A bit of a mishap and a lovely story.

As motorcycle crashes go, it was pretty pathetic really, nothing on the grand scale Barry Sheene used to perform on various circuits back in the 70's. Stop panicking now, I am perfectly all right. I have a bruised left small finger and a bruised right knee, hardly honourable war wounds. More of that as it appears chronologically.

I mentioned last time about my probably irrational dislke of Vientiane, so I got out of it in pretty quick order, a couple of days really and headed South again for the riverside town of Takhek. This is a lovely place, very quiet and with a decidedly French feel about it. I am continually surprised at how much influence the French seem to exert here. Given the relatively recent political history, you would think the Lao would be inclined to excise all memories of French colonial rule, but not a bit of it. Most of the public buildings are still signed in Lao and French and I have found my schoolboy vocab useful on a couple of occasions, not least today in the dinosaur museum of which more later.

The journey was uneventful although yet again I am convinced that the siting of bus stations anywhere in Southeast Asia is organised by the tuk-tuk (taxi) mafia. I can see no other reason for putting them so far out of town other than to generate business for the drivers as local town buses are non-existent and you have to use them. They know this and really try to stick the arm into tourists. I am at a loss to know why the 14km. to and from the bus stations (Vientiane and Takhek repectively) cost well over twice the amount to travel the intervening 250km. or so. Enough, however, on the problems of tuk tuk men. I arrived at the guesthouse I had chosen and it proved to be very nice. Pretty basic but for £5 a night, what do you want? The only slight problem was the karaoke attached to the premises. They closed it down at just after eleven every night, that wasn't the issue, it was the uniformly appalling standard of the performances. Most of them couldn't carry a tune in a bucket!

I had a bit of a wander and a bite to eat (eventually, it took 40 minutes in a restaurant with four customers) and retired to bed. Next day, I had determined to see some of the local ocuntryside which reputedly was beautiful (it is) and so I hired yet another scooter. Generally the score is that you pay for the scooter and they keep your passport to make sure you don't make off with it. This becomes important later on. I went for a bit of a drive round the countryside which is quite stunning. Huge karst limestone formations rise on every side from a plain of rice fields, grazing animals, shacks and the usual smiling locals. Back to town for a bite to eat and then decided to leave the bike home as I fancied a few beers.

I always drive pretty slowly after dark as many of the locals have no lights on the scooters and they are unheard of on bicycles. Dogs, livestock and small children add to the hazard so take it easy is the rule. This was a Saturday and I was coming close to my guesthouse when completely out of nowhere from my right came a lurid green scooter with three young men on it, all dressed to the nines. Three on a bike is commonplace here, a family of four not uncomon and my personal record is having seen six schoolgirls on one scooter in Thailand. I later worked out they had been to a wedding in the building they emerged from and suspect the Beer Lao and the lao-lao may have had some bearing on the incident. I hit the horn and both brakes at the same time, although why I bothered with the front brake I don't know as it was about as much use as a lawnmower on a submarine. I decided to try and get round the back of him as you pass on the right here and, had he kept going, everything would have been fine. Whether he stalled it or just panicked I don't know but he stopped dead leaving me with nowhere to go and somehow managed to slightly turn his bike towards me. I had bled off most of whatever speed I was doing and even got the left foot to the ground but the braking power of a Thai-made sandal on tarmac is minimal and the inveitable happened. With what sounded to me like an expensive crunch we came to a halt.

In the UK my reaction would probably have been to take him in a friendly manner by the throat and sohut a lot, but that is not the way to go about things here. By the time I had the bike disentangled and the stand down, his two mates had very gallantly disappeared and left him. He appeared rather young and rather sheepish and not speaking enough Lao, I thought taking his registration might be an idea. No such luck, as the bike was brand spanking new and not registered yet. There was no way I was going to get his details and nsurance doesn't exist so I made sure he was OK and headed off. I had no wish to get entangled with the police here as I have heard some bad stories and the foreigner is always wrong as he can pay a bigger bribe. I heard the police earn about $20US a month so it is hardly a surprise. Back at the guesthouse I had a good look at myself and the damage. I was dmamaged as described above, and the bike had a large crack in the front fairing and the little mesh basket was fairly well knocked about.

I had arranged to keep the bike for two days so I decided to press on with it the next day as it was still perfectly rideable. I had a wonderful day and did the first 40km. of what they call the Loop, a 400km. circuit through some of the most beatuful scenery in Lao. I visited some absolutely amazing caves, caused complete consternation by appearing in the village market of a small town and toodled back home very happy but with a light foreboding about the next day. I will post some photos to show you.

The problem is this, and I have heard some absolute horror stories about unscrupulous bike renters. Effectively, they can hold you to ransom as they have your passport and can ask whatever the Hell amount of miney they like knowing the police won't act and you need your document back. Although it is years since I bought bike parts, I reckon in the UK it would probably have been a couple of hundred quid to replace the whole unit, including labour. I knew things were cheaper here, so I worked out that I would go as far as $100US if it really got that bad and then have to think bout bribing the police as it would work out cheaper. I had strategically stashed various dollars in various pockets to produce duing negotiations should the need arise.

I went to reception and the young girl who spoke a bit of English was there thankfully. I explained as best I could what had happened and offered to rectrify the damage. She asked me if I had broken it why I hadn't fixed it, not disapprovingly but more quizzically as if it was the easiest thing in the world. I explained I didn't speak Lao, didn't know where to get a repair shop on a Sunday etc. "Bo pin yang (no problem)", she said, "I call my brother" and she got on the mobile. You can imagine how I was feeling now, fearing some sort of stitch up whereby her "brother" would fix the thing for some exorbitant amount. After a few seconds she announced "90". Ninety what? Dollars, Did she mean 900,000 kip and had mispronounced it, it was a bit of a nervy moment. I was also paying for my room, so she started totting up the bill, and at one point looked a bit quizzical saying, "I don't know English". What she had written on the bill was "thing which broke" and beside it 90.000kip. If you haven't read previously and know what the exchange rate is, I was getting the whole thing repaired with a little small change out of £7 ($11US). Yes, you read that corectly, £7. What a result, and yet another example of the simple decency of the Lao. Perhaps you begin to understand why I love them so much.

I really do fancy returning to do the complete loop some time, apparently five days gives you ample time to do it well with all the side trips and it is a real plan of mine now. Treated myself to a meal in a slightly posh restaurant whilst watching Arsenal getting dumped by Stoke 3-1. Funny, at home I am not a huge football fan but I like to watch it out here, if only to see the rain in England! Next morning, again regretfully, back to the bus station, I could have easily stayed round here for longer but the visa is ticking and I need to be out of Lao by 07/02/2010. Still, I have Cambo and Vn to look forward to so how bad can that be? A short teo and a half hour journey to Savannakhet where I am writing this after a lovely meal of spicy beef and veg. I will try and find an internet place later and upload this.

The pictures above are just a selection of the things I have been up to (smacked up scooter not included).

Stay tuned.

Fergy.

I give you this photograph to cheer you up (the one below that is). I know that those of you that are in Europe are in the grip of a fairly nasty cold snap now, and I have been gloating somewhat about the glorious weather here. I haven't seen a drop of rain for about four weeks. Cut to this morning when I was awoken by the hammering of a tropical rainstorm on the corrugated iron rooves that make up the complex I am staying in. For some strange reason I quite like that sound in the same way I love the sound of rain drumming on the canvas of a well-pitched tent. OK, so I am weird.
It looks like I have got myself somewhat mired in Luang Prabang. My latest thinking (subject to daily change) is that I will extend my Lao visa for teo weeks and then revert to Plan A, namely Plain of Jars, then South through Vientiane, Pakse and all points to the Cambodian border. A two week extension will give me another monthe or so to achieve this. I can score my Cambo visa in Vientiane to avoid any nonsense at the frontier. However, as I say, everything is subject to change and I have to get out of here first, whichis proving difficult.

A couple of days ago I went to Big Brother Mouse, the place where you talk to Lao English students, but the travellers outnumbered the students about three to one and they were obviously being overloaded. This gratified and irritated me in about equal measure. I was gratified that so many travellers were taking the time and irritated that I had got out of bed at an ungodly hour to do it with nil result. I decided to repair to my faovurite restaurant, the one I spent Xmas night in, for a cup of Lao coffee. If anyone reading is able to get some I thouroughly recommend it, it really is very good. I think it has now overtaken Jamaican Blue Mountain as my favourite coffee.

The two young ladies who work there, by name Thent and Noophin (Noo to her friends) are both training to be primary school teachers. Basically, the story is that they work all morning to make the means to survive away from home and then go to college between half three and eight in the evening. The source is designed thus as none of the students can afford not to work. A major part of the course is learning English and if things are quiet in the day, as they verey often are, they do their studying there. They were both working away hard and I asked them what the lesson was. Well, you can guess what happened next. In no time flat, I had donned my English teachers hat and was running my own Big Brother Mouse in the restaurant. Again, most gratifying. I have no aptitude for teaching whatsoever, I just do not have the patience but it is very difficult to become irritable with these lovely people and their immense thirst for education, it really is a hunbling experience.

This has now been going on for a couple of days now, and I think they are beginning to expect me to turn up. Today we went through a session of reading for the pronounciation and I really do enjoy it. However, I really have to make a move soon, although it is hard ot leave a place where I have fitted in so quickly. It is now to the point where local people are hailing me in the street. I went for my daily roasting and pummelling (also known as Lao steam bath and traditional massage) this evening and the boss himself insisted on doing the massage. I see now why he is the boss, by God did he give me some pounding.

From there for a nice feed in yet another restaurant I had not tried, Lasi restaurant, the Heavenly Beef in the mixed entree (rendered mixed entry on the menu) was very aptly named and the ribs were very tasty. I suppose I could stay here until I had sampled every restaurant which should take until about June! I do think, however, that by June several of the establishments will have closed. I definitely get the impression that LP has over-extended itself. Nowhere is anything like full any time of the day or evening. Certainly there are considerably more travellers here than when I passed through before but the amount of facilites geared towards them far outstrips even this increased demand. For example, a little cafe near my digs which was open until at least New Years Eve just disappeared overnight, literally.I went to bed one night and it was a restaurant and open for business. Next morning, completely stripped out. Chairs, tables, everything and the place locked and barred. I fear this is going to be an increasingly common scene here. No doubt everything will find it's own level. I just worry as to the future of the very many young people who have come here from the outlying areas to try and better themselves. What will happen to them? Back to the farm to work an ox driven plough, having had a taste of education? I sincerely hope not.

I had an interesting conversation last might with two London based Bangladeshi girls. Obviously the Bangla heartland in UK is the area I live in, and we knew many of the same places althouugh they lived in Sutton which is not, as far as I know, renowned for a Bangla community. One of the young ladies (I didn't get their names) worked in the City in an insurance place and I was giving forth about the immorality of the financial sector, the credit crunch at al and in the midst of it she said I sounded like a Communist. I nearly literally fell off the bench laughing. Me? A commie? I am somewhere slightly to the right of Genghis Khan. It really was an amusing interlude.

Having spent the evening talking to them, I had completely missed eating an evening meal, so it was back to my faithful late night locals haunt. I have no idea what time it closes, I have never been out that late! It was busy enough and then in rolls a tuk tuk load of absolutely blind drunk Thais who had been to some disco outside town. The reason I know this is because their guide sat at the next table to me and we were talking. It appears the Thai are very fond of travelling ot Lao as they find it extrmely cheap and they do not need visas. I find Thailand pretty cheap, so if they think Lao is cheap it gives you an idea how totally inexpensive this place is.

I am writing this piece in the Lao Lao Garden, where there is supposed to be wifi but the weather has knocked that for six so it will have to be the internet cafe tomorrow after English class! I can't believ ehow much I enjoy it. Thent is much better at Enhglish than Noo and I spent a lot of time today with the L and R thing. It is hard for us to understand what difficulty they have with the R sound as it just does not exist in Lao, but I think I am making progress. Would you listen to me, I am beginning to sound like Helen Keller! If I can upload the photo, Noo is on the extreme left and Thent on the extreme right. In the middle is the owner's wife and her absolutely delightful kids. I have nicknamed the little girl Trouble and the little lad derives endless amusement from shadow boxing with me, most exhausting!

Update.

It is now tomorrow, if you know what I mean, and my routine continues. I am so relaxed and content here, Heaven knows when I will move on. They may just have to pry me out of ehre with a crowbar!

Speak soon,

Fergy.

OK, so hopefully here are the photos. The top one is the final results of our afternoon's labours and yeas, I did actually help make all that, it was delicious too, if I say so myself. The photo bottom left is purely for the vegetarians amongst you to show you what you are missing (taken in the market) and the bottom right is the result of my "chopping and woking" as they call it.

I'll be in touch soon.

Some fool gave me a machete!

Admittedly, it was a pretty small machete, and they also gave me a small vegetable knife, vegetable peeler, wok, burner and spatula. Are you with me yet? Today, in the spirit of "finally getting round to things", I got round to going to Cookery School. I have been promising myself for trip after trip and never managed it, so at 1000 hours this morning I rolled up to the Tamnak Lao Cookery School which is attached to the excellent restaurant of the same name, having done my pre-read and having observed the advice of the Australian lady who owns the place to skip breakfast. What a sound piece of advice that turned out to be, as you will see later.

I had done my pre-read so I had some idea of what to expect and also learned a lot about Lao culture which is so bound up in their cuisine. Communal cooking and eating are an essential part of the social fabric here. In fact, the Lao have an expression along the lines of "food eaten alone never tastes good." I would have to agree to disagree on that one, as the food I have had here is uniformly superb but you get the idea. The class was full at 12 people, about an equal mix of men and women, some couples and four singles. Poor old Liz, a late 20's (I guess) Australian drew the short straw and got me. She was really nice about it, and we got on like a house on fire. By about the third dish we were just doing things without even discussing them, we had got it down fairly well.

A quick introduction with the two instructors Leng Lee (the thin one) and Phia Yang (the not quite so thin one. I cannot speak highly enough about these guys, they were superb. At the end of the day I asked the owner of they had started out as chefs and she told me they weren't chefs at all, she had picked them for their communication skills (and obvious patience) and they had gone from there. As (H)mong, they would not even have cooked these dishes much, if ever, as their tribe has a different cuisine. I found this incredible given the quality of the food they dished up all day.

Into a couple of tuk tuks and off to market, the big Phousi Market on the outskirts of town. I love roaming about markets but it is always difficult trying to find out what unusual things are due to the language barrier but Leng very patiently explained what things were, and what they were used for in cooking. The one that amazed me was what he called spicy wood. It looked like lumps of dead wood about twi inches in diameter. Aparently, the Lao grate it and use it in cooking as it has a chilli like taste. It was also a working trip. When Leng was giving us the guided tour, Phia was off buying the produce we were going to be using that day and came back laden with plastic bags full of all kinds of things.

Back to base, and the fun really began. Donning a very fetching pinny decorated with elephants we gathered round whilst Leng demonstrated Lang Prabang salad. As the name suggests, it is a local delicacy and I had a delightful version of it yesterday. This could not be simpler and includes the simplest "mayonnaise" in the history of cooking. Well, the call it mayo but it isn't really although I do urge you to try this recipe at home, it is so quick and simple apart form the boiling of a few eggs. Don't worry, I am not going to set down every recipe in detail. LP salad is a salad of mixed leaves and the local watercress (use any leaves you have and UK watercress would be good. Make the mayo, which consists of two egg yolks, two tablespoons of oil and the same of white vinegar, one tablespoon sugar, 1/2 teaspoon white pepper and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Then beat the life out of it in a mortar and pestle or use a blender. Dress the leaves with some of it and reserve some. Arrange the salad on the plate andthen pour the remainder of the mayo over the top. Sprinkle some ground unsalted peanuts and a small amount of cooked pork mince (optional) over the top and garnish with coriander. How hard was that? Literally 10 minutes work tops.

This was to be a feature of the whole day. Nothing they made took more than about 10 minutes to make and by the end we were knocking up dishes in about 15. It really is fast food made with a minimum of equipment and containing a maximum of flavour. I loved the way the guys taught. They demonstrated it thoroughly once and then let you get on with it. While one of them did the washin up (nice touch) the other one was prepping for the next demo. They weren't wandering about watching you although no dobt they would have assisted if you got in trouble. I really do not see how you could though. We were working off a very good recipe book, and the cooking principles are childishly simple.

OK, this is where the trouble starts, we made that and, after a teabreak, another dish of fried rice noodles with chicken and veg, so that was lunch.

Outside to eat, and by one o'clock I was stuffed. I do not eat much in the heat of the day here. Back into class and they demonstrated another three dishes of which we had to pick two and then a further two of which we had to pick one. Are you beginning to see the problem here? One thing they demonstrated although we did not make is another local delicacy, Jeowbong, which is LP chilli paste. I like pet (spicy) but even I blanched a bit at a recipe where the first ingredient is 50 dried red chillies. Yes, you read that right. Along with a few other things it makes a paste and would you believe, it is not that hot? Honestly. It keeps for six months in the fridge so there will be a big batch of that on the go when I return, it is gorgeous and goes with most Lao traditonal food. I am sure the neighbours will be delighted with the smell of the chilli and the twenty or so chopped garlic cloves!

Without boring you completely with recipes, just a couple more thoughts on what was a truly memorable day. Firstly, Laap Gai (chicken laap) which is one of the most popular Lao dishes, adn I love. It requires taking chicken and attacking it, there is no other word, with the machete until it is reduced to almost a paste cinsistency. Liz decreed I looked like the man for the job and I set about with a will. I think she was getting slightly worried by the end of it with my maniacal machete assault. Norman Bates, eat your heart out. Hopefully, the photo will give you an idea.

I think my favourite of the day was the delightfully named Khua Maak Kheua Gap Moo. Try saying it aloud and adopting a music hall Chinese type accent, it caused no end of hilarity. It is basically a pork and aubergine dish. I generally don't like aubergine but Liz wanted to cook it so it wasn't a problem and it turned out to be delicious, if I say so myself, I'll definitely be giving that a try at home. Actually I am lucky where I live because between Whitechapel Market which is predominantly Bangladeshi now, and the Vetnames enclave of South Hackney which I can walk to in 20 minutes, I should be abled to source most things with th epossible exception of choko. Anyone who comes to my house for dinner better watch out.

Well, by the end of the event I was full to capacity. None of the groups managed to finish the food alrthough someone seemed to think that the guys took the leftovers back to their villages at night which I found sad. Not sure how true that was though. If any of you are vaguely interested in this place the website is www.tamnaklao.net , have a look. It being broad daylight we didn't know at the time that the whole town and most of the province was suffering a power cut, although by dusk it was back on. So what to do? Well, same as last night, which I haven't told you about, so I took myself to the sauna.

Up a rather uninviting alleyway off the main street is a traditional Lao steam bath and massage place. Now the Lao steam bath differs from a traditonal one like Turkish, or a sauna, like the Finnish in one particular. The premises is up steps and the steam is produced from some apparatus underneath and piped into the cabin. It is more like a steam bath than a sauna being a wet heat. What sets it apart is that the steam is scented with various herbs etc. I spoke to Tong, the owner last night and he could only tell me that one of them was lemongrass with is very discernible, he didn't know the English for the other elements in the mix. Whatever they are it smells divine but, like the cuisine, you had better be able to do hot. Some years ago, I played gigs on tour in Scandinavia where it is a big macho thing to see who can throw the most water on the coals and stand the resultant heat for the longest time. I used to aquit myself reasonably for a foreigner. Like the cuisine, you had better be able to do hot.

Let me set the scene. The cabin is pretty small and no open coals as in Scandinavia. There is a tiny and pretty ineffectual bulb at an equally tiny window at the far end. I suspect this is here merely to stop you bumping into the far wall, as you can't see your hand in front of your face. The only sound is that of the sweat dripping off you onto the matting floor, and believe me you will sweat. 30 seconds and you are basically leaking, it is unbelievably hot. Ten minutes is an absolute maximum there and you emerge, cross to the bathroom where you ladle cold water over yourself. If you need a break between "sweats" you can go and sit in a comfy teak chair where there is always a big pot of the most delicious herbal tea I have ever tasted. I cannot begin to describe the taste to you, but it is very nice. Again, the lack of a common language made it difficult for Tong to tell me what was in it. Whenever you are ready, dive back into the inferno for another roasting. Tonight I witnessed a most bizarre scene there. One of the masseuses had been sweating herself in the ladies steam room, came out and poured a sachet of Nescafe into the herbal tea and drink it with apparent relish. I cannot imagine what it must have tasted like.

Having duly opened the pores and washed off the grime of the day it is time for a good pummelling. I would say that Lao traditional massage differs slightly from Thai traditional massage in the amount of overt violence offered to the recipient, but only slightly. Iron hard thumbs are still thrust into places where thumbs have no business being, joints are nearly seperated, people kneel on your calves whilst they do their level best to seperate your spine from it's attendant musculature and so on. They will crack fingers and toes, manage to find pressure points and generally slap you about in a way that, if delivered in an East End pub would undoubtedly result in unpleasantness. And I pay for this. Why? Because at the end of it I feel great. For some time my right shoulder has been giving me a bit of gip, probably due to my bad posture caused by my back operation some years ago. It is now completely freed up, and I am so grateful. I really do recommend this experience to anyone.

So that is me just about up to date. At least I have an excuse for my typos tonight as most of this has been composed by candlelight, but the power appears to be back on now although for how long I have no idea.

People on the cookery course were asking me today what my plans were, in the way of well-met travellers everywhere, and I took the greatest delight in telling them I hadn't a clue. This is not me showing off, I really don't. I heard a lengthy visa extension is not difficult in Lao so I might revert to Plan A, i.e. Phonsevan, Plain of Jars, then South, into Cambo, then South to North Vietnam, back through Lao into Thailand and possibly Burma but no doubt that will change tomorrow. You cannot believe the joy I derive on a daily basis from this freedom. God, this retirement is a great thing!

I will try and post again soon, if you haven't all been bored to death by now my four loyal followers, I thank you.

PS. I tried to post this but the power cut has just about knackered every wireless connection in this town. Isn't it amazing how htings go? Two years ago I did not even have a mobile 'phone (still don't on the road) and now I am completely fazed because there is no internet connectivity in a country where the electric is switched off as a matter of course at midnight, if indeed there is any at all. I have to get my pre-technology head back on rapidly. I will post this, power permitting, after language school in the morning.

PPS. Thought I would also post the perfect sunset photo!

A new Year and some more adventures.

Well, another new year, and I really cannot believe so much has happened and already 10 years since the Millenium. Where did the time go? I saw the New Year in with a very pleasant young Irish couple called Jacinta and Keith who currently live in Sydney and were whizzing through Lao and Cambodia in a couple of weeks. They were quite jealous of my ability to travel at leisure. I am though, as usual, getting ahead of myself, so where were we? Undoubtedly in Luang Prabang where I appear to have become somewhat stuck, although there are much worse places to be stuck.

I have been doing a number of things predominantly, it appears, involving walking about in the hot sun during the day. I am beginning to understand why the Lao tend to keep out of the sun, it can get really warm here. I am currently writing this in the shade of an umbrella in a restaurant on the banks of the Nam Kham awaiting my Luang Prabang salad, a local delicacy (further report, written later, it was delicious).

I think last post I was ranting about the appalling behaviour of the tourists towards the monks, and I have had my view of the situation confirmed. I was speaking to an Australian lady not an hour ago who has lived in Lao almost continuously since the early 70's. She was telling me that the behaviour had become so bad that the senior monks got together and decided, much as they were reluctant to do so, that the Tak Bat should be stopped. Apparently they were told in no uncertain terms by the Government that they would continue to walk as it was a tourist attraction and they wanted the tourist dollar. I find this almost as reprehensible as the actions of the tourists themselves. Right, I really must get off my high horse now.

After that debacle, I went back to the guesthouse, had a small doze, then got up again ready to face the world. I decided I needed to spread my wings a bit so I decided to hire a motorbike. The standard Honda 100cc was on offer at a place near where I stay. What a heap. 71,000 kilometres on the clock (and Heaven knows how many more not on it), it didn't idle properly which is tricky on a semi-auto and the brakes were soggier than an Irish Ferbruary. That was the pick of the bunch, so it would have to do.

Off I headed along Highway 13 to see the famous caves at Pak Ou. The highway itself was OK, but the last 11 km to Ban Pak Ou (literally village at the mouth of the Ou) were pretty amusing. An unpaved road with some quite steep inclines and declines with sharp bends. All of this is easy enough to handle but what caused the real bother was the other traffic. Jeep and minivan drivers ferrying their loads of tourists driving like complete lunatics and kicking up choking dust. I had to resort to the old bandana over the face trick. I must have looked a bit like Billy the Kid although I suppose the image was somewhat ruined by the baby pink helmet they had given me. The helmet would have been about as useful as a politician in a crisis had I had an accident. The strap did not fasten and, at anything over about 25mph the wind got under it and started to lift it off my head. I had to resort to the expedient of gripping the loose strap in my teeth. What a bloody performance.

Despite everything I made it to Ban Pak Ou in good order and decided I was in need of refreshement so I sat down at a shack run by an old couple and ordered a cup of the excellent local coffee and a bottle of water. It was there that I was treated to one of the most extraordinary demonstrations of ingenuity I have ever seen. Four local guys were constructing a small house, well sleeping shack really. The old man told me they had started that morning and they already had the basic frame together. I made an inventory of the technology on the "site" which runs as follows. Two machetes, one hammer (minus grip), a bucket of nails (some pre-used) and two small shovels. That was it. The structure was being made entirely of bamboo save for the pre-woven and pre-used woven mat flooring. A beam was put up and, if it dod not fit, was taken down and hacked at until it did. The nails were only used for the largest beams with most of the joining being achieved my means of thin strips of what I think was also bamboo which were used to tie beams together. Needless to say, I couldn't resist and had to offer my services. This caused the usual amount of hilarity as I was wielding a machete with the best of them and tied off a couple of beams under supervision. To think that some poor Lao is going to be sleeping in a construction partly put together by yours truly is pretty frightening.

Leaving my Bob the Builder hat off for a while ("Can we build it? Can we Hell!) I went for a walk down to the place where the boats depart for the caves which are on the other side of the river but when I got there there were so many tourists about and I could see swarms of them at the caves who had come by slow boat from LP, I decided not to bother. I suppose I was still feeling a bit anti-tourist. Instead I set out to explore the village, not that it took much exploring but I did spend an amusing time kicking a football with a vouple of youngsters wchich they seemed to find great fun.

After about an hour I went back to where I had parked the bike and I couldn't believe it. The construction gang had got the floor completely finished, the mats cut to size and laid, the roof beams and rafters all ien place. I cannot believe how quickly they did it. Unfortunately, it was knocking off time so I didn't get to see any more of their considerable skills. Back the way I had come and a fairly uneventful trip back to LP for the evening. I am happy enough driving after dark in Thailand but the driving standards and the roads here seem much worse so I didn't fancy it.

Another fairly quiet evening with a delightful duck dish for my evening meal at my usual late night place and off to bed, where I watched quite a disturbing BBC World documentary about a 12 year old heroin addict in Afghanistan. She was a pickpocket and her mother, another addict, a beggar. It was quite distressing in many ways. That really is a country and a region I would love to visit although obviously not any time in the near future.

New Years Eve dawned fine and bright and being still in possession of both my trusty steed and useless helmet, I decided on another little adventure. I am having quite a lot really. There are two waterfalls near LP, one of which I visited last time round and it is indeed very beautiful. However, in my guidebook I had read that on the far bank of the Mekong there was another waterfall called Tad Hoykhua (Tad being waterfall). It suggested it was 14km West of Luang Prabang in Ban Pakleung. No problem, I can do that on my head. I will quote exactly from the guidebook as to the instructions I was given, "cross the Mekong by boat at Tha Heua (boat station) in Luang Prabang to Xiang Men village and then travel the rest by road. What could be simpler?

I took myself to the rather good Tourist Office to ask about directions or maybe a map, and the young man there admitted quite candidly and smilingly that he did not know anything about the other side of the river. I found this a bit odd but determined to go anyway. It appears the river forms a barrier (much like the Thames) and if you live on one side, you don't really bother with the other.

I arrived at the boat station and the well meaning security guy was not going to let me onto the pier thinkng I had taken a wrong turning presumably. I mimed that I wanted to go over with my bike to Xiang Men and he looked at me slightly oddly. I was beginning to get the impression that this is not a trip often undertaken by tourists. Having been thus admitted, it was the work of minutes to get onto the "car ferry" (pictured) and across to the other side. It may as well have been the other side of the moon, never mind the Mekong. After negotiating the almost vertical track from the boat on an underpowered machine I arrived in the village and it was obvious I was right, this is not tourist country. No paved roads, no road signs (in any language) and astounded looks all round. Halfway through the vilage one lady nursing an infant started shouting with glee and encouraging the child to wave at me and say "Saibaidee". I had to stop the bike and do the waving thing, it was heartwarming.

So we have a problem. No map, no signs and no idea where I am going. Ideal, my favourite way to travel. I worked out West easily enough due to the position of the sun (old Boy Scout trick) and immediately proceeded to head East on the principle I had lots of time, I had a bike (of sorts) and I might see something interesting. The further I penetrated into what is effectively traditional rural Lao, the more incredulous did the looks on the other road users faces become. I use the word road advisedly because it was a boneshaking dirt track. I felt so totally alive. It is hugely liberating to be away from any sort of support network, completely self-reliant. If I had had a mechanical failure or even something so prosaic as a puncture, which would not be unlikely on those roads, I would have had to sort it out myself one way or another. I may have said this before on a post but, whilst not in any way on the level of people like Ranulph Fiennes, Eric Newby or even my old mate Mike Asher (look him up on Google), in my own small way it pleased me.

I had sort of hoped to find a village but as the miles went on it was looking unlikely so I turned back knowing I would have to retrace my steps. Back to Xiang Men and off the right way, West. Off the other road out of town, past the police station and then the road forked. What to do. Well, they say "ask a policeman" so I went back there and sat outside as there is no obvious public office or anything. Eventually a cop turned up (at least I think he was, he might have been the cleaner for all I know) appeared and I hailed him. Asked for Tad Hoykhua - blank look. Ban Pakleung - blanker look. Maybe it was my pronounciation, maybe something else but he eventually settled on telling me where Ban Pak was. Thinking this to be a local way of saying Pakleung, I followed the directions, assisted by the fact he mentioned "resort" and I knew there were a few bungalows for rent at the falls.

I went along not a bad road for about two miles and the road forked again. With no-one to ask, I decided on the right fork as I thought the falls were more likely to be towards the hills than the river. Half a mile on and the road stopped. Now I don't mean it became rougher or petered out into a dirt track, I mean it stopped. One minute decent hard dirt track, the next jungle. OK, only half a mile wasted. Back to the fork and took the left turn, which led me to a village. After a few dead ends I met a smiling old man. "Pakleung?", I enquired and he smiled, nodded and pointed confidently along a track. I followed it and it led to, well, the same dead end as before. As I had not seen any other roads going West, I decided the fates were against me and I wasn't going to find my waterfall.

Back into the centre of the vilage to find all the youth of the town gathered and playing petanque / boules (they call it petanque in Lao) in what would pass as the village square. Well, sensing, if nothing else, a good photo opportunity I stopped the bike and wandered amongst them. A quick Beer Lao was secured and I sat down to watch the game. There was much shouting, friendly argument and general good humour about the games that followed.

Obviously I had not fathomed the rules (still haven't really) and eventually the inevitable happened. You must have guessed what is coming next. They thought it would be great fun to watch the farang make a fool of himself and I was dragged into a game of doubles. My partner was a youngish Lao guy and we played two other Lao guys. The women also play (very well) and mixed games are common but this was an all male affair and taken very seriously although with a lot of laughter. I was terrified I would make a complete Fred Karnos of it but to my great surprise I found I have some sort of aptitude for the game. Shall we say I didn't make a complete ass of myself and played a couple of shots quite close to the jack (or whatever it is in French / Lao). It was great fun.

Many more games were played and the system, should you be asked, is this. The losing team buys a big bottle of Beer Lao. Now, this is not merely for the winners but a single glass is available and the beer is distributed in mouthfuls to victors, spectators and apparently any passing stranger! This is the Lao way, eating and drinking are always communal affairs, and they found it most odd that I wanted to drink a whole bottle of beer myself. By the end I felt a little odd doing it.

I mustn't have messed up too badly as I was invited to play several more times and we even won a few games. I got quite into it by the end but a glance at my watch showed that it was four o'clock and the bike was due to be returned by five so back down the road amidst many fond farewells, on the boat and back to LP where the venerable old machine was returned. Wahtever the Buddhist equivalent of the last rites is, I suggest this bike recieves them now because it cannot have long to live.

So, showered and dressed, it is New Years Eve and what to do? Well, I wasn't going to go too mad early on, as the bars were going to be open all night and I fancied a party (this turned out to be wrong, in the event) so I had a small bite to eat and took myself to the Utopia Bar where I met the Irish couple as above. One of the more unusual ways of spending New Years Eve, I would suggest, is playing beach volleyball but that is what was going on. In a bar in a totally landlocked country there is a beach volleyball court and groups of already drunken young tourists were making a frankly pathetic attempt at the game.

I had planned to see the New Year in at the Lao Lao bar but the best laid plans and all that. We toasted in 2010 and they went shortly after, having an early bus to catch. I wandered round to the Lao Lao and had a couple of drinks there but the place was already dying and, despite all advertising and personal assurances to the contrary, the bar was closed at 0300. I went home, very sober, and so to bed.

Up relatively early next day, well early for a New Years Day anyway. A new year and just another day in paradise, literally. A fairly quiet day, had a wander round, visited another couple of wats (there are 34 in total and I have seen about 10!) then back to my favoured Saibaidee restaurant for a snack of spring rolls with chilli dipping sauce, as I wasn't really hungry, and then to the Chillout Bar to avail myself of the Wifi for a couple of hours and post a few very overdue tips on my Virtual Toruist website.

This town suffers big communal hangovers. The Lao Lao bar didn't even bother opening and the rest of the bars were empty. The massive Utopia had four others and myself in it and they were friends of the Canadian manager, a nice bloke actually. I think a lot of the travellers had decided to have New Years Eve here and then head on as the town was noticably quieter and still is today (2nd January). Yet another great meal in the late night place near my guesthouse and off to my comfy bed.

Up again this morning courtesy of my friend the rooster. I swear that bird's life expectancy is diminishing rapidly. So what to do? I was too late for Tak Bat and I would not want to witness that obscenity again ever, so I made action on a plan I had been forming for a day or two. It is easy to make yourself feel good about yourself here, there are a number of charity places where you can donate or volunteer or contribute your old books for sale or whatever, with the results being put back into the local villages especially those of the minority ethnic tribes.

This morning I went to a place called Big Brother Mouse, a strange name I know. Big Brother Mouse specialises in trying to attain literacy in the poorer areas round LP. In fact, I read today in the Vientiane Times that 30% of females aged 6 - 25 have never been to school. When I get a connection I will try to find a weblink for you. They commission books for which they need sponsorship and distribute them in the Province but their shop / office / classroom serves as a drop-in centre every day except Sunday as a learning facility for Lao people wanting to learn English.

I speak about ten words of Lao, have no teaching qualification, well no qualifications at all unless you count my Cycling Proficiency Badge and a couple of swimming awards, but this doesn't matter. Many Lao can now speak English as learned at school from Lao teachers but they want to work on pronunciation etc. Heaven forbid there should now be three young men in Lao speaking with Belfast accents! It really could not be simpler. There are a couple of tables, a few maps on the wall and a few childrens English posters of the A is for apple, O is for owl type, and you just sit down, introduce yourself and talk. God knows I am good enough at that.

I have always respected teachers and now I begin to realise why. I had no classroom plan or whatever they are called, so what to talk about? It really was quite nerve wracking at first, especially given the natural shyness of the Lao. What do you talk about? There is no guidance at all from the staff there so you just wing it. My "group", although it is all very informal, consisted of three (H)mong lads, two about 20 and one only 12 years old. They were all from far flung villages in LP Province and the two elder lads were working in town whilst the youngster was studying at school a few miles out of LP. We had two books, an English / Lao dictionary and a book of kids games that Big Brother Mouse produce. So off we went.

We started with the usual, "What is your name?", "Where are you from?" routine, so I came to Northern Ireland. That had to be shown on the very useful world map on the wall, so it gave me a plan. Northern Ireland - North. All the guys had notebooks which they assiduously wrote things in, so I got out the pen and did the points of the compass, using my guidebook to demonstrate. LP is Northwest of Vientiane etc. That led to compass and sailors / boats etc. and we discussed long tail boats and slow boats on the Mekong. I could not mime or demonstrate sailor so the dictionary came into play. Remember sailor, it becomes a little freaky later on.

Sorry if I am going on a bit, you may want to skip the next paragraphs, but this is etched on my mind and it afforded me so much happiness I am going to write it down for me if no-one else.

So, we had done the compass thing and then I noticed one of the older guys, the quiet one, was wearing an Inter Milan top. I asked if he supported them, trying to start a talk about football which the Lao love, but he told me he had bought it because it was warm! In about 30 degree heat and me sweating like the proverbial pig, I found this odd. However, I then regaled them with the story of the founding of that club in 1908. The kids play book was then brought into play, so I got the young lad to read aloud from it (it is in English and Lao) and it started to get difficult. It has long been the butt of humour that Eastern Asians confuse our L and R sounds, thereby rendering farang as falang etc. They also, like the Germans, have a serious difficulty with the W sound and render it as a V, so a fairly extended session on that, correct pronounciation of walk was the big one.

We were having a great laugh, and one of the games was "write your name in the air with your bottom". I can just imagine the hilarity this must cause in a village. So, bottom led to the concepts of bottom top and sides, which went well. Then I was writing something in one of the guy's books and I noticed on the opposite pages a drawing of the Golden Gate Bridge, a map of San Fransisco etc. and a Chinese female name. Apparently, one of the large Chinese community in that city had come here to do what I was doing. I explained that San Fransisco was Spanish for Saint Francis. "What is a saint?" was the inevitable question. How do you explain the concept of sainthood to someone with only the scantest knowedge of Christianity? Go on, try it yourself. I think I managed. This is where it gets freaky. In the two hours I was there we probably looked up about five words, so we looked up saint, and what was it adjacent to? Sailor, as above. What are the chances?

Somewhere in the middle of all this I thought to explain how odd a language English was. I did this to make them feel better as they were obviously trying so very hard and it was difficult for them. In fact, their thirst for knowledge was a truly humbling experience, not lost on one who basically squandered the opportunity of a very good education. You English speakers have a go at this. I wrote down BOW and explained it meant a thing you tie on your shoe, bending at the waist, something with an arrow and the front of a boat. Confusing enough until I told them BOUGH as in part of a tree was also pronounced the same as bending at the waist. English is my mother tongue and it confuses the life out of me.

Then he hit me with another one. "What is Engand and what is Britain?" Here we go again. I am sure there are British passport holders (or is that anybody now?) who would struggle to differentiate between Britain, Great Britain and the UK. Cue another trip to the map and a discourse on the political makeup of the UK, the passport being used to demonstrate. Which led to more discussion of the perversity of the English language. I was talking about the visa stamp in my passport for PDR Lao. You are undoubteldy ahead of me already, dear reader. Stamp. What is in your passport, what you put on a letter and what you do with your foot. Three entirely different concepts served by the same word.

The older, quiet guy hit me with another couple of questions and I realised how little I actually know about my own language. He asked what did "somebody" mean and he asked me to explain when to use the word a and the word the. Go on, try it. Try to explain that. I know when to use them but damned if I knew how to explain it. I tried my best though.

All too soon the two hour session was over and I have to say I left feeling pretty drained. It is bloody hard work that teaching lark, glad I never took it as a profession. The place is closed tomorrow and I have things to do on Monday as I shall explain but every day I am here I will be down there, it really is so rewarding. The looks on their faces are a joy and there is no expectation of you, you don't need to be a formal teacher, although I might jot down a few topics for next time should the conversation falter. If any of you ever venture this way, I strongly urge you to do this, it costs you nothing except a bit of a taxation on your brain, and mine could do with it, and the results are so, so wonderful. I didn't want to stick a camera in these young mens faces so you will have to take my word for it.

Away from Big Brother Mouse and along the main street to another place I had seen before, the central library, book exchange and just about everything else. The scene here is you buy a book for a mobile library which goes on a slowboat and is distributed amongst the outlying villages about twice a month. If you happen to be in town you can go on the boat but I don't think I will be here. The cost per book is a mere $2 US or about £1:50. Think about it, two books is about one pint in a London pub, it is nothing, and in the 23rd poorest country in the world it means such a lot. I bought some and wandered about town feeling very good about myself.

I often listen to celebrities on TV ranting on about various causes, and it normally makes me very sceptical, which is my normal state of being. It does not take huge donations or Live Aid concerts, all it takes is a small investment of time or a very little money to change things. OK, so I am starting to sound like Mother Teresa now, I'll stop it, but this place really does change your perceptions of things. I read in the Vientiane Times today that the average wage in this country is $400 US annually. That means that my monthly pension equals about four months wages (give or take) for an average Laotian. Think about it. All things are relative. All future correspondence should be addressed to fergy@righteoushippyfreak.co.uk

I will go and get this posted now, and will keep you updated in due course.

A truly disgusting spectacle

There is a rooster living somewhere close to my guest house in Luang Prabang who is either insomniac or completely confused. It seems to think that dawn comes at half one in the morning, then two, then three and so on. Believe me, if I ever find the exact whereabouts of this foul fowl, insomnia and confusion will be the least if it's problems and laap gai will definitely be on the menu for tomorrow.

As is so often the way in these parts, and I do not wish to become too philosophical, there was a brighter side to this. Being wide awake just before six due to the attentions of said bird, I decided to get up and watch a remarkable ritual which occurs every day as it has for centuries namely the giving of alms by the local people to the numerous monks who inhabit the very many wats in the city. I saw this last time I was here and I was quite entranced by it.

Basically, the local people get out of bed at an appallingly early hour and sit at the side of the road with alms, generally in the form of rice. The monks, mostly the younger novices process barefoot and in silence through the streets stopping whilst people place their offerings in the bowls they carry on their shoulder and make obeisance to them, thereby gaining merit in the Buddhist way of thinking. I think I mentioned previously that Luang Prabang, although not the administrative capital is, to many Lao, the religious and cultural heart of the nation.

I went to the end of the street I am staying in (slightly out of town) and watched from the far side of the road as elderly ladies swept the streets in front of the boy monks and others sat on the side of the road reverently placing the gifts in the bowls and praying. At this tme of morning and this time of day the light was not good enough to take a photo without flash (see below) so I watched in awe as it unfolded before me.

This city is rightly proud of it's heritage and history and is very much at pains to explain politely to visitors how to behave both in wats and at this daily ceremony which is, after all, a religious service. Any guidebook will tell you how to behave in a Buddhist country, what to do and not do especially in respect of monks. I try, as best I can, to observe these things, although I am sure I am sure I transgress unintentionally on occasion. I hope not. Several of the strictures, if you are not aware, are these. You always act respectfully in the presence of a monk, women do not touch a monk or his robes, if a monk is sitting you either try and get your head lower than him or, if you are tall like me, hold your hands in a praying attitude to show respect. These are holy men / boys. Several of the specific things mentioned in the excellent Tourist Information Centre are not to get too close to the monks and not to use flash photography.

I decided to walk down to the centre of town where I knew there would be a lot of monks as the main concentration of wats is there. What I saw there disgusted and angered me in about equal measure. This solemn religious observance has been turned into a circus by bloody tourists with no more concern for the sensibilities of the local populace than getting a good holiday snap to "show the folks back home". It was one of the most appalling things I have ever seen. It was like a papparazzi scrum on Oscars night and as one who has faced the papparazzi (ask me about it sometime, I was not the star attraction obviously) it was frenzied, and I use the word advisedly. Germans jostled with Japanese and Australians elbowed the French to see who could stick their huge lenses furthest into a 12 year old novices face and fire off a professional standard flash gun. It was nauseating.

I will upload the photo, which isn't very good, taken without flash and from a distance, to show the kind of thing these poor young men must have to endure every day. I am not a religious man although I find much in Buddhism to admire but I found this profane in the extreme. I would like to believe that these people are ignorant of the local customs but that would be niaive. Everyone here has a guidebook and damn nearly everyone has visited the Tourist Information Centre. What it is is not ignorance but sheer damned bloody selfishness and a total lack of respect for what are our hosts. Not wishing to profane the ceremony further I said nothing although I would dearly have loved to show some of them the error of their ways.

I have a message for any of htese people in the unlikely event they may stumble upon this blog, learn some respect. It is not difficult and the people of Southeast Asia will forgive a lot as long as you make the effort. If you are not prepared to make the effort stay at home, your own countries probably deserve you more than the people here.

Ask yourselves a question. Would you wander into Canterbury Cathedral and stick a camera into Dr. Williams face when he was preaching? Stroll into a mosque in an Islamic country and point your Canon into the face of the Imam? Decide to go sightseeing in Jerusalem and start snapping the Chief Rabbi in the synagogue? I don't think so, and the consequences may be a lot more serious than with these basically peacable people. Think people. This ceremony a mere seven years ago was a much different thing. I appreciate that the Lao people want, indeed need, the tourist dollar but are we going to destroy the very things we came to see in the process?

I have a message for you ignorant, arrogant nobodies, stay at home. Your respective countries obviously deserve you much more than does this essentially religiously tolerant place.

I am sorry to have ot p0st such a depressing thi8ng, but the rest of the day got much better as I will post in due course.

Fergy.

Well, it had to happen!

Well, inevitably it has happened as I knew it would and as it does every trip. I have just spent 30 hours in bed sweating and shivering with the only break in the routine all to frequent trips to the bathroom. I have no idea what brought it on as I have been eating fairly carefully but it left me weak as a kitten. I went downstairs to get some water (important to keep hydrated) and literally could hardly get back up the stairs. Experience tells me tha there is nothing to do but go to bed and ride it out, so that is what I did.

I got up this morning and returned to the UXO Lao place which was fully open, and the main exhibition is even more appalling than the little bit I saw which appears to be the operations office. The figures are quite staggering and some of the photos extremely harrowing. It is estimated that 2 million tons of ordnance was dropped on Lao by the Americans during what we call the Vietnam War. A few more figures for you. They reckon 30% of all dropped ordnance does not explode, so do the maths on that yourself. One person per day is killed or injured by UXO in Lao. The submunitions (the small bombs in cluster bombs are locally known as bombies and there are estimated to be 78 million still unexploded here. That is frightening.

All the above figures do not include the war against the French and the Second World War. It is appalling but I think every visitor to Lao should visit here or a similar facility (there are seven organisations involved in similar work). The project is primarily UN Development Programme funded and I saw adknowledgement of assistance from various Governments including ours, which pleased me.

From there I went to the TEAC which is a museum / exhibition showing the lifestyles of the various minority tribes, and very interesting it was too. It is good that the TEAC ploughs back 50% of what it makes into sustainable projects amongst the tribes. In fact, I have noticed that a lot of the trekking companies and so on are geared towards responsible tourism which is pleasing.

It was a very hot day today, and I hadn't eaten for a while due to my bout of whatever and was consequently feeling a little weak, so I headed back to the little restaurant near my hotel and had a bland meal. I need to lay off the more exotic food for a day or two. Another little doze and then up, showered and I am writing this.

I have BBC World News here, and it appears the news is following me. One of the lead stories is that Thailand has forcibly repatriated 4,000 (H)mong people to Lao. This is one of the larger ethnic groups and one whose lifestyle I had studied in TEAC. Thailand claim they are purely economic migrants but the (H)mong claim they will be persecuted in Lao as they supported the Americans in the war. I do remember the last time I was here hearing that the Government were not exactly friendly towards them but I do not know to what extent they may suffer.

I will sign off now and go to find an internet cafe to post this.

Fergy

As John Lennon famously wrote, "And so this is Christmas, and what have you done?" Allow me to tell you. I have spent Christmas Day floating down the Mekong River in Lao, eating some absolutely superb food, having a coupl e of drinks and returning to my room to write this.

Let's get back to where we were. Chiang Rai, I believe. Visa time ticking and yet again I had to leave a great place and move on. Isn't it a great irony about travelling that when you do it you keep wanting to stay places? A fairly uneventful local bus trip of a couple of hours and arrived back in the border town of Chiang Kong (Chiang Khong). It has become undoubtedly a lot larger than it was last time I was here, but still remains a border town and border towns seem to have a strange sense about them. They are generally far from the capital, prey to the slightly dubious "business activities" that borders engender. It is still a pleasant little place, pretty quiet, well normally it is. Trust me to pick one of the three nights of the annual so-called food festival. On the way up the street, I had seen a pretty large stage with a fairly decent looking PA and light rig set up. I wandered along, having not even consulted my guidebook, and decided on a beer in the Green Tree Guesthouse, bar,, restaurant, art gallery and photgraphic gallery. Well, it is a wooden shack really and it was the photos that attracted me. I wandered in, ordered a beer and was served it by an English guy whose work the art and photography was. He ran it with this girlfriend who was form one of the hilltribes judging by her dress but don't ask me which one, I have not got that sorted out yet.

No point in going any further as they had rooms, so I organised one for the night. I'll tell you about it shortly. Having dumped the bag, it was explained to me that there is a three day food festival in the town at this time of year with live music. Well, no second invitation needed, I dispatched myself tout de suite back down the road. It loked like it had been set up in either a carpark or possibly a buss station with plenty of room. It was a food festival by virtue of the fact that there were many food stalls about the place and I did avail myself of a few of the delicacies on offer, but the main draw was the music. The "house band" really was very good, and there were various singers, I think local heroes by the reaction they got, and although I didn't understand a word, the music (Pop Thai) is seriously catchy. A very pleasant night where I was one of onhly a handful of Westerners which is a thing I always love.

Back to the room, both literally and in the sense of the blog. Let me describe it. The building was stilted, with the room secured by a padlock which was slightly unecessary as it took an almighty heave to open the door or indeed close it from the inside. There were cracks in the floor you could have put a bicycle wheel down. There was one bare bulb which my ciagrette lighter outshone, a fan (unecessary as it wasn't that hot so far North) with no apparent electric source to plug it into, a balcony in imminent danger of collapse with a hammock that might just have accomodated one of the Seven Dwarfs and a door that didn't lock. The mosquito net looked like it had not moved for a decade. In short, it was perfect, I absolutely loved it. I adore staying in places like this. It is what I go travelling for. Had I not had to move, I would have happily stayed here for a week.

Move, however, I had to , and after a cup of lovely coffee and a packed lunch to take away for the slow boat, I wandered down to the pier where the border lies, and my first glimpse this trip of my beloved Mekong. I think I mentioned before that it is probably my favourite river in the world. I can't explain it, there is just something about it that really gets to me. Thai immigaration is a breeze, quick althoug important stamp on the passport. If you don't get it you can have serious problems trying to get back in. A five minute journey on a little skiff and I had crossed my first border this trip and was standing in the People's Democratic Republic of Lao, a very different country although it obviously looks outwardly much the same. After a fairly frenetic but good-natured scrum at the visa office and a $35 dollar bill, I was in. I was interested to note on a poster, whilst waiting in the queue for the visa, that Kyrgystani residents only pay $30 and I was wondering exactly how many Kyrgystanis visit Lao annually.

I knew the way so I ignored the blandishments of the various tuk tuk drivers and wandered the 15 minutes or so to the slow boat pier. If any of you ever plan this trip, and I do recommend it, forget just about everything you are told. The boats do not leave at 10, they are always later, it is not a long walk to the pier, it is 15 minutes maximum, you do not need to get a ticket in advance, you buy them at the pier (up the steps on the left past the boules pitch) and you do not need to book a room in Pakbeng, there are plenty. So with the travel tips out of the way, let me tell you about the journey.

There is always a danger in returning to a place you love, that it will not live up to your memories. I did this trip about seven years ago and I have written on several travel websites that they were two of the best days of my life. That still holds. To move slowly down this majestic river with the astounding scenery and glimpses of riverside life is something everyone should do before they die. Last time I was here, I got on a working cargo boat, about 50/50 travellers and local people with the hold full of bags of cement, rice, chickens, various boxes of fruit. You name it and it was there. All the travellers climbed on the roof, produced bottles of Mekong whiskey and Beer Lao and tried to catch the sun whilst the Laotians sat inside, ate sticky rice and tried to avoid the sun. We stopped frequently at hamlets not even served by roads who relied on the boats, and I clearly remember wading knee deep up to the beach lugging various baggage ashore. It was all part of the fun.

Things have changed. We were herded onto a boat with no cargo facility at all, merely hard benches packed so closely as to render them all but useless to large foreigners. They crowded the boat to the point hat it was up to the gunwales in calm water at the pier, and it was only when several travellers remonstrated, that they agreed to put on a second boat, where about half the passengers went. Eventually, about an hour late, we took off. Absolutely no way going on the roof, I suppose they have lost one too many partying backpacker overboard so we were cramped inside. I ended up standing most of the six hour journey as it was more comfortable. Where previously we were jumping ashore to buy Lao lao (local moonshine) in water bottles now we were compelled to buy hugely overpriced drink from the bar which seems to have been installed in all the boats. Fortunately, not even expecting such luxury, I had a few beers with me.

I really do not know what the local villagers are doing now, perhaps roads have been constructed to the villages and I know there has been much road building in the country since last I was here. Apparently, the boat crews have worked out there is more money to be made from the increasing numbers of tourists than there is from their traditional way of life. Eventually, off we went and the Mekong worked it's magic on me as usual. I could stand and watch it go by all day. I got friendly with a German couple, a family from Derbyshire and a Greek guy who seemed somewhat amazed when I spoke a little of his own language with him.

Well, the river hasn't changed, as you would expect, although I did notice a lot less of the fishermen perched like monkeys on the huge limestone rocks that littler the banks. Perhaps it is not the season. Eventually, just after dusk, we reached Pakbeng. Now it seems to me that Pakbeng only exists because it is about halfway from Xuay Hai and Luang Prabang. It is a convenient staging post for the boats that provide (or at least provided) the lifeblood of the region. Last time I was there I am sure it did not have a paved road into it and was really a backwater. Now, it is a bit bigger and consists of a strip of guesthouses and an Indian restaurant I know for a fact did not used to be there. I avoided the crush of hotel touts at the pier and picked one I fancied the look of. A decent, clean room although basic. Still, it was only £3:50.

When I got into the room, I decided to lie down for a little while before heading out for a bite to eat. All of a sudden I didn't feel too great. No stomach problems, I just felt wiped out, and a bit achy so I just lay in bed from half six at night until I was awoken by my early morning call at eight next day for the boat. During the night, though, I had made a completely schoolboy error and forgotten that the power in Pakbeng goes off at aobut midnight and doesn't come on until dark the nest night, it really is that remote. A late night trip to the loo necessitated my fishing about in my suitcase looking for my Maglite torch. I really didn't fancy the concept of a Lao loo by braille.

Made the boat in good time the next day after struggling down the perilously steep track, and then the fun really started. They had decided they were only going to take one boat dowen on the second leg and no amount of cajoling them would alter that. Although the boat was marginally bigger than the one the day before, it was still stupidly crowded. I had to sit on the floor (thankfully I had my inflatable cushion) in a tiny space although I didn't have to put up with it long, as I spent the next eight and a half hours being used as human ballast. Because of the overcrowding, everytime the boat hit the slightest of turbulence it started rocking about wildly and the crew were gesticulating wildly at us to move from one side of the boat to the other.I really don't know why they put their craft at risk like this just to make a few extra kip on what must be a lucrative run for them. Ther are always plenty of tourists making the trip and I have no doubt we were paying a lot more than the local people, which isn't a problem. Speaking of local people, the overcrowding was compounded when we did make a stop or two to load them on. Whilst it added to the local flavour, and they were as friendly and the youngsters as cute as they always are, it must have put the boat another 18 inches in the water. Fortunately, we arrived in one piece about half five in the evening.

The Mekong is still my favourite river, and the scenery and sights are still breathtaking but, at the risk of sounding like a travel bore, it was a commercialised and sanitised shadow of the wonderful adventure I had had not so many years back. If anyone is contemplating visiting this region, I would recommend it, as the Mekong is something to see but prepare yourself for some discomfort Personally, I don't think I'll bother next time but what a different way to spend Christmas Day.

Having made Luang Prabang, I ran the gamut of taxi men and hotel touts and wandered to the place I had chosen but it waqs full so the lady suggested the place next door. Now, it will never win boutique hotel of the year but it is clean, has hot water and even a TV and the bed is comfy What more could you want? The fact that it is about £5 a night doesn't hurt either. A quick shower and off into the night for a bite to eat. Remember, I had only had two baguettes in two days and was in need of something filling.

Well, I didn't go far wrong there. There are two roads on either side of the hill that dominates the town and they are just coming down with resturants, bars and guesthouses not to mention souvenir shops, travel agents and massage joints (of the legitimate sort I might add). As an aside, Lao is a much different place to Thailand. Prostitution is ilegal and very frowned upon, and it is illegal for a non Lao to sleep with a Lao they are not married to. Indeed, by law, all non Lao must be in their accomodation by midnight but I don't think that is enforced. If I can upload the photo, I will let you see the notice on my hotel room door. Apparently, I am not even allowed to make blue movies in my room! On a whim I picked one of the restaurants on the strip called Sabaidee (Lao for hello) and liked the look of the prosaically named Set 1. It may have osunded prosaic but what a meal.

If you have been following this from earlier, you will remember I described a meal in Mae Hat, Koh Tao where a brazier affair surrounded by a reservoir is put over charcoal set in your table and you basically make a soup of barbecued meats, veg and glass noodles yourself. This was a similar setup, although I defy any one human being to eat the amount of food offered. Shrimp, squid, chicken, pork and beef accompanied by tomato, about three kinds of wild mushroom, the local watercress, pak choi, some sort of a flowering plant and Heaven knows what else. You then season the whole affair with tamarind sauce and chopped garlic. The idea is to fill the reservoir from the "soup" which is really stock and get cracking. It was delicious and a suitable repast for the Christmas meal. I was on the point of asking the waiter to send my compliments to the chef, then I remembered it was me and it might have seemed conceited. The service was attentive and very friendly so, as it was Christmas, I had a couple of cocktails although I rarely drink spirits. The lychee martini was particularly good.

PDR Lao really is such a different place from Thailand and in Luang Prabang, a big tourist destination, there is generally a 10 o'clock curfew on the bars. Whether in celebration of Xmas or whether it was because it was Friday night but some of the bars stayed open late and I crossed the road to the Lao Lao Garden which was, you've guessed it, totally surreal. This is a word you are going to keep haring from me as it is the only one that aptly describes some of the sights. This place musrt be garish enough ordinarily given the number of lights that adorn the two bars and the staircase to the eponymous garden but in this season it was outlandish. A huge fuly trimed Christmas tree had been erected, along with all sorts of seasonal lights and decorations and all the staff were wearing Santa hats and red scarves. Imagine Santa's Grotto on acid and you will be close.

I played a couple of games with a long haired Italian who took every opportunity at gamesmanship and downright cheating, so I beat him twice and then told him he was "cattivo" which seemed to surprise him. Look it up if you like but it is not terribly complimentary. Deciding enough was enough, I took myself off to my room where I wrote some of the above.

Today, a quick visit to a couple of wats of which there are literally dozens. At one, I was engaged in conversation with a 16 year old monk who explained he would like to practice his English. We had a great chat andhe explained much about Buddhism to me that I did not know. A very pleasant time followed by a very unpleasant one.

I had seen signs for UXO Lao Visitor Centre which I took to be unexploded ordnance, i.e. bombs, and I was correct. I followed the signs and came on the place. Three Lao men were sitting eating soup and playing cards and, although it was obvioualy not open, they invited me in. Friendly as always. What is inside is horrifyng in the true sense of the word. There are photos of the operations they carry out defusing bombs and there are also some fairly graphic and disturbing photos of the effects. Well, bomb injuries are never pleasant to look at. I believe I am right in saying that Lao is the most bombed country in the world and as a result has the greatest per capita incidence of amputees in the world. I've seen them. The figures on their Ops board are equally horrifying. The sheer scale of the problem beggars belief. In one school playground they defused no less than 350 bomblets. Can you imagine children playing amongst so much explosive, it is appalling. There are Tshirts for sale although the man did not have the key so I will definitely return on Monday to buy one, that is a T-shirt I have to get.

I will conclude this episode in the LaoLao Garden bar I mentioned before having just watched the last few minutes of what appeared a fairly boring 0-0 draw between Birmingham and Chelsea. Tomorrow is not yet decided, such is the joy of my travels. I may score a motorbike and explore the local villages and the waterfall or I may have another day of "wat-bashing" in Luang Prabang. Most likely, I will give myself off the day I have promised myself and do a lot of stuff for Virtual Tourist, the website I write tips for. For those of you that do not know it, search the internet for Virtual Tourist and then search for memebers, my username is planxty. You can see a lot about my previous travels there, and after five weeks I really should get some more stuff posted. I know it will take all day to do even half the stuff I have amassed.

Yet again I am having trouble sorting out my photos on this damned computer, The supposedly user friendly Picasa system is certainly not friendly to a berk like me. Hopefully, you will get a few images, if not, bear with me.

I hope to post again soon if a giant Mekong catfish (look it up on Google) doesn't get me!