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...
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