We spent the day storming around the temples of Vientianne - especially noteworthy were that luang whre we made a bird offering and wat sisaket, Patucxi (the vicotry monument and sign of laos) was impressive but unfortunately in the middle of a roundabout -before conceding defeat in the face of the pink eye and heading over to the hospital before a long lunch at new Asian favourite Joma Bakery (well on the way to getting a free coffee with the loyalty card). Hospital was not all that primitive (rather like any of the older PCT NHS ones with mixed use, age, sex wards if little hotter) but unfortunately we got separated from our shoes having had to change buildings several times which i think slightly thwarted the whole point of the excercise of hygiene.
After slight difficulties and a large phone bill we reunited with the others by the cultural museum and boarded the minibus to the station for the train to the other station; apparently this was the simplest option. Leg two of Vangvieng to Bangkok was Vientienne to nok khai and then over friendship bridge with a stunning view of the, at this junction, vast mekong to thailand and onto the sleeper to Bangkok. We thought it was wonderful - what plane has a dining cart, full beds and the world cup opening match for 16pounds? We did however, realise why the upper beds were so cheap - they never turn off the lights so sleeping is a little hindered which might turn out for the best since it was rather too easy to fall out.
Bangkok was massive; as evidenced by the hours approach to the central station through the city as the railside gradually transformed from squatter settlements to public services and finally to neatly manicured vegetation, and oppressively hot although not a riot in sight (somewhat disappointing given the worrying that certain mothers were putting in). with leg 3 of our journey booked it was time for market shopping. we rapidly accumulated far more clothing than our backpacks were prepared to accept at a fairly consistant 100baht apiece. unfortunately thai sizes meant that shorts, skirts and trousers were off the menu at chatuchak market (24ha of market space) although puppies and snakes were not if the pet section was anything to go by. a quick hello to bangkok residents and a swift viewing of the chaos of the electricals floor of an upmarket mall and we were back at the train station to board the bus south to Surat Thani, where after an hour of being bitten and complaining of the cramp from curling up on the corner of the sofa in the 'Lounge' section we changed for another to Krabi where we got a minibus to the port to get the first ferry of the day to Koh Phi Phi, which thankfully is pedestrianised.
Life on Phi Phi is, typically I fear, difficult. Wake, eat, doze, frolic, swim, eat, doze, dance, sleep. It is beautiful but haunted by the spectre of the 2005 Tsunami - although physical scars have largely disappeared (save for lesser known beaches covered in broken coral and occasionally walking on a pathway that morphs into the foundations of a destroyed former dwelling) the glistening new hospital, evacuation routes and notices in restaurants informing customers of their connection to the early warning system serve as a constant reminder. What's hideous is that the rebuild is obviously designed with next time in mind.
I have managed some activity. I've been both wreck diving and shark diving although i think the former turned out to be more dangerous and have been to cult status Maya Bay in the national marine park otherwise known as 'The Beach.' It was a little ironic that the film centered on a community attempting to avoid the excesses and multitudes of modern asian travel given the blatent exploitation of the site now. The wreck of King Edward was more interesting 40m down that it ever could have been in life. 15years ago this car ferry sank under slightly suspicious circumstances; rumours of the thai mafia abound - for one thing there are substancial questions as to why a car ferry was ever making daily trips to a pedestrainised island. But it is now home to over 300 species of coral, 4 'nemos', turtles etc. and a giant puffa fish - absolutely deadly and larger than the leopard sharks we saw on the next dive all the while fighting against quite a formidable current. favourite sight had to be the stingray getting its teeth cleaned - wuite happily bearing the gnashers for a grubber fish to have a tasty meal.
Saturday, 19 June 2010
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
the village sons
we left vang vieng (well technically caro, livvy and i left twice) with a reminder of the worlds 5th dirtiest river - pink eye. conjunctivitus rages through the travelling community with the spirit of a far more virulent disease and no sooner had the boys confined themselves to the godfather trilogy and eyedrops (fortunately free market economics has blessed vangvieng with a thriving pharmaceutical trade) than lizzie caught it and three days later, despite the new 24hr sunglasses look, precautionary amoxcilyn ($1/course of 12; i think the NHS should be looking for a new supplier) and eyedrops it managed to hop across the bed and over Bells to me. So it was with a weeping pair of eyes that late in the day having unsuccessfully tried to group moped to the blue lagoon (only Eric, ali and I made it and that was only because we had conceded moped defeat and taken a tuktuk down the dirt track, through a couple of chicken coups, over the rice paddies and through the rivers) that Caro, Livvy and I bid the others farewell and heading for the bus station bound, we hoped, for Vientiane.
Our tuktuk driver assured us that the local bus would come at 8/8.30 but we were a little uneasy, especially since at 6.30 we could already here the omnious rolls of thunder bringing the nightly downpour. No matter, we took refuge in bus shelter and consulted the timetable which informed us that the last bus did indeed leave at 2.30. The tuktuk drivers swooped. Our friends had done the journey to Vangvieng in a tuktuk with 14 passengers, their collective worldly possessions and a monsoon so we knew it was possible. 30,000 kip we bleated weakly; afterall this was the price of the local bus which in the event of a crash was larger and having walls considerably sturdier. Friendly tuktuk driver weakly agreed - he looked ill. However the younger ones laughed theatrically and scared him away. The tuktuk drivers scanned over their quarry, deciding that we looked like we could pay more and so they retreated to the edge of the compound for a group discussion over cheap cigarettes. 20minutes later, armed with the offering of Livs last cigarettes I ventured into the fray; 40,000kip. They laughed again and shouted random numbers, the air grew tenser from a combination of the random numbers issuing out of each of their mouths and the coming storm. Fine, we'll sleep here and get the first bus out - 'where is the nearest room to rent?' They replied with a chorus of 10,000 for the journey back to town. We thought that the shacks and shops opposite looked more promising. We were wrong. By 9.30 we were back in Vangvieng centre with the music of the Qbar ringing in our ears as we fell to sleep. Or rather in my case i fell to the task of mopping up my eyes, rubbing in the teramycin cream, flushing with eyedrops and snatching intermittent bouts of sleep. I was also fuming that the cash machine had stolen my money having processed a withdrawal (fortunately about 12 pounds) but not cashed it; I knew this since it had happened to a boy who had been so persistent in using the faulty machine that he cleared his entire current account without seeing a single 1,00kip note. In the morning Caro had pink eye too. This was not to be a happy 6am start particularly since the particularly vicious monsoon rains (thundering down whilst claps of thunder so loud they resembled tuktuks being hurled around the floor above were illuminated by the lighting striking the town) the previous night were not entirely finished. However, a little luck; our tuktuk stopped half way executed a perfect Uturn and crashed into the back of a bus - this was apparently intentional since the driver got out good naturedly and loaded on our backs - this was the 6am local service to Vientiane.
At first we thought that we had boarded the world's slowest bus as it chugged down the main streets, horn tooting whilst Laotian karaoke blared out across the deserted streets but thankfully the bus speed up and music turned off as we left vangvieng for the assortment of roadside villages on route 13 to Vientiane. We largely slept, but i also found time to finish off the brothers Karamazoz (or more aptly their father) - i finally understand most of what Hargreaves was talking about at AS history - however, the only point of note in the journey was not to be a whole cow or chicken farm boarding but the village sons all trooping on, some wide eyed, others a little more bleary from a nondescript stop. They must have been every male between 14 and 19 in the village and the back seats groaned from the weight of the plastic weave sacks they leaned against. I amused myself by speculating as to their fate. I, perhaps a little romantically, decided they were either destined for novice training and that the sacks contained alms for the monks as payment or that they were being sent with everything to make their way in life in the big city. Each dwelling aroused their greatest scrutiny although the elder ones attempted nonchalence in their luminous nike tops and gelled hair, I noticed they were the last to step off the bus and search out their final destination.
Our tuktuk driver assured us that the local bus would come at 8/8.30 but we were a little uneasy, especially since at 6.30 we could already here the omnious rolls of thunder bringing the nightly downpour. No matter, we took refuge in bus shelter and consulted the timetable which informed us that the last bus did indeed leave at 2.30. The tuktuk drivers swooped. Our friends had done the journey to Vangvieng in a tuktuk with 14 passengers, their collective worldly possessions and a monsoon so we knew it was possible. 30,000 kip we bleated weakly; afterall this was the price of the local bus which in the event of a crash was larger and having walls considerably sturdier. Friendly tuktuk driver weakly agreed - he looked ill. However the younger ones laughed theatrically and scared him away. The tuktuk drivers scanned over their quarry, deciding that we looked like we could pay more and so they retreated to the edge of the compound for a group discussion over cheap cigarettes. 20minutes later, armed with the offering of Livs last cigarettes I ventured into the fray; 40,000kip. They laughed again and shouted random numbers, the air grew tenser from a combination of the random numbers issuing out of each of their mouths and the coming storm. Fine, we'll sleep here and get the first bus out - 'where is the nearest room to rent?' They replied with a chorus of 10,000 for the journey back to town. We thought that the shacks and shops opposite looked more promising. We were wrong. By 9.30 we were back in Vangvieng centre with the music of the Qbar ringing in our ears as we fell to sleep. Or rather in my case i fell to the task of mopping up my eyes, rubbing in the teramycin cream, flushing with eyedrops and snatching intermittent bouts of sleep. I was also fuming that the cash machine had stolen my money having processed a withdrawal (fortunately about 12 pounds) but not cashed it; I knew this since it had happened to a boy who had been so persistent in using the faulty machine that he cleared his entire current account without seeing a single 1,00kip note. In the morning Caro had pink eye too. This was not to be a happy 6am start particularly since the particularly vicious monsoon rains (thundering down whilst claps of thunder so loud they resembled tuktuks being hurled around the floor above were illuminated by the lighting striking the town) the previous night were not entirely finished. However, a little luck; our tuktuk stopped half way executed a perfect Uturn and crashed into the back of a bus - this was apparently intentional since the driver got out good naturedly and loaded on our backs - this was the 6am local service to Vientiane.
At first we thought that we had boarded the world's slowest bus as it chugged down the main streets, horn tooting whilst Laotian karaoke blared out across the deserted streets but thankfully the bus speed up and music turned off as we left vangvieng for the assortment of roadside villages on route 13 to Vientiane. We largely slept, but i also found time to finish off the brothers Karamazoz (or more aptly their father) - i finally understand most of what Hargreaves was talking about at AS history - however, the only point of note in the journey was not to be a whole cow or chicken farm boarding but the village sons all trooping on, some wide eyed, others a little more bleary from a nondescript stop. They must have been every male between 14 and 19 in the village and the back seats groaned from the weight of the plastic weave sacks they leaned against. I amused myself by speculating as to their fate. I, perhaps a little romantically, decided they were either destined for novice training and that the sacks contained alms for the monks as payment or that they were being sent with everything to make their way in life in the big city. Each dwelling aroused their greatest scrutiny although the elder ones attempted nonchalence in their luminous nike tops and gelled hair, I noticed they were the last to step off the bus and search out their final destination.
Monday, 7 June 2010
sandbuckets acquire a new association
Vang Vieng is the cultural disaster of Laos, worse even I might venture that the legendary Full Moon party of Koh Pangan. Here the hastily constructed town consisting of cheap corrugated eateries, quasi-pancake stalls (if we were to judge these pastries (?) romantically you might be inclined to put them down to a French colonial hangover) and 'Friends' bars, caters to what appears to be the entire regurgitated teenage clientele of Chelsea drinking hole 'The Goat in Boots'. The Friends bars allow the Public School Circuits gap year tragic heroes to recover enough strength to go out 'on the lash' again at firm favourite The Bucket Bar (free buckets of whisky from 8.30-9.30) whilst mindlessly absorbing the antics of 6 fictional americans in back to back episodes/series those wishing to find a little more diversity might push the boat out and find the 'Family Guy' bar. Most sport war wounds - unsurprising given the gallimaufry of accidents in waiting from ex-lovers to rocky rivers, motorbikes and fire limbo which are top of everyones Vang Vieng to do list. That and the bars provide a more sociable setting for redressing wounds without missing out on valuable banter.
The town is firmly in the tight embrace of the Lotus eaters and after managing to get down to the river to go 'tubing' - essentially a novel, if somewhat watery and perilous medium of bar hopping - and contracting unspeakable diseases from the mud volleyball pit I decided I would venture out into unknown territory for this grotesque adventure playground and discover a wholesome element without compromising enjoyment if I could avoid the ubiquitous menu 'happy options.'
First off I ruled out caving despite it fauning writeup as alone it would have been duller than the water and I was still being given stick for the kayaking to the Pak Ou caves. However, I persuaded a disenchanted partygoier to join me at a Laotian cooking class and another to the organic farm that ran the areas volunteering. The cookery class was dirty, accompianed by the sounds of a staff member retching and produced a somewhat questionable meal after our endeavours. However, it was also hysterical. Our teacher Tompetri burst out into spontaneous song and lamented over our attempts at laap (a meat specialty) with equal vigour and whisked us expertly around the market to buy ingredients whilst balancing them perfectly on the front of his moped (we occupied the back). Onto the farm tomorrow.
The town is firmly in the tight embrace of the Lotus eaters and after managing to get down to the river to go 'tubing' - essentially a novel, if somewhat watery and perilous medium of bar hopping - and contracting unspeakable diseases from the mud volleyball pit I decided I would venture out into unknown territory for this grotesque adventure playground and discover a wholesome element without compromising enjoyment if I could avoid the ubiquitous menu 'happy options.'
First off I ruled out caving despite it fauning writeup as alone it would have been duller than the water and I was still being given stick for the kayaking to the Pak Ou caves. However, I persuaded a disenchanted partygoier to join me at a Laotian cooking class and another to the organic farm that ran the areas volunteering. The cookery class was dirty, accompianed by the sounds of a staff member retching and produced a somewhat questionable meal after our endeavours. However, it was also hysterical. Our teacher Tompetri burst out into spontaneous song and lamented over our attempts at laap (a meat specialty) with equal vigour and whisked us expertly around the market to buy ingredients whilst balancing them perfectly on the front of his moped (we occupied the back). Onto the farm tomorrow.
Saturday, 5 June 2010
26 people/km2
Via a couple of weeks dodging falling plaster (both for my personal safety and that of the soup) in the kitchen of Princesse Marie-Blanche Broglie and long afternoons in the heat of Parisian greenery or holed up in the mezzanine level of the Musee Quai Branley (easily my favourite free archives) after London election fever i've come to Laos. The sleepyside of Asia.
Arriving into Bangkok I did have small problems as it appeared that STA had in their usually efficient style managed to strand me in a state of emergency. Added to which at 1am UK time there was no chance of STA picking up the phone. On the up side this allowed me to buy a ticket that didn't require a 12hr bus connection at the other end AND meant that I was soon chowing down on the free popcorn in the bangkok airways lounge. yum.
Finally I got into Luang Prabang only to come face to face with a laser - apparently this is the Laotian version of the infra-red rooms at large international airports.
This sleepy former capital is a tiny city where the temple atop Mount Phousi dominates easily despite not being either that high or that large but only relatively giant. A real highlight was climbing to the top to watch the sunset over the temple. The night market at Sisanvango was amazing too as were the plentiful handicraft and jewelery shops which i'm now severely depressed about not cleaning out! one branch of the night market was the food alley where all you could eat accompaniments to either grilled fish, chicken, duck or 'lucky' mystery animal were enticing and clean as well as being a steal at 10,000kip. The curfew ensured that even the travellers managed a healthy glow although just out of the UNESCO zone (a fact ruthlessly exploited by the tuktuk mafia) was the locals discotheque, having seen how South Americas agrarian society was a living time capsule in bright native patterns it was surprising to find that Laotians spurned traditional shens and instead wore western clothing - no more so that in the hysterical local disco. My personal favourite locals were a middle aged couple seated around an oil drum with a birthday cake perched precariously atop it whilst they stared agog at their surroundings amid the lowtech lasers and sound systems.
Luang prabang boasted some beautiful monastries and many of the young monks are keen to practice their English (and be brought a milk drink) with the tourists who venture inside, we even managed (aided perhaps by the curfew) to wake in time to watch the monks collecting morning alms (sticky rice, fruit and meat) as sun rose one morning. Food is beginning to be recognised as a pleasure rather than solely a means of survival and so some good restaurants and bars have started (often with a westerner at the helm - for example at Utopia built by a Canadian and run by a Scot) to cater towards a tourist budget. The French and Thai influences are particularly strongly felt.
The day after climbing the nearby waterfalls (very steep but 100%worth it once you reach the natural infinity pool at the valley entrance looking over the jungle, although this did require deviating from the path and instead climbing up the stream) Lizzie and I managed in between massages for $1.50 to bargain our way to kayaking to the Pak Ou caves where thousands of Buddhas were hidden at the end of the C19th to save them from destruction and then elephant trekking and bathing before a tour of 'whiskey village.' The elephant trekking was novel but otherwise similar to riding a bristly, badly behaved, somewhat slow and bamboo-partial (if rather larger) pony but washing them was amazing. Especially when we had underwater races with only the end of the trunk occasionally surfacing to indicate the presence of an elephant at all. Mine was especially keen on elephantine bronco, so it was fortunate that falling off only meant a quick submersion. Onto whiskey village we were treated to free LaoLao and firewhisky. LaoLao is digusting, I do not recommend it to anyone who has the option of drinking some other alcholic beverage barring the Potosi miner's ethanol. However, it was worth consuming given that it pickled a variety of commonly hated animals - from snakes to scorpions (rumoured to be a natural aphrodisiac according to our guide). After we managed to muscle in on the afternoon break of the local women and were treated to a variety of local snacks - to my surprise my favourite was the thin strips of fried mushroom. Our aching muscles from the strong current crossing home had us back in the arms of the masseurs by dinner time and happily sampling wonderful Lao soups (pumpkin, tamarind and chilli came out tops although bamboo shoot was a close second) and sharing a plate of 5 bites which ranged from cured buffalo meat to ginger preserved bok choi stems in local favourite Tamarind opposite the small but beautiful Wat Nong.
Arriving into Bangkok I did have small problems as it appeared that STA had in their usually efficient style managed to strand me in a state of emergency. Added to which at 1am UK time there was no chance of STA picking up the phone. On the up side this allowed me to buy a ticket that didn't require a 12hr bus connection at the other end AND meant that I was soon chowing down on the free popcorn in the bangkok airways lounge. yum.
Finally I got into Luang Prabang only to come face to face with a laser - apparently this is the Laotian version of the infra-red rooms at large international airports.
This sleepy former capital is a tiny city where the temple atop Mount Phousi dominates easily despite not being either that high or that large but only relatively giant. A real highlight was climbing to the top to watch the sunset over the temple. The night market at Sisanvango was amazing too as were the plentiful handicraft and jewelery shops which i'm now severely depressed about not cleaning out! one branch of the night market was the food alley where all you could eat accompaniments to either grilled fish, chicken, duck or 'lucky' mystery animal were enticing and clean as well as being a steal at 10,000kip. The curfew ensured that even the travellers managed a healthy glow although just out of the UNESCO zone (a fact ruthlessly exploited by the tuktuk mafia) was the locals discotheque, having seen how South Americas agrarian society was a living time capsule in bright native patterns it was surprising to find that Laotians spurned traditional shens and instead wore western clothing - no more so that in the hysterical local disco. My personal favourite locals were a middle aged couple seated around an oil drum with a birthday cake perched precariously atop it whilst they stared agog at their surroundings amid the lowtech lasers and sound systems.
Luang prabang boasted some beautiful monastries and many of the young monks are keen to practice their English (and be brought a milk drink) with the tourists who venture inside, we even managed (aided perhaps by the curfew) to wake in time to watch the monks collecting morning alms (sticky rice, fruit and meat) as sun rose one morning. Food is beginning to be recognised as a pleasure rather than solely a means of survival and so some good restaurants and bars have started (often with a westerner at the helm - for example at Utopia built by a Canadian and run by a Scot) to cater towards a tourist budget. The French and Thai influences are particularly strongly felt.
The day after climbing the nearby waterfalls (very steep but 100%worth it once you reach the natural infinity pool at the valley entrance looking over the jungle, although this did require deviating from the path and instead climbing up the stream) Lizzie and I managed in between massages for $1.50 to bargain our way to kayaking to the Pak Ou caves where thousands of Buddhas were hidden at the end of the C19th to save them from destruction and then elephant trekking and bathing before a tour of 'whiskey village.' The elephant trekking was novel but otherwise similar to riding a bristly, badly behaved, somewhat slow and bamboo-partial (if rather larger) pony but washing them was amazing. Especially when we had underwater races with only the end of the trunk occasionally surfacing to indicate the presence of an elephant at all. Mine was especially keen on elephantine bronco, so it was fortunate that falling off only meant a quick submersion. Onto whiskey village we were treated to free LaoLao and firewhisky. LaoLao is digusting, I do not recommend it to anyone who has the option of drinking some other alcholic beverage barring the Potosi miner's ethanol. However, it was worth consuming given that it pickled a variety of commonly hated animals - from snakes to scorpions (rumoured to be a natural aphrodisiac according to our guide). After we managed to muscle in on the afternoon break of the local women and were treated to a variety of local snacks - to my surprise my favourite was the thin strips of fried mushroom. Our aching muscles from the strong current crossing home had us back in the arms of the masseurs by dinner time and happily sampling wonderful Lao soups (pumpkin, tamarind and chilli came out tops although bamboo shoot was a close second) and sharing a plate of 5 bites which ranged from cured buffalo meat to ginger preserved bok choi stems in local favourite Tamarind opposite the small but beautiful Wat Nong.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)