Longing for LAOS

Well at least I knew where Lao was, but it did take me three days to work out what it’s called. Even now writing about the country, I think, shit, I’d better get it right!

It’s spelt Lao, and that’s the proper way to pronounce it, but the locals say Laos because the French added a ‘s’ on the end, just for a laugh. I’m still confused and I spent 3 weeks there. At least with Belgium you know where you stand.

I started my journey in North Lao, catching a small ferry from Northern Thailand, crossing the mighty Mekong River and ending up in a garden shed, which was passport control.

The Mighty Mekong River. Wow, I felt like Phileas Fog (without the strange facial hair).

I entered the gateway to Lao via the river that has fascinated and intrigued travellers for centuries. It starts in the snowy peaks of Tibet and flows through China, Myanmar, Lao, Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam, finally joining the China Sea.

One day I will travel that route and what an amazing journey that would be. For now, it was just a half-day teaser. 6 hours down the Mekong like the film set of Apocalypse Now.

Away from the river and wet shorts, Luang Prabang is a wonderful place. It is also the spiritual capital of Laos, boasting 32 Buddhism temples crammed into this small town. The whole place is a World Heritage Site with a wonderful mixture of Asian and French architecture. The French left this colony in 1953, leaving chaos, fine buildings and beautiful, hot, tasty Croissants that are still baked here every morning.

There are more monks here than you can shake a stick at. I’ve never seen so many, it’s infested. I hate all religions, ‘ALL’ with a passion, but at least Buddhist monks don’t walk around with a superior pole up their arse, in fact they are quite chilled. It is a sea of orange robes and Benny Hill bald heads. Buddhism is a bit like National Service here in Lao, most men have to do it. I met a man who was living in Oxford, England where he had been studying at college for 3 years. He was finding it a bit difficult to find the balance between modern England and S. E. Asian monkness. In Oxford, he told me, he was a club DJ, raver and lover, but now in Monkland he’s up at 5 every day making herbal baths, chanting, meditating and eating plain white rice. Bedtime was at 8 p.m. and he can’t receive anything from a woman…3 months left to service, hang in there!

My next stop was Phonsavan, which is tiny, dusty and hot, like a town from the Wild West. The main attraction is the Plain of Jars. It is a bizarre sight; hundreds and hundreds of giant handcrafted granite jars scattered in fields along hilltops, weighing from 600 kg to 1 ton, carved over 2,000 years ago. Still no one knows why! Theories range from whiskey or rice storage, to burial pots, but sitting there surrounded by the jars, I’m no expert, but it has to be Robinson Strawberry Jam. This is where it all started, the jam empire, which was to sweep the world.

There are 3 main sites but you have to stick to the path because in this province if you wander off the beaten track there is a real possibility of being killed or maimed by land mines, which happens to one person every 2 days here in Laos.

These are the sad facts about the U.S. bombing of Lao.

It’s still the most heavily bombed country on the planet. That is one planeload of bombs ever 8 minutes around the clock for 9 years. 2 million tons of bombs dropped, 2 ton per person living in Lao.

30% of dropped bombs and mines didn’t explode. The U.S.A. still denies any involvement or admits that they dropped any bombs at all.
That’s fucked up!

I was lucky to go out with the Mines Advisory Group (MAG), which are a British based organization that trains locals to clear mines. These people are extraordinary. 5 years in the middle of nowhere, clearing maybe 4 meters a day. I like people like this because it is a humbling experience and they are all mad as cheese.

What a beautiful and tragic country. I would go back to revisit at the drop of a hat, the people, the monkness, the relaxed vibe and of course that Mekong River trip.

I’ve never eaten so many noodles in my life; they are delicious. I am a noodle.

This entry was posted on Friday, July 13th, 2007 at 3:55 pm and is filed under Wright of Way. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site. Add to del.icio.us.