly as you would expect from a place with such a name. I had the best lemongrass and chilli tofu there I have ever eaten. Every meal was delicious…this might become a theme in Vietnam, the food here is the best in Asia by some way especially for someone like me.

At Phong Na, we were joined by an old friend of ours from our days on the French Riviera. Barry, who had worked with myself and Conny many years ago and was one of our bestest friends, just so happened to be touring Vietnam on his motorbike. We were introduced to his ladypartner, Silvia, a Spaniard that Barry had met a year previously in the Philipines, and fallen in love with and got matching tattoos within a week(a line from 1001 nights about how things in life are fleeting, the good times and the bad “this too shall pass”). A lovely, free spirited and strong willed lady, much in the mould of Barry’s previous girlfriend who is also still amongst our favouritest people and is as good and bonkers as the Finns get (for she is Finnish). Barry and Silvia were touring on their motorbikes and kind of just told us that they would be where we were when we were there so we booked another night or two and decided to hang out. We had beers, Barry had the shits, and we had a jolly night at the local Lazy Lizard hostel/bar. We met some other folk and had a right good old natter. Again as I am writing this some time after the event, I have forgotten the names of the two folk we met in particular that I enjoyed the company of most. She was a bag of bubbles and smutty fun from Essex and he was a quiet Mancunian with a suitably dry wit and a genuine nice demeanour. We stayed out for hours, which to be fare is rare for us, we are normally quite the early to bed type. We managed to get some food on the way home after Barry, then Silvia had called it a night. The next day was all about the bikes. I borrowed Silvia’s bike and Barry took to Clyde, his faithful steed, as we hit the road into the national park. It really was great to get on to a real bike with gears and a bit of poke (relatively speaking, they are still 125’s) and hit the road. We headed along the river and then off into the rolling mountains. At the edge of the park was a barrier. Barriers are nothing to Barry, the Barrier was higher at one end so he just ducked under it and sped off, I however was somewhat surprised by this development, so as I slowed to go under, aware that my spatial awareness with a helmet ain’t what it ought to be I crawled through and just as I thought “Success, I haven’t hit my head!” it dawned on me that this was indeed a bike and not a scooter, and I was in third gear. Too late. As it spluttered to a halt, I panicked nervously expecting to be pounced upon by the guard in the nearby archway. As I struggled to get the bike going I was expecting to attempt to try and use my best non-existant Vietnamese to explain myself before being flung in prison for violating the national park laws. Turns out the guard gave zero fucks. Didn’t even move beyond looking up at me in dismay.

As we progressed through the jungle in all its ridiculously plush and thick vegetation, it dawned on us what a fucking stupid idea it was of the Americans to think they could come here to this place and win a war on this unknown terrain against locals who have navigated it for an age.

We drove the roads, through some villages, we even passed some other westerners on their scooters. Some with helmets, some without, some with guides, some driving themselves…all had looks of sheer terror across their faces. It beggars belief to me that these people chose to do this for their enjoyment. A guide I can just about understand, but fucking relax if you are going to do it. The rest though…I have no idea. Why oh why would you go to a practically lawless country in regard to road safety and take up riding a bike, that you have no business or permit to ride and no experience in doing so, of course you are going to spend the whole time shitting your pants, that is if you don’t die or lose all of your skin on the tarmac. Worse still this hole thing with westerners and no helmets boggles my mind. Now I have even been guilty of this in a short trip around the corner when we didn’t have enough helmets for the three of us on a scooter, but that was really in some back water place and no traffic, and I am a massive hypocrite. But people riding around the streets, clearly with no knowledge of bike riding with no helmets wherever they go, its like they think the roads are softer in Asia and that their heads won’t explode upon hitting it without a helmet.

It was a great day and yet another great meal in our bellies (RESTAURANT NAME) it was time to head home. Sadly on the way home some cuntyballs had hit a dog in the street and left it there. At first no-one knew what to do but a couple of us silently decided almost simultaneously to go and give the dog a bit of company in his final moments. Lucky it wasn’t bloody and it looked reasonably peaceful and quick. Truly sad not being able to do anything or even know where or how to find a vet, moreover that people just give zero fucks. The only thing we could do was let him know we were there to try and comfort his last breaths. Here were two local ladies amongst our comforting few and they waited till he was gone and gave him a stroke before carrying him off.

The next morning we decided to venture in to the caves. They have here the single largest cave in the world and the cave system is enormous. The trick on the cave we went to is to get there with a cluster of people or make a cluster at the booking office. You have to pay entrance to the cave individually, but on top of that you have to pay for a boat. The boat seats twelve and is the same price if you are one, or if you are twelve. So, better be twelve.

It’s a pleasant little ride up the river, then at the mouth of the cave they shut the engine off and peel the roof back. The cave truly is huge, and I believe that we were in one of the smaller ones open to the public (the largest cave is heavily restricted as it only has a short season and a max number of 500 visitors allowed per year, at the cost of a few thousand dollars each). There is a chap at that front and a lady at the back who paddled us down the river into the cave. The chap at the front kept pointing at rocks and saying things like “turtle” or “elephant” but I was at a loss. All I could see was a lot of vaginas and a bit of bacon. But still really pretty. It is one of those moments, like at the Grand Canyon or among the Sequoias, being in the presence of something that has been shaped by millennia and has lived, one way or another, through ages. The idea of something so ancient really hits home our simple insignificance. On the way out we disembark in the cave and do the last few hundred metres on foot. Getting to walk amongst the giant stalactites and stalagmites, or even the places they have joined to form columns is breathtaking. The colours and beauty throughout is a wonder.

Tour over we headed back to the hotel to collect our things before getting on the night bus. Another shonky affair. But the semi-seats were at least this time more comfortable. As ever, there were Westerners expecting Western service and space and comfort and making a cluster fuck of it all. There was even someone who could only wait 10 minutes into the journey to go for a ciggy in the toilet. Seriously, how weak do you have to be? Every so often the same person would do the same thing. Surely there are better ways to enjoy a bus ride than sat in the shitty shitter chuffing on a cancer stick? But no, if that floats his boat then fair play. Just wished I wasn’t in nose-shot so to speak.

Time to leave Vientiane, time for another ride on a tuk tuk, then the night bus, with a van in the morning to take us on to the ferry port. The tuk tuk came early evening to take us to the station and on to the night bus. We were the third and fourth on the tuk tuk, which at six started to look a bit full, and we seemed to be going in circles looking for people to fill it further. My jaw nearly fell open as I saw Yank and English walking out of a hostel as we rocked up. Luckily we only picked up a few Dutch and such before heading to the switch to the van. We switched to the bus, which was somewhat special. For the lonely traveller this could be a wonder or horror, depending on one’s luck and one’s point of view. Despite the bumpy start with the driver who didn’t speak much English (again I say this with no detriment to him, as we are foreigners I his land, he is in no way obliged to know our tongue, point is simply that it makes life difficult for us lazy none Laos folk) and that he wouldn’t entertain one request to be on the bottom deck, as she had arranged this prior with her travel agent. Which to be fair to him, I highly doubt had happened beyond the tour operating having just said yes to the travel-sick lady’s request, then thinking exactly no more of it the moment the money touched her handflesh. We were all sent upstairs to the top deck, and here’s where it gets weird. The bus is simply a series of double beds. Conny and I were set, one bed, one couple. The German girl, the American lady, the Dutch girl and a couple of others… not so much. The thing is, you are simply assigned a number and go to bed. If you are a solo traveller, your number is simply paired wit that of another solo traveller and you share the one bed, with nothing dividing you. Odd as fuck. It did work out alright for the American and German who were paired together, I can’t remember who the Dutch girl got but I don’t think it was too terrible. Once the bus got underway, the driver for some reason locked the toilet and hid the key. Which was fine by me but the girls were not overly happy. A bit later on the locals started to fill the bus up, and then someone came around with food. Only none got to us at the front. That said, we did see from the Dutch girl, who was last to get some food among those who did, that it was not exactly appetizing. All I can describe it as was some attempt at a sandwich. It was a kind of meat-hair with sauce splodged in the middle of a square of sandwich bread of the worst order, and folded into a triangle. It looked, to be honest, as if someone had taken a distinctly vigorous wipe of their arse with a piece of bread, after a not-pleasant poo, and had in their vigour, dislodged some bum hair which got caught in the poo smear. Stranger still the bus stopped and the driver ran out to the shop on the corner. He gleefully ran up to the front of the bus with what was clearly the replacement for the “food” that we had sadly missed out on. A strange alternative, but I think a million times better, they handed us all a “natural” soy milk carton. Natural my arse, it tasted like sweet porridge, but still, sweet porridge or stale-bread-arse-wipe? I know my feelings on the matter.

The ride itself was pleasant enough. I just know that it could have been awkward given that I heard stories of young ladies being given beds with strange men who at best have hogged the bed, and at worst taken liberties. Save from a few moments that the bus clattered the over-hanging trees or it sounded like a wheel fell off (the first few times we were felt assured that the bus had 6 wheels…but after a few more it started to become a little worrisome!)

We arrived at the bus station and had to wait before climbing in to our next van. Not exactly a luxury affair, a Mercedes from the early 90’s we then had to pick up a few more guest house folk…upon watching the large framed, inappropriately dressed and sour faced lady mount the bus, we knew we were going to have to put up with some noisy opinion being spouted for the next few hours. We were not wrong. It started with her moving around a bit to try and keep herself the “good seat” Then it was her getting in the way whilst trying to protect the good seat from invaders. Somewhat amusingly 20 minutes in, the good seat failed under her not inconsiderable weight. The back of the seat fell back, less fortunate for the girl behind’s knees, but it did make me chuckle!

Furthermore she loved to tell tales of her hollywood lifestyle, being some sort of studio exec. As her tales progressed, I was not surprised to find that she was less of a bigshot exec but more of a hanger on and wannabe. Her initially glamorous tales of going to the Oscars and such became later that she was one of those people paid to wait outside and fill seats when the stars went to the loo, lucky for her she was of a certain size, perhaps she could charge double, after all, if you have to pay double on a plane to sit on a seat, why not get double for doing the same?

We arrived at the port…well… ish…we were somewhat unceremoniously dumped at the end of a road, which clearly led to some water, and were told to head that way. We did so, we also figured out that we had to exchange our bus tickets for boat ones. None of this was made clear, nor was any of this obvious, but we motley few loaded with backpacks front and back puzzled our way through. If I’m honest, I think we were the local sport, all those folk pretending to go about their days and their jobs were really just spectators placing their bets on who’d get it, who’d erupt in anger or who would fall/lose their luggage to the Mekong. We were on the same boat as some of those from the bus, including the travel sick girl from the big bus. It turns out she has a name. Her name is Kari(strangely pronounced Kerry) and she is entirely lovely. She is an American, it also transpired that she thought exactly as we did upon seeing the large sour faced lady climb in to the bus and the more more she heard her speak the further she sunk into her seat through shame for her great nation. She became our best bud for our time on the island. We headed out in search of a bungalow on Sunrise side. Yes, so called because that is the side of the island that the sun rises on. The other place you can stay is Sunset side, I think you get the picture.

We headed up past “town centre” by town, on Don Det, we mean slightly populated, a few ramshackle restaurants and guesthouses, a couple of even more ramshackle bars and not much else. Just beyond the big smoke of the city limits lay some basic riverside bungalows. 30 000 kip a night, further up were some more but as the heavens opened, Conny got cranky and decided she could not be arsed to search. We settled for the most basic of basic, not even with wifi, but realistically that was ok by us. Kari carried on up the way a little and found one for 40 000 kip a night, but this one did have wifi. I have to say I enjoyed the 4000 Islands. It’s very rough and ready. Not really for the luxury seekers (that’s not to say there aren’t some posh places to stay, one chap wanted 200 000 kip a night in his somewhat mediocre looking hotel, but on the other islands there were some more high caliber looking places). If you were to go to one of these more plush affairs,, you would still be on these same islands and to be frank, their entire charm is their relaxed un-refinery. There are some gems though. The first is the café in “town”. As you traverse to Sunset side from the town centre, there is a cafe, called Bamboo café. Owned and operated by a lovely Korean chap, who made awesome freshly grounded drip coffee. The soundtrack was also excellent and I had many a delightful coffee in his place, the girls had a few coffees and a few beers. We never actually had his food, which was a shame, because he did some traditional Korean stuff…If I recall correctly it was due to my vegetarian-ness that we didn’t but it looked delightful. That said, the food on Don Det was generally excellent. And super cheap. We are talking a dollar or two for a main meal. Usually delicious ones at that. Breakfasts could be as little as 50p. I personally found it nicer to stick to the more out of the way places that were pleasant and cheap. The exception to the rule is the Indian restaurant on the main road, called Jasmine. It cheap and wonderful. In fact there was another wonderful Indian restaurant over on Sunset side too, but the name escapes me. Jasmine is surely the winner on the basis of it’s mint sauce alone. Minty cool and Chili hot all in one rich yoghurty gloop. Awesome.

The next big selling point to Don Det is the Irrawaddy Dolphins. These are a very rare species of dolphin, although not as rare as we were led to believe (there are only ten left on Earth!) no but still very rare and definitely troubled. The ones in Laos do number only around 10 and breeding it transpires is somewhat challenging for them as they fear a set of dams on the river have separated the boys from the girls of this particular group. Still, in order to go and see them we could either take a tour which would be very costly or we could rent a bike for the day and just head that way on to Don Kong, then take a local boat to go and find them. We opted for option 2 which we think was a win. This way we cycled up along Sunset, over the bridge (there is a small fee to pay as a kind of day ticket thing but nothing extravagant) and then on to the waterfalls. They say waterfalls, but really they are giant rapids. Beautiful giant rapids, carving through rock and tree as far as the eye can see. Lucky we came on our bikes too, because the entry to these falls is through a park, which your day ticket covers the cost of! We headed down from the falls on one of the two roads we could take. At the end was a spot called Dolphin Boat Jetty. Here, rather than the extortionate tour rates we found that three of us could get on a boat and mosey out with a local to the exact area the dolphins were chilling in. By far the best way to do it. If just for the boat ride itself it was worth it. These guys know this ever changing beast of a river like the back of their hands. The driver took us straight to the dolphins who we watched for an hour or two doing their dolphin thing. It truly was lovely(and bear in mind at this point we thought we were witnessing the last six) and I do hope that the measures the Laotian government is putting in place to safe guard them pays off. That said, don’t know what they are going to do about the lack of mating pairs. It is my understanding that they are quite territorial and wouldn’t necessarily just take to another dolphin being dropped amongst them.

As our final day drew we headed to the ferryport once more and made the journey across the Mekong. Then onward to Pakse. We stopped in Pakse just one night, a beautiful little bungalo by the river, super cheap, dinner provided by none other than Jasmine Indian Restaurant, Pakse branch, quite by accident as we stumbled upon it. Then further the next morning we climbed aboard the bus from hell to Danang, Vietnam, more about that in the next piece.

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.