The border crossing to Laos is a joke, as seriously taken as crossing then border from Cavan into Leitrim, though I still maintain that while freedom of movement must be granted to all citizens of the Country of Cavan, stricter rules governing just how openly people from that blighted country of Leitrim can hop our clean and wonderful borders should be granted serious consideration. But anyways, Laos, yeah, bar the $2 extra weekend payment fee to the border guard, a bit of join the dots immigration card on which I was, under the heading of PROFESSION, 'An International Man of Mystery', crossing the border is but a piece of piss, so to speak, or very easy, excuse the vulgarities.
Into Laos and bus to bring us to Don Det is there, happy out, a 30 seater bus for the 10 people, needless to say I glared at anyone even offering the bare inclination that they may in the vastness of empty seating space even dare think of sitting beside me, I was tired and cranky having got up at 7am and did not have my happy head on me until well after 1pm, we where on the island at that stage, now, in the middle of Laos countryside in was ticking 11am, still not quite human. The 2 hour bus journey from the border to the town where the boat to take us to Don Det is just that, 2 hours away, unfortunately, the infrastructure in Laos leave a lot to be desired, what with it being the 10th poorest country in the world and the poorest of all the South East Asian states, the 2 hour journey on mud tracks when it wasn't cracked and broken tarmac took on a 3 to 4 hour vibe. Though worth it to get there, finally, I arrived at Don Det, two random girls, an English girl and a Qubecan, my prerequisite for accommodation was that it A. was riverside, B. had a veranda upon which either sun rise or sun set shone upon, and finally C. had a hammock.... most importantly of all, that it had a hammock. I got all three and was a happy little monkey for my very easily spent 4 nights or so spent on the islands, sitting, sleeping, drinking, eating, sleeping, reading, sleeping... sleeping, it was great and just what I needed having boosted through China, Vietnam and Cambodia, an opportunity to do absolutely nothing. I understand that doing this whole backpacker thing its hardly what you'd call stressful, hardly a tough life etc but the constant moving and thinking about moving can take its toll, so when you have the opportunity to just dump your bags, take some things out, take check of yourself and sort out your life a bit then it really feels great.
Its just as well because little did I know that for the duration of my journey in Laos and then into Thailand that I would take solice, not in lying in a hammock reading a book for 4 hours while eating smashed watermelon, but rather in the long forgotten art of having the absolute craic with great people and plunging deep into the depths of consuming abhorrent amounts of alcohol, all the while never judging yourself, or others, too harshly when viewing photos the day after the night before.
And we move, skipping Pakse which was only a connection town, and Vietiaine, Capital of Laos which is very pretty but very boring, and onto Vang Vieng, backpacker paradise and land of thousand hangovers.
It was in VV that I met Kate, friend of Orlaith from home, who I had previously briefly met while in Bangkok. Little did I know that at this stage, that she would be an instrumental part in many more drunken nights out and be a travel companion extraordinaire thoughout the rest of my time in SE Asia.
Less said about VV the better, better for me as I save face. Having drank late into the night before, I was up bring ands early for, you guessed it, Tubing. I was, as the tshirt so wrongly says, 'in the tubing'. Whisky shots before breakfast, banana and choc pancake my only sustenance, it was a long day of buckets, floating down the river, more buckets, a water slide or two, more floating and more buckets. These buckets, to clarify are not for say, bringing feed for the cattle, though I observed a large number of people acting quite like farm animals, nor are they for building sandcastles, these plastic fantastic vessels are filled with the most ting tong piss piddley god awfully vile concoction of alcohol imaginable and served eagerly to an even more eager crowd of drunken morons, all baying to hop into large tractor tyre tubing and float down to the next ramshackle river side bar where they can go and do it all over again. On a cultural not, VV is defiantly the most beautiful place in the world that I have ever been off my face... to put it mildy. Its really stunning, the karst landscaping, unique and towering in the skyline, imposing itself and demanding attention, whether you are standing below looking up or are one of the flashpackers able to afford it as a passenger in one of the hundreds of hot air balloons that regularly take to the sky and add a very surreal overcast to the horizon.
VV is, however, not all about drunkeness
To jump a day or two, Kate and I arrived in Luang Prabang, it had started raining in VV just as we left it and the forecast said it wasn't going to be pretty for at least a few days, including Paddy's Day, March 17, which to me wouldn't have made much of a change from home because its always raining on Paddy's Day.
Landed in Spicy Laos, immediately the fact that this place had no glass in the windows, no doors except for a sheet and no bathroom on the upstairs level stuck us as strange, to say that alarm bells were ringing is an understatement, but we persevered, and thank god we did because for the few days we stayed there, we owned it, damn well owned the place, adding two more to our group, Povo and Travely Wavely hating Lexi from England and hippie Frey from Denmark, as well as an veritable accoutrement of strays along the way, all of whom readily embraced the Irish spirit and donned the green with me on Paddy's Day.
Chicken soup for the soul this is not, nor is it the zen of motorcycling but I found a very happy place for myself in all the debauchery that went hand in hand with making sure that there was a bottle of beer lao in my hand... a quick moment to praise said elixir. When I arrived in Laos, I frowned, the beverage of plenty, and pretty much the only beer available if one was so inclined or perhaps destined to indulge in came with a little tiger on the bottle and had, at the start a sharp acidity, sour at first taste. As not so much a conosieur of such malt and yeasty beverages, more a keen admirer, I though in philosophical terms of what taste i was encompassing exactly... on a plain of consciousness arrived at over my second bottle while in the 'happy' bar in 4000 islands I came to the conclusion that it was in fact 'eeeeeeuuuugh!', yes, very grown up terminology but my seasoned palate dictated such an announcement and that this announcement be made to the entire bar and its accompanying patrons. To end a pointless story quite quickly, my aforementioned initial misgivings were just that, the more I consumed the more I grew to love Mr Beer Lao and was almost happy in the knowledge that every bottle that I made vanish and added to the wall of bottles, that his children would be happily and well educated in some far flung western country where there are McDonald's and people have toilet seats and are prepared to wash more than once every fortnight. After VV and my hangover to end all hangover, I was timid at first and determined, if at all, that I would take things slow... and I did. But then Paddy's day happened.Last year Liverpool, this year Luang Prabang, and what a fun Paddy's Day it was too. I shan't ever spend another Paddy's day in Ireland again I don't think, this is a resolution, its far more fun in other random countries, even though Laos barely heard of Paddy's Day, definitely never heard of St Patrick and I was one of only two Irish people in the whole of LP, a commodity by nationality, if only for one day.
The craic abounded in LP, though we lost hippie Frey we picked up two Canadian gals, an epic pair with our fail proof friend test, a joke of the dullest, driest and most callous of humours that virtually demands that one draws a line in the sand or crosses over to the dark side. Our grouping added to its numbers and I added to my time to be spent in LP by booking ourselves on a trekking trip to local tribal villages in the surrounding hill areas, to be 5 hours a day hiking, concluding on the second day with a dip in cascading waterfalls.
It was here we met the ladies, more ladies, I, a man now among 4 ladies, blessed among women and our drunken guide... yes, our drunken guide set off on this trek. We lost the guide on the uphill, too pissed or hungover to actually make it up the hill, the ladies went on and I trekked back down to try and get him to come, only to end up leaving him behind in utter frustration and carrying our lunches with me instead. No thanks to the idiot guide, we made it to the village around mid afternoon, the first day 5 hour trek was more a 2 hour, 2 and bit hour gentle walk in places and we were all left a bit miffed, expecting to be push, somewhat, to a certain limit. We quickly ascertained that the 5 hour trek per day as we were sold was not what it said on the tin, that the tour was more suited and more use to having fat Americans unable to keep pace to tend with. We however ended up putting the guide through his paces and took a sick satisfaction in seeing him in the horrors struggling to keep up with us.
Arriving at the village, a wash area which was basically a pipe coming out of the group, a toilet with a see-through wicker door and a room to sleep all 5 of us, under which the roosters nested is what greeted us. We knew it would be rural, we didn't expect the Ritz and we definitely didn't get it. But it was grand and we all set about wandering the village, stopping to stare at the single most hideous looking turkey bird we all agreed we had ever seen. It was as if its skull had shrunk inside its skin and the rest was just flaps, hissing at us and ruffling its ugly feathers at us to keep us at bay, not necessary as we all feared if we did we might catch whatever the hell was wrong with it. That that the daytime entertainment sorted, night time we were solidly attacked by the local village infant riff raff who took great joy in poking and prodding, pulling and hugging each and everyone of us and absolutely ruining out game of cards until we gave them our undivided attention...bless! Lexi, a confessed child hater, myself, not so keen on them either and the rest did our best, a surprisingly masculine looking girl in a very low cut dress, aptly named Village Ho by our crew latched onto Kate, the Canadians had the singers and dancers, Lexi's attention was demanded of by two of the smallest and I had to contend with two of the smaller ones and their heavy sister, not good as all they wanted was for me to repeat my earlier feat of lifting them high in the air or spinning them around, and I was still carrying my bike crash shoulder injury, enjoy so to wince and come to loath each and every time it was the heavier child's turn to be flung skywards. Day two of the trek took us to some local waterfalls, really beautiful with a supposed 'secret' swimming area, so secret that there are directions up on the wall of the hostel, but still so secret that myself and Kate, intrepid explorers that we are couldn't find it. The rest of the gals had cleverly just gone swimming in the waterfall pools.
Leaving LP, Lexi and Kate behind, the latter whom I would, unbeknownst to me, meet up with again before the week was up, I took the 2 day slow boat up the Mekong to the Thai border town of Chang Koing. The trip itself rather uneventful as 2 days on a boat can be, the really craic started when we arrived at 5.40pm in Huay Xai, the Laos side of the border crossing with the border set to shut in 20 minutes. One mad taxi dash to the Laos immigration, again a $2 dollar processing fee, we hopped a boat across the Mekong, now ticking 5.55pm, ran up a hill, filled out immigration forms and arrived in Thailand, in the nick of time, right before the border crossing closed. BOOM! A cheeky 5 hour journey would take me from Chang Koing to Chang Mai, my desired destination, and along with 2 Leeds lads and an American we did just that.
Into Laos and bus to bring us to Don Det is there, happy out, a 30 seater bus for the 10 people, needless to say I glared at anyone even offering the bare inclination that they may in the vastness of empty seating space even dare think of sitting beside me, I was tired and cranky having got up at 7am and did not have my happy head on me until well after 1pm, we where on the island at that stage, now, in the middle of Laos countryside in was ticking 11am, still not quite human. The 2 hour bus journey from the border to the town where the boat to take us to Don Det is just that, 2 hours away, unfortunately, the infrastructure in Laos leave a lot to be desired, what with it being the 10th poorest country in the world and the poorest of all the South East Asian states, the 2 hour journey on mud tracks when it wasn't cracked and broken tarmac took on a 3 to 4 hour vibe. Though worth it to get there, finally, I arrived at Don Det, two random girls, an English girl and a Qubecan, my prerequisite for accommodation was that it A. was riverside, B. had a veranda upon which either sun rise or sun set shone upon, and finally C. had a hammock.... most importantly of all, that it had a hammock. I got all three and was a happy little monkey for my very easily spent 4 nights or so spent on the islands, sitting, sleeping, drinking, eating, sleeping, reading, sleeping... sleeping, it was great and just what I needed having boosted through China, Vietnam and Cambodia, an opportunity to do absolutely nothing. I understand that doing this whole backpacker thing its hardly what you'd call stressful, hardly a tough life etc but the constant moving and thinking about moving can take its toll, so when you have the opportunity to just dump your bags, take some things out, take check of yourself and sort out your life a bit then it really feels great.
Its just as well because little did I know that for the duration of my journey in Laos and then into Thailand that I would take solice, not in lying in a hammock reading a book for 4 hours while eating smashed watermelon, but rather in the long forgotten art of having the absolute craic with great people and plunging deep into the depths of consuming abhorrent amounts of alcohol, all the while never judging yourself, or others, too harshly when viewing photos the day after the night before.
And we move, skipping Pakse which was only a connection town, and Vietiaine, Capital of Laos which is very pretty but very boring, and onto Vang Vieng, backpacker paradise and land of thousand hangovers.
It was in VV that I met Kate, friend of Orlaith from home, who I had previously briefly met while in Bangkok. Little did I know that at this stage, that she would be an instrumental part in many more drunken nights out and be a travel companion extraordinaire thoughout the rest of my time in SE Asia.
Less said about VV the better, better for me as I save face. Having drank late into the night before, I was up bring ands early for, you guessed it, Tubing. I was, as the tshirt so wrongly says, 'in the tubing'. Whisky shots before breakfast, banana and choc pancake my only sustenance, it was a long day of buckets, floating down the river, more buckets, a water slide or two, more floating and more buckets. These buckets, to clarify are not for say, bringing feed for the cattle, though I observed a large number of people acting quite like farm animals, nor are they for building sandcastles, these plastic fantastic vessels are filled with the most ting tong piss piddley god awfully vile concoction of alcohol imaginable and served eagerly to an even more eager crowd of drunken morons, all baying to hop into large tractor tyre tubing and float down to the next ramshackle river side bar where they can go and do it all over again. On a cultural not, VV is defiantly the most beautiful place in the world that I have ever been off my face... to put it mildy. Its really stunning, the karst landscaping, unique and towering in the skyline, imposing itself and demanding attention, whether you are standing below looking up or are one of the flashpackers able to afford it as a passenger in one of the hundreds of hot air balloons that regularly take to the sky and add a very surreal overcast to the horizon.
VV is, however, not all about drunkeness
To jump a day or two, Kate and I arrived in Luang Prabang, it had started raining in VV just as we left it and the forecast said it wasn't going to be pretty for at least a few days, including Paddy's Day, March 17, which to me wouldn't have made much of a change from home because its always raining on Paddy's Day.
Landed in Spicy Laos, immediately the fact that this place had no glass in the windows, no doors except for a sheet and no bathroom on the upstairs level stuck us as strange, to say that alarm bells were ringing is an understatement, but we persevered, and thank god we did because for the few days we stayed there, we owned it, damn well owned the place, adding two more to our group, Povo and Travely Wavely hating Lexi from England and hippie Frey from Denmark, as well as an veritable accoutrement of strays along the way, all of whom readily embraced the Irish spirit and donned the green with me on Paddy's Day.
Chicken soup for the soul this is not, nor is it the zen of motorcycling but I found a very happy place for myself in all the debauchery that went hand in hand with making sure that there was a bottle of beer lao in my hand... a quick moment to praise said elixir. When I arrived in Laos, I frowned, the beverage of plenty, and pretty much the only beer available if one was so inclined or perhaps destined to indulge in came with a little tiger on the bottle and had, at the start a sharp acidity, sour at first taste. As not so much a conosieur of such malt and yeasty beverages, more a keen admirer, I though in philosophical terms of what taste i was encompassing exactly... on a plain of consciousness arrived at over my second bottle while in the 'happy' bar in 4000 islands I came to the conclusion that it was in fact 'eeeeeeuuuugh!', yes, very grown up terminology but my seasoned palate dictated such an announcement and that this announcement be made to the entire bar and its accompanying patrons. To end a pointless story quite quickly, my aforementioned initial misgivings were just that, the more I consumed the more I grew to love Mr Beer Lao and was almost happy in the knowledge that every bottle that I made vanish and added to the wall of bottles, that his children would be happily and well educated in some far flung western country where there are McDonald's and people have toilet seats and are prepared to wash more than once every fortnight. After VV and my hangover to end all hangover, I was timid at first and determined, if at all, that I would take things slow... and I did. But then Paddy's day happened.Last year Liverpool, this year Luang Prabang, and what a fun Paddy's Day it was too. I shan't ever spend another Paddy's day in Ireland again I don't think, this is a resolution, its far more fun in other random countries, even though Laos barely heard of Paddy's Day, definitely never heard of St Patrick and I was one of only two Irish people in the whole of LP, a commodity by nationality, if only for one day.
The craic abounded in LP, though we lost hippie Frey we picked up two Canadian gals, an epic pair with our fail proof friend test, a joke of the dullest, driest and most callous of humours that virtually demands that one draws a line in the sand or crosses over to the dark side. Our grouping added to its numbers and I added to my time to be spent in LP by booking ourselves on a trekking trip to local tribal villages in the surrounding hill areas, to be 5 hours a day hiking, concluding on the second day with a dip in cascading waterfalls.
It was here we met the ladies, more ladies, I, a man now among 4 ladies, blessed among women and our drunken guide... yes, our drunken guide set off on this trek. We lost the guide on the uphill, too pissed or hungover to actually make it up the hill, the ladies went on and I trekked back down to try and get him to come, only to end up leaving him behind in utter frustration and carrying our lunches with me instead. No thanks to the idiot guide, we made it to the village around mid afternoon, the first day 5 hour trek was more a 2 hour, 2 and bit hour gentle walk in places and we were all left a bit miffed, expecting to be push, somewhat, to a certain limit. We quickly ascertained that the 5 hour trek per day as we were sold was not what it said on the tin, that the tour was more suited and more use to having fat Americans unable to keep pace to tend with. We however ended up putting the guide through his paces and took a sick satisfaction in seeing him in the horrors struggling to keep up with us.
Arriving at the village, a wash area which was basically a pipe coming out of the group, a toilet with a see-through wicker door and a room to sleep all 5 of us, under which the roosters nested is what greeted us. We knew it would be rural, we didn't expect the Ritz and we definitely didn't get it. But it was grand and we all set about wandering the village, stopping to stare at the single most hideous looking turkey bird we all agreed we had ever seen. It was as if its skull had shrunk inside its skin and the rest was just flaps, hissing at us and ruffling its ugly feathers at us to keep us at bay, not necessary as we all feared if we did we might catch whatever the hell was wrong with it. That that the daytime entertainment sorted, night time we were solidly attacked by the local village infant riff raff who took great joy in poking and prodding, pulling and hugging each and everyone of us and absolutely ruining out game of cards until we gave them our undivided attention...bless! Lexi, a confessed child hater, myself, not so keen on them either and the rest did our best, a surprisingly masculine looking girl in a very low cut dress, aptly named Village Ho by our crew latched onto Kate, the Canadians had the singers and dancers, Lexi's attention was demanded of by two of the smallest and I had to contend with two of the smaller ones and their heavy sister, not good as all they wanted was for me to repeat my earlier feat of lifting them high in the air or spinning them around, and I was still carrying my bike crash shoulder injury, enjoy so to wince and come to loath each and every time it was the heavier child's turn to be flung skywards. Day two of the trek took us to some local waterfalls, really beautiful with a supposed 'secret' swimming area, so secret that there are directions up on the wall of the hostel, but still so secret that myself and Kate, intrepid explorers that we are couldn't find it. The rest of the gals had cleverly just gone swimming in the waterfall pools.
Leaving LP, Lexi and Kate behind, the latter whom I would, unbeknownst to me, meet up with again before the week was up, I took the 2 day slow boat up the Mekong to the Thai border town of Chang Koing. The trip itself rather uneventful as 2 days on a boat can be, the really craic started when we arrived at 5.40pm in Huay Xai, the Laos side of the border crossing with the border set to shut in 20 minutes. One mad taxi dash to the Laos immigration, again a $2 dollar processing fee, we hopped a boat across the Mekong, now ticking 5.55pm, ran up a hill, filled out immigration forms and arrived in Thailand, in the nick of time, right before the border crossing closed. BOOM! A cheeky 5 hour journey would take me from Chang Koing to Chang Mai, my desired destination, and along with 2 Leeds lads and an American we did just that.
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