Cruising through the Laos countryside on the back of a motorbike (bruise is much better, thanks). Motorbike is often the best, and sometimes the only, way to get around and this time I’m in very safe hands – as a professional driver it took Rudy all of about 10 minutes to master the machine. I felt safe.
Hanging (quite literally – check out the ropes) with the locals at the Blue Lagoon (which, I will assume, requires no explanation):
Many people couldn’t swim: few were actually in the water and of those who were, quite a few were wearing life jackets… including some who were jumping in. Asians aren’t swimmers, but there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be if they’re given the opportunity to learn. If I wanted to live out here (which I don’t), a swim school could be a good business opportunity…
The tree overhanging the river was the main focal point, with a swing rope and two branches from which people were jumping in. Nobody was controlling who was jumping from where so there were a few near misses. Health and safety is non-existent: no lifeguard, no rescue equipment, slippery exit routes, variable water depths (not marked, but it was the first thing I checked after I’d carefully lowered myself in) and exit ladders that, I found out, weren’t actually attached to the side! If it had been in England, the place would have been closed down a long time ago.
But it wasn’t in England, so I just used common sense and applied basic water safety. And my instinct. I warmed up with the swing rope and by jumping off the lower branch:
Then I started up the bamboo ladder to the higher branch. The ladder itself was, er, basic – pieces of bamboo held together with twine. When I got level with it, I peered along the high branch. To get to the jump point I’d have to balance along the branch with only the help of a rickety handrail (of the same construction as the ladder but even less robust) and some “two by one” nailed to the branch. Whilst the water entry point was obviously deep enough, there were rocks under the first bit so falling would almost certainly put you out of action for a while. Maybe forever. My whole being told me that this was a bad idea. A quick internal assessment confirmed that it wasn’t “good fear” but survival instinct. I had no hesitation in going back down the ladder. Later that day I pondered where I’d be if I’d have overruled my instincts – I’m fairly sure it wasn’t pretty.
Patok cave is impressive:
Especially the walls:
Walking back to the motorbike, the sign on the bamboo bridge declared:
I offered a clearer translation to the staff at the other end. They looked sheepish rather than grateful. And that they hadn’t asked one of the many native English speakers who they meet every day before they wrote it says much about their character.
Through more beautiful scenery:
… to the water cave, where we sat for a while watching the groups of (mostly Laos) tourists tubing into and out of the cave:
Then the journey back to base across more bamboo bridges:
… past a mountain that “might fall down” (Rudy admitted he’d been watching too many Road Runner cartoons!):
… negotiating the many pot holes in the middle of the “highway”:
… and the cows:
… before stopping to watch a game of volley football (same rules, but you can’t use your hands):
Very impressive and they seemed to enjoy the attention, playing up to the camera with ever more flashy moves. Asians aren’t camera shy 😉
Just beyond the “corner shop” with an unusual guard:
… there was a sign that read “Thai massage”. I wanted to believe them but had doubts. I tried anyway. Manoi was amazing – as good as Mat in Bangkok, but different.
Loved the toilet sign(s) – transcends languages:
And this passenger looked so comfortable:
Brilliant day, with roti for dessert:
What more can a girl wish for? 🙂
