Vientiane, Vang Vien, Phonsavan - It's Getting Touristy Up In Herre!

16./17.07.15

Vientiane – The Most Underwhelming Capital in Southeast Asia

We left Khonglor in the rain, on a local bus bound for Vientiane. The words “I hope they don’t blast local pop music in this bus” having just been uttered, we were greeted by blasting local pop music as we boarded. Good Morning, Laos!
As we zigzagged our way out of the Khammouane NBC, we waved good bye to the limestone and rice paddies and started getting excited for big city life. The first (and only) big city in Laos. The ride was comfortable enough, despite the nerve-racking music and the poor boy that threw up every few minutes in front of me. I felt so sorry for the guy, because after every wretching session, his parents would immediately make him eat – chips, sugary drinks, chicken, eggs and a hearty bowl of noodle soup during the lunch break.

As usual, the bus filled up and emptied along the way and as usual, the bus stop was way outside the city center. And as feared, we were welcomed to the touristic part of Laos by an overpriced Tuk Tuk ride which we had to haggle down, while the drivers tried to convince us that everyone paid the same price – a big fat lie, as we witnessed along the way. Also, instead of bringing us to where we had agreed on, he kicked us out a good 15mins walk away with dark rain clouds looming above.

We found and checked into the Dream Home Hostel 1 – a metal framed bed in a 16-bed-dorm for 45.000Kip per person. More than we had been paying for an ensuite private double room in the South. But we had done our research and just had to deal with the fact that Vientiane was going to be a whole lot more expensive. The hostel walls were covered in more or less creative and more or less funky art left by travelers, but that was about the only thing that distingushed it from any other backpackers abode. We had a cliché room with a cliché mix of people – the quiet, keep-to-themselves couple, the girlie best friends, the easygoing, get-along-with-everyone type and the hungover guy sleeping all afternoon, who happened to be the smelly guy and the oblivious traveler that cannot remember the name of places he has been or is going to. And then there was us – the spoiled we-don’t-usually-sleep-in-dorms-but-get-a-kick-out-of-it travelers, who have previously enjoyed the experience but aren’t really after it anymore.
We listened to cliche conversations about “Where have you been?”, “Where are you heading next?” and “Where did you stay in…?” and the oh-so-fun “Where are you from?” guessing game. 

I didn’t mind too much that the bathrooms and showers were on the ground floor or even that they were unisex, but I was slightly disturbed by the shoes off policy in the entire building. I understand and respect the Lao culture and always take my shoes off when entering a local temple or home or store where this is asked of you, but to me, a hostel filled with travelers from near and far is not necessarily a place of Lao culture and definitely not a place that will be as hygienic as a place of Lao culture. It kind of felt like foot fungus waiting to happen and I found myself walking quite oddly, trying to have the least amount of foot touch the ground.

After the journey, we were hungry. And after a while spent in Southern Laos on a steady diet of fried noodles and fried rice, we were craving a western food fix. Having read about Ray’s Grille and it being right around the corner from our hostel, this was to be our first stop in Vientiane. They were about to close for the afternoon, but must have recognized the longing in our eyes as we read through the menu and made an exception for us. Happened to be two Filipinas working there us and it was nice to be served with some open friendly small talk. While the boys went for burgers with chorizo and roasted peppers, I had a steak quesadilla and we all started drooling as we watched them prepare our meals on the grill. The minutes after being served were spent in appreciative silence, aside from the occasional moans of delight and grunts of pleasure. What a meal! So delicious, so filling and the perfect fix for our cravings.

These are the only pictures I took in Vientiane. And that's saying something.

In the afternoon, we walked the main touristy roads and ventured on to shopping centers, as we had racked up a list of things that needed replenishing. We actually found a legitimate mall with fancy shops, air conditioning and absolutely no people. For the first time in the country, we wandered around supermarkets, finding what we needed and splurging on a jar of peanut putter. It did feel a bit awkward, walking about a fancy department store in backpacker mode – a bit out of place and grungy. On the top floor, we were hoping to find a cinema – but it was still under construction. So instead we made friends with the owner of a gelato bar, who let us taste our way through her many different flavors, before we decided on a few and sat around her cute shop for a while.
And that was pretty much Vientiane for us. Of course, walking around town, we saw some temples, fancy colonial style bank buildings and all that, but nothing that made us stop and stare. Quite the underwhelming city.

I fell asleep to screechy “Yeeehaw!”s coming from the drinking game being played downstairs, along with loud accusations of not having drank enough or not playing correctly and woke up to a girl in my room needing her friends assistance to leave the room, plastic bag in hand and wretching noises from the hallway a minute later. Ah yes, how I have(n’t) missed hostel life!

Before boarding the bus to Vang Vien the next afternoon, we were magnetically pulled back to Ray’s Grille to sample their Blue Cheese Burger as well as their Philly Cheese Steak and then drove off to the next touristy destination.

17.-20.07.15

Vang Vien – To Tube Or Not To Tube?

Every backpacker in Laos has probably been to Vang Vien. Many backpackers have probably gotten stuck there for a while. Few have probably asked themselves what the fuss is all about in the end.

Our medium sized tourist bus was overbooked and we boarded the bus last. So we sat in the foldable seats in the aisle while Steve got to sit between driver and passenger seat, basically squatting behind the gear shift. It was uncomfortable to say the least. But we got there.

We also found the guesthouse I had scoped out – Meylyn’s – on the other side of the bridge from town, hidden amongst a beautiful lush garden. I loved it from the moment we walked in. I mean, who doesn’t like cute kittens to play with and the sound of the river?

Crossing the Toll Bridge - 4000Kip (50cents) to cross, but at least it's a return ticket. 

Me, fully loaded.

The next morning it was (still) raining and I was battling the sniffles, which I probably caught while speeding through the caves in Khonglor, so I wasn’t really up for a soggy adventure. We did walk around town and looped through the small streets lined with the same shops over and over again – many selling tours, kayaking, tubing and climbing, some selling clothes and dry bags, restaurants, guesthouses and massage parlors. The only tourists that seemed to be awake and active were big groups of Koreans and Japanese, filling up Song Tels (local busses) or riding motorbikes or ATVs to the caves and Blue Lagoon. Most of the western travelers we saw were pale faced and had a certain air of je-ne-sais…hangover. As in Don Det, there was a restaurant that played Friends non-stop, all day long, more pale faces staring at the TV or their cellphones.

We had thought of eating a pancake at one of the many stalls and getting a massage, but as it turned out, we were not hungry nor did any of the massage parlors look inviting. In most of them, the masseuses and their friends were lying around on the massage beds in their jeans taking naps and the one the we had thought looked alright at first, a guy and his son had just pulled out their lunch table amongst the beds and started their meal. Maybe another time (and place).

So what to do in a town like Vang Vieng when it is raining and you don’t feel like getting wet? Read. Laze. Hang out in the guesthouse. We did spend a few hours sitting around in the common area, meeting people and having wonderful random conversations. Interesting travelers with interesting stories are such a vital part of a journey like this – they can make or break an experience. Though in most cases they make it, since you usually have the time and will to walk away before they break it. Meylyn’s Guesthouse was definitely a gathering point for interesting travelers and if the only enriching experience in Vang Vien was to meet these people, then that alone was worth being there.

We left the guesthouse in a bigger group and went out to look for food. The sun had gone down and the town was unrecognizable. The sad gray streets were lit up by the glow of many more open restaurants and bars and there were people everywhere. What a transformation sunset can bring on. Song Tels filled with nearly naked people and piled high with tubes arrived in the middle of town, their passengers stumbling off in drunken stupor. 

For those who haven’t heard of Vang Vien, it is known for tubing. Tubing has brought this once sleepy riverside village it’s fame (and downfall). It became a mecca for backpackers that wanted to experience floating down a river in a tube, stopping every few meters for drinks at the riverside bars that enticed with free whiskey, muddvolleyball and other fun and games. However, rope swings and the rivers currents turned out to be quite deadly to the strongly inebriated folk and after many dozens of party people found a fatal end to their tubing adventure, the Lao government cracked down on Vang Vien in 2012. They took down (and burned down) many of the bars, removed the rope swings and started cleaning up the town, ridding it of the openly advertised illegal drugs. No more happy shakes, opium pizzas or chill pills (not quite true, because there are still a few “happy” places in town, though closely watched by the police and its spies). The government then tried to revamp the image of Vang Vien and now outdoorsy tourism is advertised on every corner. In between though, the town lost 70% of its tourists, as word got around that there was no more tubing. 70%!? Locals that had taken out loans or invested into guesthouses lost money and hope. Until the tubes started floating down that river again… With less bars and no rope swings, but, judging by the state of the nearly naked people walking through town that night, with enough booze to preserve you from the inside out. 

Let me describe an image that was burned into my corneas, much to my dismay: The song tel stops and people in swim wear pile out. A guy and a girl grab their tubes and sway across the road, arguing. The guy stops, shoves his tube into the girls free arm (she struggles to stay upright) and she complains, while loudly debating with him in which direction their hostel is. Meanwhile, he has his swimming trunks pulled waaay down (knees or so) and is peeing, hands free and parallel to the road, about two meters away from a wall, turns his head and yells “What’s wrong with you?!?” to his girl. Hmmm… Maybe you had to be there to find it funny. What's wrong with you?

After a bit of a search we found the Mexican restaurant Amigos, suggested to us by TripAdvisor. The food took forever, they didn’t have anything on the menu that contained rice (running out of rice in an Asian country is a big no-no) and in the end, the portions were appetizer-sized and we left still hungry. Fail.

After a banana chocolate coconut pancake to satiate our hunger for good, we walked to Sakura, THE bar in Vang Vien, a place we had seen advertised on singlets throughout the country – Drink Triple, See Double, Act Single. A brilliant marketing strategy, I've got to hand them that - Buy two vodka drinks and get a Sakura tank top. And the infamous slogan kept its promise – it was exactly as expected. We had walked by in the afternoon and born witness to that phenomenon of not wanting to see the place you party in during daylight/in any sort of bright light. Basically a wooden platform covered by a corrugated steel roof with two bars inside. They serve free drinks from 8-9pm and we got there past 10pm, so people around us were on a different planet – a planet of grooving to bad chart music, groping (though there was a very uneven ratio of men and women, about 5:1), and gripping a drink in one hand and a balloon filled with laughing gas in the other. We made our way through the sweaty crowd, across the alcohol and what-happens-when-you-drink-too-much-alcohol soaked floor and stood in the corner, observing the fun-loving and utterly oblivious crowd. It definitely made for fun people watching. But not for longer than 45mins – that’s about as far as my tolerance for that music (in a sober state) will go.

After such an utterly chilled out day, we promised ourselves to be more active on the next. And we did. Together with Steve, we walked along the main road, veering off it and into rice fields at the first sign leading to caves. We followed the muddy deichs between the rice paddies to the foot of a limestone mountain and a kid showed us the way into a cave (after asking for 10.000kip per person). At the entrance, he told us to leave our stuff and walk in barefoot and go swimming inside the cave. Wasn’t really my thing after only 15mins of starting our walk, so I stayed behind and watched Steve and Mo disappear into the narrow cave opening. I sat and stared at the formations in the cave and listened to the jungle sounds from outside.

After another 2km, there was another cave. Having heard about it from newfound friends at the guesthouse, I knew it entailed crawling through the mud for a while and still not feeling 100%, I decided to skip that one too. Instead, I was invited by two young girls to share their little hut. They were 14 and 15 and offered their services as guides through the caves. Respect. In between staring at the beautiful hills behind the little stream in front of me, we had broken conversations about this and that, them being most interested in my many piercings in my ears. They showed me theirs and one of them had a piece of grass in them, so they wouldn’t close up. I think at some point, they even asked me to pierce them a second hole, but understood when I explained that I was not as tough as I looked and didn’t pierce them myself. They seemed to understand the word “piercing gun” for some odd reason. They sang to songs played from their phone, laughed and saved my back from many mosquito bites. I enjoyed their company, watched cows walk by, enjoyed staying dry when it started pouring and made friends with a yellow butterfly that was drawn to the bright dry-bag on my lap. The boys came out soaking wet after having washed off the mudd in the nearby river. Their tales of crawling through tight passages and gigantic jumping spiders made me glad about my choice to skip that adventure. Before we left, I gave the two girls my last three thin silver hoop earrings I carry with me in case I lose one.

As it was a bit later in the afternoon than expected and the Blue Lagoon (described as actually being green and filled with people) was at least another 4km away, we headed back to the guesthouse, got dry and had a quiet evening.

Somewhere in between there we booked our tickets to our next destination. I can see why many flock to Vang Vien and I’m sure I’d enjoy it a bit more in the dry season, but the days on our visa were ticking away and not one more was to be wasted here.

20./21.07.15

Phonsavan and the Plain of Jars

You know you are back in a tourist trap region, when the most expensive bus ride to date turns out to be the most uncomfortable. We were picked up on the other side of the toll bridge and had to walk, fully loaded, in the rain. Of course, the bus was not on time, so we stood, fully loaded, in the rain. A minivan pulled up, stuffed our bags in the back and slammed the trunk door many times before it finally stuck – it didn’t really matter that my bag was actually in the way and being slammed on over and over again.

With barely any leg room for me – imagine Mo’s knees pressing a few inches into the seat in front of him – and blasting Lao music – I even tried covering the speaker next to me without success – we made our way across the mountains on the most winding road I have ever driven. It was either foggy or rainy, either way, the view was mostly obscured. The few glimpses we did catch were beautiful. I tried hard to imagine the panorama or mountains and valleys that lay to our side. The comfort level was then further diminished by the fact that somehow, somewhere exhaust fumes were getting inside the van. While the driver and his two Lao passengers in the front had their windows open and didn’t seem to notice, we in the back were literally fumigated. We started huffing my menthol balm, so we wouldn’t get too light headed or dizzy or sick.

Finally in Phonsavan, a town of little charm, we were happy to find our guesthouse right around the corner of the minibus station. We made plans for the following day with other travelers to see what we had all come here to see – the Jar sites.  

The Plain of Jars is the roughly 15km wide plain across the center of the Xieng Khuang Plateau in the province bearing the same name. Around this plain, over 50 known Jar sites are scattered. These sites are some of the most important pre-historic archeological findings in the country, first scientifically explored in the 1930s. Little is known about the civilization that made and used the stone jars that lie here, but many agree that they were used for ancient burial rituals.

At the same time, the area was badly bombed during the Indochina Wars and many UXOs (Unexploded Ordnance) lay in the ground here for many years after and up till today. The jar sites had to be thoroughly checked by mine and explosive experts and many UXOs removed before allowing tourists to visit. Many more jar sites are still closed to the public and undergoing that treatment. Having been a strategic point during the war, the jar sites bear scars – bomb craters and trenches still visible today.

So after breakfast, five of us piled into a van and were driven to three of the jar sites by the owner of our guesthouse. The first one included a visitor center with as much information as there is on the jars – mostly speculation about various purposes. While it is proven that the jars were used to place dead bodies inside, have them decompose and then bury the remains around the jar, other stories are just stories. One folktale speaks of the jars being used to store goods and produce rice wine for a week or month long celebration in honor of a king. Other information looks at the strategic placing of the jars along an ancient caravan route. Either way, the jars are elusive and mysterious and that’s what makes them all the more interesting.

It was fun walking up and down hills and around these jars – some as tall as 2m, some small and short. Some intact and upright, some broken, split in half or tumbled over.

The second site was hidden on a hill behind some rice fields, and the walk there was muddy but scenic.

And though some might say “A jar is a jar is a jar” – even my Rough Guide says something along those lines – I must disagree. The third site (actually Site 2) was my favorite. The shape and condition of the jars might not have changed, but the location made this one special. The first group was on a hill amongst pine trees. Though two large different, wide canopied trees had sprouted in between the jars – one right through a jar, breaking it into pieces. The roots of another tree seemed to hug one of the jars. Quite atmospheric, eerie and beautiful.

The second group was on a hill even higher up with breathtaking views over the landscape. So serene, calm and quiet. The jars just added to the magic.

Mud, muddy, muddier our shoes got on the walk back to the van. I grew a centimeter with every step and it felt like an exercise with ankle-weights. But I can’t say it wasn’t fun walking on squishy plateau shoes.

And that was about it for Phonsavan. With the feeling that time was slowly but surely running out and only ten days left on our visa, we were anxious to get to Luang Prabang and explore the North

Southern and Central Laos - Off The Beaten Track

02./03.07.15

Siem Reap to Kratie to Don Det – 2 Travel Days, 1 Epic Scam

To be honest, we were glad to be leaving Siem Reap. A busy hot city full of expensive things to do, people who make things more expensive than they should be and the party-backpacker types who don’t seem to care that everything is too expensive.
We were told to be ready by 6am. So we were. And waited till 6:30. Instead of the bus picking us up, like we were told, we were loaded into a Tuk Tuk and taken to some back-alley hostel, where we were told to have a seat and have some breakfast. Great. One of those busses.
Sometime passed the time we were supposed to leave, we got into a minivan and left. The roads were pretty bad and we bounced along for around three hours. On some dusty bus stop in Stung Treng, we were told to get off and wait for the next bus that would be around in “half an hour”.
It ended up being only an hour. And after yet another very bumpy ride, we arrived in Kratie, only a few hours later than planned.

Kratie is a sleepy town by the Tonle River, famous for the rare Irrawaddy Dolphins. And that’s about it. But we just wanted to break our trip up anyways, so it didn’t really matter. Our backs and fronts loaded with backpacks, we walked along the riverside, looking for our Balcony Guesthouse. We found it, but somehow something just didn’t feel right. We were shown into the dingy looking wooden house and taken to a stuffy room. I asked if they were the ones I had written e-mails with and then, just to make sure, opened their website to ask if this was the right place. It was. One of the guys then explained, that they had moved to a different location, because their landlord hadn’t renewed their lease. But they hadn’t had the chance to update their website (or the thought of letting guests know that they had moved).
We apologized and left again. A few houses down, we walked in, were shown a room and stayed. It was only for a night and the owner seemed nice enough.
We still had to book our trip to Laos for the next morning and headed into town. Our host had given us a few quotes for prices and we just wanted to compare. He was right. And after talking to us about all the pros and cons of booking with him, we let ourselves to be talked into buying his transport service. Big. Mistake. 

We left shortly passed 7 am, but were excited about getting to the island in Laos by 12noon and have the rest of the afternoon to relax. Talking to the only other foreigner in the bus, we found out that she was going to Stung Treng. What?! The bus stop we had waited at the day before. The wrong direction.
And we did. We ended up back in Stung Treng at 10am, the grumpy bus driver taking out our bags, saying “1 o’clock” and leaving. Great. The entire trip to Kratie for nothing. We were going to end up in the same minivan that picked up the people on our bus the day before. We were going to end up getting there in the dark, just like we had tried to avoid. Great.

It ended up being 2pm, by the time we were boarding the next van. The roads got even worse and I ended up having to hold on for dear life. 

How does a road end up looking like this?

We got to the border – more like 50m before the border – and were told to get our bags, put them down and listen to what this “important” looking guy had to say. He started by ordering us to sit down and proceeded to try and explain how we were going to get a visa. And then mentioned how much we had to pay him – 40$ (though not for me and a Japanese guy). We knew that the visa only costs 30$ and asked him what the rest of the money was for. Immediately, as if a switch had bin flipped, he started getting aggressive, barking about how we’re going to end up paying more if we do it on our own and threatening that his bus will wait for exactly 40mins and if it takes longer he will leave us. Too bad for him, that all of us on that bus did not want to donate a single cent to this angry man. So we donned our backpacks and walked the bit to the Cambodian border house. 2$. Why? To get an exit stamp. Must be some expensive ink that they are using.

At the Laos border, I got my passport stamped – for another 2$. I didn’t know that lifting a little wooden object and pressing it onto a page took that much  of an effort. They must have a pretty good hourly wage, these border officials. So good, in fact, that they had closed the visa booth and left 15 people or so waiting. Some guy even tried calling some of the dozen numbers pasted on the window – no reply. 20mins later, they opened it and everything went well. They  did charge a dollar extra as “processing fee” though. They used to charge that dollar for a mock-medical exam, but I guess too many travelers noticed that it was not mandatory, so why not make it official.

All along, we were accompanied by two french guys, experienced with all this scamming and a very nervous British guy who was constantly on about how we can’t miss the connecting bus. If only there was one. After we had become officially allowed to enter the country, we couldn’t, because there was no bus. And there continued to be no bus for over an hour. The light was getting more golden and there was nobody left at the border but us. We were about to get on a big bus and more to get to the port, when our van arrived. I guess the angry man from the Cambodian side had told his buddy to keep us waiting for a while for disobeying his scam. Not unheard of. 

The Cambodia - Laos border - our hang-out for almost 2h

At the port in Si Phan Don, our van driver tried telling us that our tickets were not valid for the bus. Something we had all checked when buying them. He tried to get another 30.000Kip (around 4,50$) off us, which we refused. Another angry transportation guy. But he did grudgingly take us to the boat and we rode off, literally, into the sunset and onto Don Det island.

Don Det is the more lively of the 4000 Islands (Si Phan Don) scattered in one of the widest stretches of the Mekong River. It is small and sleepy and just setting foot on it, you feel the relaxation set in. Except for us, since we didn’t have a place to stay yet. We walked up and down, asking for prices and to see rooms. And ended up settling in Sunset Bungalows – Bungalows with a perfect unobstructed view of the sunset. Two hammocks on the little porch in front of the room. A bed, a fan, a tiny bathroom – 5$ a night – what more could one ask for? :)

04.-07.07.15

Been There Don Det (Title stolen from a Tshirt)

Waking up and opening the door made the trip all worth it. The Mekong was at our feet, currents swirling around the little green islets, blue skies – beautiful! As the first day usually goes, we took it at the pace of the place – slooow. Walked about “town” – one street with a few restaurants, guesthouses and bars – and got the lay of the land. 

Don Det city center

Walking home from dinner the night before, we had chatted with a guy from Liverpool who had gotten stuck on the island 3 months prior and opened a burger shack. He told us about a pool party that was taking place at, surprise surprise, the pool. So we started walking towards where this pool was supposed to be.
It’s low season, so there was not much happening on the island. We passed many guesthouses that were empty, the family hanging out in front of it, renovating or just enjoying the peace and quiet. We passed cows and cats, giant chickens and even more giant pigs. Children greeted us with happy “Sabaidee”s and we were passed by 8 year olds on motorbikes, driving their 4 year old siblings around. After much longer than we had expected, we ended up at the old bridge that leads across to Don Khone. 

And suddenly there was music. In the middle of nowhere, on an island in the middle of nowhere, there was a pool – with big speakers, a little bar and many many foreigners. A typical pool party, with typical pool party music. A bit overwhelming and bizarre, if you ask me. But kind of funny at the same time. So we joined in, jumped into the lukewarm water and waited for the promised burgers that came with our entrance fee. Surprise surprise, the pool was a business idea from an American who figured that there was nothing else to do on the island (aside from biking through the landscape, seeing 2 waterfalls, kayaking to the Irrawaddy Dolphins), might as well build a pool. We did enjoy the poolside for a while, but hunger pangs started to ruin the party for us – Where were our burgers? They came a couple of hours later and after inhaling them, we left to get some real food in town and get away from the partey-partey tunes. 

The next day we had a picnic breakfast in our room and then rented bikes to explore the neighboring island of Don Khone. The ride was hot and beautiful. We squeezed passed lazy water buffalos on the road and took a couple of wrong turns, before getting to the waterfalls. They were huge. Raging white water cascaded down and by the looks of it, had destroyed quite a few scary looking bamboo bridges along the way. It was quite the sight, but somehow, the heat and long sunny walk the day before had depleted our energy reserves and we didn’t feel too well. So back to our riverside bungalow we went, happy to shower and collapse into a horizontal position for the rest of the afternoon.

In the evening, we watched the sunset from our Sunset Bungalow. And it looked like a promising one. As the giant glowing globe sank lower and lower to our right, the clouds to our left got darker and darker, and bigger and bigger. We watched them unfold and spread and the mountains in the background slowly be swallowed up by a thick wall of rain. It was like watching beauty and Armageddon unfold at the same time. The wind picked up and pushed our hammocks and the ever changing sky became our cinema for the evening – entertainment Don-Set-style.

And like the Mekong river lazily streamed by our front step, we lazily swayed to its rhythm in our two hammocks for the entire next day as well. Sometimes you just need exactly that. Time to catch up on reading and writing and thinking and staring into space. And this was definitely the place to do that. We ate at our guesthouse and watched the busy family at work and the adorable children at play.

The next morning we departed, ready to get going and get active again. This entailed a boat ride across the river to the bus station, a bus ride to… well, we don’t really know where they let us off. And another boat ride across the river to the quaint little road of Champasak.

07./08.07.15

Champasak – That Place With The Really Happy Guesthouse Owner

It started raining just as we got off the bus and we only had time to unload our bags, throw rain covers on and duck under the next roof. We were not the only ones, four others shared our fate of getting wet, getting ripped off 20.000Kip for a boat ride that is supposed to cost 7.000 (One of those moments when you wished you had opened the travel guide BEFORE handing over the money) and being greeted by a very smiley happy man by the pier, inviting us to his guesthouse. I had read about his place and wanted to go there anyways, so we were quite happy that he had brought his van along. The four others followed suit.

A car/moto ferry to Champasak

Now, have you heard the one about “A Brit, a Kiwi, a Filipino Aussie and an Estonian walk into a bar…”? I haven’t either, but this was the constellation of people we met on this journey and they definitely brought a healthy portion of laughs with them. Having shared a little trip and ending up in the same guesthouse, this lovely group of lone travelers that met along the way opened their arms and conversations to us and it just stuck – if ya know what I mean.

As travel days often go – the day ended with a linner/dunch meal and the planning of time was going to be spent wherever we had ended up. The one thing that made this one different, was the fact that the food was insanely good – my first Tom Yum and sticky rice – and the newfound company was refreshing.

The Road in Champasak

Despite the grim looking weather forecast, it stayed dry in the morning, so we hopped on bicycles and rode 8km to the Wat Phou temple – the largest Khmer ruins outside of Cambodia. The ride was fairly flat and not as bumpy as I thought it would be. Rice fields flanked the dark gray road, water buffalos and cows grazed wherever they pleased and the wooden houses on or off stilts were simple but lovely.

Wat Phou was yet another temple – seen one, seen all, right? Wrong. Although I must admit that after Siem Reap’s temple overdose, this one was not as spectacular, it did have it’s own charm. It is said that parts of it were built as early as the 6th century and that alone is pretty amazing. Also, location location location. It is nestled at the foot of a mountain, whose tops are usually covered by fog. It is so green and so serene that one can just imagine yellow robed monks walking solemnly around the large man-made lake that leads to the entrance. It still is a place that many Buddhists flock to during special holidays to worship and pay respects. Also, the view from the top is quite beautiful.

We got back to a sudden change in weather – sun! From the terrace of our guesthouse, we watched the illuminated Mekong.

09.07.15

Do Go Chasing Waterfalls

The next morning we had had out alarms set to quite early, but were awakened a good hour before sunrise thanks to one single, but very persistent rooster. Our group of 6 got picked up by a local bus for the 45min ride to Pakse, the capital of Champasak Province. The local bus reminded me of a Jeepney, only instead of a jeep-front, it had a truck-front, an elongated back with two benches in the back and long slits for windows – or, just a pick-up truck with a roof and two benches in the back - colorful. We piled in and took off on a very scenic route through green landscapes. Every once in a while, waterfalls cascaded off the mountain we were passing. And every once in a while, we’d stop to load in more people. It was quite cute to see two little girls become very hesitant to get in, when they saw a bunch of foreigners with sleepy faces sitting amidst the locals. Their shy faces turned away, smiling, whenever they met our eyes.

Pakse is not a beautiful town, nor is there anything to do there. But it is the base to explore the Bolaven Plateau – a plateau at around 600m elevation on which they grow coffee and tea. It is also home to some of the most beautiful waterfalls in the country.

We checked into the Sabaidy 2 guesthouse, rented motorbikes and headed up onto the plateau. The streets were good, the weather stayed dry and the bikes we had found had comfortable seats and an excellent suspension.

The first waterfall was called Tad Champee and the 800m dirt road leading to it lead to some funny slipping and sliding (nothing serious though). There were some very steep and very dodgy looking wooden stairs (though they were more accurately called “step ladder”) leading to the bottom of it. It wasn’t very high, but the water was cool and refreshing. Our initial cautious steps soon turned into joyful swimming and pulling ourselves towards the cascading waters on a little raft. Behind the falls there was a little concave covered in soft green moss and baby ferns.

Just across the road was the more famous Tad Fan. From a view point you watched two slim falls drop 100m into a small pool at the bottom. Quite the spectacle of nature. The fog was just clearing as we got there and only light whisps were left to mix with the spray of these tall twins.

The final fall was called Tad Yuang and it too was unique and beautiful. The steps that lead from viewpoint to viewpoint were right in front of it, so we got sprayed by a fine mist while taking pictures and admiring the falls. Every time the sun came out, rainbows appeared at the foot of the waterfall and made it all the more picturesque.

After another 10km, we drove through Paksong, the coffee capital that was everything but what one would imagine a coffee capital would look like. I counted a total of two cafes, both not very inviting. The street leading there sold more durian than anything else. All in all, quite boring. But we were starving and stopped anyways to have a meal, before heading pack to Pakse.

10.07.15

Tad Lo, Tad High

…and by “high” I mean altitude – up on the Bolaven Plateau is the small village Tad Lo, named after one of the nearby waterfalls. This was to be our next stop.
On the way to the bus stop, we negotiated with our Tuk Tuk driver and ended up agreeing on a price for him to take us the 90km to Tad Lo. Tuk Tuks here are quite spacious and after Estonia had left us, we were only 5 and fit semi-comfortably on the two benches in the back. The ride was, as many here have been, very scenic and I stared out the back for the entire 2h. We blasted road-trip-music and enjoyed our private tour to the quiet but charming Tad Lo.

Tad Lo proper is basically one little stretch of road with a few guesthouses, homestays and restaurants – all with a creative and family-style kind of character. I had read about one with huts along the river and we set out to find it. And find it, we did. Very basic little bungalows on stilts, with thatched walls, a little balcony overlooking the river and waterfall and a shared squat-toilet and bucket shower. You can hear the waterfall gushing and during the day, kids are bathing and a very pregnant water buffalo grazes just below the balcony. What more can you ask for?

Look left...

...look right

From this amazing bungalow!

I had also read (I am finding that reading a few travel blog entries about places really pays off!) about Mama Pap’s – a little restaurant with 3 tables with benches. No fan, no fancy menu – just a wonderful little old lady that cooks gigantic portions of really good food. We had lunch there and were not disappointed. You could taste the love in every bite.
It was here that we got our first taste of Lao drinking culture – at 1pm in the afternoon. Some guy stumbles into the restaurant, mumbles something (I wish I could understand Lao, because I’m sure it was funny), slowly lowers himself to the dusty bare cement floor and passes out. K.O. But it didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. Mama Pap walked by, shook her head and exclaimed “Too much Lao Lao!” and walked off again. Lao Lao is basically moonshine, a local rice whiskey with high percentage and low cost.
After our meal, which was accompanied by the drunkard rolling around now and then and gritting his teeth so loudly that everyone got goosebumps, he got up again, strolled across the street, cuddled a cow (including a big fat kiss on the nose) and continued drinking with his buddies.

Full to the brim and dangerously close to lying down and doing nothing, we quickly decided to walk about and find a place to swim. So we walked up to the Tad Lo lodge, said hi to the two elephants that wait for guests to ride them, checked out the sights around Tad Hang waterfall and found no place that was calm enough for a leisurely dip. So we walked on, down a little path and ended up at the riverside in front of our bungalows. We parked our stuff in a little open hut on the lawn and hopped in the cool water. Sometimes, what you look for is right in front of you.
After some time, a whole bunch of naked kids joined us and immediately started climbing on Mo. They only dared to splash me or swim upstream against me, but Mo got the full on being-used-as-a-diving-board experience. His face all the while laughing and showing a certain uncertainty about having so many very naked boys climbing up is back and standing on his shoulders.

Steve showing the kids (now wearing shorts) pictures of them jumping off Mo

11.07.15

Happy Adventurous Beautiful Birthday To Me!

I woke up and it was my birthday. Another year passed and another year older. But, to be honest, it didn’t feel as scary as I though 29 would feel. Gimme another year before I start freaking out.

I woke up to this.

Doesn't this face just tell you "Don't freak out, it's only your birthday"

After a delicious breakfast and the first time I had to say “I’m 29” out loud, the five of us departed on a trek of the area. We didn’t feel like hiring a guide and decided to brave the apparently “well marked” trail (according to my Rough Guide) on our own. The trail was not well marked and within the first 15minutes we were just guessing and hoping our path would take us to where we wanted to go – more waterfalls! We got a few good glimpses of Tad Hang – wide rapids only a few meters high – while walking a not very well trodden path along the river. Tad Lo waterfall was much more impressive and the extremely dodgy horizontal ladder leading there was our first taste of the adventure that lay ahead.
Luckily (and unluckily as we would later notice) a dog from town joined us and actually became our guide – bounding ahead, looking back and waiting for us and showing us the way when we lost the path.

Our guide

My type of party!

At some point we traversed a small village with a traditional sacrificial hut in the center of it. It was pretty cool seeing how the rural folk, and therefore most of the Lao people, live – simple, yet neat and happy. All houses were build using wooden planks and stood on high stilts, kids, chickens, pigs and dogs running about underneath.

We asked an old man for the way to the waterfall and ended up walking on the slim deichs between the rice paddies with an unobstructed view of the mountain ahead. We were truly in the middle of nowhere. We lost the pat and ended up doing an aimless walk through fields of pumpkin, watermelon, corn, rice, chives, chilies and probably much more unidentified produce. Our dog helped us find our way back onto the path that lead into somewhat of a jungle. He also started chasing every other animal along the way and annoying some poor little tied up baby cows, despite our yelling and screaming for him to stop – he just had no manners!

Behind our first little jungle trek – slippery paths, itchy grass, pushing aside branches and twigs – lay another village and the gateway to the Tad Suong falls. On our way down to the river, our guide decided it would be fun to chase a chicken. Poor thing just wasn’t fast enough and although I’m sure our ADHD dog was just young and playful, he ended up gripping it just a little bit to hard. A little boy picked up the chicken, laid it down and it flopped down – quite dead. Only a few moments later, a lady with the dead chicken in her hand started walking down the hill, yelling at us. I knew, from having run over a chicken in the Philippines looong time ago, that a chicken is worth quite a lot to rural folk. A chicken lays eggs, with bring more chickens and more eggs – a cycle of livelihood. And we knew that if we stopped and tried to argue that it was a dumb dog that killed it and not us, we’d still be held responsible and would be asked to pay. So we walked on, feeling like fugitives on the run. Dumb dog.

This little trek took us through more fields, along a very narrow path, through more and rougher jungle and ended with us climbing over boulders and hopping over the little streams coming from the waterfall. It was fun and exciting and we put the chicken-debacle out of our mind for a while. We found an ideal spot to rest and to me and the other girl in the group, an ideal place to stay for a while, as the boys were boys and climbed more to get to the foot of the waterfall.
I enjoyed the site from below and watched the thin stream flow ca. 80m down, the rainforest on the side and the wide stone ridge that looked like a whole part of the mountain had broken off. Swiftlets flew in and out of a little cave on the top and I sat and stared and loved it.

Then the rain came. I had hidden in a little cave-like thing and stayed dry. The boys had lain down under the falls and were wet anyways. After it got a bit weaker, we started heading back, climbing and clambering slowly and carefully over the now slippery wet rocks. We tried desperately to find an alternate route across the river, so we wouldn’t have to face the village – imagining the old lady with the dead chicken and an angry mob behind her. But all the climbing and clambering bore no fruit and we were forced to head back to the trail.
Then it started pouring. Torrential monsoon rains came down on us and the already tricky path leading to the falls became a messy, muddy slip and slide ride. The downpour had turned all paths into rapid rivers and we were holding on to vines and plants and anything rooted in the ground, slipping and sliding (and falling). It was mostly funny, definitely a bit dangerous and a whole lot exhilarating. I managed with only two spills. We crawled in the mud, because walking upright was impossible. We helped each other out in the trickiest of parts and ended up soaking wet, muddy and laughing, walking down the road that lead to home. Looking back to where we had just come from, the slim waterfall had widened and now covered almost the entire ridge – at least 8 times wider than before. Good thing we weren’t still climbing around the boulders of the then dry riverbed.

The only thing left on our minds after that day was dry clothes, food, drink and resting our tired limbs. We figured the rain water was enough of a shower and had washed away most of the sweat from the hike. Plus it was too cold to brave the bucket and after seeing that the water coming from the faucet was most definitely from the river and was more like liquid mud after all the rain, a shower was out of the question.
Mama Pap cooked us up some amazing fried rice, the largest and most delicious banana pancake with chocolate sauce and a wonderful fruit shake. And after rolling back home from that overly satisfying meal, I sat on our balcony and caught up on this blog.

Ivan giving our guide his well deserved treat

What a birthday! Definitely different and definitely memorable.

12.07.15

Travel Day – To Thakek

It had rained all night and instead of anything drying, everything felt moist and clammy. I started sneezing and getting into wet shoes first thing in the morning really wasn’t the most comfortable thing. Looking out on the view from our balcony, Tad Hang waterfalls had turned into huge brown rapids, no longer the crashing white, no boulders left visible. The level of the river had risen quite a bit and there must be something that gets washed along with the rains, because it was quite the busy hustle at dawn. Men, women and children were running back and forth to the riverbanks, soaking wet, getting into the river with large fishing nets and scooping like their life depended on it – their livelihood for the day probably did. I couldn’t quite see what exactly they were pulling out, but I think there were some small fish and many little snails.

We checked out and were just about to leave our little thatched hut by the river, when the old lady from our guesthouse called out “No, no, good luck, good luck” and after rummaging around in a corner, came back and tied three colorful bracelets around each of our wrists, took our hand in both of hers and wished us good luck. A beautiful gesture that left me quite touched.
Tad Lo was a great place and I am so happy that we passed through here. The faces of the children, the family run guesthouses, the happy pigs, Mama Pap’s amazing food and the gushing waterfall – truly magical.

We had breakfast in the guesthouse the final two left of our initial four were staying in. Kiwi had left for Vientiane the previous afternoon. The baguettes were massive and delicious and their Shashouka (eggs baked with sauteed tomatoes, onions and garlic) hit the spot. The owner of the guesthouse, a very friendly and helpful man with 3 children and 16 adopted children, had gotten us bus tickets to Thakek and the “taxi” (a motorbike with an open side car that just barely fit our baggage) to the road where the bus would pick us up. However, the taxi malfunctioned and he ended up taking us in this fancy 4x4 pick up, which was very welcome since it was still raining.

We waited at the bus stop for around half an hour till a local bus pulled up and we started our first local bus ride in Laos. Similarly different pop music played, though thankfully only quietly and barely audible in the back. The bus stopped to load and drop off people along the way, once even loading a whole truck-full of produce onto the roof.

So here I am, writing in a nearly empty bus – considering we all have a double seat to ourselves and none of the extra plastic chairs have been set up in the aisle. My window is fogged up, so I can’t see much outside. Every now and then I kill a mosquito, every now and then the bus driver – who looks about 14 – honks his horn. It is still raining and, after wiping a clearing into my window, the rice paddies are overflowing. The landscape is going to look amazing once they start sprouting.

I still can’t get over how green this country is. Laos, being the least developed country on our route so far, has patches of such overwhelming beauty and untouched nature. Mountains are still covered in primary rainforest and even land used for agriculture is not completely cleared of trees and shrubbery. The green is so saturated and luscious and abundant. I love it. Also, people seem to have a bit more of a consciousness when it comes to trash and the roadsides are much cleaner than in Cambodia.

We stopped for lunch – and we knew it was lunchtime when all of a sudden there were dozens of people with fistfuls of barbecue sticks and plastic baggies with sticky rice filled the narrow aisle of the bus and waved their goodies under our noses. We had the choice between an entire small chicken, butterfly cut and speared onto the skewer or little bits of meat, which I’m pretty sure were the innards. And everything probably barbecued that morning and sitting in the sun ever since. Sticky rice for lunch then!

While Mo and the woman sitting in front of him went to the bathroom, they got their seats stolen by two fussy little old ladies, that shooed the bus attendant around with their umbrellas to make sure he put their bags where they wanted them. And the ride continued. People got off and on, we stopped randomly and switched drivers. We waited two hours in Savannakhet for our bus to continue moving. And at some point the drive seemed to never end. One more little town, and another, and another. By then it was dark outside and we were tired, tired of sitting, hungry and tired.

Thakek bus station finally appeared and we got off, not wanting to move or think, booked ourselves into a guesthouse at the bus station and only found out afterwards, that the bus to Khonglor Village – the base to see the caves and subterranean river – would leave from the market in town at 7am. Whatever. Sleep was getting scarce as it was, so we ate our first real meal since breakfast at 10pm and hurried to bed.

13.07.15

Travel Day – To Khonglor

The earliest wake up call in a long time. We zombied our way to the bus station, got fooled by a Tuk Tuk driver into taking the “4km” ride with him to the market (more like 1km) and then boarded the one and only bus to Khonglor. It was one of them jeepney-like contraptions and it took forver to even get out of town, because, as in many Asian countries, people do not come to the bus station at the time the bus leaves, they wait by the side of the road to be picked up every few meters – or stop to pick up snacks, go to the bathroom, etc.

I sat in a corner with my feet up on the two spare tires, squeezed next to a giant basket-bag of vegetables. It was fine for the first hour or two, but, as you can imagine, sitting on a not-so-well-padded bench, with a very slim not-so-well-padded iron cage to lean on, the top of the window just perfectly situated for me to bump my head on at every pothole and zero space to stretch your legs – it did get a bit uncomfortable after a while.

Final stretch - I think my facial expression says it all

But this view just made it all worth it!

It was like two opposite curves – the comfort level decreased, while the beauty of the landscape outside increased. From small roadside villages and rice fields, we made our way into the Khammouane Limestone NBCA (National Biodiversity Conservation Areas – a protection system set up in the 90s that cover around 12% of the country. But don’t be fooled, corruption and greed have brought logging and mining into these areas as well). All of a sudden we were driving on roads that serpentined their way up and down and through jungles, every once in a while opening up to stunning views of dark gray limestone formations – imagine King Kong island/Jurassic Park style. The size of the limestone ranged from boulders as tall as a three story apartment building up to mountainous ranges, mostly covered in dark green trees and growth.
It felt like we ended up back down in a valley for our final stretch – bordered left and right by the limestone ranges in the distance and brilliantly green rice paddies by the roadside. The color contrasts were amazing and the beauty of it was the only thing keeping my eyes open (that, and the fact that it is desperately difficult to find a comfortable sleeping position in these busses).

We finally arrived at around 12:30. A five and a half hour drive for around 180km. Not bad. But I guess it was to be expected when we took over 12h for 400km the day before. So all in all we traveled almost 18h to get to this tiny little village squished in between limestone to see some caves. I guess that’s what they mean, when they say this adventure is off the beaten track :)

Too bad we were too beat to do anything for the rest of the day. We could feel the bus rides in our back and the lack of decent sleep in our bodies. We deserved half a day of rest. Exploration would and could wait till tomorrow. The rain that came and cooled everything down a bit was natures way of agreeing.

14/15.07.15

Khonglor-ific!

A good night’s sleep and a slow morning helped us get over our travel exhaustion and the view out the windows, front and back, invited to just sit back, relax and enjoy the green and gray. Khonglor village is quiet enough that cicadas, birds and frogs dominate the airwaves. And the pace is slow, both in food and general movement.

So it was after lunch that we hitched our dry-bags over our shoulders and wandered down the one and only road, till we ended up at the river. As in many places, there was an entrance fee to walk through the gate leading to the river – only Ivan, our Fil-Aussie, wasn’t asked to pay. The explanation was simply “Guide.”. Despite his mumbling and admitting to not speaking Lao openly, he was waved on through. Was it his tan? His looks? Was the old guy in the ticket booth just being nice? We’ll never know, but definitely had a good laugh.

Being four people, we had to take two boats and paid 60.000Kip each (7,50USD). A sign that informed about our next adventure read “The caves were first exploited in the 16th century…” – cute typo with a sort of nostradamian disposition.

The boats were very skinny and long and had to be fitted with a motor before leaving. At the mouth of the cave, there were a few rapids, so we had to hike around and start from a few feet beyond. Into the darkness we sped, wearing bright orange life-vests that were steeped in a cocktail of sweat from around the world and donning a surprisingly strong and bright headlamp.

We were swallowed up by humidity and pitch blackness and my stomach gave the slightest of lurches while entering the 7,5km stretch of subterranean river. I was always a careful person, but never really afraid or anxious, but I must say, breathing away that strange feeling in your gut has been getting more frequent. Thankfully, my spiking senses calmed down as I was distracted by the caverns we entered. Huge domes opened up, one after the other, with gigantic boulders still lying around from where they had broken off of. We passed little pebble and sand beaches and even got off at one for a short walk through an illuminated cavern with a few stalactite and stalagmite formations. There was a cemented walkway and colorful lights, apparently installed in 2008.

Back into the darkness we ventured, our gaze following the small bright spots of our headlamps and the very large semi-bright circle they casted as well. The walls of the cave were mostly smooth and solid, with occasional little caves going off them. There were some tiny rapids along the way, but nothing our very skilled and very silent boatman couldn’t handle.
The sound of falling water was constant and when searching for the origin with your beam, we found holes and cracks in the ceiling of the cavern from with it poured. Sometimes a mere trickle, sometimes a proper shower-made-for-giants. It was as if one day, the Lao God that lived in that cave angrily chased an intruder out, giving off warning shots with his Lao-God-shotgun, leaving him with a permanently leaky roof. I liked this made-it-up-while-staring-at-the-ceiling-of-a-cave fairy tale more than the image of us riding through the sewage system of the mountain above us and trying our best to avoid elf, dwarf and gnome pee. Either way, the sight was pretty cool! Droplets falling up to 20m and the fine spray sometimes thick enough to obstruct your view.

The daylight was welcoming on the other side, as was the warm air – it was cold in there! And the view opening us to as was truly like something from a fairy tale, or the Jungle Book, or Jurassic Park. Mountains veiled in fog and mist, trees shimmering in all shades of green, the murky brown river – it felt like we were explorers on an expedition in the deepest of anywhere. We explored for a total of 5mins before getting off at a stopping point to have a drink, exchange awe with our fellow travelers and do the whole thing over again back to where we started.

Walking home slowly, taking even more pictures of green rice paddies and limestone mountains, dogs, ducks and locals, we all agreed – the 1,5 day journey was totally worth it! This place was a gem and a perfect example of why the road less traveled is so much more rewarding!

Ivan chasing his favorite subject

…And because we liked it so much, we ended up staying another night with the plan to go trekking the next day. But as things sometimes go this plan was exchanged for a lazy day, due to consistent rain all morning and all afternoon. It did clear up, but by then, a 4h trek was no longer possible. Instead, we enjoyed the comfortable rooms of our guesthouse and the view from our balcony – I just couldn’t get enough of it. From morning till afternoon, we watched the neighboring family harvest and plough their little rice field, working hard and not minding the rain. Even their little girl joined in, pulling out the plants and neatly putting them together into bundles.
I enjoyed my first yoga session in a while and remained blissfully zen till evening.

View from our balcony

Southern and Central Laos are often skipped or ploughed through on typical backpacker routes, many not spending more than a few days on the 4000 Islands and then zipping up to the North. But I am so glad we used half our visa on this side of the country. It was so refreshing to feel a bit of distance to the sometimes overwhelming amount of travelers and tourists that we encountered along the way. To experience places in a less developed stage, bound to be more spoiled in the coming years. To feel the journey, instead of just making it.