That students in Laos wear school uniform is not that interesting. But that all schools have the same uniform is. Wherever I’ve seen pupils they’re wearing the same dark trousers (males ) or dark blue skirt with a light, patterned band around the bottom (females), and a white shirt. Good idea, really – maybe it reduces the tribal instinct that afflicts many English schoolchildren (me included) and the conflicts it engenders (me not included).
Portion size
Laotians are slightly porkier than their SE Asian counterparts (another indication that the country is not as “behind” as people say), but still a lot more slender than the average Brit. Moderate portion sizes could explain this – they’re about two thirds of a “normal” UK portion, which is enough to feel full but too much to need a second helping. It makes eating less much easier than at home.
Twenty minutes into the “gear” presentation and things were getting repetitive. Despite telling the guy I’d used them before (!), he was obviously enjoying explaining how they worked. But finally we were off:
Down the river…
…to a village…
… where we watched people unloading a narrow boat. Seeing them lug heavy bags of oranges up the bank reminded me once again how “manual” their life is:
More butterflies:
After lunch we visited Patok cave:
… accompanied by several children who were clearly angling for money in return for showing us the clearly marked path. I knew this because they kept repeating “Hello, money”. They might want to work on their sales strategy.
Met Eleanor on the bridge for sunset:
And then rewarded our active day biking with a banana split:
Another really good day 🙂
Today’s random stuff consists of two rather fine bugs:
Another Laotian bridge:
And a photo to capture the memory of their open-to-the-street shops:
It used to be possible to get the boat from Luang Prabang to Nong Khiaw but not anymore. The Nam Ou river is obviously still there, but now it’s got a ruddy great big dam in the middle of it. A Chinese dam. Despite the fact that it’s displaced many local tribes and has adversely impacted the local environment and livelihoods, nobody’s protested. That’s Communism – Laotians just accept whatever the government throws at them. Dissent is not allowed. The good of the country comes before the good of the people, and the single ruling party decides what’s good for the country. That was all Ken, our guide, would say. Like all the guides who have touched on the subject (very few), he wasn’t comfortable talking about it.
Our tour started with a boat up the river. “Can I drive?” I half-jokingly asked. A staccato conversation in Lao, then “Yes. But some river have rocks, so later when it is deep.” And so, about fifteen minutes later I was given control. They go fast, those slow boats. And they’re relatively high for their width which makes them feel like they’ll topple if it got too rough. But I safely navigated us through the treacherous waters of the Nam Ou:
People make stuff to sell. It’s just they all make the same stuff. Wooden home after wooden home with their beautifully handmade scarves proudly displayed outside:
But from whom should you buy? Michelle solved the problem by buying four, each from different women.
Further up the river, we reached Muang Ngoi:
… where another massive butterfly fluttered across our path (no, sorry, still haven’t managed to get a picture of one as the bigger they are, the less they alight). It was disguised as a bird. Seriously, it’s wings had a feathered pattern. Less likely to be attacked by a predator. Genius.
Whilst this is the turning point for most tours, we’d wanted to see further up as we’d been told it was the most beautiful part of the river. Much negotiating with the travel agent owner, who I think was convinced that we were out to get as much for as little as possible (like most Asians) rather than agree a reasonable price for what we wanted to do (like most Westerners), and he’d finally agreed. It was so worthwhile, with the mountains becoming taller and steeper as we progressed:
Walk up the river to the waterfall was exactly what it said on the tin – we literally walked up the river to the waterfall. It wasn’t worth taking our shoes off and finally we arrived:
A pre-lunch dip:
And then lunch served in freshly-cut bamboo:
The kayaking should have come first. By the time we’d swum, eaten, and walked the 1½ hours back to the river we were shattered. But it did, of course, mean we were kayaking downriver. I enjoy kayaking so gave it a go but tired quickly. Reto and Susie, on the other hand, were in their element:
Then sunset:
A quick round-up of the amazing wildlife from today (yes, that’s a spider’s web):
And this guy who was building a boat:
And a curry at a rather good Indian restaurant with the gang. Another great tour group. It transpired that Michelle, an online tutor, was trialling ‘remote working’ (at her request) for her company. This was, indeed, remote. Her challenge was finding a suitable place to conduct student seminars – it turns out that cockerels and karaoke in the background can adversely affect her students’ attention. Made me wonder, though – surely there’s something I could do whilst on the move. Suggestions below, please 🙂
As soon as we arrived in Nong Khiaw, I knew I was gonna like this place:
A chilled vibe, life on the streets and plenty of locals, but was still surprised at how many tourists had made the effort to get here. We wandered the “city” (aka village) and stumbled upon some kind of extended family gathering. It turned out to be the beginnings of a wedding… with our tour guide very excited about his invitation.
I guess a reason for a party doesn’t come about very much up here. It also meant that tomorrow’s tour will start a little later than usual!
Lao dogs are really cute, and appear to all be related to each other:
And I found this bug on the railing at the cafe we stopped at for lunch on the river:
The cafe came complete with an enclosed deer:
I’m still not sure of why a deer was being kept: they don’t produce milk or meat, and aren’t the best workers as far as I know. And it seemed very un-Asian to keep it as a pet. But it seemed happy enough.
And then to the bridge for another amazing sunset:
Sitting in the Indian restaurant after dinner, Rudy suddenly said, “Eleanor”. And so it was. She’d stayed another day in Phonsavan as she was very sick and needed to recover before moving on. Seeing her now made me realise how ill she must have been.
And then back to our bungalows on the river, complete with balcony and hammock:
And this is what my room now looked like. Can you spot anything concerning?:
It was *massive*. Easily the biggest (wild) spider I’d ever seen with my own eyes.
I sheepishly knocked on Rudy’s door and enquired about his arachnid removal services. He pointed out that we didn’t know whether it was poisonous, so glass and paper it was. My mosquito net was duly installed over my bed, despite there being no mosquitoes. Taking no risks 😉
Rudy is one of the loveliest people you’ll ever meet. He’s also one of the happiest. I’m certain the two are connected. A 53-year-old Flemish-speaking truck driver from Belgium, he’s been alternating hard work (12 – 18 months) and travelling (3 – 12 months) for 29 years now. You don’t ask him if he’s been somewhere, but how many times. We met on the Plain of Jars tour in Phonsavan, along with Eleanor and Becky, Paula and Simon. Unusually, three of us had the same next destination and met up again back in Luang Prabang. Chatting on our cafe crawl yesterday made us realise that we were similar travellers – not so interested in ticking things off a list, but having a good time. And we enjoyed the same things. So when Simon hopped off on a two-day trek, Rudy suggested we visit Tad Se waterfall.
We left early to avoid the crowds.
The colour of the water took my breath away:
And then I saw the “swimming area” sign. Unfortunately, I hadn’t realised that you could swim at the waterfall, so hadn’t come prepared. Forgotten your PE kit? You know the drill, kids. So I went in in my underwear:
We had the whole beautiful place to ourselves for well over an hour. Another highlight of my trip. As the tour groups started to arrive, we were changed and exploring the paths beyond where we found this impressive specimen:
Fungi on the fallen trees:
And another Lao bridge:
… before we boarded the boat back to meet our tuk-tuk driver:
Walking through Luang Prabang, our attention was caught by chanting (the first photo I took managed to cut off Buddha’s head. I decided that this was bad karma, no matter your religion, so tried again):
And then we caught another beautiful sunset from further up the river:
… and then headed to the night market. I left Rudy at the table whilst I went to the buffet and returned to find him in deep conversation with a Thai couple sitting opposite. That’s another thing I’ve noticed about Rudy – everyone around him is laughing and smiling within moments of meeting him. He’s a genuinely happy and friendly chap and people warm to him instantly. Great company for the evening, and Kiddy promised to pass on her mum’s green curry recipe. Nom, nom 🙂
Travellers talk to travellers, and many had said that Lao was more “behind” than Cambodia. This perplexes me because it appears to be at least equal to, and in many ways more advanced than, Cambodia. For instance, whilst the number of concrete houses doesn’t yet match Vietnam, there are many more than Cambodia. Transport is more modern, and they’ve a “smoke-free” policy in most museums and public spaces, unlike both Cambodia and Vietnam. I instantly warmed to the place (despite arriving into Vientiane which, on reflection, has been my least-favourite Lao destination), the people are friendly and it’s relaxed and fun. Two weeks is most definitely not enough.
Nong Khiaw was on my reserve list. After a great tour of Phonsavan, followed by a relaxing few days in Luang Prabang, my batteries feel recharged and I’m really enjoying travelling again. I also really like Lao.
Rudy was heading up to Nong Khiaw, and then stopping at Oudom Xai before making his way to China, where he plans to spend two months. It’s much easier travelling with someone – stress, planning, everything is halved. So I decided to go for a couple of days before returning to Luang Prabang for the classic SE Asia boat trip up the Mekong to the Thai border. Happy days 🙂
Today’s random stuff.
Scaffolding, Laotian-style (engineers and Health & Safety people look away now):
My bruise is slowly coming out:
The French influence of boules, only it’s difficult to play the original version on dusty, rocky ground, so it’s been slightly adapted:
When asking for food in a Thai restaurant, say “Ped nit noy” (this isn’t how it’s spelt, just how it’s said) – apparently it means, “little bit spicy, but authentic”. Will remember that for later.
And finally, another bemusing T-shirt slogan – you’ll be pleased to know that “Lifs never stops.”
Today unexpectedly turned out to be a highlight of my trip. Not in a spectacular, UNESCO, once-in-a-lifetime way, but in a chilled, content, “I’m really lucky to be alive” kinda day.
Every morning, Buddhist monks throughout the country leave their temple and walk the streets collecting alms. Luang Prabang has many monasteries within close proximity to each other, and the sight of so many monks has become something of a tourist attraction:
I try not to go into things with too many preconceived ideas, else you spend half your time getting over something simply not meeting your expectations, rather than appreciating it for what it is. But there’s no way I could have imagined something like this – a strange, and yet at the same time completely normal, event which happens every day come rain or shine. Strange because of the sight of so many orange robes with a large urn-like container slung over their shoulders, solemnly walking the pavement past lines of seated givers who dutifully deposited various edible gifts. There are, of course, rules. For instance, givers can’t look at the monks and you can’t hold your pot of offerings between your legs (as one tourist found out – she’d obviously decided to get down with the locals, but just ended up offending them).
Sticky rice was a favourite present, along with sweets bought from street vendors.
It struck me that this was not the ideal diet of a monk. I also wondered how hygienic all this sticky rice was as it was scooped and deposited bare-handed into the monks’ urns.
And then I noticed that, at the end of each line of people there was, in effect, a rubbish bin. As they passed, most monks would reject some of their offerings – almost exclusively sticky rice. Yeah, I thought, I probably wouldn’t want to eat that either – don’t know where those hands have been:
Next to our breakfast stop at a street cafe the schoolgirl pulled her bowl of noodle soup towards her. She then reached for the chili sauce and proceeded to squeeze an eye-watering amount of it into the soup, followed by a tip of a teaspoon of sugar. Rudy and I stared. She must only have been about 7 years’ old. Spice tolerance training obviously starts early round here.
And then it was off to the morning market:
Animal welfare, or lack of, was on the shopping list. Hens squashed into a bamboo holdall:
Or laid out, looking a little worse for the wear:
Frogs climbing over each other:
And I’m pretty sure the these are bats, or squirrels, or something like that (on sticks, Dibbler-style again):
Fish lying unrefrigerated on the mats:
And wonderfully colourful displays of fruit and vegetables:
I loved this scooter driver’s hat:
Then I spent the rest of the day on a cafe crawl with my wonderful, new travel companion, Rudy:
Starting in the Old Town…
… we ventured over the bamboo bridge:
… and ordered a “fondue” in the cafe hidden enticingly in the trees. But fondue in Lao isn’t what you’d expect. We knew we were in for a treat when the waiter brought us a bucket of burning coals:
You melt the meat fat (which melts slowly, unlike butter) on the central section and use it to quick fry your meat (we’d chosen buffalo):
And pour the stock into the moat around the edge into which you place the vegetables, which cook with the meat juices:
Absolutely delicious, and the combined acts of both cooking and eating kept our attention pleasantly occupied for quite a while 🙂 Cushions on the floor and mats surrounded low tables. Perfect for wiling away the afternoon.
Then back to the main side of the river for sunset.
The view was much better than last night at the mount, and we weren’t charged 20,000K for the privilege of a tourist scrum. In fact, we were completely alone apart from the boats, fishermen and locals going about their business:
After another street food dinner…
… and a random sighting of Rolf Harris…
… we wandered back to our hotels via Wat Xieng Thong. It’s probably the best temple in the city, but at 9pm was totally devoid of tourists taking selfies and getting in the way of other people’s pictures:
We strolled around the complex, and watched in amusement as young monks ran excitedly to the sim with their bedding under their arms – off to the guard the temple for the evening. Basically, they were having a sleepover.
A wonderful, relaxing, thoroughly enjoyable day. Thanks, Rudy 🙂
It looked like fight might break out. We were on Phonsi Mount, a classic place for a sunset photo (so I was told) and Baseball Cap had barged in front of Wife to get a better picture. Husband wasn’t happy. A minor ruckus ensued as Husband (with Wife standing loyally beside) assertively explained to Baseball Cap that this was not on, and ended with Husband and Wife walking away with their dignity intact whilst Baseball Cap hurled abuse after them in broken English.
The place was a scrum. It’d cost 20,000K (about £1.60) to climb the stairs with hundreds of other people. Most were very considerate. Some weren’t. The Chinese didn’t come out of it well. Again. Anyway, we all (Rudy, Simon and I) managed to get some money shots:
Then over to the other side where the moon was up:
Simon suggested we head off to the street food section of the night market. We soooo need something like this in my home town: quick, fresh, tasty and really cheap. Chicken on a stick from a stall run by three sisters (another Dibbler moment):
.. eaten sat at wooden tables and benches, of varying heights, underneath makeshift shelters:
Then back through the night market:
And that was the end of my lazy day in Luang Prabang. I like the place. Until the communist takeover in 1975, it was the royal capital and seat of government of the Kingdom of Laos, with the old town centre being designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1995. With a laidback, touristy atmosphere, it reminded me of Hoi An and I could see why travellers would often spend much longer here than planned. After the motorbike incident (yes, much better thanks, although the bruise still hasn’t fully emerged), I’d decided to just do things the easy way. Via Phonsavan. My plans to nip up to Nong Khiaw and Muang Ngoi have been placed on the reserve list. I’ve been trying to plan my days, but gave myself some real time off here – no expectations, no itinerary – just doing whatever. Looking forward to tomorrow 🙂
Total random aside: those who know me know that I don’t really do Facebook, but with some downtime I had a quick browse… until I got to this post, which made me laugh, shut down and go out:
“I like to browse social media just long enough to hate myself.”
Beautiful countryside on the way to Luang Prabang:
… which more than made up for being thrown around as the van negotiated the chicanes with rather more vigour than necessary. Kids were out playing, but with no toys. I’ve not seen a single toy since I’ve been here – another reminder of what it means to live with little money. Toys are luxuries they can’t afford. When we were waiting for our puncture repair I remember seeing the kids milling around. Not doing much, but not complaining. A stark contrast to me as a kid 😉
Preconceptions mean you’re likely to be disappointed. I deliberately don’t expect anything when I reach a new town but still, Luang Prabang wasn’t what I was expecting. But I’m not sure what I was expecting. Wandering the streets to find a room for the night, I noticed how many places were advertising elephant riding. My heart sank. I hoped it was just a legacy, and that the posters just hadn’t been updated yet…
Looking forward to some time out in LP, and exploring the city tomorrow.
You may already have worked out from the lack of posts that Wi-Fi is slow in Laos and computers aren’t so easy to come by as in Vietnam. Sorry. I’ll post when I can, and upload the photos after. I know it’s not the same without the photos, but it just clogs up. It’s not helped by the WordPress app. I’ll do my best.
Slogans on T-shirts
Asians like their slogan T-shirts. You get the usual philosophical musings (“People judge what they don’t understand”), but some are lost in translation or are obviously out-takes, such as:
Ambrican Girl (worn by a boy)
Private stock foh maniac’s (on the back of a jacket)
F*CK WHAT (there was no asterisk)
I’ll try to make a note of the other ones I see.
Health
This one’s for Mum 🙂 The gentle walking, interspersed with time on the bus, is helping my leg. Despite lots of rubbing (as taught by the aforementioned), the bruise still isn’t showing. But there’s still time…
The burn from another motorbike is healing really well and almost gone. My left thumb is fine, and my right thumb is recovering, but only when I don’t use it much on my phone. My sit bones hurt. Every seat in Asia is hard. My sit mat is now getting a lot of use.
I’m craving fizzy drinks. Those who know me will know how unusual this is. I think it’s the amount of water that I’m getting through: my taste buds want something different, but also something sugary. I’m trying to resist as much as possible – habits are easier to form than break 😉
Employment
Most places I’ve been, I’ve had to buy a ticket which is then checked… about 5 metres from where I bought it! On some occasions, they’ve actually watched me buy the ticket. I laugh, they laugh. Employment for all 🙂
Thousands of megalithic stone jars lie distributed in the mountainous expanse of Xieng Khouang, one of the poorest provinces in Lao. The widely-dispersed population mostly consists of indigenous tribal groups engaged in “subsistence agriculture” (a phrase, of course, that means they farm in order to eat, with little left over to sell). It’s also one of the most heavily bombed areas on the planet. Poverty and war go hand-in-hand… but let’s talk about the jars first:
Fifty jar sites identified so far
Clusters of one to four hundred jars
Thought to date from “1st millennium BC/AD” (I don’t entirely know what this means, but I think it means they’re really, really old)
Lie on a key trade route between eastern India, southern China, north and central Vietnam and the Khorat Plateau
First scientific study in 1930s by a Frenchwoman called Colani
Five different types of stone have been identified as being used to make the “jars” with sandstone the most popular (because it’s easy to work?)
First stop was the inspiringly-named “Jar Site 1”:
And the visitor centre’s bumper crop of UXO:
We missed the cave the first time round. So we all went back again! It was pretty impressive:
… but it was the nest and honeycomb on the rock outside that stole the show:
The precise function of the jars is unknown, but limited excavation indicates they played a “central funerary role “in the unknown prehistoric culture. Legend also has it that they were made to hold rice wine in celebration of a king’s victory over an oppressor in C5/6. Local Khmu, who are believed to be the ancestors of those who made the stone jars, say that they are the cups of giants. Some villagers believe ghosts roam among the jars and are reluctant to disturb them. As with any unknown, people make things up to suit the version of events they like the most! However, having seen the information centres and the various archaeological finds, Colani’s theory that people were buried along with their treasures to smooth the path to the next life seems a fairly sound explanation.
Collection management is, well, challenging. Widely dispersed and exposed to the elements, the jars are the victims of visitor abuse (you can touch them and walk over them – they’ve no protection) and looting. The sites are often difficult to access, so are difficult to police. Standing among the jars in the predictably-named “Jar Site 2”, the isolated location and lack of tourists made for an incredible atmosphere.
Many who make the effort are disappointed, but I knew what I was going to see: lots of old urns of varying shapes and sizes. It was the setting that made it special. UNESCO status has been applied for, which will encourage funding and tourism. But it’s a double-edged sword: UNESCO funding will enable them to better preserve and protect the jars for future generations, but it’ll also mean bus loads of tourists (along with the buildings and commerce that inevitably follows them). I’m glad I saw it now.
ICT (Information and Communication Technology) is being used to map the site: a basic grid is placed over the site; every cultural feature is mapped by coordinates, photographed and inventoried in detail; the data is geo-coded into a wider information context; and data are then collated in a relational database management system (RDBMS), which is directly linked to the map. Different layers can be viewed: topographic maps; provincial and district boundaries; villages, roads, paths and rivers; satellite imagery; forest cover and geology maps.
It also integrates information generated by bomb disposal agencies of the cleared “safe” sites, along with data from B52 bomber strikes between 1963 and 1974. Tourists are advised not to stray off the beaten track, and markers show where is safe – stay between the white markers:
UXO may prevent UNESCO status being awarded, yet another legacy of the bombings.
Another obligatory stop (actually, it was a private tour with a really great bunch of people so we could do whatever we liked, but it seemed a shame to miss it) was the rusty Russian tank:
Looking so peaceful in its new home, it was difficult to imagine the horror and destruction of which it was a part.
Then we learnt how lao lao is made. Firstly, the rice is fermented with yeast and water for ten days:
The liquid is then boiled and the condensation collected.
Voila, rice wine. Or whisky. Or whatever category it falls into. I didn’t like, but I don’t like alcohol, so probably not the best judge. But at 40% ABV, it’s not to be messed with.
Tribal rituals are important here, and houses can tell you which tribe they belong to. No windows were a feature of this tribe, which must actually keep them quite cool in the heat:
Progress, progress. Concrete houses were being built in front of the windowless wooden huts:
Pau, our driver, then threw in a freebie: the viewpoint overlooking Phonsavan:
Complete with more building and scaffolding:
And then a visit to the MAG centre. Most of it you already know, but it was interesting to see that they work to reduce the trade in scrap metal.
Finally, I’m particularly pleased with my bug of the day today: a praying mantis on one of the jars, which actually looked like it was enjoying the attention – I swear it was posing for the camera:
