Indulgence

Day 93: Pakse (LAO) – Vientiane (LAO). There was no denying it the last week had been some of the most difficult travelling we had encountered on our entire trip. Incredibly exciting, remarkably rewarding – but difficult none the less. And so, as we made our way from the Bolaven Plateau towards the nations capital, we thought we would introduce just a touch of luxury in to our journey.

Lets not get too carried away here, we weren't talking of five star hotels and chauffeured limousines– just a few little things to ensure we didn't arrive back in the UK as physical wrecks. For instance, on the 450 mile journey northwards we spent an extra $10 and opted for the 10 hour air conditioned sleeper bus rather than the 24 hour local bus described as being for people 'with loads of time, no money and a totally masochistic streak'!

Arriving in Vientiane we spent a few extra dollars and found a hotel with running hot water and working air conditioning! Something we had not encountered since Siem Reap, 10 days previously.

And then of course there was the food! After a week of living off bowls full of sticky rice, the cosmopolitan feel of this intriguing capital city gave us access to delicious western food. Like burgers. With cheese slices. And bacon. And mayonnaise. And chips. So good it almost felt sinful!

Beetle Juice

Day 92: Tat Lo (LAO) – Pakse (LAO). “It's back to the pain / pleasure thing again”, I said to Karen as we walked the last few hundred yards back to our simple lodgings. “It was hard work getting here but today we got the rewards!” I was referring to our mornings trekking that had taken us deep in to the forests of the Bolaven Plateau, passing waterfalls and traditional villages to give us the feel of the 'real' Laos.

We had been lucky enough to hook up with Mr Chane, an excellent English speaking Lao guide who had lived in these forests all of his life and knew the land and the people intimately. Which was a good thing: During the Vietnam War Laos became the most heavily bombed country per head of population in the history of warfare and even today the unexploded ordnance on this strategically important plateau still claim the lives of countless innocent people.

The scenery in this isolated part of the world was unbelievably breathtaking, but as always, it was the people that provided us with the truly unforgeable memories. Representing the Katu ethic minority, the villagers of Ngai have a strong culture religiously embracing the practices of animal sacrifice to pay homage to the forest spirits.

With rudimentary agriculture and the cultivation of small crops of peanuts, chillies and coffee beans the tribes people were just about able to sustain their often quite large families (which, from talking to one villager, can often contain 10 – 12 offspring). Quite clearly life is very tough for these enchanting people and they represented amongst the poorest we had met during our 15,000 mile journey – bringing home to me the disparity of the worlds wealth: Back home in England, I wouldn't regard ourselves as 'rich' by any stretch of the imagination, but here I was in Southern Laos, carrying more 'loose change' in my money belt that most of these people earned in a year of incredibly hard graft.

But despite the obvious conditions of poverty, the inspiring thing that Karen and I took away was how happy these people appeared to be. Smiles and laughter. Friendship and interdependence. As soon as we arrived we were warmly welcome into the community to the extent that our hosts insisted we share a 'bamboo pipe' with them. Even the little girl whose job it was to collect the dung beetles from the huge pile of buffalo pooh that littered the village was smiling and giggling with us. Her mother was going to fry them up with some red ant soup. At which point, we decided not to stay for dinner!

Elephant Day

Day 91: Tat Lo (LAO). Reading from the appropriate section of the Laos Lonely Planet, I recited to Karen: “Notable as much for its remoteness as any traditional tourism draws. Tat Lo is not on the way to anywhere and the roads around here remain some of the worst in Laos, but it is these qualities and the lure of tough travel that have begun to attract a few hardy visitors looking to get well-and-truly off the beaten track”. “Hmm. Maybe we should have read that passage before we got on the bus out here!”, Karen replied light-heartedly.

As usual, the worlds most comprehensive travel guide was pretty close to the mark. This was by far the most remote, the most unchanged and the rawest place we had visited so far on our travels and consequently, despite its natural beauty, there was very little in the way of tourist infrastructure here. And that combined with the abject poverty of the region and the naturally laid-back attitude of the Lao people meant that Karen and I were finding life very difficult. Difficult to travel, difficult to communicate and very difficult to find a place to stay!

With only a hand full of guest houses in town our choices were further limited by the fact that most of them were closed: Some in celebration of the Khmer New Year (which, despite officially finishing a week ago, seemed to have by-passed the Lao who were still busy partying twenty-four hours a day) and the highly regarded Tadlo lodge was closed to allow their staff the opportunity to give praise to the elephants!

And what a party those elephant were getting: A band of monks with shaved heads and clad in orange gowns led the festivities which involved prayers, dancing and the consumption of copious amounts of Lao-Lao (incredibly strong rice whisky). And the honoured guests themselves? Well, they were content to watch proceedings from a far, munch on the abundant supply of forest vegetation and have a good scratch against the bark of a shady tree.

Day 91: Total Mileage to Date: 15,099: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 11; Number of Transport Modes Used: 35, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +35C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Hanging Around

Day 90: Don Khon (LAO) – Tat Lo (LAO). Travelling through Indochina had been relatively easy for Karen and me. Never concerned with the formalities of timetables or service routes, we just turned up with a map, pointed to our required destination and we could always find somebody who knew somebody with a moto, tuk-tuk or minibus that could help us on our way – the only thing up for grabs was the price.

But paradoxically, arriving in Laos; the laid back capital of the world – things had suddenly become more difficult for the pair of us. Gone was the enthusiastic entrepreneurialism of the local communities– it didn't matter how many kips or dollars we waved; it was all just too much effort for the Lao. And so Karen and I were back to studying routes and timetables and hanging around pick up points in optimistic anticipation. Not that the buses ran to any published timetables, preferring instead to adhere to the much more relaxed 'whenever' of Lao time.

As always though, taking the local transport option on our 150 mile trip to the Bolaven Plateau town of Tat Lo, proved to be a fascinating insight into local culture whilst providing an endless source of entertainment! With 5 modes of transport necessary to complete the 10 hour journey we journeyed part of the way using a Sawngthaew; Laos' most common form of public transport. Essentially, a converted truck with two wooden benches down each side, these vehicles are capable of transporting about 50 people in bum numbing comfort for as long as they can before breaking down. There's even space on top for a few motorcycles, chickens and pigs (or more people, perhaps?).

At Pakse, we transferred on to one of the oldest and most battered buses we had ever seen. Packed to the rafters and sporting a spiders web of gaffer tape holding together bits of glass that once probably formed the basis of a windscreen. With switchgear long since broken, the driver was forced to fuse bits of wire together whenever he wanted to operate vital equipment like the horn or the indicators. And thoughtfully positioned fans, taking away the edge of the tropical heat that ground to a halt whenever we ascended any hills. Still, Karen and I weren't complaining. This bus had cushioned seats and after our Sawngthaew experience; that was just what we needed to nurse our bruised posteriors!

No Problem

Day 89: Don Khon (LAO). Following the Mekong through three countries, the area of Si Phan Don sees the widest point of this mighty river's 3,000 mile journey from the Tibertan Plateau to the South China Sea. In places the river here reaches over nine miles across, dotted with countless islands and islets – hence it's name, literally meaning: 4,000 Islands.

And this place was without a doubt the most laid back of any of the countries we had visited so far. Laos' national psyche is to take it easy. 'Too much work is bad for your brain', is a commonly held notion amongst it's people. Indeed because of this, education isn't highly valued here with the locals feeling sorry for 'people who think too much'! And as we sat and watched the slow pace of live unfold from the wooden verandah of our little river front bungalow, drinking a few bottles of the mind blowing Beerlao, who were we to argue with such sentiments!

So chilled out was life here on Don Khon that it felt as if the entire island could have gently drifted downriver into Cambodia and barely anybody would have rolled out of their hammocks to take a look. With no motor vehicles, no hawkers and no hard sell, this part of Laos was markedly different from the other parts of Indochina that Karen and I had travelled through. During their colonial years the French eloquently captured these cultural differences: “The Vietnamese plant rice, the Cambodians watch it grow and the Lao just listen!”

At the point when our pulse rate was about to drop into single figures,we decided to embark on Don Khon's extreme sport of 'cycling slowly around the village'! Finding a charismatic couple prepared to hire us a couple of bicycles; the old man puffed on a reefer-sized rollie as he adjusted the seat, checked the tyres, waved us on our way and whispered, “Baw pen nyang.” No problem!

Justice! (well almost)

Day 88: Stung Treng (K) – Don Khon (LAO). By train, by ship, by speedboat and by golf-buggy! Those were the ways that we had transversed our ten border crossings so far. But for Karen and me the one that was missing, the one that we really wanted to do was to walk from country to country.

Arriving in the remote northern Cambodian town of Stung Treng we were inundated with offers to get us effortlessly across the border and into Laos - but this time, as our penultimate border crossing, we wanted to do it our way. Taking breakfast at the excellent Riverside Café, it wasn't long before one of the local Khmer offered us a ride to the border crossing point at Dom Kralor which we gratefully accepted. Travelling the 30 miles from Stung Treng, the remoteness of this part of the world was brought vividly home to us, not seeing a single person for the duration of our journey.

With a notorious reputation for corruption, we had been told that the only way for foreigners to secure safe egress from Cambodia and ingress into Laos at the distant outpost was by paying 'back-handers' to the greedy officials – the going rate: $1 per person per official.

Dropping us us 50 yards from the Cambodian checkpoint, our ride turned around and headed back to Stung Treng, leaving us in the baking sun in the middle-of-nowhere. Slowly, we walked along the centre of the tarmac road until we reached the barrier and the little sentry box, representing the Cambodian border. Sure enough; our hosts requested the usual bribe “For the official stamping out fee”, they said. “OK”, Karen replied very calmly, “Please can we have an official receipt then”. At which point the extremely disgruntled official simply waved us both through without adding to the enormous collection of dollar bills in the large plastic bag in front of him.

“Brilliant!”, I thought, “We've beaten the system. Justice for the people!”. As the guard lifted the barrier we both walked smugly along the 100 yards of no man's land until we reached the officials at the Laos control point. Thinking we were on a roll, I thought I'd try and match Karen's audacity. “Government receipt”, I insisted as he alluded to the $2 'fee'. After a short silence, the elderly official started laughing loudly and then, with a toothless grin said, “This ain't for no government. This is for us...”, he confessed, gesturing towards his colleagues with my passport clutched firmly in his hand, “...to enjoy the New Year celebrations”. You had to hand it to the guy: That level of arrogance, that level of brazen honesty; has got to be worth two dollars of anyone's money!

Hello!

Day 87: Kratie (K) – Stung Treng (K). “It's like a remixed version of the Lionel Richie song”, I joked to Karen as the river bank echoed to the calls of “Hello” coming from the little stilt houses as we cycled along the shoreline of Koh Trong Island.

Lying about half a mile off Kratie in the middle of the Mekong River, Koh Trong is about 6 miles around, making the perfect destination for a morning's bike ride. Catching the early morning ferry, we loaded the bikes along with everything else that people seemed to be taking across to the island: Motorcycles (what else?), provisions, petrol, livestock and people – the familiar sight of travelling in Cambodia! The low river levels on the Mekong at this time of year prevented the ferry from making port at the Island side, so everybody (and everything!) had to wade through the knee high muddy water to cover the the last 100 yards of the journey.

After transversing the sandbank we were soon back on tera-firma, cycling through small hamlets and lush rice paddies tended by farmers with buffalo and wooden ploughs in tow. Along the southern edge of the island; the inhabitants of a small floating village were busy preparing their boats for a mornings fishing. But despite the photogenic scenery, the most memorable and overwhelming aspect of the day was the warmth of welcome offered by the local people. Every household interested to know more about us, waving and bidding their “Hello's”, delighted that the barang (foreigners) had chosen to come to see their remote part of rural Cambodia. In truth; the pleasure was all ours.