31.03.08 - The Love of Luang Prabang!

Real Italian cafes with fresh ground coffee. European wines! Fine dining. Guesthouses with air conditioning and no bugs as standard. !!Cappucino!! an incredible night market. A great nights sleep. Beautiful World Heritage architecture. Spa treatments! INSECT REPELLANT.

These were the real world joys that seemed so out-of-this-world when we, the terrible trio, stepped out of the tuk-tuk in Luang Prabang. Two weeks of intoxicating bus journeys, bad food, illness and rural living put a halo over the gleaming gold-leaf temple ornamentation and pristine white walls of the French Colonial old town. We were beynd ourselves with joy as we sat at a dainty little table on the terrace of a cafe pulled straight out of Europe, capuccino froth hot on the lips and a cinnamon roll at the ready.... or a monstrous wedge of rich chocolate cake in Jo's eager grasp!

Then there was the sheer relief that we had survived the boat journey upstream on the Ou...

That morning on the banks of Muong Ngoi I had followed Jo, stepping out of the shallow water and angling myself over the longboats port side while lowering myself enough to squeeze in under the low wooden roof, finally wedging myself in between the local people on the bench. Two long benches ran down the length of the boat with its wooden roof, that was rammed with travellers and locals, our knees touching the people on the opposing bench. The bags and backpacks were piled onto the stern, while as ever the locals had their wares with them. The engine blasted with a deep intrusive rumble as the driver's wife started the motor and our ridiculously over-laden boat pulled away from the shore after another equally rammed longboat. It was really quite comical, for every ripple or bubble of rapids saw the length of the creaking old craft twist and shudder as if it might give up and snap in two at any moment!

How those two boats fought upstream through the Ou's current I have no idea. The driver at the front angled the boat around the bends in the river and the nobbly charcoal rock formations that sprung up all from the waters, his wheel connected to the rudder with a wire that ran down the outside of the boat. The ever busy wife stood in the little space between the engine and the mountain of backpacks at the stern, topping up the fuel and baling out the water our burdened boat was gulping. A squeal from the group of travellers packed in behind the driver... oh, Charlie's squeal... as water blasted in between the wood planks that formed the sides of the boat. Charlie sat up on the side of the boat and immediately we started taking in water as the boat flexed with the shift of its load! God help us all I thought... and will my bag float? Must tie empty water bottles onto it in future!

Moments later and a confused group of travellers were walking along the banks of the Ou as the longboats carried on through the main rapids without us. Of course the locals stayed where they were. It's only the locals, who have paid a significant amount more for the journey, who have the pleasure of walking through riverside bush. The Laos people just grinned and made the most of the extra space in the boats. The aim of this was to save ourselves and our possesions from meeting the riverbed without our consent. But between you and me, I have to admit, I felt a sense of injustice! Thankfully the boats made it through the nasty rapids, and we were once more given a bit of bench in the ricketty old vessels to make it to the next village where we took a bus to glorious Luang Prabang.

All hardships were forgiven and forgotten for this little slice of heaven in Asia...

30.03.08 - A Wedding Band in the Rapids

"Eddie I think would be a great idea for you to get out and stay active. You will feel better for it, I am sure cuz."

Charlie was selling the idea of the three of us hiring a long-boat for the day to find a little secluded sandy beach upstream. A lovely idea indeed, but I was feeling under-the-weather still and the thought of being out in the sticky afternoon heat was not a particularly pleasant one!

"Oh, okay then!" I heard myself say cheerfully.

So there we were, Charlie, Jo and I, standing in the silty waters on the shore below the bamboo huts and wooden decks of Muong Ngoi that projected over the grassy banks of the Ou. The long-boats were clustered together around us at their makeshift moorings while naked kids tussled and women washed clothes in the water between them. The bony loval man from whom we had hired our boat untied a rope and our eyes followed it's length until we found our humble vessel: a rickety wooden long-boat that was in a dire need of a lick of paint and ominously held a puddle of gritty water and a sawn off plastic bottle that was clearly needed to bale out any water that was taken on. This was going to be fun... especially when the old wooden paddles themselves were no wider than ten centimetres.... we were not going to go anywhere fast!

Within a few moments the three of us were paddling desperately to make a little progress, orders called out for our companions to swap to starboard or port side paddling! After a frenzy of activity and more than a few beads of sweat we started to make a little progress and somehow managed to keep the boat level enough so as to avoid having water flowing over the surface-kissing edge. We seemed to be crawling at a snails pace upstream but to be honest I was happy to be moving at all given the size of the piddly paddles and the strength of the current. And yet just as all was going well we would aim the bow into a string current that had to be tackled to get anywhere whatsoever and just like that we would find ourselves being swept helplessly around! Comical to say the least!

Having managed against all the odds to make it around a small bend in the river that obscured the view of the village we decided that thee was little option than to make do with the beach on the island we were alnogside. The current here was strong and we had no chance of triumphing over it's might. The hot sun beat down on us as the shallow water rumbled over the stony riverbed. Water buffalo stood dumbly behind us, vacantly looking around, chewing all the time in ridiculously annimated fashion. The sunscream was streaming and we decided unanimously that a dip in the cool mountain waters was needed.

Moments later we were fighting in the strong currents so as not to lose our swimming trunks or bikinis! The water was little more than thirty centimetres deep and yet it was a real struggle. Charlie dropped himself down into the water to be dragged back several feet. Moments later he was pulling himself up with a look of despair on his face.

"My wedding band! Jo my wedding band has gone?!"

The ring that Jo had put onto Charlie's finger seven months before at their wonderful weddding in Devon. Torn from his finger as he was dragged back by the current. He looked desperate with disappointment and moments later the two of them were frantically trying to search through the stony bed for thatt little ring of gold. I held the spot where Charlie had been dragged to as a marker. After ten minutes or so a couple of young boys who were fishing at the water's edge had been recruited and their diving mask was pulled firmly over Jo's head.

"Jo! Jo! Jut look under the water upstream from where I am standing by about one metre... I think that is where Charlie would have lost it. It can't have been swept far by the river" I suggested. She immediately made her way pastme and the point where Charlie had regained his grip on the bed having lost his ring. Ducking into the water she hunted through the rocks. And would you believe it? Moments later she had found that little piece of shiny gold trapped between two rocks, glinting in the diffused sunlight. Unbelievable!

Jo and Charlie rewarded the kids with a great many thank yous and some Laos Kip. They were so sweet and were clearly thrilled to have been rewarded. For the next half hour Jo sat and painted stones for them with her watercolour set. As they waved goodbye to us they walked into the water to make their way to their father who was reeling in nets from his long-boat on the other bank. They chattered to each other eagerly with huge grins on their faces, and one hand raised up high out of the water gripping their stones to stop the colours running!

The day had almost ended in tragedy for Jo and Charlie. Muong ngoi was such a charming village and yet our time there was tainted by my illness and the suspicious mystery of Jo's missing purse. In the end good frtune was on our side and we all felt quite touched by the two boys and the recovery of Charlie's cherished wedding ring.

Unsurprisingly, given the joys of going with the flow, the boat journey home was relatively effortless...!

29.03.08 - Ou! Let's Float Downstream On Rubber Tubes!

Our second day in Muong Ngoi did not start so well. Three obstacles to our enjoyment of the morning presented themselves. One was a cling-on from the day before. Another was unsurprising given our consumption the previous night. The final one was a complete surprise and left us on a little traveller's downer.

1. I was still reeling with a fever and the sharp, tickly cough that insisted on tormenting me throughout the night under my mosquito net. Puffy eyes dragged themselves across my pale skin, clambering back behind their lazy shutters at the slightest hint of a bright ray of sunshine warming my skin, sending a dull ache through my rattling head. This time the neat shots of Laos Laos had failed to throw my resident illness and it's possessions out of the door.

2. LAOS LAOS. At this point I am wondering what the point of Laos Laos actually is. It tastes foul and has no obvious saving grace... unless you require something to strip the living flesh off your bones. All three of us felt as rough as Fatty Two Jags and were having difficulty communicating with one another, let alone guide both eyes to look in the same direction at the same time. Everything was slightly hazy. As were my memories of getting back to our huts in the dark after our rather disgusting meal. I had acquired something though, a large swollen bruise under my chin. Hmmm... a mystery indeed?

3. Jo's purse was gone along with the 2000 Thai Baht I had lent to her and Charlie. She remembered having it when she paid for the meal, just before she staggered off the restaurant's open deck to find her way home in the dark. Something was not right. Jo was convinced it was not like her to lose her purse like that.

Muong Ngoi had a good feeling about it. We had trusted the people and believed that they were genuine. It was really quite disappointing to have good reason to doubt this instinct. On returning to the restaurant, that was in fact little more than an open deck with tables and a hut next to it where the jubious food was prepared, we found that the purse was nowhere to be seen. Big Mama, as the owner was referred to, made a big, innocent play of looking around but to no avail. Why were we so suspicious? Because the kitchen had been opened just for us on the request of the young man-about-town who had been so quick to 'befriended' on our arrival. He was brash and overly friendly, making a big play of the fact that he was there to help us and guide us. In fact we realised he was no more than an opportunist. A lad about town. He was one of the new generation of kids who had little respect for the established codes of conduct, fully aware there was an exciting world out there, and saw us tourists as easy pickings for our sort rarely stayed in the village for more than a few nights. A wheeler dealer. He was happy to set us up with alcohol for the evening and was equally happy to pick up Jo's purse when it fell through the folds of her fabric shoulder bag and onto the floor.

Haha! But all in retrospect! For Charlie and I, the eternal optimists could find any number of reasons to hold back from making accusations and view as innocent until proven otherwise. Jo on the other hand was seeing red, flames licking up from her forehead and steam whistling under pressure from her ears. Boy did she love that woven fabric purse. She was off to get some answers while Charlie and I felt sorry for ourselves.

ROUND ONE! DING! DING!

On seeing this young lad she explained politely what had happened and presented the opportunity for him to proffer her purse. He feigned complete ignorance and asked how much thai baht had been in the purse at the time. WHAT? He said that?! Noone had mentioned any Thai Baht! Jo's golden locks stood on end and flaming snakes hissed through the air with rage!

So what could possibly lighten the mood better than a leisurely drift on a rubber tube downstream before taking a little hike to find a waterfall where we could bath and ease our pains? Jo succumbed and relaxed very quickly, ehile my shivers of fever subdued sufficientl to make it pleasurable. The three little mountain beavers were adrift in big black rubber rings laughing and joking. Picturesque green mountain peaks and rocky outcrops in the water passed us by ever so slowly, the occasional rapids spinning our floats to our delight! All the while a local man guided his longboat ahead with our possessions and took a nap while he awaited our slow progress.

Slow progress. Very slow progress. Just how much longer would it take? We were told it was a half hour drift downstream? It had already been about one and a half hours. Jo and Charlie had been caught in still waters, drifting at a snails pace in circles by a bank, but even then the others did noit make much more progress. Judging by the bank it seemed at times as though we were not even moving! The chills set in and the allure of the boat became ever more intense. Until Jo excalimed that she could take no more of this Chinese torture and scrambled onto the surface-hugging long-boat. Charlie and I quickly folllowed suit to join Jo, the local guide and the snake he had just bludgeoned to death. Another thristy minutes on the motorised long-boat and we were finally approaching a bank where kids played. This was our stop.

Off we got, awaiting the guide's directions for the waterfall. None came. We waited. Stupid tourists on the muddy bank. The guide was now swimming in the river and didn't speak English. Kids were thowing themselves around in the murky green water. It seemed apparent that this was a trek we had to do on our own! Climbing up the bank into a much less developed village even than Muong Ngoi we found ourselves to be the objects of much fascination. Tickets for the right of passage were purchased and we were shouted at when we took the wrong path out of the village. A couple of kids followed us and pointed us in a direction when the path split. Then they disappeared. We walked for an hour in the heat of the afternoon through dry paddy fields and jungle copses continually confronted with diverging paths that were equally well trodden. This was completely hopeless. Is it any wonder that we never found the waterfall?!! Still, we had a lovely walk. AND we found a stream to dip our feet into.

What became of the suspicious young man about town? On returning to the town Jo put her plan into action. The colouring pencils came out and a picture of her colourful, stripy fabric purse was created. It seemed to be a very enjoyable and calming experience for Jo, the primary school teacher. Then she marched off into the village to enquire with the locals as to wheter they had seen it.

ROUND TWO! DING! DING!

Noone had. However Jo found the kid showing off a wad of Thai Baht to a group of mates which he swiftly put away on seeing Jo. Suddenly his English was not so good... oh and he disappeared for a few days to guide a group of tourists on a trek. Funny that.

FLASHBACK! The bruise... I remembered! I had left the retaurant in the darkness of the night, staggering over to one side of the dirt road, and called Charlie over. "Lets's hide from Jo!" I sniggered to him as we waited for her to leave the restaurant. I pushed his shoulder down and we dropped like lead weights to sink into the silky shadows. SMACK! An obstacle had hindered my rapid drop. My chin had connected with the corner of a street vendor's little table which I had been unaware of on choosing that hiding place. Lo and behold a bruise was born as we staggered home giggling. Jo's flip-flop broke as she fell over, and being the gentleman that I am I repaired it for her. In the morning we discovered that her progress home had been so laboured and slow because I had tristed the strap of the flip-flop!

EVIL LAOS LAOS!!

28.03.08 - The Little Isolated Town They Call Muong Ngoi

... just imagine...

No cars. No roads. No hot water. No McDonalds or Starbucks (whoop for JOY!). No hot showers. No hospital. No refridgerators.

So then what DOES this little riverside village have? Well, it has an electricity curfew that allows generated power for three whole hours per day. It has one straight street complete with stone lined drainage channels. It has an abundance of chickens and chicks, dogs and puppies and cats and kittens. And like the rest of Laos it seems to have an abundant supply of condensed milk ( ugh! ).... just what you need to ease the pain of sipping a cup of dark, EVIL, syrupy Laos coffee?! 

I suppose that depends on how much sugar you can consume in one cup.

Simple this community is even by urban Laos standards, perched on the bank eight high metres or so above the Ou river and the gathered long boats that have been moored up in the mud in varying states of repair. The basic, small buildings are no more than huts made of bamboo and wood. The wall panels are made by slicing bamboo stems lengthways, flattening them out and weaving the strips together, while the roofs are made of layered pieces of the opened bamboo, much like the slates of a European roof. The atmosphere is idyllic, with the mountainous jungle towering over the villiage from the fringes. Grass grows between the huts where the animals tussle and forage. The smell of cooking wafts through the humid air from the open wood burning grills in the makeshift kitchens... health and safety has not been invented in Asia as far as I can see... just imagine trying to set up a kitchen with an indoor barbeque in England! Kids playing with a puppy by the red-hot embers and steaming pans? Haha!

Charlie, Jo and I wandered through the little town on it's singular dirt street. Locals sat on the typical tiny plastic stools and chairs by their open huts where a display of goods would be on sale, from shampoo sachets and shoelaces to bottled water and wafer buiscuits. Another wooden frontage displayed several woven scarves and a peep inside the the open shutters revealed a big wooden weaving frame with coloured yarns stretched out across it and at one end the early stages of a new creation were forming. Hens clucked enthusiastically as they guided their batty little chicks into the open homes, a straggler often as not fluttering it's fluffy, youthful wings desperately as it attempted repeatedly to get to the top of the stone wall of the drainage channel for fear of being abandoned. Dogs would be dozing across the dirt road, not even a heavy step encouraging them to open an eyelid, while heart warming little doey eyed puppies skipped and stumbled around them. 

 Of course SOMEONE was still feeling ill. Having fallen prey to a bout of food poisoning before we crossed the border from Vietnam I was still feeling very much the worse for wear. Despite an attempt at enthusiasm I was in the grip of a mild fever and had been unable to sleep through the first night in my bamboo hut for my razor-raw throat and that little, dry feather that was caressing the inside of my trachea! Well, I am told that the Koreans believe in drinking through one's illness and rocket-fuel-worthy rum caipirinias had certainly catapaulted me on cracking form through a work leaving do when I had been bed-ridden for two days with a heady fever back in London, so I decided to join the others (Charlie, Jo and the rest of the group who had been on our bus and boat Vietnam) for drinks on a little wooden deck over the river that night. By 20.30, after a couple of beers on a wooden deck high over the river amidst an array of dive-bombing moths and bugs we found ourselves ordering food by candlelight.... and Laos Laos whisky. The food was pretty disgusting, the highlight being a piece of beef on a plate that was so black and hard that noone could do so much as sink a knife into it... if there had been a sword in it no little prince would have been able to prise it out to claim his heritage. The Laos Laos was no better. No wait, in fact it was PURE EVIL. Somehow we ended up with an entire bottle which was consumed rapidly in a series of shots, before another was promptly ordered. Unsurprisingly the bottles cost no more than a pittance. Surprisingly, it tasted more evil with every single stomach burning, brain cell battering mouthful!

Did I feel any better? No. Most definately not?! 

But I do love Jo for taking care of me and slipping a lavendar oil-infused tissue under my pillow to help me sleep. 

I didn't, but I felt loved...

27.03.08 - Laos... Only By Longboat

BrrrrVRROOM! BrrrVRROOM!

The blast of the engine as it spluttered into life ripped through the peaceful northern Laos morning air behind the pile of backpacks that my head was rested on. A momentary whirr of clattering propellor was drowned by the forceful churning of water to the stern of the longboat we were sitting in and lo and behold the fifteen by one metre vessel began to glide downstream. At the bow a small Laos man sat in a token wood and glass cover with a tiny wheel wired up to the rudder to steer the boat, while behind me his wife worked up a sweat baling out the water we were taking on and ensuring the engine was in check. Meanwhile the ten or so passengers sat on little wooden seats through the length of the boat sheltered from the sun by a wooden roof. These other passengers were our new international travellers with whom we had had the pleasure of crossing the border the day before, who had been witness to my green face of food poisoning. Lucky chaps!

Tall green peaks of mountain pointed up into the warm grey sky on either side of the Nam Ou river, deep undergrowth apparently making them almost impassable. Charcoal-grey molten rock formations rose in clusters from the waters with jagged shrubs, sometimes to one side, and on occasion creating an obstruction for the longboat that needed to be circumnavigated. The scenery seemed to be monotonous at first to the travel-spoilt eye, before the rock faces became visible towering over the rippling current and stupid water buffalo who clustered in the water chewing with ridiculously over-exaggerated mouth movements. The cameras were on extended arms, each passenger eagerly ensuring the view was captured and not a piece was missed.

But oh how good the backpacks felt as I lay back on them with the warm rays of sunshine caressing my poorly head. the engine droned loudly but this was merely a rhythm that fell in harmony with the undulating motion of the flexing hull and soon enough I was dozing beside the German called Max. Eight long hours... that disappeared with ease.... as we passed the jungle and the village people for whom that river is their life-blood.

Fishermen pulled in small nets as they stood on their precarious little longboats. Small fishing cages were seen clustered in a hollow in a cliff. Little wooden huts might be visible up in the trees on a bank and the activity seemed to be centred around the edge of the water where naked brown-skinned children threw themselves into the water and might sometimes stare in awe or wave with fits of laughter. Women washed in the river while dogs spread out on the dry mud to soak up the warm sunshine. A world away from any community that I have ever been witness to and really quite humbling for its simplicity and apparent contentedness.

A far more prominent settlement of bamboo huts became visible high up on the bank over the river, concrete steps dropping down to the murky-green waters and a thin beach where many green, blue and red longboats were moored up in shallow water. Muong Ngoi. Only accessible by boat for it's remote jungle location and all the more exciting for it! Within minutes of stepping into the soily river we found ourselves ordering lunch in a restaurant above the water, an open wooden platform on stilts with an (relatively) elaborate wooden roof constructed above it for shelter from any rain. The view was really quite breath-taking, and despite my ill demeanour we all felt a sense of joy that we had stumbled into such a wonderful world away from home.

Two ricketty little bamboo huts overlooking the river and the pointed Laos jungle mountain peaks were ours next door to the restaurant platform and we began to relax after the three days of tedious travel.

AHHHHH.....

26.03.08 - Bringing Up The Border Town Blues

The Maglite was turned on.

I dared not move a muscle. Something was up. I felt just fine huddled on my bed under that grotty grey mosquito net at one in the morning. But oh no. No. Despite the fact I felt just fine.... there was definately the sensation that something was going on in my kitchen. My groggy brain came to with the certainty that any movement would burst the dam and release the aggressive monstrosity of stomach-twisting illness.

Only one thing for it. I turned and OH.... there it was, predictable as any predictable punch I had ever heard of, the ominous groan from my belleaguered belly as it struggled to contain the putrid chicken noodles I had done my best to consume the night before. Here I would like to mention that I hold the Lonely Planet guide to Vietnam to blame for recommending a foul looking restaurant where the staff had no interest in actually serving a customer and the food was really rather inadequate in a yellowed chicken kind of way!

And so the early part of my morning was spent gripping the cool porcelain bowl of my bathroom lavatory as I attempted to channel the contents of my bowels neatly into its watery depths, violent convulsions addding to the thrill of the event.

Misery was for me inserting myself into the musty cabin of another small bus along with several other tourists and far too many Vietnamese to find seats for as my fever took a hold. Instead they perched over the metal mass of some evil looking component of heavy machinery that had been shoe-horned into the bus or unapologetically stepped over passengers' heads and dropped their bony posteriors into a row of seats unsuitable for another body mass. And you should have seen the looks of frustration and irritation that crept over the faces of the travellers far too used to the unspoken expectations of conduct on our own wealthy home turfs! There is no point allowing these things get to you when embarking on such a journey, because it will only make the whole experience all the more painful. Besides, one's patience is put to the test even further when the grubby Vietnamese youth puts his feet up on your backpack and proceeds to rhythmically crack open sunflower seeds with his teeth and spit the shells out onto anyone sitting around him, while the small lady next to him chews a pongy chicken claw, her greasy hands showing no restraint when they slide into her hair or grab the seat in front as the bus bolts up over a ridge in the road.

And the ridges were commonplace with bone-shaking tremors that nearly threw me out of my single seat where I was precariously perched over the steps that step down out of the bus door. Unmade roads were certain to keep us awake as our backsides became numb from the lack of decent padding. Within a few hours we had finally reached our destinationand were promptly kicked out of the bus. Dien Bien Phu border crossing was a five minute wlk through the jungle...just follow the road!

Two hours had easily passed at the mountain border criossing. Time was wasted on stamping each passport several times and exchanging money for the experience. Sadly we were the ones that had to pay. However on a much more positive vein, we were indeed able to purchase our Laos visa on the border with Vietnam.... all horrific thoughts of having to travel back to Hanoi were firmly buried and we just had to wait until the driver of the bus saw fit to drive again!

The border crossing itself was rather gloomy, much like Vietnam. High up in the hills with jungle all around the small cluster of buildings sat. A small lavatory block spewed all waste onto the hillside from the end of a projecting waste pipe, while any other waste the site produced seemed merely to be thrown down the hillsidfe too. What a sad sight... no thought was given to the health of the local environment. Lazy Vietnamese border patrol staff sat around with little to do apart from air their damp laundry and smoke cigarettes.

Weakly sitting alongside Jo on a mossy wall I attempted to hold some sort of a conversation. A small Laos toddler was playing excitably with his mother and her sister. The wee little chappy beamed away as he staggered around, swiftly catching our attention and drawing admiring "COOS!" from Jo. His mother, while no taller than my shoulder, had a beautiful face with an honest and happy face lined from laughter, especially below her eyes and around her cheeks. As it turned out, her bouncy,energetic son had had a large growth on his chest below his neck and she had needed to bring him over the border from their Laos mountain home town to ensure he received the necessary surgery and follow-up treatment he needed. No popping around to the local doctor for him!

Relief seemed to course through all three of us as we prepared to board the bus to enter Laos. Everything that I have ever heard about Laos has been positive where our experienceof Vietnam had been rather testing, for the abrasive selling techniques of traders and the sense that we were all too easily being taken advantage of because we were seen as rich travellers.

Here's to Laos... we are ready for your delights!

25.03.08 - Travelling in Style. NOT.

The mountain woman grinned to show her white teeth as she held up two fingers ( not in the manner of a rude gesture mind! ) and then placed two more skewers of marinaded pork and two small lengths of bamboo over the glowing red coals of her little low-level grill. Eggs and yams were clustered around the outside of the grill to keep warm with a bundle of skewered chestnuts poking up from the near corner. Mr and Mrs C Edwards and their travelling companion Mr E Fisher had squatted over the typical array of blue and red miniature plastic stools around the stove opposite the chef as she prepared the little feast.

And how satisfying the simplest of food can be... after three hours or so packed into a little mini-bus with a multitude of people we were thrilled to be booted out and stumble forth, as the blood once more pumped through our legs, over to the side of the road to eat. The skewers were so tasty, the yams sweet and warm, and once the bamboo had been broken open we had warm sticky rice to satisfy the hunger. And what a view we had... for behind our cook the mountain bank dropped away steeply giving views across the hazy green valleys and towering mountain peaks.

Several skewers were withdrawn from a plastic bag each one holding a neat row of small animal forms. Plucked! CHICKS... snatched from their mother's protective watch and subjected to perhaps the most indecent end... shorn of attire and pushed headless onto a little wooden stick!! Time to pay and go... slightly repulsed...

The scruffy old white mini-bus sat to one side on the end of the tarmac high up in the northwestern Vietnamese mountains, tourist backpacks piled up on the roof alonside bulging sacks of rice and miscellanious boxes that local mountain people were transporting along the route. Our progress had been brought to a halt as we reached the makeshift barrier put across the road as workmen prepared the rubbly road ahead for the new surface.

The barrier was pulled aside.
A yell was fired at the passengers from a certain driver!
And we were off!

Crammed into our seats once more, the steep, farmed hillsides passed the dusty windows. Miles of green banks on the twisting mountain road were caged in by an open meshwork, less than two metres off the ground made from thin branches. For what purpose I have no idea... to scare away pesky birds?! The mountains were covered in the stuff... not that Charlie noticed, for he was far too engrossed in yet another book detailing the obscenities of Vietnam warfare...

( Note the appropriate use of a fastidious Norm-the-Norm throaty and sleep-inducing voice )... "It does prove really rather fascinating to consider the possibility that there were in fact 3 mortar rounds fired, and not the previously stated 2 mortar rounds, by the American military. I would argue that..."

YAWN!
YAWWWN!

All jokes aside, it is horrific to consider what the Vietnamese people have endured over the past century. The bitter colonial French ensured that the country was left in a dreadful state when they begrudgingly threw back the keys to the hostile post-WWII Vietnam, their pride, homeland and empire in tatters. The greedy Europeans were highly successful in something at least... stealing land and shredding it of any immediate future.

Still, those dark and sinister pages of Vietnam bloodshed were not only keeping Charlie's mind off the bouncy and artery-clogging journey at hand... for they were helping him to distract himself from fruistratingly competitive conversation with the Canadian couple next to him. What a pair of losers! Place a pair of proudly courageous and daring young travellers in the midst of fellow continent bashers and what happens? They just cannot resist the temptation to boast of their exploits and feats of extraordinary wilingness to test their inner strength! My dear Charlie on the other hand is incredibly modest, loves nothing more than to communicate with others and savours the experiences he has in new cultures... especially the food!

"Did you try some of the grilled food served on the little stalls on the side of the road?" Charlie asks enquiringly as the khaki adorned Canadians ( got the look just right, complete with leather and bead bracelets, khaki caps and patterned neck scarves! ) settled back into their seats beside him... "It was absolutely delicious!"
"Oh really"
"Yes... it is amazing how such simple flavours can be so satisfying!" Charlie enthusiastically adds as he attempts to make conversation, "Although we had to draw the line when the lady cooking the food offered us skewers of little baby chicks!"
"Oh, well we ate dog in Vietnam the other day..." pause for this comment to sink in with maximum effect, "...have YOU tried dog?" answers the proud traveller.

Arrogant t*#t! No exchange of contact details that time...

22.03.08 - Helloh? You Buy From Meeee?!

Sapa, Vietnam: A lesson in patience.

If ever there was a place on Earth that could test my British public school boy politeness it was in Sapa. In fact, Charlie and I together are hopeless, with please's thank you's, I beg your pardon's and excuse me's flooding the air from our clean, charming mouths ( alright... I will drop the case for clean in reference to my mouth, ok?! ). Jo is somewhat more feisty and will fight for our rights, but the one thing we all have in abundance is politeness! Oh how we learned...

Market day is every day. The ladies of the H'mong mountain tribe are in town. They may be as small as a small person could be, but BEWARE for these happy and smiley women and girls have been hard at work all week weaving fabrics and making all manner of fabric goods such as shoulder bags, scarves, "blankeys" , pantalons and silly hats with weany pom-poms... only one thing is on their minds... SELL! SELL! SELL!

The hostel has been found having stepped off a bus in Sapa, girls eagerly waving hostel business cards at us and dropping their rates to $5 a night in the face of incessant and nearly hysterical competition. The bank busted (!) we stepped out onto the sloping street to look at the market... and within moments the H'mong ladies are around us eagerly showing off their wares.

"Hellohhh?! You buy from meeee?!" they all squeak as they hold up a few little knitted tubes that hold a little metal vibrating wind instrument. A "No thank you" from the blond, blue eyed tourist is received with a dip of the hands into the woven shoulder bag and a questioning look followed by the display of a big panel of woven fabric...

"You buy blankeyyy? You buy from meeee?!"

Then more squeaky "Hellohhh?!"s are heard as the smell of tourists douses the senses of other H'mong traders who wish to cheerfully push their own hand-made pieces! We were oh so polite and enjoyed their happy demeanour and curious enquiries ( that were always followed by a sales pitch )... though Jo would inevitably be lost in a crowd of little bouncing ladies holding up earings and woven wrist bands to her. We feared that if she fell we could be certain that they would pile in and... and that does not bear thinking about!

After a whole day of this we decided unanimously that travelling had the potential to be incredibly stressful... all politeness stripped from our souls ( yes, a complete exaggeration for the sake of a story ) we resorted to sharp ( ish ) "NO"s in an attempt to shoo away these eager ladies with their babies strapped to their backs! Frustration was bubbling and we felt victimised... especially when a little, little, little smiley old lady followed us for 30 minutes and only got the hint that we did not want any blankeys when we ran away... her giggly old laughter at our response cackling through the cool, damp air!

But damn them for being so sweet and friendly!!! How can you be annoyed with such charming little ladies with beautiful little babies strapped onto their backs with woven fabrics. Jet black hair topped with a cylindrical open-topped black hat, warm softly worn caramel skin and wide yet pinched chocolate eyes showed such charm and despite the infuriating approach to pouncing on the tourists, we could not help but love these mountain folk. The fabrics are made from plant fibres, woven, dyed and sewn into all manner of interesting items that they produce during the week as they sit on the steps of their wooden huts before descending on the market of Sapa where they amble around and sell to the new folks on the block.

One thing I must pu down now....

...I never want to hear those words again...


"HELLOH?! YOU BUY FROM MEEEE?!!!"

21.03.08 - Vietnamese Reunion of the Mountain Beavers!

6pm. Eighteen hundred hours.

And a whole day to pass before Charlie and Jo were due to sweep into my travels. Oh the pain. The child in me was bursting at the seams! The temptation to pee myself with eager anticipation... and the thought the latter may prove to bring very brief satisfaction and a rather red face as I crept through the back alleys of Hanoi's Old Quarter to get back to the hostel for a change of clothes.

I need not have worried for Hanoi is so intense and bizarre that I was easily distracted. The Old Quarter's warren of little grey streets with packed-in tall, narrow buildings ( built on narrow plots to avoid taxation in ye olden days ) were thriving with activity. The occasional tourist could be seen amidst the throng of mopeds and vendors, rather perturbed pale faces above the dark haired locals, attempting to pass eager Hanoi traders who squawked "Hello! Hello!" for their attention. Every street has it's own place in the grand scheme of Hanoi trade, the shopfronts of one selling identical cheap utility pieces for the home with extractor hoods of varying sizes glinting in the sunlight where the owner sits as he welds metal rings to construct buckets without the use of any safety goggles or gloves; another road has streetside displays of shirts and pantalons spilling out; the next may be the place to buy your shoes ( though I will be damned if I can find anything that fits my size 10/11s! )... whatever junk you need in your life you will find it here. Me.... I played hard to get and did not part with my cash... without a struggle at least!

The city is bizarre and interesting and a whole day there proved quite exhausting. A 6am start and a walk to the banks of the lake brought humour into my day as I watched the spectacle that is the Vietnamese morning workout! The locals are apparently dressed in their pijamas as they stroll around the waters edge... where they suddenly break into strange arm swings and hops... or sit on a bench and throw themselves into all manner of positions... absolutely hilarious to watch.

DO NOT COME TO HANOI.... if you are prone to breaking into a nervous sweat when crossing the road! What a ball it is... and you have to follow the style setby the locals in order to get through the chaos of Hanoi road traffic. Just step out confidently and edge slowly through the hoardes of bikes and mopeds... the swarm will pass around you and a minute later, as if by magic or the good grace of God almighty, your feet hit the pavement on the other side! And noone cries "CHICKEN!"

6pm!

Back to the hostel...

...and lo and behold the mountain beavers ( a story worthy of another blog! ) are together again in the far away land that is Vietnam! Oh the joy as Charlie ( my cousin ), Jo ( his beautious wife )and I hugged with shrieks and yelps... from them of course.

Biahoi ( the local beer brew ) ensued as we sat on tiny plastic todler stools on the side of the pavement and exchanged tall stories of adventure and intrigue. Then the sweaty dash to the train station wearing ricepaddy hats ( much to the amusement of the multitude of Hanoians who caught a glimpse ) to grab our cabin for the journey to Sapa in the northern mountains of Vietnam. Now the adventures are really starting and oh what fun we have in store!

PS. AFTER 10 MONTHS MY BACKPACK HAS FINALLY BEEN ON MY BACK!! Haha!

20.03.08 - The Sky Glowed Red Over Hanoi

What a sight my face must have been as I sat in the back of that taxi on my way into Hanoi on Wednesday night...

...horns were beeping and honking mercilessly all around us on the concete strip that cut through the glowing nightscape as we approached the Northern Vietnamese city of Hanoi. If you are on the road here you let the world know about it and honk that horn, for that seems to be the main rule on the road. The taxi driver was casually blasting his without any hesitation like Morse code for the Vietnamese driver. The taxi swings around the mopeds that litter the highway and brakes as the old belching trucks pull out at the last minute...

...but am I scared?

Not one bit! I am in awe, thrilled by the buzz of life that is grinding on as we pass. A moped driver laden with a vast brown paper wrap of yellow blooms on his back. People walking in the dark space along the road going about their business calmly. A table of people sitting on tiny stools eating and chatting in front of an open shop front. Dishevelled one or two story buildings, no wider than 3 metres, that have not been painted since they were built are crushed in together along the sides of the road, old metal security cages pushed to one side and the chaotic mess of the inner room spilling onto the street where vendors sell to pasing trade. A coach casually swings across the entire road sending a flurry of brake lights and horn blasts into the night air. A woman with a traditional rice paddy hat walks past with the weight of a basket each of green mangoes and pineapples hanging from a wooden pole that bridges her shoulder, no attention paid to the commotion.

As I watched incredulously the whole scene closed in on us the further on that we drove. Four or five story, equally narrow buildings, sprout up with pitched roofs and balconies, bright yellow light spilling out of the open windows and doors. The pavement swarmed with bustling people and vendors sold everything from freshly made spring rolls to cigarettes, chestnuts roasting on a grill to silk scarves neatly displayed in open baskets. A vibrancy filled the air despite the grey, drab tones that seemed to have been washed over the narrow, worn concrete buildings. The tall buildings had taken over the scene and a mish-mash of balconies and windows draped in grubby odds-and-ends of everyday Hanoi life piled up into the night where tree branches twisted up to meet them above the crowds of honk-happy moped drivers!

Having accidentally ripped off the taxi driver ( Oh why do I feel bad?! ) I rolled out of the car with my backpack that had still never been on my back. One night to pass alone in this hectic city as I prepared for the grand reunion with my dear cousin and his wonderful wife. Excitment coursed through my veins but thwere was nothing to do but pass the time!

And how bizarre to walk through those crazy streets of the Old Quarter under a Hanoi night sky that glowed red...

...though strangely apt for a nation that eats dogs and happily chews on stiff chicken claws!