Vietnam - first impressions

Touts, like flies to shit, attack us even before the bus grinds to a halt, climbing on the wheels to attract attention. They are frantic and intense, touching my arm and jostling competition away. As usual, we refuse all assistance, and wait for the melee to recede. After more than an hour of traipsing the main road, fending touts off and looking at rooms, we arrive at a guesthouse/restaurant. The distracted hostess, sweat beading on her forehead, appears from behind a bamboo screen, and after looking us up and down, approaches our table with dog eared menus. She wipes the table resentfully with a grubby, damp cloth, and stands looking blankly our the window at the busy street awaiting out order.

Do you have any rooms? I ask. Her eyes flash as she considers the proposal. Thinking about money I assume.
Yes, she coos. Would you like to see?
Please, I respond. But first we’ll order food. I’ll take the vegetable fried noodles and a beer. Steph orders fried rice.

The lady yells our order towards the kitchen and beckons us to follow down a dank, poorly lit passageway. She stops and pushes back a creaky door. Two fans already set at maximum stir the humid air, as our host explains the various features of the room. A three quarter wall separates the bathroom from the simple bedroom, where 2 beds are crammed into the corners, sheets stretched across weary, sagging mattresses. I poke my head around the divide, assessing the bathroom. It’s a standard Asian issue – toilet in the corner, complete with waste bin for toilet paper. Toilet paper causes Asian sewerage systems to block. Wall mounted hose with shower nozzle attachment and a basin with mirror and side board. The hand basin is not plumbed in so water drops directly to the floor and flows to the shower drain. It’s relatively clean at first glance, and although a closer inspection would yield all manner of filth, I’ve seen worse.

How much? I ask, hoping the direct approach will reduce the asking price.
Eighty thousand, without air-con, she replies in perfect English, holding my gaze. Check out is at 12.
And air-con?
Forty thousand extra. A small grin comes across her face, but she stifles it, replacing it with a cold, unemotional business expression.
We’ll take it, I say. No air-con.
Fine, she says, passing me the key. Don’t forget your food, she adds and closes the door.

I remove my sweaty clothes and jump under the shower nozzle wearing only thongs. It’s lukewarm on the cold setting, a legacy of summer afternoon heat, but refreshing nonetheless. I pull on some fresh clothes and join Steph in the restaurant. The beer is colder than the shower (a good sign), and the food is hot and tasty. Adding a generous squirt of chilli sauce, I scoff it down. So begins our auspicious month in the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.

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.

Exitlude

And so it ends...

The Middle East has enchanted me with its beautiful, friendly and welcoming people, the warmth of which I have rarely encountered amongst strangers. There are memories, rich and strange, which I'll carry with me until my twilight years, memories that will bring a smile to an old man's face on his death bed. Amazing times spent with the very best of people, pushed to within a feather of the edge - so free and so alive.

There are so many cool things to recall - the highlights... where do I begin? For sheer natural beauty, I can't go past the underwater scenery and marine life of the Red Sea. The deserts of both Jordan and Syria wowed me myriads of stars and their deafening silence. Truly breathtaking. Resisting the comfort of luxury air-conditioned tourist coaches in favour of the local bus gave me a unique perspective into life on the ground, removed from the facade generally presented to tourists. Meeting friendly roadside food stall owners and seeing their countenances light up when you return to eat at their stall. Seeing first-hand the passionate expression that is Islam without the biased filter of East vs. West, down on street level where religious practice is part of the social fabric. Funnily enough, on Fridays after a day of prayer and religious instruction, locals are blissed out and subdued, the vicious bartering and touting of the rest of the week forgotten, if only for an afternoon. It's like the feeling you get in western countries around Christmas time, only here the 'Christmas spirit' happens every week!

But if I had to pick one highlight, it would be the people of the region. Before I travelled here, I'd heard about the hospitality of the Middle East, but nothing prepares you for the genuine warmth you receive every day on the street. A special mention goes out to Syria, where I received the heartiest of welcomes. Recently, the intransigent US renewed sanctions against Syria - apparently not enough concessions have been made against terrorism. But while the "big boys" discuss regional and global geopolitics, everyday activities go on as they always have, ignoring the international political chess game. That's not to say this doesn't affect people - business and tourism is adversely affected by US sanctions. However, the rich, welcoming and overwhelmingly genuine greeting that I've received suggests that it doesn't really matter to the little guy - he's going to greet you as a fellow human being no matter what happens. It's a truly humbling experience to be accepted with such unpretentious love.

The low lights... well, after the highlights, these are going to sound petty. In Egypt in particular, there's a constant on guard feeling - to relax is to be scammed. I'm sure I look like a walking wallet to some of them, and when life is tough, it must be hard to swallow that others - white skinned affluent tourists - have substantially more means than you. In that light, I can understand why scammers try, but it makes you feel harrowed when every transaction easily descends into an argument over price, and a simple walk means opening yourself to the insistent attention of a thousand touts and hawkers.

There's other things too, a little more personal. Like meeting an Iranian family on a boat in Turkey, a couple of proud parents touring with their two sons and a daughter. The daughter is outspoken - a Masters student in International Law, she dreams of working for the UN and quizzes us on our perceptions of Iran and terrorism. I can see that she feels the international slight against her country personally. I reach to shake her hand as we leave the boat and she refuses point blank, as shaking a man's hand risks bringing disrepute to her and her family. An honest mistake, a definite social faux pas that I came to regret deeply.

As I look back over the past 3 months, I'm left with an powerful feeling of fulfillment and happiness. Sure, there were tough times, but the good times easily outweigh the bad. I've come away with thousand smiles and memories that will last a lifetime. If you ever get the chance to visit this amazing part of our planet, grab the opportunity with outstretched arms. You won't regret it.

Alex and Cairo

After the heat of Luxor, its nice to get to the ocean again - and although we are in Africa, the Mediterranean Sea coast of Egypt reminds me of Greece and Turkey. The vibe in Alexandria is relaxed and easy going, and we spend a few days strolling along the sea and relaxing. It's coming to the end of our Middle East stint, and with only 5 days before we fly out, we pack up and head for the big smoke - Cairo.

The population of Cairo tips the scales at around 25 million - a super city in anyone's estimation. There's so much to see and do here, and rumour has it that Egyptian Immigration officials won't let you leave until you've visited the pyramids - so along with the famous Egyptian museum, the Giza Pyramids are on the top of our list.

The Pyramids are in the outer suburbs of Cairo - I'll never forget the first view of them across the urban sprawl. Of course, we climb inside the Great Pyramid and sit inside the burial chamber for around 20 minutes - its eerie to think that a Pharoah was buried in this room with his loot - wives, gold, jewels, food and animals - over 4,500 years ago. The scale of the entire site is overwhelming and due to the distances between pyramids (there are 9 in the area), we decide to hire a camel. After some fairly fierce bartering, we 'agree' and mount the trusty beast for a unique perspective of the Giza site. Honestly, riding a camel is really uncomfortable and a little overrated. Had to do it once though!

There's also some other less well known sites we want to visit, things that you can only see in Cairo. In particular, the Birqash Camel Market - where camels walked up from central Africa are bought and sold - turns your understanding of normality on its head (a.k.a. head-f**k). It's loud, hot and there's thousands of camels moaning and attempting to run about. Camel traders find it necessary to beat the camels relentlessly - everywhere a camel turns, a trader with a stick stands with evil in his eye. An assault on the senses does not even begin to approximate the experience, and after only 30 minutes, I've had enough. Even as I write this, I'm not sure I have recovered fully - I know it's reality, but the cruelty is extreme and senseless. I'd recommend it only if you have a strong stomach...

Camels waiting to be purchased

A trader takes a break from beating camels

An unhealthy camel voices complaint