Down south in Laos

If I have only one tip for Laos, it's south, south, south. With tails firmly between legs, we head south to the capital. Vientiane is relatively small, as far as cities go, but it oozes quiet charm and sophistication. Beautiful tree lined streets ramble along past aged French colonial buildings, great coffee shops, an amazing rendition of the Parasian Arc de Triomphe, and Lao people going about their daily business (gasp!). It's only a stopover, but what a nice stopover!

Soon we're heading south to Four Thousand Islands, a group of islands bordering Cambodia on the Mekong. It's a serious trek - around 18 hours total travel via bus and boat, but so worth it. The further we head south, the more Laos relaxes, and I'm not sure if this is even the same country. Still, I'm pleased with the metamorphasis. As we approach Don Khon, bungalows complete with hammocks adorn the banks while palmtree sway lazily in the breeze. A delicious, decadent feeling of relaxation tumbles over me as we stroll up the road looking for a bungalow. The Lao charm I remember is still strong here - people are happy to stop and chat, and there's a friendly openness I find pleasantly disarming.

The preferred mode of transport on the island is bicycle, and apart some waterfalls, a few fish traps and French era rail infrastructure, the predominant scenery is natural - rice paddies are the mainstay of the island. As I amble around the island on my bicycle, the vibe of life here begins to soak in. Afternoons are spent melting into a hammock, awaking at dusk to the magnificant pastels of another Mekong sunset. Just like waking up in a dream!

After four days on the Mekong, the dream is over, and we hit the road again, heading north to Suvannakhet for a bus to Vietnam. I've enjoyed my time in Laos, apart from some close contact with unchecked tourism, and in hindsight, I've come to a few realisations. Rampant tourism repulses me. Although I see myself as a concious traveller looking for a unique experience, I contribute to the degredation of local customs by my presence; a contradiction that sits poorly with me. Choices I make right now create the Laos of tomorrow, and I know my choices don't always reflect my values - when the internet is slow or the air-conditioner doesn't work, I'm liable to drop the ball. I recognise the inherent hypocrisy and I'm committed to becoming a more concious traveller.

If you're thinking about travelling in Laos, do it. Prepare to be enchanted by genuine smiles and friendly people, relatively poor economically but rich in happiness. Rich dividends are paid to intrepid travellers, with the path less travelled yielding particularly rich rewards. So with that, I bid farewell to BeerLao and prepare for whole new country - Good Morning Vietnam!

The touristed north

There's something about a town or city which does not rely on tourism to survive. It has energy, purpose and direction, and it doesn't start the moment you get there and stop the moment you depart. Life goes on... However, when tourism is the exclusive occupation of a town, people become jaded, local customs are lost and prices rise exponentially. Welcome to the touristed north.

Heading south from Luang Nam Tha, I couldn't be more suprised. Where a sleepy enchanting mountain town used to be 4 years ago, a bustling commercial heartbeat pulses. We're in Luang Prabang, where guesthouses have popped up everywhere, roads have been paved and the main market now stretches for the best part of a kilometre, a sea of red and blue canvas awnings. Since the tsunami in 2005, Luang Prabang has become the preferred destination of a generation of well heeled tourists, looking for newer and safer roads to travel. As a result, prices have risen dramatically and Lao business owners push for as much as they can get. I hate to see commercial greed harden a once friendly, good natured area, like innocence lost. I’m getting a distinctive dollar sign assessment with many businesses I encounter – a stark contrast to the sleepy roads and back tracks of Luang Nam Tha.

So we head further south to Vang Vieng - take a slice out of Bangkok’s Khao San Road and you’ve got some idea of how this place is. I just can’t understand how it got transplanted into this paradise. There’s internet cafes and western style eateries everywhere, and a particularly insidious Vang Vieng institution – the TV bar. Episodes of horrid American sitcoms play on loop from early morning until late at night, enthralling viewers for hours on end. Then there’s tubing, the other Vang Vieng institution. An inflated inner tube is supplied at an inflated price and participants are taxied up river to float down. On arrival, we encounter bars, loud music drunken tubers and huge swings. A lethal combination of booze and water sports.

There are massive limestone karst formations which overlook the town, but I’m not sure if they are noticed, let alone appreciated. Our guidebook suggests that Vang Vieng is a sullied paradise – an assertion I heartily endorse. Surprisingly, it’s difficult to get traditional Lao fare and apart from the Lao people serving you food between episodes of Friends, you could be anywhere. What happened - is this really Laos?

Lovin' it in Laos

The Mekong, a huge angry brown mass sits at our feet as we survey Thailand from Huay Xai in Laos. While getting our Laos visa, we met an America guy, Tyler, who tells us about a tiny mountain village, Luang Nam Tha, near the Chinese border in remote northern Laos. Tyler is looking for company to get a boat to Luang Nam Tha for some trekking - it's an out of the way, 'frontier' expedition and I'm immediately interested. We discuss the trip over a beer, and agree to team up.

To get to Luang Nam Tha, we have to travel up the Nam Tha River. It's a much smaller river than the Mekong, flowing through heavily wooded jungles where humble traditional villages huddle along the banks, and roads are yet to reach. Boats don't run regularly, so Tyler and I set out along the banks to charter a boat for the journey. Our search for a boat to charter lands us at the only boat crew able to make the trip in Huay Xai. Even though the Nam Tha river is small, it is treacherous and littered with rapids, so the boat must be small and the boatmen skilled. I try out some of my Lao language skills, which are really limited - after about 30 seconds I'm done. We agree a price in broken a Lao English hybrid, and with the business out of the way, we're all good to go.

Calling it a boat is an overstatement - it's little more than a motorised canoe. Along with our luggage, it's packed with supplies for villages along the way. This is no tourist cruiser - unlike the the Mekong tourist slow boats, we have hard wood seats and no covers. When the sun shines, we bake and when the rain falls, we get wet. I wouldn't say I'm adverse to comfort, but I relish the opportunity to experience the real deal and travel as the locals do - not something polished or softened for my tender white tourist ass.

At the first set of rapids, I feel my teeth clench and I grip the side of the boat - if the crew are not skilful, we're going for a swim up a different creek without a paddle. The captain coolly pilots his craft directly up the rapid with confidence and poise - he looks like he could do it in his sleep and it's clear we're in safe hands. I breathe a sigh of relief, and sit back to enjoy the scenery. As we pass small villages, the captain hollers goods we have for sale, and stops to inspect any merchandise the villages have to offer. As we pass one village, an old woman yells for us to stop and runs straight into the water near our boat. She emerges proudly with a foot-long catfish. The whole village crowds around the shore to participate in the negotiations. A deal is struck, money and catfish change hands, and we pull anchor and head upstream.


After about 8 hours on the boat, getting wet and baking in the sun, we arrive at our stop for the night - the boatman's village. There's plenty of supplies to unload, and our hosts are happy when we all muck in to get the job done. With the shopping taken care of, we make our way up the steep bank to our lodging for the night. Word has gone out that foreigners are in town, and we get a visit from most of the village - all smiling and saying hello. ­Lao's are notorious for retiring early and rising early, and by 9pm, we are fed and promptly tucked in. The next morning, having said goodbye to our gracious hosts, we are on the river and cruising by eight.

The scenery along this part of the river is spectacular – huge limestone karst formations jut out arrogantly from river level, towering above to make me feel insignificant. Massive trees with sprawling buttress roots stretch their fingers to the sky, straining under the draping weight of ferocious, parasitic creepers. The rapids so common yesterday are beginning to thin out, replaced by long stretches of flat water. Steep jungle slopes are replaced by cleared farmland, and houses on the banks appear increasingly modern, sporting tiled roofs and solar water heating units. The concrete bridge spanning the river signals our arrival to Luang Nam Tha - before long we are walking up a road thumbing a ride to the centre of town.

As I look back on our boat trip, I realise it’s one of the most remote places I have traveled to. There’s something special about being so far away from ‘civilisation’ –the necessities we surround ourselves with don’t seem so important and the humble villagers I met were happy and contented. People in subsistence village life are more likely to die from malnutrition and not having enough, whereas, in western societies, having too much perpetuates diseases of excess - obesity and diabetes to name a few. Governments spend huge sums to encourage citizens to exercise, and people spend lots of time and money to have the healthy, fit bodies that these villagers take for granted.

Sure, I can indulge in romantic notions of village life as an observer on a 2 day boat ride, and then scamper back to my air conditioned hotel room with wifi. But from my perspective, it's impossible to compare a village in Laos with western culture without recognising the paradox in calling the western world developed. Civilisation, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.

Back to the backyard

After nearly 2 years in new and strange countries, gathering passport stamps and visas by the dozen, it's really nice to be back in Thailand. In stark contrast to Egypt, Thailand is green and humid, and Bangkok is cosmopolitan and relaxed. Five days in the capital pass like a blur. Khao San Road is the same as it always is - loud, manic, overwhelming, but strangely comforting. The first walk down the strip always elicits a broad grin: everyone's here to have a good time right now.

After visas and supplies are procured, spring roll fetishes are somewhat satiated, and we're kind of used to the humidity, we head north towards Laos. I know I shouldn't be surprised, but one thing that's immediately apparent is the proliferation of tourism in the Thai capital since my last visit, and I'm looking forward to lurking around in the quiet backwaters of northern Laos and soaking up some "traditional" life. Breaking our northbound trip in Chiang Rai, we settle into a monsoon timetable - steamy mornings, thundery afternoons and sweltering nights. And the weather is pretty hot too.... Chaing Rai is quieter and less intense than its bigger sister, Chaing Mai, and I feel its a good precursor to Laos. Life is slowing up a little - we don't have specific plan each day and the atmosphere is more amenable to reading and relaxing. But not too much!

We grab a local bus to the norther Thai border town of Chaing Khong, a slow, stop-start-stop jaunt and head directly to Thai immigration. A few stamps and a boat ride later, we are standing a Mekong's width and a world away from Thailand - the sleepy little Laos village of Huay Xai. I travelled through this neck of the woods 4 years ago, and I'm keen to sniff out the old haunts, see what's changed and what's the same, and scope out some new parts of the country.