Landing in Luang Prabang is like arriving in another world, even from Laos' nearest neighbours. And you've got to love a town whose name means "Big Buddha".
The misanthropic fever that infested me in Hanoi meant we abandoned our aim of completing this journey overland and got on the first plane out of the country. The alternative was three days of bus-bound torment, stopping overnight in Vietnamese outposts where there are probably still ageing VC colonels who haven't heard that the war's over. Anyway, the flight took us sideways and backwards away from our ultimate destination, so it doesn't really count.
The otherness of Laos is there right from the moment we step off the plane in Luang Prabang International Airport. "Airstrip" would be a better description: a single ribbon of tarmac in an expanse of scrubbed yellow earth, jungle creeping in at the perimeter, overlooked by a single flimsy administration building. Everything is quiet once the propellers stop spluttering, but a marching military band and an African dictator on a podium wouldn't seem out of place.
Outside, the sunshine is thick and yellow as butter melting on a hot scone. Every sight and sound radiates warmth after the cold metallic clatter of Hanoi. Buddhist monks glide down the streets on bicycles, flame-coloured robes fluttering around them like fiery clouds. Colonial buildings in terracotta and dark, rich wood snooze in the shade of palm tees along the peninsula between the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. The chirps of birds and crickets sweeten the air. Traders murmur and drowsy chants curl with the incense smoke from golden temples.
Nice, isn't it? But unfortunately we can't stay here. Mari feels we haven't spent enough time wandering about in the wilderness - she'd have made a good Moses - so the next day it's a nine-hour bus ride to the hill tribes and jungles of the north.
The guide books promise that bus travel in Laos will be a miserable farago of breakdowns, overcrowding, vomiting locals and badly-behaved on-board livestock, but the slow climb up curved mountain roads turns out to be quite pleasant. The engine suffers only one minor breakdown, which the driver cures by hitting it with a stick, and we each have a double seat to stretch out on. We later met some people who'd hired a private minibus to avoid all the deprivations, only to have their driver invite along a man with a carrier bag full of live chickens.
The town of Luang Nam Tha is our starting point for a three-day trek in the Nam Ha National Protected Area. It's necessary to hire a guide for this, not least because the park is home to leopards, tigers, cobras, pterodactyls, polar bears, flying crocodiles, dragons, the Minotaur, and Cerberus, triple-headed Hound of Hell. Our guide, Voot, assures me I shouldn't concern myself with the tigers as those that prowl hereabouts are "quite small" and "oh, very very expensive sir". I think he might have missed the point of my question.
Luckily the fun-size tigers stayed away from us; the leeches did not. We regularly had to burn the little bastards of our skin. In spite of them I enjoyed the hike, up and down hills, through bamboo forests and along jungle streams, swimming in rivers, showering in waterfalls, and stopping in bamboo shelters to eat lunch cooked in bamboo tubes hollowed out into bong-like cooking vessels. Bamboo's really big round here.
But the highlight was overnight stays with local people. Northern Laos is ethnically rich and colourful and hosting trekkers helps tribes maintain their traditional lifestyles. We stayed one night with Khmuu people and one night with Lanten, sharing delicious meals (the raw duck's blood I could take or leave, mind), singing and drinking in the dirt-floored, bamboo-walled village bars.
These places are still remote enough for foreigners to be a source of fascination to local children, rather than a depressing begging opportunity. The children taught us rude Laos songs and I tried to help them with their English: they eventually managed a passable version of When the Boat Comes In but mangled The Blaydon Races beyond any sort of recognition. Lovely children, though. Happy as any I've met and completely undemanding of anything except a response to their curiousity. In the morning they followed us out of the village in a delighted rabble and turned out to be harder to shake off than the leeches, although in this case we were discouraged from repelling them with naked flames.
We even had the chance to visit the local school, bearing gifts of text books (the headmaster was delighted) and a football from me (the headmaster managed a thin smile). I was a touch disappointed with the response, particularly as I'd had to bargain energetically to get a decent price on the ball in Nam Tha market. When I tried to mime out to the stallholder that I ought to get a discount as I wanted to give it away for local children to play football, he seemed to think I was threatening to kick a baby if I didn't get the price I wanted. Didn't help.
Back to Nam Tha, then a two-hour minibus ride north to Muang Sing. This is the end of the road as far as travel in Northern Laos is concerned, a one-track frontier town with nothing beyond except the Chinese border (told you we were going backwards). There's really nothing to do here if you're not trekking - and even Moses admits we've had enough of that for now - except eat whole birds on sticks and drink Beer Lao. This is the only beer available in most of the country: asking for beer will get you nothing but blank stares, but say "Beer Lao" and you'll get a big, delicious bottle. It's as if they don't know there's a drink called Beer that's enjoyed in the rest of the world and think Beer Lao is their unique national secret. Well, it certainly helps to wash down grilled beak, and that's good enough for me.
The misanthropic fever that infested me in Hanoi meant we abandoned our aim of completing this journey overland and got on the first plane out of the country. The alternative was three days of bus-bound torment, stopping overnight in Vietnamese outposts where there are probably still ageing VC colonels who haven't heard that the war's over. Anyway, the flight took us sideways and backwards away from our ultimate destination, so it doesn't really count.
The otherness of Laos is there right from the moment we step off the plane in Luang Prabang International Airport. "Airstrip" would be a better description: a single ribbon of tarmac in an expanse of scrubbed yellow earth, jungle creeping in at the perimeter, overlooked by a single flimsy administration building. Everything is quiet once the propellers stop spluttering, but a marching military band and an African dictator on a podium wouldn't seem out of place.
Outside, the sunshine is thick and yellow as butter melting on a hot scone. Every sight and sound radiates warmth after the cold metallic clatter of Hanoi. Buddhist monks glide down the streets on bicycles, flame-coloured robes fluttering around them like fiery clouds. Colonial buildings in terracotta and dark, rich wood snooze in the shade of palm tees along the peninsula between the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. The chirps of birds and crickets sweeten the air. Traders murmur and drowsy chants curl with the incense smoke from golden temples.
Nice, isn't it? But unfortunately we can't stay here. Mari feels we haven't spent enough time wandering about in the wilderness - she'd have made a good Moses - so the next day it's a nine-hour bus ride to the hill tribes and jungles of the north.
The guide books promise that bus travel in Laos will be a miserable farago of breakdowns, overcrowding, vomiting locals and badly-behaved on-board livestock, but the slow climb up curved mountain roads turns out to be quite pleasant. The engine suffers only one minor breakdown, which the driver cures by hitting it with a stick, and we each have a double seat to stretch out on. We later met some people who'd hired a private minibus to avoid all the deprivations, only to have their driver invite along a man with a carrier bag full of live chickens.
The town of Luang Nam Tha is our starting point for a three-day trek in the Nam Ha National Protected Area. It's necessary to hire a guide for this, not least because the park is home to leopards, tigers, cobras, pterodactyls, polar bears, flying crocodiles, dragons, the Minotaur, and Cerberus, triple-headed Hound of Hell. Our guide, Voot, assures me I shouldn't concern myself with the tigers as those that prowl hereabouts are "quite small" and "oh, very very expensive sir". I think he might have missed the point of my question.
Luckily the fun-size tigers stayed away from us; the leeches did not. We regularly had to burn the little bastards of our skin. In spite of them I enjoyed the hike, up and down hills, through bamboo forests and along jungle streams, swimming in rivers, showering in waterfalls, and stopping in bamboo shelters to eat lunch cooked in bamboo tubes hollowed out into bong-like cooking vessels. Bamboo's really big round here.
But the highlight was overnight stays with local people. Northern Laos is ethnically rich and colourful and hosting trekkers helps tribes maintain their traditional lifestyles. We stayed one night with Khmuu people and one night with Lanten, sharing delicious meals (the raw duck's blood I could take or leave, mind), singing and drinking in the dirt-floored, bamboo-walled village bars.
These places are still remote enough for foreigners to be a source of fascination to local children, rather than a depressing begging opportunity. The children taught us rude Laos songs and I tried to help them with their English: they eventually managed a passable version of When the Boat Comes In but mangled The Blaydon Races beyond any sort of recognition. Lovely children, though. Happy as any I've met and completely undemanding of anything except a response to their curiousity. In the morning they followed us out of the village in a delighted rabble and turned out to be harder to shake off than the leeches, although in this case we were discouraged from repelling them with naked flames.
We even had the chance to visit the local school, bearing gifts of text books (the headmaster was delighted) and a football from me (the headmaster managed a thin smile). I was a touch disappointed with the response, particularly as I'd had to bargain energetically to get a decent price on the ball in Nam Tha market. When I tried to mime out to the stallholder that I ought to get a discount as I wanted to give it away for local children to play football, he seemed to think I was threatening to kick a baby if I didn't get the price I wanted. Didn't help.
Back to Nam Tha, then a two-hour minibus ride north to Muang Sing. This is the end of the road as far as travel in Northern Laos is concerned, a one-track frontier town with nothing beyond except the Chinese border (told you we were going backwards). There's really nothing to do here if you're not trekking - and even Moses admits we've had enough of that for now - except eat whole birds on sticks and drink Beer Lao. This is the only beer available in most of the country: asking for beer will get you nothing but blank stares, but say "Beer Lao" and you'll get a big, delicious bottle. It's as if they don't know there's a drink called Beer that's enjoyed in the rest of the world and think Beer Lao is their unique national secret. Well, it certainly helps to wash down grilled beak, and that's good enough for me.
