Sent:
Tuesday, February 05, 2002 6:31 AM
It has been a little while
since a huge cock has played a defining role in Sausage's and my early morning
routine, but the noise generated by a tenor cockerel outside our bedroom window,
firstly at 4.38am and then with persistent irregularity throughout the day means
that we find ourselves having an early, groggy, stiff-limbed breakfast as an
introduction to Luang Prabang
A small, green, spacious
town surrounded by mountains sitting at the confluence of the Mekong and Khan
rivers Luang Prabhang was described in it's citation as a UNESCO World Heritage
Site as 'the best preserved city in South East Asia.' It offers lots of Wats,
French Colonial architecture, the Royal Palace Museum and a rush-hour that consists
of orange-clad teenage Buddhist monks on foot and schoolchildren on bikes
Most of the sights are to
be found on a peninsular, 1km long by 250m wide with two riverfront roads and
a long central high street. Outside of this area the roads are laid out in broad
city blocks and the architecture is a mix of Lao and French. It is easy to imagine
dissolute French Administrators holding court amidst the faded grandeur of the
large colonial houses at a time when the now decrepit ponds were filled and
the dragon fountains spat water
Wat Xieng Thong is everything
that Wat Phra Thon Doi Suthep in Chiang Mai wasn't, being noticeably decrepit
but carrying it's decay with great dignity rather like Ralph Richardson in a
smoking jacket at 95. Lao Wats are different architecturally, decoratively and
doctrinally from their near neighbours in Thailand. The roofs have more tiers,
the decor is less strident, more folksy and all the better for it and the Theravada
doctrine is an older, simpler, more introspective approach to Buddhism than
the Mahayana schools found in East Asia and the Himalayas
Our first couple of days
in Laos are filled with comments between us about how quiet, withdrawn, even
surly the local people appear to be. But as we acclimatise to the understated
way of life and gear our responses to those of our gentle hosts we start to
apreciate that the Lao are the kindest, gentlest, most easy-going people we
have met so far. The kids are fantastic, the happiest we have met without a
shred of acquisitiveness and wanting to exchange only a smile and a laugh
The impossibility of fitting
a reasonable understanding of Indian history into my head is a frustration that
need not be repeated here where the much reduced geographical scale limits events
to a comprehensible level
Laos is a country the size
of Great Britain but with a population under 6 million people. It has always
been a buffer between the Kingdoms of Siam to the East and Khmer to the West
and found itself similarly sandwiched between the USA and Vietnam in the second
half of the last century. No matter how hackneyed they seem the statistics bear
repeating: between 1964 and 1973 the US dropped more bombs on Laos than they
dropped globally during the Second World War, 580,944 sorties all carried out
in secret while the US Administration denied being active in Laos. But the Americans
suceeded only in driving the Lao into the arms of the Vietnamese who provided
huge support in the creation of the Lao People's Democratic Republic. The years
of peace since the creation of the republic in 1975 represent the longest period
of peace in the history of the area, and this must account in part for the forebearance
of the people for one of the few remaining Marxist-Leninist states. Whatever
a Marxist-Leninist idyll would look like this isn't it, this is capitalism with
Marxist window-dressing, the re-education camps (an important feature of Marxist
idylls) are closed and 'jintanakan mai' or 'new thinking' has seen an end to
collectivisation and the growth of private businesses. The Politburo, Central
Committee and Party Congress continue as does the battle betwwen the older,
Vietnamese trained hardliners and the younger, more pragmatic seekers of distinctly
Lao national indentity and direction
Yes, yes I can hear you say,
very interesting, but a bit dry. But this a place through which we travel with
a strong sense that it is in some way 'other', and the arid contextual stuff
is by way of trying to make sense of it
Each evening the local youth
patrols Luang Prabhang on their mopeds. Traffic is so light that they ride around
in packs at about 4mph all chatting away. One pack of 6 pass us in such strictly
regulated pairs that I am convinced they'll be back in a couple of minutes escorting
a presidential limosine
On our third day we finally
locate the strangely elusive hill called Phu Si. How can a hill be elusive?
Well this 100 metre hill dominates the town when viewed from the West and the
South but is completely invisble from the North and the East, where we spend
all our time, catching very occassional glimpses of it but then faling to find
a way up it. Having finally found the steps from the top the town looks very
green, the many cocnut palms painting the scene with a strong green wash that
isn't nearly so noticeable at ground level
On our last day in Luang
Prabang we visit the Royal Palace Museum. The Royal Family seem to have been
pragmatic in the extreme as their names continue cropping up in the political
history of the country even as the prevailing politik swerved to the left, although
one King and Queen did pay with their lives in the 1970's. Construction of the
Palace started in 1904 but much of the interior decoration dates from the 50's
and 60's. The Throne Room is glitzy in a showy kind of way that strives to make
an impression but looks rather more nightclub shiny than regally lavish
The King and Queen's Bedrooms
have been kept as they were on the day that the monarchs were removed to detention
in the far North, large airy rooms with plain cream walls and big pieces of
simple plain furniture redolent of the early 60's. The overall effect is both
pleasing and surprising and reveals much about my anglo-saxon expectations of
palaces, that they should be ancient and lavish
That the Palace is preserved
and open as a Museum says alot about the pragmatism of a revolutionary goverment
that has reached an accommodation not only with the monarchy but also in respect
of religion, allowing the 60% Buddhist majority to practise their religion without
going sop far as to actually sanction it
This pragmatism is one of
the two major reasons for the absence of significant resistance to the revolutionary
regime. The other reason lies on the Western side of the Mekong. Since 1975
approximately 10% of the population have crossed the Mekong to make new lives
for themselves in Thailand where they are easily assimilated amongst people
who speak the same language. A staggering 75% of Laos' intelligentsia have skipped
the country
On our last day we hire bikes.
Tragically we can't find Flamingo bikes for hire. Ridden by about half the population
Flamingo bikes look like Ladies shopping bikes with low slung frames, sit up
and beg handle bars, a basket on the front and the rear carrier replaced by
a large comfy seat. The absolute minimum number of passengers is two, a local
person on a bike on their own seems likely to be the object of derision. But
in the absence of a Flamingo Sausage ends up looking like the Vicar's wife out
on her rounds on a huge old clanky sit up and beg number while I climb onto
something that looks like a mountain bike but turns out to be the clankiest,
wonkiest, most-meccano-like, least oiled, squeakiest pile of twisted metal ever
to have been saddled up and called a bike
After four days we climb
aboard the bus for the 7 hour journey to Vang Vieng. To our great relief the
bus has padded seats and the road proves to be probably the best we have travelled
on in Asia. The main two contributory factors, aside from the actual condition
of the road are the almost complete absence of other traffic, we see less than
50 other long-distance vehicles in 7 hours, and the gentle approach of the bus
driver who handles us like the Brittle Bones Club Summer Outing, which makes
a very pleasant change
Luang Prabang sits at 70metres
above sea level and we climb much further, up into the clouds, passing village
after village where electricity has yet to arrive and people live in simple
bamboo huts and wooden houses. In the vicinity of every community the roadside
is packed with kids who are incredibly adept at amusing themselves. It is impossible
not to hear gruff Monty Python mock Yorkshire accents intoning 'when I were
a kid..' as a five year old runs by propelling an old bike wheel with a stick
and a crowd of kids scream at a spinning top. The most frequent game though
is flip-flop throwing. All you need is a target, a flip-flop, a few mates and
hours of screaming and smiling are guaranteed
On arrival in Vang Vieng
I suffer another lapse in my critical faculties I have now figured out that
after more than 6 hours on a bus I completely lose the ability to assess accommodation.
So it is that I go in to inspect the room at the Chandra Guest House and say
yes to it without seeming to notice that it is tiny, filthy and smelly. So the
next morning we have to up sticks and move to the spacious clean surroundings
of Doh Song III where our half-acre room costs 50,000 kip per night (£3.60)
Vang Vieng used to be a sleepy
market town set next to a lazy river amidst towering limestone karsts. Now it
teems with tourists, guest houses, restaurants and internet cafes, although
it teems in a very laidback, spread out kind of way. We pass on the inner tubing
down the river, everyone who does it says it is great fun but they all look
like freshly cooked lobsters after 3 hours in the refracted rays of the fierce
midday sun. We do go for a walk to some of the areas's other main attractions,
the caves in the limestone karsts, but the scenery proves to be a lot more interesting
than the holes in it
At home in London darkness
has a definite security implication and it has been very liberating to lose
that sense of concern that comes with the dusk. Here darkness implies nothing.
Streetlights are unheard of and we wander around in complete safety with nothing
to light our way except the lights on roadside stalls and passing vehicles
On our second evening it
is clear from the number of traders who have set up stalls around the town's
main cross roads that something is going on. Two stages have also been set up
and after we have eaten we return to find some sort of cultural bonanza on one
stage, a kind of Come Dancing with less make-up while the other stage stands
empty except for a meaty PA and a bands' equipment. Lao is a place that goes
to bed quite early and it is a habit that we have found easy to fit in with.
So we are back in our room by about 10pm by which time the band on the second
stage has struck up and a man is strangling a cat right next to the microphone
while his mates play funereal pub rock in the back ground. I tell Sausage not
to worry, I'm sure the Party doesn't believe in late nights. However, the cat
strangler appears to be a big fan of Bruce Springsteen and determined to stay
on stage as long as his idol always used to. So it is that he works his way
through most of the moggies in town, finally running out at 2.30am
It seems that with each sucessive
leg of our journey we build in ever greater time buffers where possible. Today
we arrive at the bus station at Vang Vieng nearly two hours before our buses
departure time and we are eventually rewarded with two good seats on the bus.
But not until the repeated insistence of the driver that we can't get on the
bus and put our bags on a pair of seats is undermined by a Laos guy doing exactly
that even while the driver is telling us that we can't. As I immediately climb
on and do the same everyone laughs. Waiting for the bus we get talking to Petar
and Nichola from Switzerland who have recently begun three months travelling
and have made it as far as Vang Vieng without a guidebook, though their planned
route through Cambodia and on to Ko Chang involved huge amounts of doubling
back on themselves and long sttreches of potholed Cambodian roads. Their revised
route and timings almost exactly match ours so we seem likely to bump into them
several more times over the weeks to come
As we have meandered South
through Laos we have been warned time and again not to expect too much of Vientiane,
the capital, and on arrival this proves to be correct. A spacious, quiet place
with not too much to do or see, but the same could be said of Laos as a whole
which has detracted from our enjoyment not one bit because it is the people
and the relaxed atmosphere that have made it so enjoyable. As we stroll around
Vientiane an impression we have gained elsewhere is confirmed. The basic unit
of commerce in Laos is something called a shophouse. In anything larger than
a small village the main road will be lined with shophouses all identical in
shape and form but subject to wide interpretation by their shopkeepers
Each is the width of two
cars and the length of three and tends to be lit by bright white neon. Whatever
the goods or services being offered they are stored and sold from a space which
doubles up as the family living room and sometimes bedroom. Those with space
will also park their vehicle in the shophouse. So it is not unusual to see a
large Japanese made pick-up truck parked in front of some very large uncomfortable
looking wooden chairs (imagine Posh and Beck's wedding thrones without the gilt
[guilt?]), a TV blasting out Laotian karaoke and sprinkled around anything from
groceries to cash tills to lathes to petfood. It is a peculiar sensation to
walk along the road in the evening and feel your eyes drawn repeatedly to what
are ostensibly shopfronts but contain images of domesticity in a bright neon
glare. I keep on wondering who has stolen the front wall from these people's
houses, a question that seems even more relevant as evening turns into night
and people bed down behind the chainlink rollershutters
Our last day before hopping
on the plane to Cambodia we hire a moped and set off to visit Xieng Khuan 23km
outside Vientiane. Lacking a decent map and knowing only that Xieng Khuan is
next to the Mekong we take every viable left turn in order to stay as close
to the river as possible. This proves to be a bad idea as what should be a 40
minute journey turns into a 90 minute vibrateathon along dusty dirt tracks
Xieng Khuan posseses a Buddah
Park where a slightly batty guru worked with his followers to produce a bizarre
collection of concrete statues that are related to his own personal creed which
synthesised Hinduism and Buddhism in a way that, to judge from the statues,
involved lots of drugs and late nights
We get talking to two young
Buddhist monks and get on really well with one of them, Phet. His jaw hits the
floor noisily when we ask if we could come and see him at his Wat. He is perceived
as being shy by his mates and if he produces the first Westerners ever to visit
his Wat on the outskirts of Vientiane they will be so impressed. So that evening
we take the moped out to to the edge of town and sit chatting for a couple of
hours with Phet in his room. Having lost his father and his brother before he
was 14 years old Phet's decision to become a monk is strongly linked to his
desire to bring merit to his family and his devotion to the task is very apparent.
Amazingly he has only been learning English for 8 months and has never spoken
to English people before, which is hard to credit given the ease with which
he speaks and the breadth of his vocabulary. Mind you, he only sleeps two hours
a night so he has plenty of time to practise on his own! > Phet meets us for
breakfast the next morning and comes out to the airport to see us off. He is
18 and going into a Guest House, ordering from a menu, eating in a restaurant
and going to the airport are all new experiences for him, a valuable reminder
of the economic apartheid that operates in poor countries
We have skipped through
Laos in only 10 days and stopped in only the most touristy places. The sights
have been less than fantastic but the people have been the best we have met
so far and I would love to come back and spend more time getting off the beaten
track.
Lots of Love
The Travelling Sausages
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