Life's a beach, and then you dive

Reference: the title for this blog post is stolen from a song by The Naked Apes. Good band..

We made our way from Siam Reap back to Phnom Phen, our hotel staff greeting us with big smiles, “Room 17 again?”. A tuk tuk driver hopped on our bus before we arrived there actually and tried to cajole us off in to his tuk tuk for the remainder of the journey. I guess enough tourists fool for this sort of rubbish to make it worth his while.

Whilst here we ticked off The Killing Fields which was very moving. I wrote the dramatic beginnings of a blog update whilst there, ranting largely on how we in our western worlds tend to place value on the most insignificant dramas; after looking at the suffering caused by the Khmer Rouge destroying the lives of so many people it seems obvious that we all need serious attitude adjustments back home. The post was accidentally deleted, possibly for the best.

We decreed that some good old sunshine for the soul was in order, one final bout of relaxation before starting on the homeward bound journey. We arrived in Shinookville, its success is clearly the result of its touristic appeal. It’s how I imagine the Thai beaches were a decade ago, hotels and restaurants being erected as fast as possible in every direction. We went for a wander to locate a guest house, the majority were full or overpriced, or both. We ended up at Apple Minimart and Guesthouse which, aside from the roaches, was a superb guesthouse. My main highlight was undoubtedly the food which was just divine. The chocolate pancakes and omelettes with veges were both utterly scrumptious.

Satisfied with our new location we wandered down the beach. It takes about ten minutes of solid walking to finally leave the row of bars behind. To get away from the touristic part we hired bicycles, joined by Beth and Francois. Together we cycled off in search of virgin sands. We ended up on one pleasant beach which allowed us to have a generous patch all to ourselves. And it was still touristy enough that we could purchase a beer nearby. We spent the afternoon wrestling in the water, then moved on to hiring wind surfers. I nailed the sport using the beginner board and sail. Upgrading to the big-boy-board resulted in me sailing out away from the beach and then being unable to get it back in. After what felt like a day of failed attempts at bringing her back Craig finally sailed out to rescue me.

Before I forget, the beers here are finally getting to me. I cannot stand Angkor or Anchor, the two leading Cambodian beers. I am constantly surprised to find that these are both the most expensive beers we have purchased in South East Asia – and most expensive by a factor of two – and the worst.

Every meal we had out this way was culinary bliss. Dinners were substantial and tasty, and we returned to one restaurant in particular a number of times down on the waterfront.

Two food highlights: (new for me, but far from profound)
Potato Skins: halve roasting potato, probably par-roasted, fill with olives, bacon, cheese..., roast and serve with sour cream
Cambodian Chicken Curry: a yellow/red curry with coconut milk, bay leaves, chicken, potato, pumpkin, probably some stock, ...

With appetites satisfied we moved on to more exciting endeavours. Scuba diving. Now this is new for me, and I was extremely sceptical that I was going to even be able to equalise. At the crack of dawn we approach the dive shop with our luggage and begin the two hour journey out to The Island. The scuba diving, led by a mad Frenchman, was in two sessions. One in shallow where we were trained in what to do and how to perform the basic emergency procedures, followed by a free dive over coral and fishes at a depth of six to seven meters. It was absolutely amazing. I think I am going to have to take this up a bit more seriously as soon as I earn some dosh. It’s just so cool gliding through the water; I think it’s the closest we can come to flying without actually flying.

After the scuba activities were done and dusted we proceeded to track down a guesthouse on the island. Now, this island really was amazing, with white beaches and warm blue waters surrounding us, it was a dreamy paradise. There were a handful of guesthouses and a couple of restaurants, enough to service tourists without ruining the place. The spot we stayed at was aptly named Paradise, and I think it cost us about 10 USD pp, a little more than we were planning to pay but completely worth it. The chill out/restaurant space was utterly amazing, a fine example of how being clever about the layout of a restaurant can completely alter its vibe. It was open on three sides and somehow gave us the sensation that we were the only people in there, regardless of how crowded it actually was. Being led to our bungalow we encountered a snake, it was just chilling out on our balcony. Finally. We all survived. I half expected it to make a second appearance in the middle of the night.

The island had no shortage of great food, all at a stupidly reasonable price, with the exception of a Brittish-run joint which has recently popped up that is. I had one of the greatest chicken curries of my life at one restaurant, a real culinary highlight of the entire trip.

We filled the days swimming, walking, eating, repeating, and having the occasional drink. Either mango shakes or a gin and tonic if it was getting late. This place was utterly amazing, I’ll be sure to return.

All too soon we packed our bags, beginning our staggered journey back to Wellington. We spent the night in Sihnookville, playing on an obstacle course off the shore in the morning.

There are an abundance of fireworks and cows on the streets here, and lo and behold the fireworks scare the cows. Seven walking steaks were loitering outside our hotel when loud bangs down the road to the right clearly startled them. And then, with uncannily bad luck, the fireworks started down the road to the left as well. I can remember this vividly in slow motion. There were two girls standing right next to them at the time. The cows started charging, one head butting a girl on her back. Fortunately she was not injured, but it was a harrowing moment.

Then next to Phnom Phen (they didn’t have the same room for us this time, tut tut), and now back in Saigon. We were intending to do a boat trip down the Mekong to reach Saigon but were unable to due to Chinese New Year. We ended up on a bus, quite fortunate given these were also being affected by the festivities. Now there’re just a couple of days remaining before we reach the airport and fly home.

This has been a great trip and I’ve learnt so much along the way. It’s not the end of this blog however as I still have a couple more posts worth of content in the pipeline from this trip, as well as a months worth of thoughts to be added from my recent exploration around the States.

Angkor's Temples and other nearby delights

Aside from some dodgy draughts and tourist-ridden streets we were generally pleased with what Siem Reap had to offer. This place has gone through a major boom in the last few years with overpriced hotels popping up all over the place, but with the surrounding sights it’s easy to understand why the tourists have flocked here, do flock here, and always will flock here.

It starts at a bus station – it always starts at a bus station. We were promptly tuk tuk’d in to town, and permitted the driver one opportunity to take us to a hotel so long as it was within our budget. He failed, taking us to one 125% dearer than our agreed maximum price and then spent time getting grumpy at us for not staying there and telling us that“everything else is booked out in Siem Reap”. Dishonest trickery from every angle. Well honestly. Using a bit of intuition we managed to walk in the right direction and bag a couple of decent rooms for $5 a night each above a medical centre.

One fine day, after stocking up on our regular Western banquet, we hired bicycles and plodded out to see the nearest floating village which is literally a village built on the water. There are a number of these actually, and allegedly some folk can spend their whole lives without ever stepping on dry land. Mind boggling. Kind of like a poverty stricken Underwater World. Seeing these has skyrocketed from $2 pp in 2010 to $15 pp and upwards now(some tours offering mid-70 USDs to see these). After a nice and bumpy cycle on bikes threatening to fall apart for the better part of 15+ km we reached the end of the land and had a quick gander through the village there (note, it's not a floating village). It was a feral squalor, and the stench prevented us from reaching the end. Disgusted we turned back and sought out a ferry so we could get out to the nearby floating village. We briefly started speaking with one of the boat tour chaps about how much this would cost and Craig, in the process of haggling, pointed out that they were taking in several hundred dollars per boat (there were many other people) and that that was far beyond what their associated costs amounted to. The chap then had the audacity to claim that a lot of that money goes in to build up local villages which, after witnessing the poverty stricken village 300 meters away, seemed highly improbable. This was sufficient to annoy us beyond repair and so we cycled off to the sounds of the price being dropped. We probably found some phenomenal food somewhere to take our mind off of missing out on seeing a floating village. No big loss.

The number one reason to come to Siem Reap (perhaps even Cambodia..) would be to see the many temples of Angkor, including the famous Angkor Wat, which is (allegedly – source, me skim-reading the Lonely Planet) the largest temple available. It’s pretty cool, but there are a lot of tourists. Tonnes of ‘em. At least if you walk away from them to take in the temple in all its splendour the people fade away to look like tiny ants. It certainly is formidable, but I constantly struggled to feel the full significance of the masterpiece. Perhaps because it’s no greater than the Egyptian, Greek and Roman empire’s – my three favourite empires – achievements, and the only difference being this this showed up centuries, even millenniums later. One great thing about such recent ruins is that it hasn’t had time to decay too much. However there have been two major botch ups in its history, one being some Indian conservation group used a corrosive cleaner on the statues which stuffed them up something chronic, and second some conservation folks (likely undergrads aiming for a BA..) decided it would be a good idea to rebuild parts in likeness of how they once were, using concrete and including wall carvings. The idea of reconstruction never bodes well with me for many reasons, most significant being that it generally seems dishonest. I will confess that done properly, re-piecing chunks of rubble to form the building they once formed say, can work, but it must not be overdone. And I feel Angkor Wat was overdone. Again, when walking far enough away from the temple to take in its beauty it seemed to make the blemishes fade in to oblivion behind the ants, and allowed me to appreciate it for the formidable masterpiece that it is.

My favourite temple however was Ta Prohm. Favourite by a mile. This was one with the jungle, with the amazing ruins becoming almost symbiotic with the towering trees, both reaching upwards and leaning on each other heavily to prevent from toppling. This was all I could have hoped for and more. Just beautiful.

Finally we spent the majority of the day exploring three of the sites within Angkor Krau, the large site just north of Angkor Wat. These were pretty amazing also actually, with one towering right up in to the heavens, accessible via steps so steep that only the gods could ascend. So the legend goes. Here we chatted with a few charming Buddhist monks visiting on holiday, and did our best to avoid other crowds. Fortunately the heavens opened up and it suddenly rained heavily, causing our rivals to scatter and waddle back to their tour buses for shelter. The moments before the tourists returned to the sights were some of the greatest, and Morgan, Craig and I sat high in one temple just watching the ants slowly returning below for ages

The temples, despite their many faults, were moving for us each, and were a real highlight for me in coming to this corner of the globe.It turns out that they were quite moving to each of us in differing ways as we spent hours debating the acceptable role of conservation, whether the money could be better spent elsewhere, the value that these sites bring to the world, and so on.

The final activity we encountered here was Beatocello, a Swiss doctor responsible for building five hospitals in Cambodia and fundraising millions of dollars for their construction/operation, much of which comes directly from his cello concerts. We attended his Saturday night concert and were charmed at both his speeches and his musical talent. His passion and his message are one. It is undeniable the impact he is having on preserving lives in Cambodia, undoubtedly one of the ‘Great People’ of our generation, I consider myself fortunate for hearing a man of such greatness speak in such an intimate setting. We were all moved to make a generous donation as well as Morgan eagerly donating blood the next day.  

Last point, last but certainly not least, the food. After all, the overall measuring stick for any town is the food, and on that front Siem Reap did not disappoint. Despite every restaurant reeking of touristic appeal we did find a few superb authentic meals just by wandering around near pub street. Morgan and I also did a cooking course at Le Tigre Papre which was both cheap and cheerful. Craig missed out as the Durian Shake Ordeal was not quite over for him at that stage.

Now that the trip is nearing an end we are heading offsomewhere nice and beachy to relax before flying home. Actually, I am messing with the tense a little. I am drafting this post from paradise, ready to post once I arrive back in a world touched by internet. Actually, paradise is the wrong word. Paradise is too modest a word for such a place as this. I am on an unspoiled island which has an abundance of beauty everywhere. I am listening to the waves crashing down below, the chirp of crickets in the air, and my own gentle tap tap tap of the keyboard. The generators have just gone out and plunged the area in to complete darkness, the only light coming from the stars shining brightly above. Paradise^2. 

Cambodia / Phnom Penh

A reoccurring statement, the drive in to this place was amazing! Rice paddies full of crop as far as the eye could see, bar a tree every 30 meters. Towards sunset we could se the silhouettes of cows meandering casually through the fields. The observer is reminded that this would have been Angkor back in the day, and the only thing which has actually changed in these parts in all those years is that the romantic allure of that ignorantly simple peasants life has since lost its curious charm. That, and satellite tv has made its debut.

The drive was fairly tame, all on roads of variable quality. Mostly fine and straight, but pot holes and strange mounds would alter the road +/- a foot, perhaps even more, giving a brief sense of off road four wheel driving.

The best thing about Nhom Phen is that the bus terminal is actually in the centre of town, making everything a respectable walk away. Unfortunately this is probably the only praise you'll hear me give this city, after it's amazingly well stocked but poorly curated museum, and it's beautiful palace with bajillions of Buddhas.

When you first clamber from the bus (or a restaurant, or your hotel, or your bathroom) you'll be accosted by tuk tuk touts whose smiles never quite reach their greedy beady eyes. Most are pretty lax, but the first touts followed us a bit.
Conversation: "you want tuk tuk?"
"No, I want dinner"
"Ahh I drive you to restaurant"
"no thanks, I want to go to a restaurant over the road"
"ah, you no want those. Those only Chinese restaurants. I take you to restaurant"
"I want Chinese for dinner"
"ah but these over priced Chinese" - an answer for everything - "I take you to chinese restaurant".
"But I want overpriced Chinese"
"Ahh, I know overpriced Chinese restaurant, I take you", and so on.
Sigh. Normally not an issue, but patience was short after an 11 or so hour bus ride.

Somewhere in the background I hear Craig tell his own personal tout "if you follow me I definitely won't go with you!"

After polishing off an overpriced Chinese dinner we walked on to locate a hotel, a nice little one aptly named Nice.

I'm generally unimpressed by this city, from it's hazardous roads which transform any afternoon jaunt in to an epic life-sized game of frogger, to the general scent of Lou du Paree's Metro on every street. Even after a solid downpour the scent and filth remains in tact.

My general enjoyment levels were further diminished after a durian shake rendered Craig and myself a bit worse for wear. Durian is a large fruit notorious for its (overly?) pungent areomas. It was with great reluctance that Craig and I had to briefly alternate bathroom visits trying to block out the penetrating reek of the regurgitated fruit which, as way of description, actually smelled as bad as durian. No wait, worse.

I know I should go easy on this place, after all there is a well stocked museum and a whole other culture just waiting to be experienced. But at its core it really is just a big old mediocre city, of which I have now seen my fair share. I imagine if I had begun my journeys here I probably would've become besotted with the city, musing over the people and celebrating the day to day challenges which travelling to the third world brings. But here and now, after enjoying the remoteness of prior places, the cuisine of fine restaurants, the relaxing vibe of friendly villagers, I feel my time could be better spent elsewhere. So it is with great delight that I am writing this post currently seated on an outward bound bus.

Pakse to Don Det

I drove in to Pakse with the sun setting and nothing but a description of a restaurant at which to meet Craig and Morgan for dinner. Jardin or Jabidee or some equally foreign variant being its name.

A quick spiel on the restaurant as this was the highlight of Pakse, an achievement not that difficult to obtain but well deserved in this case. It's run by an Italian who has been here 9 months and it's just the pastas. Good tasty food which he cooks up and sells for a fair price. And the banana shakes are amazing; the perfect blend between a shake and a thick sweet cake mix. Divine.

Anyway, up the next day for a bus and boat to the misleadingly named four thousand islands, specifically to the island named Don Det. After a kerfuffle where I was advised the only bus left in five minutes, getting three tickets, a very fast pack and check out, then finding that the bus was actually then full, and that other cheeper buses actually left semi-regularly, we were on our way. Arriving in Don Det was pretty cool as you hop on a boat and blat out to this picturesque island with trees, fields and hammocks. We wandered over the railway bridge, avoiding the horrendous fee to do so, and settled on a quaint guesthouse away from the party region. We were immediately sold by the mixed expression of the host, of surprise and delight, presumably at actually having guests stay. The snake we passed was a little less welcoming but went completely unnoticed by myself (I still haven't properly seen a snake in the wild yet which is starting to irritate me as Craig has sighted three on this trip).

Our accommodation saw us through three days and nights of lazing around in comfy hammocks reading, playing games or just chatting mindlessly, sipping down the occasional beer for nourishment. A photo of the view from my hammock is included somewhere with this post. I can't emphasise how awesomely relaxing this was. And the food was amazing too. We frequented a guest house around the corner with a great cook, an exuberant French chap whom I incorrectly mistook as being the owner (somewhat aided by him bringing us the menu and getting us seated and so on), and a tonne of kittens. The kittens often left me alone which was nice, apart from the last day when two continued to jump up on my lap; by the time I had removed one then the other was getting comfortably settled. Cute, but grr. This seemed to entertain the other diners at least. The proprietress was actively attempting to learn English by having us write down our orders and then, under the supervision of her English-speaking daughter, checked our orders and tried saying each item. A sweet lady who, on our last night dining there, respectfully gave us basic wool bracelets for 'good luck' on our onward journey, all contributing to the cheery feel-good experience of the island.

Now the cheeriness does have limits. Dare cross the rail bridge and you find yourself harrowed for 20.000 kip each to cross back to your guesthouse. Given our rooms adjacent to the river cost 40.000 kip each this toll amount is clearly preposterous. Craig and Morgan wisely refused to cough up the dough, feigning the right amount of ignorance to get past uncharged.

Our only physical activity here, aside from eating, was going for a cycle around the island. Thirty minutes at a leisurely pace, taking in the farms from the dirt path, and hoping my bike wouldn't fall to pieces under my weight.

And after all this cheery bliss of reading, eating and relaxing we departed, filled with fuzzy warm thoughts of Laos, on a boat and then bussed off to the next country.

Next up, Cambodia.

Further reading

Craig's managed some ace writings on our recent happenings, capturing some of the remote awesomeness of the Bolevan plateau nicely, among other rad things. Check it out:
http://rywanderer.blogspot.com/

Oh, and here's a photo from where I am writing this: on an island in my hammock watching the Mekong meandering idly by. Bliss.

COFFEE!

Our second to last day motoring through southern Laos was spent deep in the coffee growing plateau up in Arabica bean country. In Pakson we passed a plain sign with 'COFFEE' written simply in bold and made a note to return. And after a quick kip to recover from the long day of off-roading we were back.

We were greeted by a charming genteel Dutch chap who made this his home several years ago. Upon his reccomendation we sampled his Kopi Luwak. Prices for this coffee vary. Sold here in a third world country from a coffee growing region I could acquire 1 kilo for a meagre $250 USD. Available by the glass at cost / $6 USD. Given how cheap this was I couldn't resist a taste. It certainly was delicious, with a host of flavours slightly unexpected. It's not 'better' than regular coffee in my opinion, just a very tasty variation which I'd happily order again should it be within my means.

We soon discovered he was hosting a coffee farm tour the next morning followed by a workshop in the afternoon. Excellent! Excited, and slightly over-caffeinated, we departed.

At 10am the next day, after a delicious espresso, our Dutch host, Koffee, started the tour. We walked around the farm which is behind his house while he expounded his knowledge on everything coffee related, from talking us through some different tree varieties, to drying processes, to how the small local farmers operate. Fortunately he didn't dictate what good coffee was, stating simply that each is a personal preference and suggesting what causes these differences. The workshop's major attraction was roasting our own coffee in a wok - something I'll try doing again when I reach home.

We are in Arabica country (arabica range 1200 - 1600m ish) but some farmers did have some less desirable Robusta trees for no particular reason. For growing coffee what is important is soil, water and light (but not too much). Guava trees are planted throughout 'good' plantations to provide shade which allows for a fuller, tastier berry. Allegedly the surrounding fruit trees do not add to the flavour of the coffee as would happen with wine but I am not sure I can agree - more researched required. There can be some trees which are detrimental such as pines which contribute acidity. The coffee trees do not like to swim in water so the porous volcanic rocks and soil around this plateau are ideal.

Trees grow to maturity after five years and will live for roughly 80 years before becoming brittle. The area where trees grow needs to be weeded meticulously, in the first few years of a trees life especially. A man per hectare and a month to weed it sounds standard. This repeats 8+ times each year. Two local trees mentioned as being farmed around here are Arabica Typica, a 2nd generation tree from Yemen, and Arabica C...?, a third generation from Indonesia. The generation represents the jumps made from its origin, and Arabica is the name for / basically means the coffees traditionally found in Arab countries.

Pick the ripe red berries. Some farmers pick unripe green ones and this results in a cheaper bitterer brew.

The next art is in the drying. Our Dutch host jumped a little between approaches and so this might be slightly muddled.

Drying approach 1 - wet / ferment:
Take berries, remove casing (via machine), place in water. Bad berries float, good sink. This is a cheap triage. The mix is then fermented for a couple of days (not really sure why) before being dried in the sun for a few.

Cheap dry option, option 2:
Dry berries in sun

Expensive dry option, option 3:
Triage, removing all unwanted berries (green unripe ones and those with defects such as insects)
Remove skin of berry and discard
Dry berries in sun

From here we discussed how the Laos farmers managed. Roughly 70-80% of Laos's coffee is produced by a few large companies meaning that it is pretty tough on the poor old farmer, of which there are between 5-10,000. We had the concept of Fair Trade coffee challenged and we were told of the value of caring for each other in Laos means the non fair trade labels aren't really applicable. The wages are surprisingly good for the fruit pickets regardless, and the Laos camaraderie means that the sick get treated, the hungry get fed, and so forth. After all each is a business that depends on reliable hard workers each season. Furthermore, looking at the scale at which some of these poor farmers operate on it makes little sense to obtain some label, if even possible. And so I feel comfortable to drink whatever coffee I like now and I shall do so with the clearest of conscious.

Now we move on to a dried bean which lasts a year or two, so long as its kept dry. And the next step is roasting.

We used a very hot wok (although apparently not too hot so the beans don't immediately become sticky...) and just roasted away for several minutes watching and listening to the coffee do its thing. And stirring constantly. Once done the most important thing is to cool promptly, otherwise the coffee continues to roast which can end up giving it a bitter or even burnt taste. For this they were tossed on a weaved thingy. And voila, we had our roasted coffee. We continue to roast for hours, drinking, chatting and so forth. A very entertaining day.

We also enjoyed a Turkish coffee. Recipe:
Heaps of fine coffee
Cold water
Slow to boil (10-15 mins to make)
Stir on two occasions between 1 & 4 mins
Once hot, scrape off a bit of foam in to glasses
And half fill glasses
Resume heating
Fill glasses

Delicious.

Overall the day was very insightful. I found the coffee statistics most fascinating however. One kg of dried beans costs around 50-70.000 kip ($6.25 - 9.75 USD) per kilo. A hectare of land hosts roughly 2,500 trees. This seems to be an optimal figure as packing additional trees in does not increase a yield overall, despite numerous farmers trying. Mature trees produce 5 kilos of berries, or 1 kg of dried coffee. This reduces after roasting a bit (maybe 25% or so at a guess). This is the first time I have ever been able to map my consumeristic ways to physical trees and labour in the real world. At a guess I drink half as much coffee as an average Finnish person each year, meaning 12 trees are planted, grown, and cared for each year just for my sake. Fascinating.

Bike Tour of Southern Laos

We arrived in Pakse at dawn, grabbed breakfast, rented motorbikes, planned a route, repacked our bags entirely, ditched most of our belongings, and shot off in to the mid-morning sun. A five to six day tour of waterfalls and other such sights awaits. (Mum, Dad, the tour's over so no need to worry).

Driving was mostly a piece of cake. So much so that I had to add my own hazards like leaving the kick stand down, which I felt inclined to do often. Sometimes there were sufficient natural hazards to keep me occupied, including running over a live snake. It was a pretty big one. This big to be precise >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> (where > equals roughly 5 cm). The circuit involved a bit of distance, plenty of kilometres on amazing roads with amazing views, and plenty also on shoddy dirt roads passing quaint dust-filled villages.

The first two nights were spent in a guest house (shack) next to a waterfall. To get there we initially crossed a bridge on our motos which is clearly not even safe for walking, with many gaps ready to dispense a person to the waiting rocks below. I was staggered to see cars crossing this overdue time bomb. The accommodation was okay, comprising a hammock next to the river, and a shack that clearly facilitates mice, mosquitoes and rat-sized-cockroaches frequently. For $3.75 USD per night, and access to my first decent sleep in all too long, I really shouldn’t complain. Here was my first bucket shower, which is actually a better get-you-up than coffee in the early morning. We were fortunate enough to enjoy some decent food whilst here, including some perfectly cooked banana pancakes with chocolate which we ate for most meals.

Attapeu, the next town we stayed at, seemed to have a bit of money as everything looked pretty nice for Laos. The food however left a lot to be desired. We fortunately found an excellent place to eat, but I have a hunch it was the only one. We scored a superb hotel where service was outstanding and I enjoyed a night of luxury and recuperation in preparation for another day on the bike.

My overall highlight has been the drive in along ‘the plateau’ [I shall have to find out and add town names at some point], which was a challenging run in through 40+ km of dirt tracks of varying quality. I managed a flat tyre 15 km in so had to double back. Going in the second time we clearly had insufficient gas, a situation that carries a sense of impending unpleasantness. After negotiating the dirt tracks we reached decent roads and many villages. The villages were utterly amazing, consisting of the most beautiful small houses on stilts perched in the most remarkable setting. If you remain stationary too long local kids come out to stare at you from a few meters away. The brave ones wave passionately while the shy ones prefer to just observe. I managed to teach one kid the word ‘choice’. Craig managed to scare them off by pulling out a camera. Driving further along, the villages transform from being surrounded by bush and toitois to being encroached on by coffee trees, then entire plantations. There are miles and miles and miles of coffee trees, from small yards of the stuff to the massive estates. The beans can be seen drying outside most houses during the day. For a coffee enthusiast this was an enjoyable sight. I took great pleasure in stopping by a couple of local farmers and attempting a brief charade-dialog on what I could sample – I tasted the beans from the tree and those which had fallen and dried black. Due to time pressures we couldn’t stay to enjoy this area for long and we had to motor on, now racing the sunset.

Finally arrived in Pakson (not to be confused with Pakse) and enjoyed one of life’s greatest pleasures, a good coffee. Tune in for my next post, ‘COFFEE!’.

Vientiane

Sadly I had to farewell Tom and Anna and power on through to Vientiane to catch up with Craig and Morgan again. We farewelled in style, chowing down lunch in silence with Family Guy playing in the background.

I caught a rather uneventful bus to the capitol. I tried a half dose of a travel sickness pill which had the pleasant side effect of making me blissfully relaxed for the entire journey. Lstening to Rossini’s Barbiere Di Siviglia has never sounded so divine.

I arrived at the designated hotel and, joining a table with Craig, Morgan and an Italian chap, was pleasantly greeted with free beer and food – the hotel’s Christmas party was being held and they wanted the guests to join in. Given we could see Thailand from across the Mekong there was some phenomenal Thai curry, as well as a tonne of other yummy foods, a bbq and free beer included just to win us over. The 30 plus staff plus families were clearly having a blast. There were songs (a terrible rendition of “I Started A Joke”), dances (inappropriate ‘shake your booty’ styled dancing performed by some kids) and competitions. The two competitions, a food eating one and a pepsi drinking one, were entered by yours truly which was great fun. As a ‘guest’ the MC placed me in the centre of the competitors. Towering over them all I completely masked the MC, but he didn’t seem to mind. The evening was finished off with some dancing which involved looking glum, shy, or both, while slowly swaying and moving only your wrists. An intriguing sight. There was another layer of complexity which we soon discovered which involved forming two circles with the woman on the outside, and moving around very slowly in our circle around the dance floor. Clearly looking lost and alone I was paired with a Laos girl who looked extremely shy and embarrassed. Bless.

Craig, Morgan and I went for a night time stroll along the Mekong and finishing at a night Market which stocked some cool things. And a variety of things as well – none of this ‘everyone selling the same thing’ mentality, which left me a little lost.

I drifted off to sleep to the sound of clubbing music down the road.

I awoke at 3:30 to the sound of someone beating the drum in the Monastery outside my room.

I awoke at 5:30 to the same thing.

Sadly this was not the good night’s sleep I was so desperate for after Vang Vieng.
Finally rising at dawn I stumble out to my 4th floor balcony and take in the city in the morning light. The monastery opposite the hotel with its golds and reds and basking in the morning’s own golden light. And the weird snake like dragons rolling off of every roof within. To my right is Thailand over the Mekong looking peaceful and enticingly quieter.

The day started with a quick walk to the Mekong river itself. We had to walk a considerable distance on the river bed to reach the water – this would be an impressive sight in the rainy season. After a hearty lunch we bumped in to Tom and Anna, and we all went to cool off in a water fun park. The fun park was average in places, from the mosquito infested changing rooms to the feral pools. Locating a clean pool we set up camp, then took turns on the water slides. These are undoubtedly the scariest slides I have ever been on. From being flung around in pitch black, smashing in to unexpected corners, to almost being flung off the side (my legs departed the slide completely). I repeated my terrifying experience until my knees and elbows could handle the scrapings no more.

That evening, farewelling Tom and Anna a second time, Morgan, Craig and I hopped on our sleeper bus off to Pakse [check spelling]. I should mention that this was no ordinary day, this was New Years eve.The sleeper bus was packed with people, and was awkward because each bed came in a pair meaning I was going to have to cuddle up to a stranger. Urgh. A stroke of brilliant luck however, the three of us managed to score the back row – five beds in a row – all to ourselves. Thus this became the greatest bus trip ever. With Monopoly, a pile of snacks, and a half dose of travel sickness medication, we readied our corner and set in for a good night. We were all asleep within half an hour and completely missed the New Years countdown. And none of us could have cared less. We awoke for a fiery dawn whilst pulling in to our destination.

Vang Vieng, tubing and such

There's an abundance of restaurants in Vang Vieng all with with massive menus - some reaching 400+ options - and comfy cushions for the weary traveller to doze off in. An intriguing manifestation of every person copying everyone else and selling the exact same thing, every bar looks the same and is blaring Friends or Family Guy episodes all day long. And every menu is also pretty well same same too. All 400+ options.

Our first day here was spent acquiring motos then driving around lost before blatting the 13km north to some caves. One had a giant Budha but was a bit lame otherwise. There was an amazing one which you walk in to for a kilometre, on your hands and knees at points until the path is replaced by water. Craig, Morgan and I ventured in to the unknown, swimming through the void for several hundred meters before turning back. We acquired a guide who retrospectively named his price, a staggering $50 USD. We threw a fair price in his direction instead and walked off to the sound of his requests for more. The caves have phenomenal acoustics in places - here is a video of Motts demonstrating.

Walking a few hundred meters down a track we ended up at the tubing caves. Here you sit in a big tube and pull/paddle yourself through the freezing water for quite a distance. It was good fun, but I'd rather see this again in the rainy season when it's a bit more raging. This is not to be confused with tubing-proper which I will get to.

We returned at dusk to the town, and relaxed with some tasty Beer Laos and watched Friends. A typical night here.

We had an early start one morning rising at about 5:40 to view the sunrise in a hot air balloon. We arrive at the launch site as dawn kicks in. Fans blowing and jets roaring the balloon is inflated and ready surprisingly quickly. A last minute precautionary helium balloon was released to verify that we would indeed miss the power pylons next to us. Launching, we needed a hasty ascent to clear the tree line which, after one minor collision, we soon were above. Moments later we were joined by the other balloon which seemed to have considerable pace and was clearly lethargically charging at us. I found the eventual collision terrifying and was extremely relieved when it turned out okay; we didn't plummet to the ground and it was little more than a slow bump. My hands and camera work from this point became a bit shaky. Still, after hitting one more tree we were soon soaring peacefully above Vang Vieng. The town on one side, mist rising from the fields all around, giant mountains scarring the horizon. The sun started peaking over the hill tops and then rise, further illuminating the sights around. Then we descended which caused the sun to set, allowing us to watch the sunrise all over again.

We arrived back in the town in time for breakfast (probably an omelette and baguette with mango shake for me) and managed to locate the only restaurant that wasn't playing any TV shows. After ordering the TVs flickered in to life and we were greeted with our old favourite theme song: "So no one told you life was gonna be this way. Your job's a joke, your broke, your love life's DOA." And so on.

The afternoon was spent tubing. Tubing in Vang Vieng firstly involves a tube: an inner tube from a truck, to be used as a flotation device. Next, catching a tuk-tuk to a point up the river which is lined with bars. And finally drifting from bar to bar by floating down the river. Each bar does their bit to entice the weary floater, from their cranking music to free food and shots. The most common beverage would be the Lao Bucket: Lao Whisky mixed with sodas (red bull, sprite and or cola), a bit potent. People would occasionally be seen floating off down the river content with their bucket.

The main tactic bars employ for custom is the death-defying (slight exaggeration but technically correct) swings, slides and flying foxes. While some seem a bit sketchy - the dodgiest of these were disassembled a couple of months back - some are clearly safe and provide hours of entertainment. On my first trip down with Motts, Craig, and Morgan we spent the majority of our time at one particular bar trying to swing and catch Motts' frisbee. The local bar staff seemed so enthused by this game, to the point where they were joining in and cutting in front of us a bit, that Motts kindly donated his toy. When I returned a few days later with Anna and Tom I was pleased to note the frisbee was still there and I made a few attempts at catching it again.

The bars are all clumped together right at the top, miles from the town. On my first day we decided to float all the way back to town. The intense beauty of a dramatic sunset over the mountains which tower over the river was likely aided by being a couple of Lao Buckets down by the end of the day. The stars were bright and moon was a perfect crescent. The slow meander back took around 90 minutes. A warm shower was greatly enjoyed, least of all because this was the first heated shower taken in nearly a week. I think the journey would be amazing to tackle in the height of summer.

Vang Vieng saw Motts depart in attempt to catch a corner of Vietnam before heading back to the states. And Anna and Tom caught up with us too. Craig and Morgan went ahead to Vientiane while I stayed back a day, foolishly nabbing Tom and Anna's spare bed in their guest house in attempt to get a single sleep that wasn't disturbed by drunken louts. At midnight the neighbour started up with lame, drunken, banal conversations, then relieved us of his sayings by drowning himself out in clubbing music before moving on to some tv shows, all despite our rather blunt demands. Apparently the next night was worse, ending about 6am. Anna, full points here, banged on their wall at about 7:30am to wish them a happy new year. Good lass. Tom ran off in case they came out. No points there.

The last dinner at Peeping Som was noteworthy. A garlicky chicken Kiev with garlicky smashed potatoes. Very tasty. A few rounds of monopoly cards didn't go amiss either.

And that is everything for Vang Vieng.