Laos, part two of two.

November 9th – 24th

As the road crept its way North towards Vientiane, it did not improve one bit. Pothole after pothole, Troopy crawled to a slow 50kmh for miles and miles. You’d think it would get better as you get closer to the capital, but no, it was bad all the way.

After one failed attempt to find a campspot, we reached Vientiane by late afternoon. The city stretches along the Mekong for a few kilometres, but the centre is really what’s interesting. A great monument supposedly reminding us of the “Arc de Triomphe” in Paris welcomes us and we got to a cheapish guesthouse. Knackered after the 300km of bumpy road, we crashed into bed right after dinner.

We spent the next half day looking for a hotel that would let us use their swimming pool under this scorching sun, and ended up spending the other half at the public pool. Not a bad choice after all. Plus we got to meet Fred, Laure, Martin and Chine, a French family overlanding in their humongous truck (www.martinautourdumonde.com). They’ve been on the road for two and a half year already, and are starting their other half of the trip. The truck is absolutely huge, it’s a 14 ton custom made German truck, fully equipped. Troopy looks like a Dinky toy in comparison. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

We caught up again later that night for dinner, along with Pierre and Virginie, a Belgian couple that hitched a ride with the truck all the way down from China. Great evening, sharing stories and experiences of overlanding. Amongst our table, a Lao friend of Virginie, Pepsi, who shared with me her views on the country. I had not realized how corrupt Laos was, and how little democracy they had to enjoy. For example, elections are held every so many years, but with only one party in the ballot, there’s little chance for any change. Plus whoever ever complains goes straight to jail as protests and public petitions are illegal and crushed down heavily by the army. It made me think of many discussions I had with the French crowd in Noumea, talking about Belgian’s compulsory vote versus France’s optional. We Westerners really don’t know our luck.

November 11th, today is THE day, Julie gets all excited, takes forever a long shower, gets her manicure, hairdresser, new dress, high heels, … No I’m kidding, she’s only put on a nice frock and did her hair up, but she was kind of excited. As today, Matt is joining us. He flew in last night from Brussels to Bangkok, and then hopped on the next bus to the Lao border on the other side of the Mekong, and here he is. Tired but happy to be here. Nice to finally meet you, mate.
Was it to buy my trust or my friendship, or to pass the “big brother test” that he brought along a couple of Belgian beer, some cheese, a jar of “Sirop de Liege” (a Belgian delicacy) and a bit of Belgian chocolate? I’m only joking mate, thanks for the gifts, we’re both happy you’re here, and you’re most welcome aboard.

We started the tour of Vientiane with a lunch, then Matt’s been thrown into the deep end with a visit to the local market. After which, we spent the afternoon relaxing in a herbal sauna and one and half hour of massage, inside the most beautiful forest, right in the middle of the city. To top up the day, there was the Belgian Beer Café where we enjoyed the sunset. Massage, sauna, Belgian beer, nice company, seriously, does life get any better?

Next stop, Vang Vieng, famous for the tubing, parties, overdoses, alcohol and weekly deaths of drunk teenagers, too stoned to stay afloat as the river takes them down from the rope jumping. Drug and alcohol use were so common that even the local started using it, and spent their day half dead, walking along the streets like zombies. Luckily though, the ASEAN convention that was held in Vientiane last week banned tubing for the whole year, and Vang Vieng has found its original peaceful atmosphere. It’s a small town really, cut into by a river. On one side, the main street with guesthouses packed to the rafters with loud teens, on the other side, just a few quiet guesthouses, with a couple of bungalows, a nice view, a few cows. Guess what side we chose…

We hired a couple of motorbikes the next day to drive along the countryside. First stop, one of the any caves in the area, as Vang Vieng is set in the mountains. The visit of the cave started off with a guide hired by another couple we just happened to follow, but after a while we lost the guide and continued on our own. This was probably not the best idea of the century as we had absolutely no idea where we were heading, and had just one flashlight and no spare batteries. Part of the visit had to be done crawling on our bellies, through tunnels about a foot high. Fun. Stupid and reckless, but fun nonetheless.

Second stop, the Blue Lagoon, a riverbend deep enough to jump from a six meter tall tree, full of teens. Crowded but most welcome after the dusty hot ride.

And last stop, an organic restaurant with a nice fruit shake drank in a hammock, overlooking a pond, tastefully decorated with lotuses and waterlilies. I think I’ve asked that question before: does life get any better, seriously?

The road to Phouk Koum is windy, twisted, goes up and down the mountain range, and goes through the most spectacular sceneries over Lao’s countryside. It’s dramatic, it’s fascinating, and damn it’s steep. Troopy barely made it to the top in first gear. That night we had to put on a sweater, a pair of jeans, and, can you believe it, socks and shoes. Shoes! I have not worn shoes for ages, let alone been cold. Oh my! It feels wonderful. You might laugh, dear reader, but I’m sick of summer. I absolutely love being up here, high up in the mountains, with temperature this cold. Well, let’s not get carried away, this isn’t Siberia yet, but ten degrees Celsius feels just great. This mountain village, with the cold, the twisted road, the people in their jumpers and the peaks surrounding us, reminds me of Jawa, with Isabelle and Anthony who got so cold that night in Bromo. Man, I wish it snowed now. I can already smell the hot cocoa, the cinnamon buns, the fire in the chimney, …

Wake up Brice, you’re in bloody Laos, it ain’t gonna be winter for you for another two to three years just yet.

Speaking of snowy mountains, we bumped into Dino and Fabia in their Swiss Troopy the next morning. They were on their way South, after driving from Zurich to Ulaan Baatar (http://www.overlander.ch/), then down through China with Fred (the French truck). We fixed a rendez-vous point in Phonsavan, our next destination.
Phonsavan is famous for two things: the Plain of Jars, and the most stubborn Tourist Police Officer we ever met. Tourism Police probably has a real purpose, but to us it just was a pain in the arse. After two hours of painful negotiation, we had to give in and follow him to what he promised to be “a nice quiet place where you can also put your tent up, there is grass and all.” So, we put down the tent, folded everything down, put everything in the cars, drove in convoy to the Information Center, waited for the Police Officer’s colleague to run down the Police Station as he had forgotten the keys, and discovered there was no grass, nowhere to put the tent up, and especially definitely no peace and quiet.
This building was right on the main road, with trucks going back and forth, and the continuous noise all cities in the world have. It just never stops. That wasn’t so bad for us three, as we forced the Police Officer to let us sleep in the meeting room upstairs, use the toilets and the shower, and spend a rather warm and quiet night after all. But for poor Fabia and Dino, it was another story. Their Troopy is slightly different from mine, most noticeably, the roof pops up and transforms into their bedroom. This means wherever the car is parked, this is where they get to sleep. This might be nice, just like a rooftop tent, in a sense, with all the benefits it brings, but on the other hand, when the Police forces you to camp in a car park right in the middle of town, well let’s just say they did not sleep well that night.

We cursed the Officer the next day so much he probably felt he was not welcome, or was too ashamed he lied to us, but he never showed up in the morning. He had left his subordinate to spend the night downstairs, and even told us what time we had to be in bed.

Well, as much as I loathe dumb people, I guess I get his point. He was given orders by his commander no tourist can sleep in the bush, so he merely followed the order. It did not matter we were fifty yards from a house, that the local villagers had given us their blessing, that we weren’t in any danger; rules are rules. Tourist are in danger when they sleep outside, so this is simply not allowed. Had the officer not followed his orders, he’d be the one in trouble, not us.

Still, we cursed him with all our will.

On a more fascinating side, Phonsavan is famous, as I said earlier, for the Plain of Jars. This remains a mystery for all anthropologists, historians, archaeologists and treasure hunters, but the thousands of jars that are spread around here have not yet delivered their secret.

Imagine a jar, between one and three meters tall, about one meter in diameter, built with solid stone, spread across an area from Laos, through Thailand, Myanmar, all the way to Northern India, roughly in a straight line. They were built between the 5BCE and 5CE centuries, three hypothesizes remain: they could be funeral urns, as many furnaces have been found near the areas where the jars are dispersed; they could have been used as food storage along a route that merchants may have been using in the past; or they could have been the cups the giants that once populated the area in the legendary Laos of the past have been using to quench their thirst after a mighty battle against demons. Nevertheless, it’s pretty spectacular. Just one thing though, the Plain of Jar is one of the most bombed area of Laos, which is already the most bombed country in the History. Sander has researched this, but if I’m allowed to quote his blog, two million ton of bombs have been dropped during an episode of the Vietnam War called the Secret War (Laos was split by a civil war, with Royalists backed by the US versus the Communists backed by the USSR, in a nutshell). That’s about one ton of bombs per Laotian at the time (1960-1970), or one planeload, every eight minute, 24h a day, for nine years…

Think about it for a second… Now imagine that 30% of that payload remains unexploded and litters the country. ..

MAG is an American NGO that specialised in de-mining countries such as Laos, Cambodia, or parts of Africa, from there UXOs (UneXploded Ordnance), which kill one person every day in Laos. They’ve already cleared a lot of villages and rice fields, but there is still so much work to be done.

Needless to say, when you visit the Plain of Jars, you bloody well stay on the marked path…

Another spectacular thing was the spot our Swiss friends have indicated us before we parted. Atop a hill, with a 360degrees view, we put our tent right on top and enjoyed a fantastic sunset. Granted, it’s pretty cold in the evening, but it’s worth it. And on the plus side, it’s so far off town and basically from anywhere, that no stubborn Tourist Police Officer would ever bother us.

Two options lay before us the next day as we looked at the map to find our way to the next destination, Luang Prabang. Option one, spectacular route through the same route we took from Phouk Koum, option two, a dirt road involving river crossings and four wheel driving through the mountain range… Guess what we chose…

Well, six hours later, we had driven the 80km across the mountains, on a torturous dirt road, alongside dramatic drops, through steep climbs and even steeper descends, and even had to wait for a child (I’m not joking) to build the road with a CAT bulldozer. At one point, right after crossing the river on the tiniest ferry ever, I felt the brake pump had had enough and it was time for a break. Nepal will be fun if the brakes give up after just two hours of steep descend… Anyways, while the brake pads were cooling off, we enjoyed our noodle soup. The lady promised me the meat was pork, but I’m pretty sure given the size of the bones I took out, this was no swine. No sir. I believe, after seeing the squirrels and the rats two days ago in the market, what we ate was probably furry and had a long tail. Pork, yeah, right.
Luang Prabang, known for its French architecture and many golden temples, welcomed us after that long drive. I was rooted. I deserved that beer that night, absolutely!

Such a nice town, though, absolutely worth the drive. So much so that we stayed two more nights. Well, this may have been because we spent one whole day at a swimming pool, drinking vodka cocktails at the bar in the middle of the pool, sunbathing for some, and working for others. I must confess Julie spent all day drawing my next tattoo she barely had time to enjoy the water. Too bad though, since the guy who was supposed to tattoo us (Matt also had his drawing done by Julie yesterday) was a no show. Oh well, we’ll get inked in Chiang Mai, in Thailand next week then.

Udonxay was so boring there’s nothing to mention, aside the fact it was the start of a one and a half 4×4 drive through the jungle, crossing rivers and stopping often to chop down bamboo trees using the machete, you know, just like in the movies… But at the end of the rough track, lay the perfect clearing, some 150m from a superb waterfall. This was the perfect location for a bushcamp, a plate of cleverly hidden cheeses, two bottles of wine, a lovely Indian dinner and a great birthday gift for yours truly. The whole family had gathered once more, despite divorces and sisterly feuds, to get me a great pair of binoculars, carefully brought in by Matt from Brussels. Thank you all, it will be forever symbolic of the family ties, plus the fact I can now enjoy the animals I’ll come across a lot more.

The road to Luang Nam Ta would get me to the northernmost point of this first part of my journey. 15km South of the Chinese border, this is as far North as I’ll ever go for now. I feel a bit disappointed I have to turn around South, but I knew when I turn on the ignition on March 7th, my budget was too low and I would have to stop at one point.
Luang Nam Ta, home of the worst hamburger ever, and worse still were the fried noodles we tried afterwards. I’d be willing to bet this was no pork either, it probably barked too. But Luang Nam Ta is also home to one of the best massage we got on this trip. All three masseuses were very, very good. It’s been a while I’d felt tiny female fingers on my skin; I can’t wait for December 6th when I am with Claire again.

150km South of town, flows the Mekong once more, and with it, the border to Thailand. This will be the last time we set our eyes on the mighty river, which takes its source in Tibet, to end down in Viet Nam.

We had to pay an extra dollar each for crossing the border on a Saturday, don’t ask me why. But the tiny ferry carried us across the river in no time. Bye bye Laos.

To sum up, Laos to me was the best of the four countries in South East Asia, and definitely in the top three of these seven countries so far. I loved the people, I loved the countryside, I loved the complex history too, and even if the food was at times rather boring (same five vegetables, same choice of rice or noodles, fried or boiled), these past four weeks were never boring. A definite destination for all of you adventurers out there.

Distance to-day: 1723km, total: 40682km.