Laos in transit

Day 9: 30 Dicembre Sabato
No matter where you're, the journey back always seems more painful. It takes out the excitement and anticipation, dragging you by the hair away from a blissful holiday back to the humdrum of daily reality. We endured 4 hours in a cramped mini bus along with over 20 equally sour-faced travellers, some of them burly caucasians sitting thigh-to-thigh, probably expecting the same VIP coach as us. The scenery was brilliant though and we even spotted villagers donning their colourful tribal headgears and costumes.

Upon reaching Vientiane's bus station, we were hoping to catch the 2pm Thai coach to Udon Thani but it was already full despite our early arrival at 1.35pm. Darn, I felt like the losing team on Amazing Race. We had to kill 2 hours waiting for the 4pm coach and I wasn't about to sit there and stare into nothing. I went in search of food, packing small green mandarin oranges and delizioso grilled bananas and sweet potatoes which A refused to eat (should have bought the worms for him!)

The station was a mixed bag of interesting characters - roving vendors pushing food, drinks and useless knicknacks, travellers from all walks, monks in bright saffron robes and locals with traditional headgears. The stern-looking bus-station conductor blew his whistle at the footloose young Brazilians who were kicking a football around, so there went our entertainment. The beaten buses heading to smaller villages were heaped skyhigh with colourful mattresses, gifts and goods for the coming new year.

At 4pm, our coach finally came and left filled. Adios Laos! Everyone sat in weary silence all the way across the Thai-Laos Frendship bridge and endured the excruciating long waits at the customs on both ends. We still had to pay an "overtime" exit fee, perhaps for making them work extra hours! Two hours later, our coach rolled into the heart of Udon Thani and we fought our way out of the hungry pack of tuk tuk/ taxi drivers and made it on foot to our business-class Charoensri Grand Royal hotel ($60/night) 3 mins away. Ah finally luxury living after 9 whole hours of travelling.

It was the best hotel in UT, next to a mall and oddly-named club called 'New York, New York'. Dying from starvation, we hunted down a busy street stall for a sinful greasy plate of seafood omelette on a bed of beansprouts, then dashed across the road and wolfed down a plate of braised pork knuckle with rice and a bowl of pork noodle soup. Thailand is street food heaven!

I couldn't tell if UT would be worth a return visit (there'll be a direct flight on budget starting Jan 2007) but there wasn't much happening within 5 mins' walking distance from what I could see. There were some non-descript internet cafes, bars and shops servicing the hotel guests and local farangs. In fact, there were loads of older white men with pretty young lasses which seemed like a rather common convenient arrangement everywhere in Asia. Nothing wrong with a fair deal struck between 2 willing parties. Maybe when I'm still single at 40, I'd just get myself a young italian stallion! Ha.

A wanted to check out the club but I was exhausted and preferred watching telly in my snug queen-sized bed and reflecting on the journey. Cambodia, Laos and Thailand are just hours apart but you could see the apparent differences in culture and society marked by modernity. Progression has its virtue and evils, particularly the latter - greed, waste, excessiveness - if balance is not in place. As countries pursue economic success, they must not forget the soul, traditions and culture. If you look at the big picture, we're not here to be richer. We're here to be happier.

Motorcycle merries

Day 8: 29 Dicembre Venerdi
Having completed the small town on foot, we decided to venture out on rented bicycles (10,000kip/ US$1) to the organic farm 30mins away (3km). In the blazing heat, we whizzed past the new market and villagers' homes against the amazing backdrop of the everpresent mountains. The farm's fresh goat cheese was my constant motivation as I pedalled furiously on the gentle but punishing slopes but alas it wasn't available!

So we snacked happily on the addictive paper-crisp mulberry leaves tempura with a honey dip; the leaves were so thin I could see thro' their vascular mesophyll cells against the sunlight. Perched on the banks of the Nam Song river amidst the jagged limestone mountains surrounding the Song River valley, the farm is founded in 1996 to provide a sustainable living for the villagers and finance other community projects.

The main crop of mulberry trees feeds the silk worms and is also a highly-lauded source for mulberry products such as tea, wine, shakes. We sipped gingerly on the plummy mulberry wine, troppo forte and thick with alcohol, as the rushing cold stream welcomed the gang of eager tubing tourists. Looking at the carefree scrubby angmoh volunteers, I longed for my rustic WWOOFing days with Katie and Ben. Sigh, non vedo l'ora di ritornare a lavorare alle fattorie. www.laofarm.org

Since it was only noon, we pedalled back to swap our wheels for a motorbike at only 30,000kip/ US$3 to explore the nearby caves across the Nam Song river. The auntie didn't even ask for any licence or give us any helmets. A convinced me that he was a good rider and proved me right when he carefully guided the bike over the bridge like a trapeze on tight rope. The weather was extremely dry and warm in the day; luckily I bought a ridiculous wide-brimmed hat and wore sunglasses to protect my eyes from the dust.

Everytime a heavy vehicle passed us on the dirt road, the local kids and us held our breath and squinted our eyes, engulfed in a bellow of dust. The roadside bushes and leaves were a shade of earthy red mud; so were our feet. For the first time, A was in full control - even without shoes on - as we ventured deeper into the tranquil lush mountains on an extremely bumpy pebbled inroad. There were many caves hidden among the limestone mountains so we randomly made a pitstop at the Keo Kham cave (5km away) fringed with a granite quarry.

At the opening manned by a local family who was collecting entrance fee (10,000kip), a white couple said there was a Buddha statue inside the cave but warned we'd need a torch. Curious, we followed a Thai couple from Bangkok who had hired a local boy to show them the way. We felt silly tail-gating them so I told them we'd pay him too.

As we descended the bamboo ladder deep into the cave's mouth, the darkness enveloped us at the first turn which led to an opening where the boy's torchlight rested on the smiling face of a handpainted stone Buddha statue. I thought that was it. Then five of us proceeded into a narrowing pitch-black pathway. Only the guide and the Thai fellow tourist had headlights so you can imagine us feeling our way in the dark, running our hands along the cool dusty jagged walls.

My heart started pumping at an unusual rate as my claustrophobia crept in, thinking 'what the f%ck have I gotten myself into?'. When we found ourselves crawling on all fours and then finally flat on our stomach dragging our body weight forward inch by inch, I bit my lips stifling a scream. Sandwiched between flabs of stones wasn't my idea of fun, nonetheless it was unexpected adventure. Cool it girl, I prayed silently. You can do this, banish your fear. Focus. Think happy thoughts.

Finally we slithered outta that crack into a standing space. What felt like an eternity was probably 15mins. We were all perspiring, slightly bewildered and coated with brown dust but cheered and laughed gratefully for a group shot. The poor guy earns 10,000 kip for each person and does this 4 to 5 times a day - but hey it's a decent living.

We hopped onto our bike and hit the dirt road again towards the 2nd bridge and Ka river, stopping at a hut for tea waving at kids playing butt-naked in the stream. On the way back, we rode into a vast, dry lemongrass field for a final glimpse of the looming mountains and glorious sunset. I jumped off the bike to shoo and shoot a herd of brown cows as well as a magnificent grey buffalo luxuriating in the Nam Song river.

Only the pictures could do the scenery justice. Famished, we slurped up the pad lao, fish-tofu soup and harvest curry at the organic farm cafe for the last time. P@rca mia, they ran out of the goat's cheese again! I guess I just have to come back again :)

Vang Vieng vroom

Day 7: 28 Dicembre Giovedi
We got up for a hearty breakfast - my sight, nose and mouth set on the vietnamese beef pho (10,000kip) at "San He" next to Happy Garden along the eternally popular food street. I was determined to try it as I had walked by the shop many times and was convinced it was good by the look of things. Breakfast seemed like a big affair here as everyone was out queuing at the mobile kuey-kuey stalls, porridge and noodle shops, etc.

I planted my arse on the stool and proceeded to inhale a bowl of steaming pho while the pho auntie's mongrel and poodle stared longingly at us slurping noisily. While A tried to log on at an internet cafe for the umpteeth time, I was walking up and down the street, snooping around and poking my camera at the unsuspecting locals. There was a curious porkseller who was pushing his mobile cart of roast meats and chopping up each order when customers stopped by on their motorbikes.

I spotted a mom drying perfect round discs of sticky rice crackers in the sun - a good way to preserve any leftover rice, I'm sure. We hurried back to pack our bags for our 4-hour coach ride (US$6.50 each) to Vang Vieng which included a bottle of water and biscuits - not too shabby. I just wished they would keep the volume down on the Laotian pop music that was keeping us and the other angmoh travellers on the edge. Halfway on the road, I was immensely grateful that we packed a banana loaf from the Scandav Cafe(I swore there's a worm inside of me).

The scenery flashed rustic fields, kampong houses and kids walking home from schools. All the girls were donning traditional long skirts with decorated hems - standard uniform for the female population. In comparison, Cambodia was much poorer as most village homes do not have basic needs. When you put your life in perpective, it doesn't seem that bad. In fact we're in the best privileged position and empowered to make changes if we are not consumed by our own preoccupations.

Into our 4th hour on the winding drowsy ride, we glimpsed the backdrop of lush hills and limestone mountains that marked our arrival in Vang Vieng - a popular laidback stopover between Vientiane and Luang Phrabang, Here the air was clean, the sun shone bright and clear, the streams pristine and greenery luminous all around. I was determined to come here after seeing M & E's riverside pictures at sunset. This petite town was a real gem, spread across 2 parallel stark roads and a network of humble lowrise houses. I felt like I was transported back to the 80s, save for telltale signs of the 21st century such as internet cafes and cable tvs blaring from each restaurant.

We promptly checked into our pre-booked Elephant Crossing, swapping the riverfront bungalow by the driveway for a quieter deluxe room (US$40 per night). Hungry me was feeling moody and my patience was running thin with A, having to repeat myself again and again. It was near impossible to have a proper conversation so we just ate our soup noodles and stared at the tranquil river and looming mountains. I finally took a breather and explored VV on my own while he excused himself to check the internet - again. The sun was setting already and the light cast a beautiful silhouette across the hills.

When I was happily about to cross the bridge, a lady ran after me gesturing that I had to pay the 4,000kip pedestrian toll. I searched my pockets for small change and came up with large US dollars so I persuaded her to let me thro' for a few minutes saying "I no kip. I only take photos ok? No go across bridge?" She nodded with a smile and turned her attention to the other passing vehicles. The narrow bridge was quite sturdy considering the constant stream of traffic by heavy jeeps, tuk tuks and motorbikes.

I hung on to the ropes and stayed close to the edge, running my viewfinder over the hills and Nam Song river below. The locals were chatting while taking their evening baths in the clear shallow waters, oblivious to the 2 heavy trucks scooping contents noisily from the riverbed. I snapped a picture of a small pretty toddler and showed it to her parents who beamed with delight.

As the mountains' silhouette surrendered to darkness, the mosquitoes came out to play and chased me back to town where I watched local kids at a friendly soccer match. Based on my travels, I could safely deduce that food, sex and soccer unite people everywhere. Si, e' vero! I happened to locate A at an internet cafe, still trying to log on with no success so we shared a banana-cioccolato crispy pancake from one of the numerous roti stalls (10,000kip) while checking out the rows of restaurants for dinner.

It was near impossible to locate a quiet eatery without a TV but we managed to find the highly recommended 'Organic Fram" restaurant tucked safely away at the end of the road. We lapped up the stir-fried seasonal veggies with tofu and greens curry with peanuts to go with the unique black-purplish sticky rice, and washed it all down with the soul-cleansing mulberry green tea and berrilicious mulberry milkshake. Dessert was the smooth honeyed-bouquet and musky Lao Bia made from the nectar of golden palm flowers. Ahhh.

Wah Laos

Day 6: 27 Dicembre Mercoledi
Both of us woke up grouchy and trekked to the Vientiane morning market 25 mins away, instead of taking the tuk tuk. We figured the walk would do us some good and built up our appetito per il colazione. Plus the map was so compact - I was pretty certain we'd get there quickly in one piece. At 10plus, the marketplace was already packing 'em in with the daily horde of eager traders and customers. At my insistence, we grabbed some freshly fried street snacks, and walked deeper inside the jungle of shops displaying piles of indigenous Laotian handwoven scarves and rugs to embroidered clothing and bags in all shades and hues.

I couldn't shop till my tummy was satiated first so we led ourselves to the dim makeshift hawkers area marked by a patchwork of ratty overhead shelter with sunrays penetrating through. Ok I wouldn't give them a C for cleanliness but the hawkers were happily preparing the trays of food with such ease and confidence I just had to find out for myself. We steered away from the stalls that were brandishing a pile of boiled innards and other unidentified animal organs, and I settled for a corner set-up which could afford a fridge as well as an English menu.

A was disgusted and appalled at his rustic surroundings - clearly not a foodie or much of an adventurer. So I gestured one bowl of chicken noodle soup (7,000kip) while he frowned into his can of iced tea. The rice noodle was excellente - thick snow-white mee suay smooth as silk, and the clear herbed chicken brodo clinging onto to every flavourful strand. It was so good I wanted another serving but I also secretly prayed for a strong stomach (no laos-sai, per favore). Thankfully my faith was rewarded. Almost all the Laotians we met have such a lively vigour and quiet pride. There were no beggers or touts, save for the occasional tuk tuk driver who would come forth with a 'sabai-dee' (how're you?) and would leave you alone after a polite 'no'.

A lot of them thought I was a local even when I could only manage 'sabai-dee', 'dee lai-lai' (very good) and 'kop jai lai-lai' (thanks very much). I get such a kick from languages and trying to blend in. Feeling more energetic, we explored the market further and came across rows of stalls parading raw materials of rainbow-hued cotton yards and fat bundles of gleaming silk threads. There were also beautiful readymade traditional Laotian costumes fit for royalty. For some reason, the goldsmiths occupied the back lane; busy melting down nuggets of gold and polishing pieces of jewellery.

Behind the market was the bus-taxi-tuktuk hub as well as shophouses heaving with more commerce activities. I salivated as the local aunties grilled bananas, sweet potatoes and marinated meats at their mobile roadside bbq. Freshly cut seasonal fruits and sweets sat comfortably next to a basket of brown larvae - a delectable delicacy not for the faint-hearted. We followed the crowd streaming into the thriving Khoudin Market - your local version of Wal Mart. Everything you want for your home was available here; from trivial household supplies in bumk to winter clothing on sale.

I was especially ecstatic at locating the farmer's market where the contadini camped proudly next to their heap of harvest - mushrooms, spring onions, chillies, tomatoes and other verdura in all shapes and sizes. Jackpot! I sniffed deeply at the mountain of fresh dill and basil and sighed in bliss, while A held his breath at the wet section where chickens squat plucked and lifeless, and fishes flapped desperately and grasped for air in shallow buckets. Like a dirty old man, I was photographing all the pretty young lasses minding their gorgeous noodles and rice, and praising their white mee suay that was bundled like silky smooth yarns.

Ooh, I loooove wet markets and being so close to the source of food. There's something comforting about it and sharing the pride of the humble farmers, eh-hem having slogged my arse on organic fattorie in Italia. I couldn't stomach any processed food these days, especially fast food that is unrecognisable from their origins such as chicken nuggets and frozen burgers. God knows what they put in those rubbish. I hope more people will put more effort into what they eat and support the small hawkers, local eateries and native producers everywhere. My quote of the month is "Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are." (by Anthelme Brillat-Savarin). Food for thought indeed.

Just directly opposite the bus station was the tiny tribal market with a handful of stalls inside selling ethnic jewellery, headgears and costumes while outside along the roadside walkway, there were grannies guarding their treasure trove of traditional tribal cures including dried leaves, roots and barks to various unidentifiable animal parts. The fortune tellers and basket-vendors giggled when I tried to snap a photo of an auntie napping under a shady tree.

Next, we spent 15mins walking to the Victory Monument built in 1962 but still incompleted due to its turbulent history. From far, it looked like the Parisian Arc de Triomphe encircled by a busy round-about which led to a wide boulevard - which also reminded me of Champs Ey Lysee. Upclose, it was quite the concrete monstrosity described by guidebooks. It was bloody warm and close to high noon when we ascended the 7th-storey tower for a blinding 360 deg view of Vientiane. There was no highrise buildings in sight across the flat horizon joining the clear blue sky.

On our walk back, A insisted on another hour-long Laotian foot massage (42,000kip) while I entertained the idea of a high noon French baguette snack. These panini stalls were everywhere; their windows glistening with visions of brown baguettes, smiling cow cheese, anchovies, tuna, cucumber and tomatoes. Gosh I couldn't believe I never tried one! A snored throughout his powernap while I made the 2 masseuses laugh by tickling his nose with my towel.

Lunch found us at our favourite Nem Neung Vieng Savanh where we gobbled up the grilled pork ball rolls again (14,000kip) and a deep bowl of beehoon (12,000kip) topped with a fried spring roll, fresh shredded vegetables, herbs and peanuts. I drank up the last drop of the dressing which was perfectly balanced - sweet, spicy, sour, zesty and nutty. The petite shop assistants recognised us and we chatted while I snapped away, She thought I was Laotian and then Filippino.

Two stupid Australian guys peeped at our food and I told them they had to try this and that. They were shocked that we muttered English and made us cringe with their wide-eyed "wow-you-speak-very-good-English" ignorant remark. I guessed they never travelled much. We walked off the calories to the riverside market and recalled Peter saying the river is usually low tide at this time of the year and it will be worse when the dam goes up upstream in China. Sigh, what a depressing thought.

Since there wasn't much to do, we located the Scandanavian Cafe near the fontana for a banana cake, pistachio-choc mousse and a forbidden cigarette while reading the Vientiane Times till sunset, I love and hate holidays like these. Love becos I can just pig out all day. Hate becos I can feel my waist thickening by the hour. Merda. After 2 languid hours in bed drooling at Colin Firth in Bridget Jones 2, we headed out for Nang Kham Bang, a local restaurant for some traditional Laotian food.

My foodie friend Chris had recommended the fish laap, beef stew and deepfried quail but my unadventurous travel partner A turned up his nose which drove me to the wall. We compromised on the fish soup with plain rice (his choice) and fried quail with sticky rice (my pick which he didn't touch), alongside a cold bottle of Beer Lao (a freakin' cheap meal at 54,000kip/ US$5). Picture the tv blaring in the background and us sitting in stony silence in the brightly fluorenscent-lit dining room; it was one of the low points on our trip.

I love A like a dear brother but I so wanted to strangle him now and throw him into the Mekong river (sorry bro!). Luckily the food lifted my spirits - the fish soup was a spicy-sour concoction of dill, ginger, whole young green chilli, cherry tomatoes, onions and spring onions while the crunchy mini quail had the stubbiest wings and legs - no longer than my little fingers.

Laos of fun

This was long overdue but finally I found time to write about our time in Laos, right after we left Cambodia.
Day 5: 26 December Martedi. In comparison to its neighbours Thailand and Cambodia, Laos seemed to strike a good balance in preserving its cultural soul and quality living. What impressed us the most are its people who possess a strong sense of gentle pride and an almost bewildering trusting honesty.

We survived the 3-hour journey (including a stopover at Pakse) on Laos Air (US$130) from Siem Reap to the Laotian capital Vientiane, and hopped onto a taxi (US$6) to Dragon Lodge inn (US$20/night) located in the heart of the town. I didn't harbour much expectations - except that it was supposed to be very laidback. Laidback is good. After the crowded itinerary of Angkorian temples and vigorous sightseeing, I could do with some chilling out.

Vientiane was groggy and lazy in the afternoon heat and the town was asleep, save for a corner coffeeshop aptly named "Blue Sky' where we propped our feet up for lunch. I naturally zoomed in on the Set Lunch (48,000kip/ US$4) promising Laotian Lap sausage served with a piquant minced chicken mint herb salad, boiled vegetables, tomato salsa and the perennial basket of sticky rice. Ooh. It was so good and a tasty start to Laos. A just stared at his dry insipid sandwich (20,000kip) which he left mostly untouched. What a shame... We strolled 3 hours away exploring the riverside lanes which ran in uniformed grids. Low-levelled shops, cosy bars and restaurants were interpersed with the gleaming tall wats (temples) and quasi-completed hotel constructions. Its landscape would probably change a lot within the next 2 years as urban development caught on like an unstoppable disease.

The town was pretty compact so we didn't really need the hand-drawn map given to us by our chatty Sporean inn-owner, Peter who has lived here for a decade. At one of the many intersections, we came across a charming makeshift street gallery run by this young lady artist who was clutching to her year-old baby girl. Her paintings of monks, hip-swaying Viet ladies and local scenery were simply pegged to strings like laundry dancing in the warm breeze. We bought 2 artworks to support her artistic living and I gestured if I could take a picture of them. Most Laotians couldn't speak English but they were patient and friendly so language was no barrier. I found that everywhere I go, a sincere smile and sense of humour go a long way.

At 5plus, the pace was so languid that we were dragging our feet at every turn so we popped by Joma Bakery Cafe for some really power-packed iced caffe and trodded back to the mosquitoes-infested riverside for a Mekong sunset. The temperature nose-dipped and I zipped up my addidas jacket, walking down the evening food street in Chinatown that had awaken from its day slumber. Ah, you couldn't miss Nem Neung Vieng Savanh on Thanon Heng Boun, even if you were lost. The eatery was bustling with activity as hungry customers filed in for an early dinner or queued up for a quick takeaway. This was Laos fast food at its best.

The small army of young girls was trying to keep up with the frentic orders for its star specialty - Viet grilled pork balls wrapped in rice paper - and assembling plates piled with fresh lettuce, parsley, mint, rice noodles and stiff rice paper sheets. The bouncy delicious pork balls were served alongside another side-dish of chopped condiments such as raw garlic, lemongrass, ginger, bloody hot green chillies, bean sprouts, starfruit, cucumber and young green banana. I counted 14 ingredients and 2 sauces alone (1 peanuty and 1 spicy-garlicky) - all these for 1 dish at this no-frills shop.

A and I stared at each other, clueless about how to start. The demure waitress sized us up quickly as foreigners and demonstrated how to assemble our first wrap by dipping the stiff rice sheet in our fish & egg hotpot (yes we were that greedy) to soften it and piled it with the rest. When I popped the small bugger into my mouth, there was an explosion of flavours which left me speechless. Ooh I rolled my 2nd one before swallowing the 1st. I reckoned we had easily 6 rolls each. Buonissmo. We were so full we didn't have room for the many mobile street food stalls hawking deepfried golden fritters and porridge to steaming fresh soya milk and pickled snacks.

Satiated, we were desperate for a massage and hunted an-hour rub-down for 40,000kip at a nearby joint called "Traditional Massage". Ha, there's no mistaking it for anything else. I didn't have any high hopes after the disappointing Cambodian experience. But surprise surprise, the traditional Laotian massage was very enjoyable as the shy pretty girls pressed and kneaded us gently with every measured stroke... ahh shiokest. Burrrrp. Tired, we were looking forward to bed however the inn's bedroom walls were as thin as our rice paper, so we didn't get many winks due to an incessant argument outside. And when dawn broke, the carpenter next door started on his drilling. Wah laos eh... F*%@#!