Laos is the forgotten destination of southern Asia, sort of squeesed in between Vietnam, Cambodia and Burma ( now called Myanmar). A country of wonderful people, with a long and mysterious history.
Like a lot of things that happen in my life, it all came about as a bit of an accident, I had been trawling the internet for adventures following my other exploits and Alaska Rider just turned up, and it seemed like a fun thing to do. Why an Alaskan company is running rides is Laos is another story.
We all arrived in Vientiane in dribs and drabs, 11 Americans, and me with that funny accent, where we stayed for a couple of nights to get the feel for the location. What a lovely place, certainly tourist orientated, with an endless array of eating houses and accommodation on the banks of the mighty Mekong River. Well!, actually a mighty sandbar at that point , but unique none the less.
The bikes arrived next morning, all Honda XR250’s, Baha models, complete with electric starts and prominent twin headlamps. I hoped that was not an omen that we would be riding at night. Kevin and his wife scored a Honda KLX 650, which he would live to rue as the trip progressed.
We were warned about the vagrancies of Laotian drivers, not only do they drive on the wrong side of the road , they drive on the other one as well, in their droves on tiny 100cc motorcycles with a various assortment of pillion passengers and as many bums as the seat can afford. Though, after India they were relatively inconspicuous.
After a copious blessing by the local monks in their orange garbs, we set off on the first leg, mainly city outskirts and villages. Our first overnight was at a lovely town of Vang Vieng on the Mekong. Dinner over looking the water with a picturescue view of limestone peaks silueted above a much nicer section of river. Kevin set the tone for the trip with his escapade in being awarded the nickname “poodini” and you can work that one out for yourself!!.
The next day we set off for Luang Prabang, we were now heading into the mountains, though they are not dramatically high, they are steep and the road winds along the sides of the cliffs with dramatic escarpments looking up, and just as dramatic drop offs looking down, with scary hairpin bends. We wound our way through endless villages all perched on the very edge of the road, with every assortment of grass or timber housing. It never gets really cold so the houses don’t echo any accessories we may consider as essential. The children were a never ending delight, in their hundreds they lined the road and my waving arm was flapping like a wind borne flag. Luang is a very old town with a French influence, and being at the end of the road there is no through traffic, so the streets are just an endless kalidescope of colour and intrigue, and not to forget the backpackers in their hundreds who gravitate to the guest houses, bars and restaurants. The Budist religion is evident everywhere, with many colourful monastrys full of monks with their shaved heads and orange garbs. We had a two day lay up, visited some magnificent water falls and rode elephants. Not just your normal elephants, these climbed embankments and waded through rivers, much to my utter amasement.
We continued to wind our way northward to Muang Khua, and found ourselves following a river that had had some serious flooding, sections of the sealed road had been half washed away with as little as a bit of bamboo laying on the road to indicate a drop off of many metres. We were now in a relatively back packer free environment, the hotel was magnificent if you overlook the fact that electricity was only available from 6.00 pm to 10.00 pm. The river can be crossed by the ferry, an ancient barge pushed back and forward by an ex communist gun boat. Here the bikes were loaded onto a truck and we escaped down the Nam Ou river on motorboats. What a beautiful trip, some of the previous river views had been a bit ordinary, but this one made up for the rest with room for a bonus. Mountains, forests, beaches, villages and people living the way they have for centuries, their only contact with the outside world by the river.
The boat ride left us at Nong Khiaw, where we stayed in thatched huts overlooking the river, a quiet day, visited some limestone caves and generally enjoyed the local culture.
Ever onward, destination Xam Nua, we are now off the normal tourist beat. The villages are now more remote and appear to be unchanged from what they would have been for many years. Their income appears to be from providing the base material for brooms, and all along the roads women and children are seen collecting long grass tree fronds, where they bash them on the road and roll them to remove unwanted seeds etc, dry them and pack them in bunches for collection and sale. Time consuming for very little return I am sure. Their bathing facilities are a sight to behold, a single tap or water supply on the side of the road where the women bathe in their sarongs to retain their modesty.
Our hotel is new and it actually has lights, but only one to a room. The bathrooms are an after thought and I had to step over the corner of my bed to get to the other side of the room, and the only restaurant in town is reminiscent of Joe’s cafe.
We visited the wartime mountain hideout of the Pathet Lao Communist backed Goverment where the American bommers tried unsuccessfully to penetrate the limestone caves during the Vietnam war. The resilience of these people then and now is awe enspiring.
The 650 Honda was doing its best to be sent home, and Kevin and Keleigh were staring down the thought of finishing the trip in the support car. However the Monks blessing paid off and the “A” team came to the rescue, drained the carburettor and all was good, except for Kevin’s boot that was receiving a daily dose of lube oil.
Next stop Phonsavan, back in the tourist area with lovely hotels and bars. The local beer is “Beerlau”, and a nice drop it is, and with a pleasant warm climate we all scoffed a bit more than I would normally have done. Phonsavan is the home of the Plain of Jars. These are carved solid rock jars, originally complete with lids, and weighing up to six tonnes each. There are several plains, with about a hundred each and no information of how when or why. Sadly the plains were bombed severely and a lot are damaged, but their mysterious beauty remains, and my heart dwells heavily on the destruction brought about by senseless wars. We were lucky enough to view a film on the after marth of those years, to be shown quite vividly how two million tonnes of bombs aimed primarily at the civilian population, have left a legacy of half a million tonnes of unexploded “Bombees” embedded into their rice paddys and farming areas, blowing the legs of hundreds of children every year.
Our time was rapidly wearing thin, and we headed back to our second hotel on the banks of the Mekong overlooking the majestic limestone peaks, passed the never ending broom makers and smiling waving children.
The trip was not to be without its dramas, I was up at the front of the group, and hearing that one of the ladies had dropped her bike on an unsealed hairpin bend was scary. Luckily no damage was done if we overlook that the bike came to rest half over the edge of the cliff, and our thoughts go out again to the orange covered monks that we left behind so many days ago. But that was not the extent of the luck, while we were rescuing the bike and rider a utility loaded with children slid out on the same corner, finally resting with one front wheel of the edge of the cliff and the driver in complete panic and denial.
So that was it, back to Vientaine, a bit of shopping, a farwell dinner and catch our planes home . It has been such a wonderful trip and I am so glad that I decided to do it. The humility, the girls of about six years of age carrying water or fire wood, and the smiling faces of the young ladies in mud up to their knees planting rice will stay with me for ever.
Phil Randall.
