Laos: The SE Asia ‘Can’t Leave Your Self Behind’ Guide

From A to B – Getting Around

We were in a bus crash in Laos, which rather put us off travelling in buses.  But there’s not much choice in Laos.  There are no trains as far as I’m aware.  The simple truth of the matter is that sometimes you get unlucky, and often there’s very little or nothing you can do to reduce risks.

Please don’t let this put you off.  Laos is an incredible place.  Buses crash everywhere.

Virtually all guesthouses will help you book transport.

Scooters are more expensive to rent in Laos than in Thailand, Vietnam or Cambodia, but still make for a good way to get around towns such as Luang Prabang.  As do bicycles, which are much cheaper.

We flew from Luang Prabang to Hanoi in Vietnam to avoid the 24 hour bus ride.  We bought our tickets from a travel agent a few days before travel and they cost us $150 USD each, including a tuk tuk transfer from our guesthouse to the airport.  Surprisingly, it was cheaper to book the ticket via a travel agent than online.   

Where the Magic Probably Won’t Happen - Sleeping

Big white new hotel next to waterfront restaurant, Huay Xai: there are plenty of guesthouses in Huay Xai and they are marginally more expensive than in the rest of Laos.  We stumbled over this place which was new and although slightly more expensive than the other guesthouses was well worth it.  Sadly, I can't remember the name, nor can I find it on the internet.  You can find it by turning right at the top of the hill from the border post, and walking 100 metres, it's on your right.  Comfortable beds, nicely decorated rooms with wooden floorboards, a big bathroom with hot shower, and powerful air conditioning.

Zuela Guesthouse, Luang Nam Tha: Nicely designed wooden building, very near the night market.  Cheap and comfortable rooms.  We had a fan room, rather than AC, and sweated our way through the night.

Nmm nmm nmm – Eating and Drinking

Generally the food in Laos was less impressive than the rest of SE Asia, with the notable exception of bread products.  The colonial French influence is remembered in baguettes that do not suffer from the over-sweet preparation method common to the rest of SE Asia, particularly Thailand.

Le Banneton Cafe, Luang Prabang: A charming colonial-style café serving good salads, great coffee, and even better lemon tarts.

Swedish Bakery, Luang Prabang: I particularly liked place for its excellent sandwiches and pizzas, and its friendly staff.  I also have a great fondness for Sweden and the Swedes generally, and it was a nostalgic surprise to see Snus in the refrigerator, nestled besides cans of Coke and bottled water.

Fruit shakes, Night Market, Luang Prabang: Small stalls selling good-value fruit shakes abound in SE Asia, so this recommendation could apply to the whole region.  Lemon and mint was our favourite.

Beer Lao is, for my money, the best beer in the region.  Cheap and cold it often works out better value to drink beer than soda which is surely the key indicator of a civilised society.    

Night market, Luang Nam Tha: a small night market focused predominantly on food.  Great for carnivores, and you can buy barbecued meat by the pound, or by the bird.  We also had some excellent banana bread.

Writing about the night market reminds me of the incredibly obnoxious traveller we experienced there, a cliché that would make baby boomers choke on their scotch (which they were drinking in the drawing room of their mortgage free houses – thanks very much you lot!).  So cartoon-ish was he in his pronouncements and lack of self-awareness that I was certain we were being filmed by some art students for their project ‘Wanker around the World’.  He was a Brit, decked out with the mandatory linen trousers, bandanna and wooden beads, and was travelling alone. Inviting himself to sit at a table with two other couples he proceeded to talk at them, nonstop, for half an hour.  Helen and I looked at each other from across our food-splattered table, fatty fingers raised halfway to our lips, and simultaneously raised our eyebrows.  Is it me, I said, or is that guy the most gigantic arsehole you’ve ever heard?  He really is, she replied. And remember – she’s the nice one.  Here’s a sample of some of his pronouncements to the dumbstruck and overly polite group he’d just interrupted: Yeh, I’ve just been chillin’ with the hill tribes man, I just rock up and sometimes they want money but sometimes they share some smoke with me, and it’s just awesome (LOAD), You guys should get off the trail, start travelling for real (LOCK), so this guy says to me you’re in a drug farm, you better get out of here before they come for you, it was like The Beach dude (FIRE!).  So obnoxious was he that his presence came up, without prompting, in a conversation we were having with a great couple – Jos and Maria – 200 miles down the round in Luang Prabang.  These poor souls had the misfortune to have a room above his and they recounted how he would sit outside his room and just invite passers-by to sit with him, and then talk at them until they managed to escape.  The fire with which the normally gentle Jos told this story suggested that maybe there’s a shallow grave with a bandanna sticking out of the earth in Luang Nam Tha.

Other stuff

The Gibbon Experience is awesome.

I dedicated most of a previous posting to it, so shall only include the logistical information here.  It’s expensive at $270 USD per person for a 3 day, 2 night, trip.  Worth it though. 

A three hour ride up the road from Huay Xai takes you to the jungle entrance before a very short trek to waiting 4x4s ferry you further into the jungle, weather permitting.  Then you hike for about an hour, picking up harnesses along the way. 

There are several tree-houses scattered around the jungle, not that close to each other.  Most tree-houses sleep between 6 and 8.  We had one to ourselves and although this ‘honeymoon’ treatment was nice we also regretted not having the chance to socialise with the others in the group, for this is a sociable experience.  You get to see most of the other tree-houses as you trek and zip through the jungle.  The trekking requires a moderate level of fitness, but the guides are accommodating to this.  Needless to say, you need to have a stomach for heights, or at least the conviction to overcome any vertigo.  There are leeches in the jungle, but nothing that a pair of socks worn over your trousers won’t fix.

The tree-houses have mattresses on the floor for sleeping, blankets, and a black out mosquito net.  There is a rainwater shower.  The jungle chorus can be loud so a pair of earplugs may be helpful, as will bug dope. 

Food (breakfast, lunch and dinner) is zipped in by the guides to your tree-house.  It wouldn’t win any Michelin stars but considering the location it’s pretty good.  We had plenty of food but the tree-houses with more guests commented that they felt short-changed by the amount of food they received.   Take a water bottle in – the rainwater from the taps is fine to drink, and dehydration is a serious risk in the humidity.  There is also a cool-box in each tree-house that holds snacks and a bottle of Lao wine.  Never realised Laos produced wine? There’s a reason for this.

View from a zip line to one of the tree houses

Kouang Si Waterfalls, near Luang Prabang

These waterfalls were a very pleasant surprise.  Beautiful blue water to swim in and rope-swings to get the adrenaline pumping.

We hired a scooter to get there and back ($25 USD per day), but it is more common to share a tuk-tuk.  It is also possible to bicycle there if you’re feeling fit.  We regretted not doing this, and there’ll always be a tuk tuk driver willing to take you and your bike home should the return trip be too daunting.

There’s also a bear sanctuary there which is an interesting diversion. Go early in the day to avoid the crowds.

Kayaking, Luang Nam Tha

We had a great day paddling down the river, notwithstanding the near constant arguments about who was steering in our two person kayak.  It’s easy going, and there’s plenty of opportunity to enjoy the scenery. It cost us about $30 USD per person for a one day trip.

Included in the trip is stop offs in minority villages.  This is also common in the hiking options.  I find these stop-offs excruciatingly uncomfortable; and they make me feel like a transient and nosy voyeur, not least because I’m the umpteenth tourist to have stumbled into a community and poked my camera into someone’s home.  I know some people love this type of thing, and I’m not making a value judgement; it’s just not my cup of tea.

Activities organised out of Luang Nam Tha are priced based on the number of participants, normally to a maximum group size of 8.  The more people, the cheaper the per person price.  Noticeboards outside the tour offices tell you which activities have people already signed up. 

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Introduction: The SE Asia ‘Can’t Leave Your Self Behind’ Guide

Contents: Overview, overall route, budgeting and money, visas and border crossings

Besides, my usefulness here is destroyed because all of my friends think me a man of unsound mind.  Alex Campbell (Canadian politician)

This is that most rare of things for this blog; a useful post, or rather a set of useful posts.  To be treasured like the first pubic hair you sprouted, sealed in a see-through baggie, bought out for special occasions, and eventually sealed in a locket and presented as a gift after a successful date.  No? Just me? Surely not.

A couple of friends have asked me for hints and tips on South East Asia recently.  You know, useful stuff like where to stay, how to get there, what can’t, and what must, be missed.  It would seem that the random brain-farts on naughty train behaviour, the maddening word awesome, the ethics of phone hacking, and discourses on the characters we’ve met don’t fulfil this brief of usefulness.  My tracking stats also tell me that a large number of readers are coming from the Lonely Planet website and I suspect these readers are keen and eager for useful and tangible advice.  Useful and tangible advice from the ‘Because You Can’t Leave Your Self Behind’ blog? Whatever next?

It is, however, important to note that the suggestions and advice below are based on our limited experiences, and is far from comprehensive and even further from objective.  We didn’t go to South East (SE) Asia with a view to researching then publishing a guide book, nor have we left with that intention, although approaches from publishers bearing generous advances are most welcome.  In short, don’t blame me if you follow this advice and end up with an incense stick embedded in your forehead, or worse still, come home sporting hair braids or a tattoo that wouldn’t pass muster in a prison.  I speak from experience on one of these outcomes.  On the other hand, if you do find any of the advice useful then please send gifts, blank cheques and/or perfume scented love letters to me.  Or just leave a comment below addressed c/o Ian’s Self Esteem.

Each country has its own post and includes information on getting around, accommodation, eating, and ‘other stuff’ which will most likely descend into cheap gags and (no promises) funny stories.  I’ve tried to separate these stories out so that those looking for facts can find them quickly.   

This introductory post largely steers clear of country-specific information and instead seeks to contextualise the trip with the overall route and a section on budgeting, and offers advice on visas and border crossings which, by their very nature, cut across countries. 

Well, what are you waiting for? A locket or something?

The overall route

Duration: 10 weeks.  Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia; clockwise.

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• Flew into Bangkok, Thailand
• Sleeper train to Krabi
• West coast island of Ko Lanta
• Ko Phi Phi
• Ferry, Bus, Train combo back to Bangkok
• Sleeper train north to Chiang Mai
• Minibus and short boat ride across border to Huay Xai, Laos
• Gibbon Experience
• Bus to Luang Nam Tha
• Minibus to Luang Prabang
• Flight to Hanoi, Vietnam
• Bus, Ferry combo to Cat Ba Island near Halong Bay
• Bus, Ferry, Sleeper Bus to Hue
• Motorcycle across Hoi An Pass to Hoi An
• Flight from Danang to Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon)
• Organised tour into Mekong Delta
• Bus then ferry south-west to Phu Quoc Island
• Ferry, Bus to Cambodian Border, on to Kep
• Bus to Siem Reap
• Taxi to Thai Border
• Taxi (again!) to Bangkok
• Fly out

Money matters: Budgeting, accessing it, and keeping it safe  

Budgeting

Budgets are personal things, and I suspect you could travel for far less than we did.  Equally, you could spend FAR more. You will, I think, only be paying attention to this information if you yourself are budgeting for a similar trip, and with this in mind it’s useful to have some context about us. 

We probably fit into the category of ‘flashpacker’, much as I loathe that term.  This means we were careful with money, but not obsessively so.  We stayed in either budget or good value midrange guesthouses, tending to opt for air conditioning.  Where possible we chose comfort over price with transport, although one does not necessarily guarantee the other.  We very rarely ate in high-end restaurants, but did eat often.  We boozed it up occasionally, but still remember most of the trip. We bought nice but relatively inexpensive gifts (my wife) and a fair amount of cheap but fun tat (me).  When we negotiated we did so with a view to both us and them winning, but were happy if they won more often than us.

With this context in mind our budget was £80 GBP per day for us both (a grand total of approx. £5,600).  Not including flights in and out of Bangkok or travel insurance.  It does however include other flights mentioned above, plus everything else.  We came in approximately £400 under this budget at the end of the trip.  


This information is not designed to form a budget recommendation, merely guidance.  I’m being cagey on this because I read a car crash of a discussion thread on the Lonely Planet Thorn Tree forum about budgeting for SE Asia which made me acutely aware that (a) budgets are sensitive topics and (b) the internet is full of some real arseholes.

Special offer to prove how fond I am of you lot: If you want an excel spreadsheet with formulas included for budgeting and then tracking daily spends against budget then leave a comment below with your email address and I’ll shoot it over.  If you already know me then you can email me directly or facebook me rather than leave a comment.  It’s free.  Obviously.

Accessing it and keeping it safe

From a logistical point of view Visa debit cards are widely accepted in ATMs – tell your bank where you’re going to avoid getting it declined when you arrive.  Visa and Mastercard credit cards are accepted in a few places, almost always with a 2.5 – 3% surcharge.  AMEX is next to useless. Cash is still king, and the US dollar is still the de rigeur international currency.  Having a $100 bill stashed away is a good emergency plan. 

From a security point of view here’s some pointers from our experience:

• A money belt, one which loops around your waist and buckles (i.e. a normal belt), with a small hidden zip on the inside is great for carrying small wads of notes and a photocopy of your passport.
• This is opposed to the pouches that are designed to be worn on your belly, under clothing, also known as money belts.  These, in my opinion, are daft as they often bulge out from under clothing and are like a flashing beacon to nefarious types.  Ones that have a steel band embedded in the strap to deter a slash and grab job are even dafter – if your assailant has a knife do you really want him thwarted? Better to lose your stuff than your life.
• For extreme security (and we only did this a couple of times in Africa) tubigrip bandages worn on your thigh, under shorts or trousers, are a good method for storing wads of cash, provided it is wrapped in plastic first.
• Something brilliant that Helen thought of was to get security pockets sewn into the inside of our shorts/skirts.  These passport shaped cloth pouches have a zip and sit next to the groin. Not easy to access during the day, but that’s the point.  We had a tailor sew these in when we were in Johanessburg.
• I have a fondness for zips.  A zipped pocket will thwart all but the most skilful of pickpockets.  Similarly, shirts that have buttoned breast pockets are great for storing easy-to-access (for you) cash.

Visas and border crossings

For a more comprehensive set of recommendations I suggest you use the Travelfish website which is an exceptional travel resource for SE Asia.  They have also started publishing nicely designed and useful IPhone apps.

Information below is correct at time of writing, and the visa information specifically applies to UK passport holders.

Visas

Thailand: arrivals by air are granted a free 30 day visa.  Land arrivals get a free 15 day visa.  No passport photo required in either instance.  Visa extensions can be organised in most towns, and a new visa is granted if you leave and then re-enter Thailand.

Laos: Laos visa cost $20 USD, passport photo required. You’ll inevitably pay some random (read corrupt) processing or overtime fee of a dollar or two each at land crossings.  Much as it pains me to say this given my fairly trenchant stand on the issue of corruption it’s probably easier to just pay and fume later.

Vietnam: As a general rule it is necessary to get a Vietnam visa before arrival.  If arriving by air then visa on arrival may be possible if you have applied for an e-visa in advance.  All land crossings require a visa in advance.  Visas are for 30 days, and applications require a passport photo. Cost varies between $40-60 USD depending on speed of processing required.

If doing a SE Asia tour it’s probably easier to get a Vietnamese visa from a neighbouring country such as Laos or Cambodia, or at the Vietnamese embassy in Bangkok.  Most large towns will provide visa services either at a local consulate or via a travel agent (who will charge you a small fee, send off your passport, and return it a few days later).  Vietnam requires you to provide a date for when you wish your visa to start.  That’s why it’s easier to get one closer to the time – you’re more likely to be sure of when exactly you’ll cross the border.
 

We got one in Luang Prabang, Laos.  It was simple.  I wrote about it on a forum on the Lonely Planet Thorn Tree, here (see post # 10).

Cambodia:  available on arrival, $20 USD, 30 days validity, passport photo required (see below).  Again, you’ll pay some random bribes if crossing by land.  Scammers are particularly bad at these crossings.  We got a little scammed, and were a little stupid…

We arranged for a combined bus, ferry, bus and border crossing ticket to get from Phu Quoc Island in Vietnam to the Cambodian border then through to Kep on the south coast.  They also offered a $25 visa service.  We had run out of passport photos and asked the office if they could advise us on where to get some.  They told us not to bother, that the additional $5 we’d paid (on top of the $20 visa fee) would cover that.  So we rocked up to the Cambodian border, the fat border guard pulling on his official shirt over his vest as we drew up.  The bus driver handed over our passports, we filled in the forms, and then he asked us for our passport photos.  Ah, we said, they said it wouldn’t be necessary, turning around to point out the driver.  Who had promptly disappeared.  You’ll have to pay $2 each for a photo he said.  OK, I said, my mistake, realising I was about to be scammed.  Where should I stand for the photo, I politely asked. No camera, he replied. And this is where I should have shut my mouth, handed over the inconsequential amount, and moved on.  But I was hot and grumpy, and just thoroughly pissed off with being viewed as a walking cash machine.  So if there’s no camera how can I pay for a photo, I asked.  You pay fine, he replied, turning my passport over in his hands to clearly show just where the balance of power lay.  Oh, it’s a fine, I said, then that’s OK, but can I have a receipt please?  This was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Exploding with rage he told me that I, just like my government (?!), was disrespecting him and his country, that I had insulted him by suggesting that the money he was about to take would somehow change his life, you think I can buy a car, a house, with this money, he shouted.  Glancing at my passport in his sweaty hands I concluded that perhaps now was the time to back up.  I didn’t mean any disrespect to you or your country, and the relationship between my government and yours is one of friendship, I calmly bullshitted. There has clearly been a misunderstanding, for which I apologise, so please take this money so we can be on our way, I continued, thrusting some notes at him, impatience and supplication mixing in my tone.  I think at this point both of us were secretly wishing that these disputes could be settled in a more medieval way, man vs man. I don’t want your money, he said, now taking the moral high ground.  OK, apologies again for the misunderstanding, thank you, I said claiming back our passports.  His unspoken thoughts: get out of here you jumped up smartass.  My unspoken thoughts: don’t take the moral high ground with me fatty, you corrupt sack of shit. A grunt from him, and a mumbled but cheerful fuck-you very much from me, and we were on our way.

Border crossings

The lesser-spotted blagger

Borders are the natural habitat for blaggers; get your head down, plough on, ignore them.  Visas for Thailand, Laos and Cambodia can be obtained at point of entry, ignore anyone who tells you differently. 

Changing money at borders will result, in one way or another, in being ripped off.  Perhaps not by much, so you pay your money you take your risk.  Get the latest exchange rate before you enter a country, never expect to match this with a money changer, but expect to get close-ish through negotiation.  Only hand over your money once you have agreed a rate and a total exchange value, have counted and checked the proffered notes, then counted again.  When dealing with large denominations be wary of the ‘500’ note slipped in among the ‘5000’ notes, for example.  Only exchange if you are completely happy with the quantity and quality of the notes.  If you’re not, walk away, and keep walking.  If you are, make the exchange and walk away, and don’t entertain any renegotiations from the money changer – this will certainly be a scam; your business was concluded when you exchanged the notes.  Equally, if you suddenly realise you’ve been ripped off then don’t expect the money changer to remember you.  Chalk it up to experience.  Or avoid all this and use an ATM at the next large town, and have some US dollars stashed away for emergencies.   


Update, 1 December 2011, Peru: I re-read the above recently and concluded that it sounds insufferably smug.  Like I actually have any idea what I'm doing when it comes to changing money.  The advice, I think, is still sound, but it seems only right, in the interests of full disclosure, that I'm honest about how I've completely failed to follow my own advice.  I've changed money at borders twice, and been ripped off twice - once in Africa and once in South America.  Both my fault.  I didn't lose a huge amount in either transaction, so it's no great shakes, and it can be put down to a simple inability to calculate figures in my head and negotiate at the same time.  So, that's it.  I'm not that cool, urbane, unruffled international traveler figure that delights in doling out smug advice.  I'm mostly just a naive fool, as fallible as the next man.  Anyway, update over, as you were...  

Thailand - Laos

Chiang Mai (Thailand) to Huay Xai (Laos): We caught a minibus from Chiang Mai with other travellers, dropping us at river crossing at the Thai border town of Chiang Khong.  You hand in your passports on the Thai side for departure stamps.  A very short boat ride takes you across the river (40 baht per person if memory serves).  Complete the Laos immigration forms on the other bank, get your visa, and away you go, up the bank into the main drag with all the guesthouses. 

Laos – Vietnam

Luang Prabang airport (Laos) to Hanoi airport (Vietnam): air border crossings are simple.  We had our visas for Vietnam in advance so breezed through immigration.  Not much more to write on this…

Vietnam – Cambodia

Phu Quoc Island (Vietnam) to Kep (Cambodia): We bought a combined bus, ferry, bus ticket to take us from our guesthouse on Phu Quoc to Kep.  Other than the Cambodian standoff story above this was a simple border crossing, the bus depositing us in Kep from where we jumped in a tuk tuk to a guesthouse.

Cambodia - Thailand

Siem Reap (Cambodia) to Aranyaprathet (Thailand) and on to Bangkok: we caught a 3 hour taxi from Siem Reap ($25 USD) to the border town of Aranyaprathet.  You hand in your passport for a Cambodia departure stamp then take a five minute walk through no-man’s-land to the Thai border.  There are lots of street kids and touts.  I used up my remaining small amounts of Cambodian coinage on buying some food for these kids – I don’t personally hand out money as a rule.  Fill in entry form at Thai border to get a 15 day free visa, no passport photo required. Someone will find you on the Thai side offering transport options to Bangkok before you need to find them.  We were tired and sick of buses so we opted for the offer of a taxi.  The 3 hour ride cost approximately £35 GBP, so not cheap by SE Asia standards, but great value by any other standard, and it deposited us, in torrential rain, right outside our guesthouse door in Bangkok. 


You can also do the Bangkok leg by train or bus.  We didn't, so can't comment. 

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People are strange

Luang Prabang, Laos and Hanoi, Vietnam

“Oh, hello, you were on the plane with us from Luang Prabang” she said, scurrying across the busy Hanoi street and leaving her (his eyes seemed to suggest) long-suffering husband on the other side.  Whilst it pays to be just the tiniest bit suspicious of random people claiming to know you in foreign cities, the middle aged north-western woman, with her camera toting husband in tow could, I felt, be swiftly placed in the harmless category.  Harmless maybe, but boy could she moan.  “How did you like Luang Prabang” we asked, wishing five minutes later that we hadn’t as we were treated to a rundown of the numerous failings the city had amounting, if I followed correctly, to there being ants in her room and the boat that transported them there being grubby.  I have no issue with people having higher expectations, particularly if they’ve paid enough to justify such expectations, but writing off a whole city – a UNESCO world heritage site at that – on the basis of a tour company screw up seems a bit disingenuous to me.  “I refused to get in the bed on the first night”, she continued, images flashing through my mind of her hanging upside down from an alcove instead, arms crossed over her chest, her husband ordering extra garlic bread at dinner.  “Oh, well I hope you’re enjoying Hanoi a little more” I politely responded, keen to move the conversation into a moan free zone before I had to get all Buffy on her arse and pull out my wooden stake or fashion a couple of ciggies into a makeshift crucifix.  “Oh, this is much more like it”, she replied, “the hotel’s beautiful, I’ll be two hours tops out here and then it’s straight back to the pool - a bit of luxury, just like we’re used to”.  Our eyes met, sharing a look that I suspect is unique to Brits, indecipherable to any other nationality, that said ‘yes, that’s right, you’ve just slipped into show-off mode, now we both feel uncomfortable’.  Hastily back-pedalling she added “you know what I mean, we’re older, we’ve done all that doss-house stuff before”. 

I should be clear here, I didn’t dislike this woman – I may not want to be trapped in a lift with her, but I didn’t dislike her.  She’d chosen to go on a tour through South East Asia, deciding against numerous more comfortable experiences, and she and her husband were most likely spending a good chunk of the savings they’d built up through the summer of their youth to do so.  But the reference to her age made me inwardly chuckle, bringing to life the irony of a sumptuous passage I had just read in Paul Theroux’s Ghost Train to the Eastern Star:

Luxury spoils and infantilizes you and prevents you from knowing the world. That is its purpose, the reason why luxury cruises and great hotels are full of fatheads who, when they express an opinion, seem as though they are from another planet.  

This woman, in the autumn of her life, had chosen, precisely because of her age, a holiday that would spoil and infantilize her and which was resulting in a grown-up tantrum on the side of a busy road in Hanoi to two complete strangers.  By vowing to spend time by the pool instead of time in the city she was clinging to a comfort blanket, knowing that the only strange foreigners she’d have to deal with would be those serving her Martinis poolside, trained no doubt to international standards and in the international language of the service industry, English. 

This sounds scathing, but it really isn’t meant to.  I genuinely hope that she has a nice holiday, and that she stops stressing the little things (and whisper it, they’re all little things in the end).  I hope that she gets up early one morning and sees how the residents of Hanoi keep fit without access to a five star pool, stretching, tai-chi’ing, and slowly jogging around the city centre lake as the steam dissipates off the surface and before the cloak of humidity takes hold.  I hope that as the sun rises her concerns and fears and frustrations will set, and that the ‘Dangers and Annoyances’ section of the Lonely Planet (which, be honest, everyone morbidly flicks to first) will no longer say to her scam, charlatan and thief but opportunity, understanding and friendship. I hope that she begins to revel in the giddy sensation of ‘otherness’ that travel in a strange land can engender, and that she starts to see this otherness as a blessing and not a curse.  I hope that she realises that it is more often the people, strange though they may be, and not the places, that make for a great experience. 

I hope I can do the same.

(Oh, and I really hope a priest hasn’t blessed that swimming pool water because that would be, well, messy.)

< Competition time! There will be a fabvery little to no valueulous prize for the first person who can correctly identify the link between the title of this post and the subject matter.  Leave your submissions as a comment and if you post as 'anonymous' be sure to stick your name at the end of the comment.  Good luck blog fans and thanks, as ever, for reading! 
UPDATE, seven hours after publication - we have a winner already, and the competition is now closed, although feel free to leave other comments or connections that you see.  Read the comments to see the answers, including Mark's correct answer.>

Risks worth taking

Laos, Huay Xai

There are some risks one can choose to take, calculated risks, risks that you feel you understand the potential consequences of and choose to take anyway.  And there are other risks that one takes every day – crossing the road, plugging in a kettle, getting on a bus – that through repetition cease to be perceived as risks, and become normalised. And a bloody good job too because a life lived at the beck and call of risk is not a life, but an ordeal.  Living a life devoid of risk is not living.  However, taking one of these normalised risks and this risk resulting in the silent plea of I want to live, does rather make one re-evaluate the risk-reward calculation.  It was this plea that crossed my mind, surprisingly slowly and serenely, as the bus we were on spun in two full circles on a greasy mountain road between Huay Xai and Lung Nam Tha in northern Laos.  Time really does slow down in moments such as these, and watching the green Lao countryside spin past me, desperately trying to lock eye contact with Helen, there was time to compile a list of possible outcomes; (a) we grind to a halt, (b) we flip over, (c) we spin off the edge, or (d) we flip then we go off the edge.  A macabre version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire.  Needless to say, none of these outcomes were really part of my mental risk-assessment process when I booked the bus tickets, or got on the rickety public bus, or silently assessed the driver’s skills as we sped round sharp corners.  Maybe these potential outcomes will be more prominent in my mind next time I get on a bus.

The fact that I am writing this sat outside a book store in the delightful royal capital of Laos, Luang Prabang, and not from a hospital bed or from beyond the grave (m-hah, m-hah, m-hah), suffering from no more than some volatile bowels and a mild hangover will tell you that the eventual outcome was, in fact, (a), final answer.  We ground to a halt on a patch of gravel by the side of the road, the friction stopping our slide towards the mountain edge, the only real damage done to the serenity of us and our Lao travelling companions.  Given that I’ve only just mastered the Lao for ‘thank you’ I figured it pointless to engage the driver in a lecture on the correct way to drive down wet mountain roads, limiting myself to a sigh and the plea, translated with conviction by the other Lao passengers, to ‘bloody well slow down’.  I’m not sure if they also translated my muttered rejoinder of ‘you fucking idiot’, but a look can tell a thousand words and from the daggers being pointed at the driver from everyone on the bus it was abundantly clear that a tip was out of the question.  I even broke my rule of ‘always say thank you to the driver when getting off a bus’, a rule that even the sink-hole of rudeness, London, hadn’t previously shaken me from.

The irony of this incident is that for the previous three days we had been engaged in an activity that posed far more of a visceral and immediate risk than catching a bus ever could.  We had been deep in the jungle, fighting off leeches, living in a tree house twenty metres off the ground, and zip-lining through the jungle canopy.  The Gibbon Experience is a popular activity on the South East Asia traveller circuit, situated just over the Thai-Laos border in the northwest of Laos, which despite the $270 USD per person price tag is booked virtually year round.  We hadn’t booked it, of course - we’re flexible, just going with the flow man, letting each country tell us what we should do, not some traveller’s bible guide book.  I jest, of course - to put it another, more honest and less pretentious way, we’re disorganised.  But, bus journeys notwithstanding, we’re also quite lucky.  We managed to secure the last couple of places on a trip leaving two days after we had crossed from Thailand into Laos, in a fun group of sixteen.  Well, mainly fun.  I didn’t take too kindly to being told off by a young Sloanie girl for supposedly killing an ant, when (1) I hadn’t, and (2) it’s a bloody ant, not a puppy.  This is the same girl who had just made a fuss about the fact that none of the baguettes we had been provided with for lunch were vegetarian, but instead of removing the chicken like the other vegetarians in the group had eaten it anyway.  Perhaps the principles of vegetarianism don’t apply in the jungle. I have no idea given that I grew up a long time ago made the lifestyle choice to be a carnivore.  I’m joking! A cheap joke at that. You can wipe the pieces of tofu burger you indignantly spat out off your computer screen.  I said none of this to our sloanie friend, of course, choosing diplomacy over conflict.  My response of cutting her safety rope was, I think, a far more effective approach.  Still joking.   

               

Lunch completed, we trekked on through the jungle, sweating more than I ever have before as the jungle wrapped its humid sleeping bag around my body, stopping eventually at a wooden platform surrounded by trees.  Waiting my turn I checked and double-checked the fit of my harness then meticulously attached my roller and safety line to the steel zip line.  Now, I’ve zip lined before, and it’s fun, but this was something else.  Shooting out from the trees I was suddenly suspended 100ft from the jungle floor, the rolling landscape all around me, the wind buffeting my face as I sped across the valley and onto the platform on the other side. Some shout ‘woo-hoo’ at times like these.  I don’t, I’m rendered dumb.  Getting back my power of speech I turned to Helen and muttered the phrase that hitherto has driven me nuts for its lazy and inarticulate over-use; ‘that was awesome’.  But this really was awesome.  Most things aren’t (well, unless you’re a complete simpleton who is genuinely awe-inspired by the minutiae of everyday life), but zip-ling across a forest canopy is.

Sleeping in a tree-house that you enter via a zip-line is pretty good too.  Certainly a step up from Premier Inn.  But I really shouldn’t be too dismissive about the over-use of the word ‘awesome’, brandishing its proponents as simpletons.  For this was the conversation Helen and I had when we awoke after our first night sleeping in the din of the jungle chorus, high up above the ground: 

   

Helen: How did you sleep?

Me: Not great, it was pretty loud, some of those insects sound like zombies.  I spent most of the night devising defence strategies for how we could repel a zombie attack on the tree house.  We’d be pretty screwed I concluded - I’ve only got a Swiss army pen knife, and if they are like those zombies from 28 Days Later then they’d be close enough to spit blood on you before you could effectively use the blade anyway.

Helen: Uh-huh, that’s not very realistic. I slept pretty well, although I did convince myself that one of the noises was a tiger, and it was laying outside the mosquito net.  But then I told myself it was probably a friendly tiger and that helped me get back to sleep.

Who’s the simpleton now?

 

So, what’s the moral to this story?  Do you take risks to experience something that is genuinely awesome? Do you think more carefully before taking a normalised risk, knowing that one day that risk may end your life? Do you live in fear, or do you live more freely in blissful ignorance? Jeez, I don’t know, I’m a simpleton.  Maybe you just live, and every so often say a silent thank you that you, and those you love, are alive and that there are moments in life that can, just sometimes, be awesome.

Left: One of the tree houses.  Right: Dawn breaks over the jungle.

Laos public buses - scary.