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The Happy Couple


242 Blog Entries
3 Trips
3968 Photos

Trips:

Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
Michael's Lonely post-Honeymoon
Joanne's Round the World Honeymoon

Shorthand link:

http://blogabond.com/shedden




Indian visa and electronics shopping in Bangkok

Bangkok, Thailand


That evening we gave the buckets a miss because we had to get to the Indian Embassy next day, so we decided to have an early night and then the family waking us early would be no problem. We hadn't counted on the band playing heavy metal covers until nearly 2am. The next morning we were woken as usual, and were becoming seriously sleep deprived. We headed out to where the guesthouse had told us we could catch a number two bus to the Embassy, glad to find some strong Thai iced coffee on the way, served in true Thai style, in a bag. The buses didn't stop where we expected, so after the second passed us, we followed it along the route and eventually found a bus stop. The bus only cost 7 Baht and it was quick, which was just as well after all the messing around we had done trying to find the bus stop. We made it to the Embassy in enough time to get brunch at another one of these outdoor cafeteria places. As always it was really nice and cheap: only 30 Baht for a plate of rice with two “toppings” of your choice e.g. Curry and Krapow. The Indian visa takes five working days if you are not resident in Thailand, so we started making plans to avoid having to hang around Bangkok for all that time. We had agreed to pay the extra to have our passports delivered by courier to Phuket, where we planned to go soon to meet Joanne's friend James, but the helpful woman behind the desk suggested that, if we were returning to Bangkok, we could keep our passports for now and then drop them off one morning when we return, picking them up in the afternoon. Perfect. Apart from the 7 day delay in getting the visa they seemed very well organised. I noticed on the price-list on the wall that it is possible to get a five-year tourist visa to India for only a bit more than double the cost of our six-month visa.

The Indian Embassy is in a part of town with lots of shopping centres and, as my mum had kindly suggested buying us each a new camera as a wedding present to replace Joanne's lost one and my sticky one, we decided to have a look at what was available. I got a Panasonic Lumix DMC-TZ5, which Fabrice had recommended. It seemed to fit the bill, although the price was not a good as I was expecting. I haggled hard to get it down from 12200 to 11000 Baht for the camera and a 16GB memory card, but I suspect it might have been possible to get it for less in Britain, whereas I'd been expecting low prices like I believe Singapore has. It was cheaper than rerouting our trip via Singapore and buying it there, anywhere. We couldn't draw anymore cash that day, so Joanne's camera had to wait. In fact we barely had enough money for dinner after the bus crawled back through the rush hour traffic. That night the same band were on again, and we wondered if we'd just missed them the first two nights because we were out. We needed to move because we were both exhausted, and we still had things to do in Bangkok.



permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 21, 2009 from Bangkok, Thailand
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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Vegetarianism and Violence in Bangkok

Bangkok, Thailand


The next morning we were woken again early by the family who run our guesthouse. I don't understand why you would run a business like that. We tried to sleep through the noise which eventually quietened down about 9am. The result of this is that we were too late to apply for our Indian visas, which had been our intention that day. When we got up, we decided to check out a vegetarian restaurant, Ethos, which had been leafletting up and down Khaosan. I opted for the Krapow, which is a standard Thai dish, featuring chillies, Thai basil, and usually minced chicken. It is usually the hottest dish on the menu. This one was made with tofu, which I thought would do no harm to the dish. Again we were let down by a vegetarian establishment: my Krapow tasted of nothing but soy sauce and was almost certainly the worst food I'd had in Thailand. Of course there was no chilli either, but I had given up expecting it. Luckily the meal was saved by pudding and the interesting drinks they offered: the mango and sticky rice with coconut cream was delicious, as were the carrot juice and the hibiscus tea.


After lunch we decided that we had better make a bit more of an effort or else we would just keep drinking buckets and achieve nothing, so we did a bit of research and discovered that the cheapest way to see muay thai (Thai kick-boxing) was to go to the stadium an hour before the start. This was something I wanted to do last time but never got around to so we were determined to go, even though it was quite costly. You can buy tickets on Khaosan Road, but they only sell ringside “VIP” tickets, which we didn't want to shell out 2000 Baht each for. We're not suckers! We walked to the stadium (saving even more money) and there was a nice lady who was quite happy to sell us whatever tickets we wanted. But, she warned, there are no seats where the cheaper tickets are, so you have to stand, and there are often fights over betting. She showed us a photo of really squashed together people standing in the stadium. Joanne was slightly perturbed. I can give you a discount of 250 Baht on each ticket she told us. We conferred. Joanne did think £35 per ticket was a lot of money, but she didn't want to have to stand for the whole time, and the cheaper ones were only £5 less. She didn't want to go down to the cheapest ones at 1000 Baht in case there was fighting. OK, we agreed, VIP seats it is. She gave us tickets and put a sticker on each of us. Nobody else was wearing a sticker. We had nearly an hour to kill, so we sat outside and had bought a beer from a vendor then, after lots of getting laughed at, popped into the outdoor food court next door which was selling more of the excellent cheap canteen-style Thai food. When we returned, our ticket vendor spotted us, and ushered us into the arena. All around there were people in the cheap areas and only a couple of dozen plastic seats right next to the ring. I think everyone else there was press or family of the fighters. The 1000 Baht ticket-holders were separated from the 1500 Baht ticket-holder by a fence and it was quite busy standing-room-only back there, however there were no fights. The 1500 Baht area, though, was hardly full at all, and everybody there was sitting down on the concrete steps. We are suckers after all! We chastised ourselves for believing anything a Thai person with something to sell says, and swore we wouldn't be tricked again. The ringside seats didn't even offer better photo opportunities as the ropes got in the way. It would have been much better to have a bit of elevation and use the zoom.

Now I'm not really a fan of violence, in fact I'd probably describe myself as a pacifist. I don't enjoy wrestling, boxing, rugby, or any of these violent sports, but I do like martial arts and most things Eastern, so I thought muay thai was worth seeing once, and the guide books all recommend it. This was certainly violent and at times Joanne didn't want to watch and felt a little upset, but it was also very elegant as well. There is a band in the stadium, consisting of cymbals, oboe, and drums, and they play throughout the proceedings, the tempo and volume constantly changing to match the action. At the beginning of each match, the two fighters come into the ring with strings of flowers around their necks, sporting headdresses, and some wearing gowns, while the band plays music that could easily be something from a snake-charmer's repertoire. This is apparently quite a solemn few minutes, as the fighters slowly circle the ring, practising some moves, kissing the corners, kneeling down, standing up again, the whole time looking very serious. It looks much more like ritual than a warm-up, but I suppose there may be some psychological warfare going on as well. There doesn't seem to be any time limit on this phase and some of them carry on for quite a while before finally finishing. Then they go over to their respective corners where their trainer blesses them, sprinkles a little water on them, and removes the flowers, the headdress, and any other items not essential to the fight. Then the drums come in and the two fighters start to weave their fists, head, and shoulders in time to the music. It looks much more like dancing than fighting at this stage. The fights are five rounds of three minutes, or only two minutes for the lightest fighters, and they can be quite intense at times. There were ten fights throughout the evening. Less interesting fights seem to slide towards grappling, where the two fighters keep taking turns at swiping each other's backs using their heels. Most of the fighters were quite young and one of these younger fights, the fourth fight of the evening, was ended very abruptly when blue landed a direct kick to red's head and he was knocked out cold. It was less than 90 seconds into the first round, so I suppose blue must have been quite pleased with himself. Red was quickly whisked off the ring by medical staff, who might have been worried by the few small convulsions he had just as he hit the deck. Or maybe that just what happens when people are knocked out, we wouldn't know, but nobody else looked particularly worried so we tried not to feel to queasy about the whole thing. The seventh fight had been billed as the Big One and just before it started, an official came into the ring with the young chap who had achieved the knock-out, raised his hand in the hair, and then presented him with a biggish metal cup and an envelope. So I suppose knock-outs are not all that common. After the seventh fight lots of people left, and then more after every remaining fight, but I was determined to sit it out until the end since we'd paid so much money! The last fight of the night was the heaviest weight and when the fighters came to ring Joanne said “oh no, it's a farang!” and so it was. “This is going to be bad”. Joanne suggested that he might have paid for one of the courses in muay thai, which culminates in a real fight. The Thai's friends were behind us, cheering him on. It was quite obvious from the start that the farang did not have the panache of the previous fighters: he looked bored rather than solemn during the rituals at the start and, by comparison, he lumbered towards the Thai, more bulldozer than dancer: where the Thais were on their toes, he shuffled along, flat-footed. I don't know much about boxing but, watching him, it was pretty obvious that the farang had been a boxer before. His reach was incredible, and he kept his guard up in a way the Thais did not. When it came to the kicking side of things it was ugly. Whereas the Thais were engaged in a martial art, he simply booted his opponent from time to time. As the match wore on it started to look like he had the upper hand. His reach was so long that the poor Thai could hardly even get a kick in, and none of them really deliver decent blows with the hands. In the end, the Thai was looking weaker and weaker until the farang went for it, kicking him repeatedly in the shins (ow!), in between strong punches to the head. At this point the Thai looked like he was going to cry, and almost seemed to be trying to run away, but the referee stepped in and stopped the match before he could jump out the ring. We had assumed the farang would lose, but this result was even worse. All his mates were there to see him beaten by a farang! Talk about losing face.



permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 20, 2009 from Bangkok, Thailand
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
tagged MuayThai

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Bangkok and Khaosan Orientation

Bangkok, Thailand


When we arrived from Sukhothai at Bangkok Northern Bus Station, our guidebook told us which local buses would take us to Khaosan Road, which we had decided to stay near, but no on. However, where we alighted, there was no sign of any local buses and no obvious way of getting information: tuktuk and taxi drivers were happy to tell us that the local bus station was two kilometres away or that we had missed the last bus, and when we eventually spotted the information kiosk, the girl working there did not seem to stop chatting on the phone long enough to serve anyone. After I failed to get anything useful from her, Joanne had a go and we found out that the local buses and just through a walkway at one end of the bus station, not two kilometres away! On the local bus they were very helpful and let us know when we were passing Khaosan Road. It wasn't quite the way I remembered it: it seems to have got shorter and much more busy since I was last there. Actually I didn't really recognise it at all. I looked for my hotel from last time, and then a bar I might recognise, but I think they have both gone. Apparently it has been developing upmarket, so the cheapest places have probably all gone. I sat in a bar an ordered a surprisingly expensive beer while Joanne looked for places to stay. Usually I go looking because you are pestered by touts constantly if you walk around with your big bag, and it's much more effort anyway. I was feeling a bit lazy, so I persuaded Joanne it was her turn! After a while she came back. She had found somewhere back from Khaosan Road, where we hoped to find somewhere fairly quiet but would be close enough to the nightlife. Joanne led me one street back from Khaosan where the place seemed nice enough and it was quite reasonably priced, although not in the bargain range that used to be available there. When we left again to explore, I pointed out that the front entrance to the hotel was in fact on Khaosan Road. Joanne didn't see the funny side I did, and told me that I should go looking in future.

Outside, Khaosan was more closely beginning to resemble what I hazily remembered. Stalls selling food and clothes everywhere, music blasting out, and people throwing “poi” or long fluorescent sticks around to the music. Several places on the street were putting in dreadlocks or giving people dreadlock extensions. Mine had been becoming progressively unravelled and Joanne thought I should get them tightened up again while we were somewhere with that service on offer. Everywhere there were people with dreadlocks and tattoos, but at least I now realised the people I'd envied with too-good-to-be-true perfect dreadlocks we'd seen in Chiang Mai were almost certainly sporting falsies. Another new feature on Khaosan Road, as far as I'm concerned, is the prevalence of places selling “buckets”. I didn't see them anywhere in Thailand last time, but everyone I knew who had been to Thailand since said they were ubiquitous. Yes, you could buy a 300ml bottle of Sangsom with a bucket of ice and a bottle of Coke, but these premixed drinks in the bucket, with Coke and Redbull were not here last time. I'm sure of it! The custom had since spread across South East Asia apparently, but the buckets we'd had in Cambodia and Laos had not taught us to avoid them, although Joanne always said “never again” the next day. So we celebrated our arrival in Khaosan by ordering a bucket.

The next morning, we were woken early by a child wandering around the guesthouse screeching, and the other members of the family, who ran the guesthouse, shouting back at the child and to each other. We eventually gave up trying to sleep and crawled out of our beds. We were in Bangkok to get things done, and one of the things we were here to do was buy some books. We thought that there are enough English-speaking tourists and ex-pats that there should be a decent selection. Well, we were right about the selection being good, but the secondhand bookshops seemed to be selling their stock for almost as much as they cost new, in some cases more, and they did not seem amenable to much bartering. One of the other tasks for Bangkok was to catch up a bit on the blogging, so Joanne treated herself to a massage while I slaved away over a hot keyboard, before picking up some nice coconut pudding street snacks. A bit later we wandered down to the bottom of Khaosan where you were met with the rather unnerving sight of a very thoroughly shot up car just outside the police station. At first I thought it was maybe the car belonging to the leader of the yellow-shirts, whose car had recently been opened fire on, but I can't understand what it was doing there several days later. After a couple of hours we walked past again and the car had been covered up, suggesting to me that this had maybe happened there last night. We looked in the online news and could see no suggestion of anything like that happening the night before, and Joanne found the story about the assassination attempt, confirming that we had seen the same car as featured in the photos accompanying that story (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/8003531.stm). So that was a relief. That night we found a cheap food stall at the top of Rumbuttri, one street along from Khaosan, where the food was delicious and I was pleased that they had some genuinely spicy options. While we were sitting there eating, a guy drove past on his moped, sharing his bike with a golden retriever wearing sunglasses and a big floppy hat, looking very happy. Unfortunately I was too slow with my camera. Stupidly, that evening, we ended up drinking a bucket again. It's just so much cheaper than drinking anything else, it's very hard to resist. On the way home I bought some durian from a street vendor, but Joanne insisted that I sit outside our room and eat it all before she would let me in. I still can't make my mind up about it. It is so unusual tasting: partly sweet, partly rancid, partly savoury.



permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 19, 2009 from Bangkok, Thailand
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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Suki Yaki in Sukhothai

Sukhothai, Thailand



The day after Songkran was over, Chiang Mai was a completely different city. All of the temporary stages had been removed, the permanent traffic jam round the moat was gone, and so were all the people intent on soaking everyone. I had been sure there would be a few stragglers who kept a little fighting going, after all they had started at least a week early, so why wouldn't they finish late? However it really did seem to be the end, although I kept my water gun with me just in case we were ambushed. Joanne just left hers behind in the hotel room when we went for the bus to Sukhothai. On the bus we discussed the relative merits of staying in Old versus New Sukhothai: the old town was very small with very little choice of accommodation or food, but it was where the ruins were to be found, which was the only reason we were going there. The new town didn't sound like it had much to offer tourists, except that the bus was going to drop us there and then leave from there to Bangkok, which would have required more effort that evening on our part, and then again two mornings later if we were going to stay in Old Sukhothai. Just as I was thinking that we must be approaching town, the bus stopped and some people got off. In an completely unexpected stroke of luck, the driver had decided to stop in the old town, removing any need at all to go to the new town, and we managed to work out what was happening just in time to pile off with the others. Accidentally on purpose I left my water gun in the boot of the bus. It didn't seem like I would have much more use for it, although I was a bit sad to see it go.

There were only two choices of accommodation, so we opted for the Old City Guesthouse as it was recommended by the Rough Guide and, having blown our budget since arrival in Thailand by indulging in a little too much revelry, we decided to save a bit of money and go for the “shared” bathroom option. In practice I think we were the only people staying in that part, so we actually had two bathrooms to ourselves. Next door was a cafe-restaurant called the Coffee Cup, selling excellent coffee, which we had been missing since arriving in Thailand. We ordered food there and I opted for the beef red curry, which should be loaded with chilli anyway, but to make sure I requested it “phet phet” (very hot) which I had learned hoping to counter the expectation that I like flavourless food because I am a farang. My new Thai had no effect and the food arrived extremely insipid although tasty, with sticky rice on a plate which just seemed wrong after a few weeks in Laos, where the sticky rice is always served in a beautiful woven basket. I was beginning to believe that Thai food really had changed dramatically in little over five years, and I would have to wait for Mexico to get hot food, after all three towns in, and one papaya salad was the only really fiery food I'd had. After dinner, we took a short walk up the road to find out if we could hire bikes for our cycle around the ruins the next day, but the bike hire shop (in the other guesthouse) had already shut up. When we returned to our room, I discovered to my horror that the pocket in my rucksack, where I store valuable things was unzipped, and my wallet was missing. I was fairly convinced that I had not left it open, so was almost certain that someone had dipped my bag in the restaurant, where Joanne had paid for the food. I was imagining what a horrible next few days at least, I was going to have, cancelling cards and living without money. We returned to the restaurant, but I hadn't left it and nobody had handed it in. Gutted, we decided our only remaining hope was to retrace our steps to the bike hire shop. Incredibly my wallet was still lying there on the pavement, half open, but untouched. “Very Lucky!” said the waitress when I returned to the restaurant. Too right! How many places could I have left my wallet on the pavement for twenty minutes and returned to find it still there?


That night we had a terrible night's sleep. The room was very hot and it was so dusty that the wind kept sprinkling a covering of dust over us, blown from the mosquito mesh over the windows. This made us itchy and sneeze. We cursed the Rough Guide which described the place as “spotlessly clean”. Ha! Clearly the researchers did not opt for the budget rooms. Just when I didn't think the night could get any worse, the dull aching in my right ear, possibly present since an onslaught of moat water in Chiang Mai, started to intensify until it was unbearable. I had forgotten how painful having an ear infection used to be as a child, but now I was reliving it. In the morning we found a chemist, but weren't completely sure the drops we got were the correct thing, as the chemist had no English and I'm not sure the Thai I produced by flicking through the phrase book was up to much. The pain had subsided back to bearable levels anyway, since the intense burst which kept my awake for hours. I couldn't really be bothered with sight-seeing as my mood was so terrible because of the night I'd had.

We briefly discussed staying an extra day, and just trying to get some sleep for now, but ruled it out, deciding it would be better if I just bucked up my ideas and mustered some enthusiasm. So we hired bicycles and set off. I'm not certain how much of what I felt was still because of a persisting huff, but Sukhothai was a huge disappointment after the temples at Angkor. I would certainly recommended going to Sukhothai before Angkor to anyone who was planning to visit both. It seemed like they had done too much restoration work, so some of the sites had almost completely lost their ancient feel, and all of their romance. After all if I wanted to look at reinforced concrete, I could just have stayed at home in Glasgow! And that's what they seem to have done in many of the sites: completely removed piles of ancient rubble to a museum, I assume, then replaced them with reinforced concrete replicas of what they imagine it used to look like when it was new. I fell out with my bicycle as well, which I decided was a complete waste of time for the centrally located sites, which were all within easy walking distance. I cursed the Rough Guide again for more poor advice. It was a very hot day, and the one silver lining was that the huge crowds of tourists arriving from the new town did not appear as expected around 10am. Maybe everyone was staying away because of the ongoing trouble with the red-shirts in Bangkok. After a lacklustre morning, we stopped for lunch in a restaurant called Kacha, where I had my least spicy papaya salad yet, but the coffee and beer I had with it seemed to lift my spirits a little, and I managed to continue with the sight-seeing with hardly a single moan. That evening we got chatting to a woman running a restaurant which had no English sign, and no farang customers. I complained that I'd been disappointed with the lack of chillies in Thai food so far, especially next door, although it had tasted very nice. She assured me that next door is too used to serving farangs, and she would make me some food the way it was meant to be. Result! She brought me a pork red curry, which was delicious and it hurt, just like Thai food is supposed to. The place is apparently called Noodle Sukhothai, although it's not written anywhere in English. After we had eaten she took us inside and showed us grateful letters from and photographs of other farangs, who had also been in search of the chilli. So now I had the explanation: nearly six years of continued tourism had caused Thai food to become blander and blander in order to cater for some imagined western palette. I blame the French, Dutch, and Germans! There's a lot of them in the region and they always seem to be complaining that food is too spicy, or looking for food like they get back home. Scots and the English have enough of a taste for Indian food and kebabs to handle the heat, and Americans have Mexico on their doorstep, so they appreciate a good chilli pepper.

The next morning we made sure we sampled the local specialities, Sukhothai Noodles and Suki Yaki for breakfast, before catching a local bus to the New City bus station. At the bus station they told us that there was only one bus, a “VIP” bus, leaving at 5pm and costing 380 Baht, which was a lot more than we expected to pay and a lot later than we wanted to leave. It was fairly obvious we were being hustled, but the problem was where to get independent information. Bus stations in Thailand seem to contain dozens of competing companies running the same routes, who each have their own people trying to herd tourists to their own desk. In the Old city, we had been told there was a bus every hour, but these touts all told us the buses were full. Other farangs were having the same trouble. We walked outside to look at the buses, many of which said “Bangkok” on the front, some apparently leaving soon, and none full. We spotted a kiosk marked “Information” and thought we'd cracked it, but the woman in the kiosk just told us to ask inside, where there are only the self-interested touts. Finally we located an information computer, which gave us prices, departure times, and bus numbers. We were still looking through the cheaper and earlier buses when a bus driver came up and told us he was leaving for Bangkok now and ushered us to a counter we had not yet tried. At first I thought it was more hustling, but the ticket was only 255 Baht for 2nd class aircon. While we were buying the ticket, the farangs opposite told us they had discovered there's an earlier bus and Joanne replied “we're leaving now!”. I don't know how much they paid, but I bet it wasn't as good a deal as ours. The bus was quite nice, confirming once again my general theory that the more you pay the worse things tend to be: VIP buses have incredibly uncomfortable seats, arctic aircon, and smelly toilets. The lunch break was also a real pleasure: when the buses made a service stop in Cambodia or Vietnam, the prices were several times what you would normally pay, whether for hot food, cold drinks, crisps or whatever, and they usually had rows of statues, bags, paintings, and other tourist trappings. Here, our lunch stop was in a roadside canteen: basic, but the food was delicious and as cheap as food from a street vendor. Not a statue, vase, or silk dress in sight. During the journey Joanne decided that she had an eye infection from the the dirty Songkran moat water, to keep my ear infection company. We arrived in Bangkok that afternoon. It was raining.



permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 17, 2009 from Sukhothai, Thailand
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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Chiang Mai: Songkran at its craziest!

Chiang Mai, Thailand



(S)he only really belongs at the end of the blog, but I think the photo deserves prominence.

Waiting for the bus from Chang Rai to Chang Mai, we bought some drinks and snacks for the journey from the 7-11 in the bus station. 7-11 is absolutely everywhere in Thailand, although they've been surprisingly ubiquitous throughout Asia. The Thais seem to really care about drinking straws, but I had to laugh when I opened the bag. We'd bought two big bottles of drinking water (Thailand may be more developed that the rest of South East Asia, but you still can't drink the tap water), two cans of Coke, and two little bottles of Yakult. The bag also contained six straws in three different sizes: long, thick ones presumably for the bottled water; medium-sized ones for the Cokes; and two tiny little narrow straws for the Yakult. I wonder how many different types of straw they have easy access to at the counter, and for how many different products!

Last time I was in Thailand I stayed at a little backpackers' called Eagle House and as they had been so friendly and incredibly cheap we had taken the unusual step of booking ahead so that we could be sure of somewhere to stay over Songkran, during which we had heard Chang Mai books up very fast. The Irish owner, Annette, who run the place with her Thai husband, Pon, did not have very good email communication skills. In fact she had almost completely failed to confirm that we had a booking at all: “I think the staff have booked the room for you” was the best we got from her. When we arrived it was pouring with rain so I did not relish the thought of looking for another place to stay. The guy at the desk told us it was the first time there had been rain in Chang Mai since last year. Either people were lying to us about the weather, or the apparent early monsoon was just for us, and was following us around Asia. There was a bit of confusion and delay but, yes, they did have a room for us, although I soon realised it was not what we'd asked for: this room had a hot water shower, a totally unnecessary luxury we had not been bothering with. The “cold” water comes out pretty warm when the ambient temperature is 35C and over, and you don't want anything warmer when the weather is that hot anyway. Also, hot water showers are usually electric “power” showers, which means that the water tends to trickle out much more slowly than water straight from the mains. I went back to the desk and explained to the young guy that I had booked a small cold water double room at 150 Baht, but he said they don't have any, just hot water rooms at 180 Baht. The price was about £3.60, a considerable increase on the 75p per night I paid before, but I suppose five years is a long time! The difference between cold and hot didn't seem too bad, so I agreed to stay where we were. There was apparently a trek leaving the next day, but we wanted to see Songkran in Chang Mai. Unfortunately he could not confirm when the next trek would be leaving, nor could he confirm whether we'd be able to stay a couple of days longer than the three days we'd booked. “Ask again on your last day” he told me.


We ventured out onto the street and it was quickly clear we would need to be armed, so we got Joanne a lady's-sized super-soaker type of water gun, but the water activity seemed to die down in the early evening, so we left the gun in the room and investigated the Chang Mai nightlife. We found quite a nice club called THC, which was playing a good mix of psychedelic trance, hard trance, and drum'n'bass in lovely soft-cushion fluorescent decorations surroundings. It seems to be a little slice of Thai beach culture migrated to the northern end of the country. We were starting to notice that loads of people were smoking in Thailand compared to anywhere we'd been so far. There are no real smoking restrictions anywhere we'd been in Asia, but it hadn't bothered us much because there were never many people smoking at once. I suppose other than Thailand the locals are too poor, and as for the travellers, it is more the backpacker end of the tourist industry outside Thailand, so maybe the tourists there can't afford to smoke as much either. But now we were in Thailand it was stinging eyes and the smelly clothes and hair again we used to suffer from before the excellent smoking ban was brought in for bars and restaurants in Scotland.

One of the things I'd liked about the Eagle House was their “honesty system”: you help yourself to soft drinks, beer, or whatever from the fridge then write it down in your room book, and if you order food, you write that down too. This was still in place, but there was no longer beer available, which was a bit of a disappointment. In the morning, when writing down our breakfast order, I noticed that the room rate had been written in for me: 240 Baht, not the 180 I was expecting, so I took it up with them at the desk. It turned out we were in a large hot water room, not the small hot water room I thought we were in, and certainly not the small cold water room I'd booked. I complained about this and suggested that they should let me have the room for the rate I was expecting, but they were having none of that and closed ranks, claiming (falsely) that everyone working in reception had heard him telling me yesterday that the rate was 240 Baht. They were able to move us to one of the cheap rooms we thought we were already in. I think it was right next door to the room I'd had five years previously, but the nostalgia was somewhat ruined by “improvements” they had carried out in the room. The ceiling fan had been replaced by a light and a small fan mounted on the wall instead. Ceiling fans are really nice, effective, and quiet at night, but they seem to have been replaced by noisy little ineffective wall-mounted ones in many places. I suppose they must be cheaper to replace when something goes wrong, but they really are useless. The gushing cold-water shower was now a trickling hot water electric shower, and the clean-but-basic flush-with-bucket squat toilet had been replaced by a western-style flushing toilet, but as is the case all over Asia, the cheaper western-style toilets are worse than the Asian-style ones: they leak, the seat is never properly attached, they don't flush properly and so on. All in all I was becoming pretty disillusioned with Eagle House, and Joanne wasn't at all impressed with my choice of dwellings.


We had to go looking for a camera shop, to see if we could get my grit-damaged one repaired, but before we looked for it we had some preparations to carry out: Joanne transferred all of her stuff from her small rucksack into the dry bag we had bought for Tubing in Vang Vieng; I also had a smaller dry bag designed to go inside a rucksack, so I transferred everything into that; we filled Joanne's gun up from the tap; and the first place we went out on the street was a stall selling a huge range of water weapons. I settled on 1.5 litre super-soaker, which I paid about £8 for, although I was tempted to get one of their top-of-the-range twin barrel guns, or a weapon with a back-mounted water supply for about £15, but it seemed like a rather silly expense when our daily budget is only £35 between us, including accommodation. The only camera place we could get information about on a Chang Mai tourist map we had, was a fair walk away. We were a keen to do it that day because Songkran officially started the following day and we were fairly sure they would close for the holiday, however an extra twist had been added by the government declaring a state of emergency and three extra days of holiday, which meant it had actually already started. Our walk took us through some less central parts of the town, but there were still plenty of people ready to soak us from street corners, outside shops, or from the back of moving vehicles. We were able to retaliate most of the time with our newly purchased weapons, and I noted that many people actually want you to wet them. A couple of people had pointed at me and said things like “wet me, farang, for good luck!” so how could I refuse? We soon came up against the limitation of our guns which is water supply, but we discovered that everyone is very friendly and happy to share their water supply with you, which is usually a huge plastic bin full of water. Of course they usually give you an extra soaking while you're filling up, but it's a price worth paying. When we couldn't find the camera place, it occurred to us to call the number on the leaflet: no answer.


On the way back from our largely futile shop search, we came to a busy bar with rock music belting out, where the clientele were almost exclusively Thai. Outside there were several farangs, though, and a few Thais waging a very intense water war with the passing traffic and people stationed across the road, at the corner of the moat. The centre of Chang Mai is surrounded by a square moat, and standing next to it clearly gave those people the massive advantage of a limitless water supply, however I worried about the cleanliness of moat water being chucked all over people. I think the moat may be the reason that Chang Mai celebrates Songkran more vigorously than anywhere else in Thailand. The bar seemed like an interesting place, so we confirmed it was OK to go inside dripping wet and sat down at the bar for a wee drink. We got chatting to a friendly girl at the bar called Aey, who told us that her sister, behind the bar, was the manager. She told us that all the farangs outside water-fighting had Thai wives or girlfriends and children to them. While we were in the bar it started to pour with rain again, so I asked how unusual it was to get rain at this time of year. She claimed that this is the first time that it has ever rained in Chang Mai during Songkran. She went on to tell us how Songkran was a gift from Buddha, when during his life there was a very hot year (40 or 50 degrees she said) and he wondered how to ease the suffering of all the people, and he apparently came up with the idea of a water fight. She was really quite drunk so I'm not sure she knew what she was talking about; I had thought that Songkran was all about washing away bad luck rather than cooling down, hence some people's desire to be wet. Also some, usually older, people tend to sprinkle a little water over you with their fingers as if anointing you. There is also a tradition of washing your Buddha figures during Songkran, and I had seen someone pouring water over the large Buddha at the Sunday Market, so I think it is more about luck, although it was a nice story Aey told us. We sat and chatted to her for most of the afternoon, getting drunker and drunker. At one point she produced some very tasty Tom Yum Crisps and told us she works as quality control for the company. Tom Yum is usually a hot and sour soup, so these were quite an unusual take on it: most of the same ingredients, dried i.e. shrimps, chillies, lime leaves, nuts, squid, etc. I thought they were very nice and I told her I thought they would sell well in Scotland; I was thinking of posh shops like Pekhams. She assured me that they do export and kept trying to give us free packets. We only took one because it didn't really sound like the business had properly taken off yet and I've not been able to find any sign online of them in the UK, but I'm sure they would sell because they're delicious. The water fight had started to spread indoors as people got more and more drunk. As far as I can gather everyone in Thailand gets drunk continuously for about five days over this festival. Since we had Aey on our side, she helped by filling our guns with iced water which makes for an excellent secret weapon. When you fire iced water at people you can really see the difference: the shock on their face, the sharp intake of breath, and the stiffening of their back. Great stuff!


Eventually we staggered back outside into the battle zone, where I started to notice that the iced water idea was neither original nor very unusual: we were frequently hit by streams of water that made us gasp, or worse, whole buckets of water over our heads. When I spotted huge icebergs floating in some of the large bins people were using as water supplies it all made sense. The iced water is just one element in the huge range of weaponry on the streets for Songkran: there are the ubiquitous super-soakers like we had, but many people had those guns with water supplies on their backs like rucksacks, which allowed them to go longer without a water source, while others had gone in the other direction and were using long, thin water canons which expend their aqueous ammunition in one powerful jet, or had gone for the cheap and simple option of using a bucket; both these groups of people would often be found gathered around the large water bins, never able to stray to far from a water supply, but able to deliver the most devastating assault when next to one, especially when the bin was full of ice too. Quite a few people had complimented their weapon with a comedy or horror rubber full-face mask. Let me tell you, it's quite scary to see George Bush coming towards you fully armed. Many of the bucket-packers had stationed themselves along the moat, and were re-arming their weapon by lowering it on a string they had attached. In fact, so many people were using the moat as a water supply that by the end of the day, the road next to it was flooded several inches deep and even before then a little river ran down the road all day. Another two weapons at opposite ends of the spectrum are those who carry around a little cup of water for dipping fingers into and sprinkling over people, and those who have a hose, though the hose is usually used to refill the big bins it is occasionally turned on some unlucky or deserving opponent. This raises the question: who is your opponent? Mostly it seems almost as if there are two teams: the people standing by the bins against the people driving round in vehicles. But then the people standing on opposite sides of the street also have a rivalry, even if it comes second to the war against vehicles, and of course there are plenty of peripatetic warriors like us, who are happy to take a shot at anyone and definitely get it back in at least equal measure. But even with these loosely defined enemies, you still see plenty of in-fighting: you can often witness short bouts where a few people round the same bin, or on the back of the same pick-up, start going for each other, but this is usually brought to an end by a passer-by refocusing the team effort. Some people seem to pile as many of their friends as they can onto the back of a pick-up, along with plenty of beer and huge bins full of iced water, which is also good for keeping the beer cool, and drive round and round the square of the moat all day. You can even charter tuktuks with buckets of water, by the hour, to drive you round and round. Plenty of people even opt to drive round and round on mopeds or bicycles. The result of all of this, of course, is that there is a constant traffic jam all the way around the moat, but nobody seems to mind much: it just gives them enough time to have a mini-war with one group of bin-dwellers before the traffic frees up enough for them to move onto the next campaign. Many of the vehicles and lots of people faces have white pasty stuff all over them. We had asked Aey what this is and it is apparently talc, used to protect against the sun. I had thought it was maybe a symbol for the bad luck which would then be visibly washed away. One of the fantastic things about the fighting is that it is very mixed: young and old, Thais and farangs, men and women, monks and police, they are all equal targets and everyone is having fun together, without resorting to grouping along racial or gender lines or suchlike. It's just a great big happy party, with music thumping out of various stages set up around the city.

Passing a Mexican restaurant advertising free wifi, we spotted Lambert from Chang Rai, so went in to chat to him and use the wifi. He was heading back to his guesthouse for a bit of a party with the other guests there, so we agreed to join him. On the way to his place we passed a stall selling durian. I had to buy some: all this time in Asia I'd been buying durian products, trying to understand what it tastes like, but I had not thus far seen actual durian. I didn't try it immediately but the smell was rather powerful; I had to keep moving it around the bar of Lambert's guesthouse so as not to offend people. Lambert seemed less worried about offending people and ranted for some time about how he hated Phuket, where we were going soon, mostly because he had objected to all the ladyboys there. I don't think he was the sort of person who would object to ladyboys in principle, but he had apparently found that those in Phuket were very forward, to the point of extreme harassment. He posed the question why there were so many ladyboys in Thailand and quickly presented his theory that it is all because of the Thai language. His theory centred on the fact that Thai is unusual in that the first person personal pronoun (“I” in English) is different depending on whether you are male of female: “dichan” for females and “phom” for males. There is also a very frequently used “politening particle” (don't know what the correct linguistic term is), at the end of most sentences unless a conversation goes on for a while, and this too is different depending on your gender: “kap” for males and “kAAaa” (falling tone) for females. Thai is the only language, he said, which does this, and consequently allows people to choose their own gender simply by changing what they say. I thought his theory was interesting, but I was only half-convinced, and I could not believe there were not more similar languages. He assured me that he had been all over the world and learned enough of every major language to be sure. Joanne later reminded me that the word for “Yes” differs in Khmer according to the speaker gender, and I think we found something in Vietnamese too, however the fact it is “I” that changes in Thai is maybe significant and the high frequency of the changing words in Thai may be too. We were probably already a bit too worse for wear to be joining another party and after a couple of Thai whiskies from Lambert, Joanne was a bit worse for wear, so we said our goodbyes to the concerned-looking people at Lambert's guesthouse and went home to ours.

When we arrived back we realised that Joanne no longer had her camera, so I put her to bed and ventured back out to see if she had left it in Lambert's guesthouse, however I was too drunk myself to remember where on earth we had just been and after about an hour roaming the streets looking for it I had to give up. I returned home and ate one of the two pieces of durian: very odd tasting. The next morning I ate the rest if the durian as a hangover cure and Joanne was very unwell. Eagle House confirmed that they would be unable to extend our booking for two days, which meant that they had allowed other people to check in after I let them know we wanted to stay on. By now I was so annoyed with them I decided to write to the Lonely Planet and Rough guide to give them a very negative review. It wasn't a good day: we still couldn't remember where Lambert was staying and Aey's sister confirmed nobody had found Joanne's camera there. We had no idea where the Mexican restaurant we met Lambert was, but it was now our best bet for Joanne's camera. Luckily my phone had stored the name of the wifi point, “Miguels”, when I'd connected to check my email, and we spotted a place with the same name when retracing our steps. They were closed for the holiday, but we found an employee hanging around. They had found nothing either and he told us that stuff often gets lifted from there because they are right on the main street. Increasingly depressed we went looking for new accommodation, but instead we found an open camera repair shop, where the owner said he could repair mine and I could collect it later that day. Maybe our luck was changing. We continued the hostel hunt, but most just said that they couldn't tell us until tomorrow, by which time we'd be walking around with our huge packs getting soaked. Finally we found a place who told us that we couldn't book but, if we came back tomorrow, they would definitely have something. It was a much bigger place aimed at younger people, where you had to pay for each day up-front, and which the LP described as noisy, but we were desperate. We collected the camera which was working again, but unfortunately still had the sticky beer problem it had been suffering from since Laos. I went to try and blog, but I was too hungover even for that, however we did receive an email from Sia and Willemijn inviting us to lunch the following day. The water fight continued unabated and we got so wet that we both had chafed thighs.


The next morning we were up early so that we could move to our new guesthouse without everything in our big rucksacks getting soaked. I had put everything in plastic bags inside the rucksack, but I didn't trust them to the amount of water we had endured the previous day. In fact we had left early enough, but people were already starting to get set up along the moat. At lunch time we met the Dutch girls who didn't seem to be all that impressed at the constant soakings, but I think it was just because they wanted to go shopping instead. Meanwhile I tried to put my newly revitalised camera to good use by putting it in a clear plastic bag and taking some photos. My camera stayed dry despite the serious efforts of strangers, but the photos didn't come out all that well: most of them seemed a bit "steamed up". It started to rain heavily again, so that we asked each other if there really was any point in Songkran this year. We met Sia and Willemijn again for dinner then we all went to see what was happening on the stage in the main square, which had seemed to be hosting variety performances earlier in the day. Now it appeared to be a beauty contest in full swing. We couldn't catch much of what they were saying, but one thing we were sure of was that one of the facts they gave about the girls as they were introducing them was their weight in kilograms. Surely that shouldn't be allowed! We ended the day by taking the two Dutch girls to the THC club we had enjoyed so much a couple of nights before. It seemed to be full of Dutch people surprised that you can find “this kind of music” outside Holland. This time the youngsters weren't such a bad influence on us because Willemijn thought she had eaten something dodgy so wasn't drinking, even after I had recommended that a large Sangsom would kill any infection.

Last day of Songkran: rinse and repeat. I finally managed to find some spicy food in Thailand in the shape of som tam, which is a fantastic green papaya salad, incorporating lime juice, fish sauce, tiny shrimps (krill maybe), chillies, garlic, and peanuts all bashed together a bit. We'd had it in Laos a few times, but it's much nicer in Thailand because the Lao one is a bit simpler. Walking around looking for photo opportunities, out attention was attracted by Sia and Willemijn shouting from the back of a pick-up, apparently getting much more into the swing of things today.

They dismounted briefly to explain. Someone had been throwing buckets of iced water from the back of a vehicle and had accidentally scooped up a full can of beer and thrown it at them. They saw their opportunity and told him he could only have it back if he and his friends allowed them to join their party. So they had been driving round in circles for the couple of hours since and seemed to have no intention to quit. They asked me to take a photo, which didn't come out very well so after they left I decided to chance taking the camera out of the bag for brief instants to take photos and little snippets of video before quickly sealing it all back up again. I was very careful with my timing, but there were still some near misses. This time we finished the day off with a tower of Chang beer, which I had been eyeing up ever since we first spotted one.

We were going to leave the next day. We had seen no tourist attractions in Chiang Mai, but we had partied with the locals for a few days and, judging by the number of other farangs doing the same, Songkran itself is now a major tourist attraction in Chiang Mai. Only now it was over did we think we would be able to get transport to move on, but I had wanted to stay to the end anyway.



permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 15, 2009 from Chiang Mai, Thailand
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
tagged Drinking, Thailand, Chaos and Songkran

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Twenty-one today! (and the next day)

Chiang Rai, Thailand


Checking out of the hotel in Luang Namtha, the guy on the desk was very slow, in fact he had to get out of bed to serve us. Then our breakfast was slow arriving, which meant that we missed the Sawngthaew that had been filling up with people when we first went out. We had been planning to travel with the two Dutch girls from the trek, but they were on time for the first one. Luckily the next Sawngthaew to arrive did not insist on waiting until full, because he knew we were trying to get to the bus station early enough to catch the bus to Huay Xai and cross to Thailand. At the bus station, a couple in front of us in the queue were also going to Huay Xai, then when it came to getting on the minibus it was already full. This caused a bit of a commotion as one employee told us we had a ticket for this bus so we could go, meanwhile another told us we could wait for the big bus which left several hours later and arrived in Huay Xai after the border was closed. We were keen to get on this one. While we were trying to work out what to do, more people arrived and the conductor even sold one old Thai lady a ticket, after they knew the bus was full! Shortly after this she pulled three large rice sacks up to the bus and indicated to the driver she wanted them to be tied to the roof with the other luggage. When he shook his head, she produced a 10000 Kip note, but he still shook his head. When she produced a second 10000 Kip note he stopped shaking his head an started heaving the bags up top. When it was clear the minibus overflow could not easily be resolved, they got everyone off the bus and rechecked their tickets, which did mean a few more people getting on the bus, so some must have been on the bus without a ticket, however when it came to us the conductor shook his head and pointed to a line drawn underneath our ticket numbers on the his clipboard. Apparently the woman at the desk had oversold the tickets and there were only enough seats for everyone up to, but definitely not including, us. The Dutch girls, the couple in front of us in the queue and, oddly, the old woman who bought a ticket long after us made it onto the bus, but after a 20000 Kip bribe I don't suppose the driver would kick her off. We really need to learn when to bribe.

With the new arrivals at the bus station we tried to argue that they should just use the big bus now and use the minibus later in the day, after all surely they can't have as many people who want to go to a border town after the border has closed. Apparently not, it needed to be this way, and how could we know whether they needed the big bus to stay here so it could be used later? A pushy guy I took to be Italian, found out from the incompetent, over-selling woman behind the desk that we could charter a minibus for double the price each that the bus would have been, and he confirmed that we would be refunded our ticket money. Feeling a bit bullied, we agreed because it would otherwise be even more expensive for the others he had involved in his scheme, and he'd gone to all this bother. We didn't really want to spend the night in Huay Xai, but doubling the cost was a strain on our budget. We did want to meet up with the Dutch girls in Chang Rai for Willemeijn's birthday. I asked the “Italian” I was now starting to suspect was maybe Argentinian whether he had bargained before settling on the figure, but apparently he'd just agreed to the first price she suggested and handed over the cash. When the minibus arrived and we were just about to put our luggage on, the woman from behind the counter rushed over and told us we could have the big bus leaving now (instead of several hours later when it was meant to leave) for the same price as the minibus. It didn't take long before we replied “Why would we want to do that?”. Apparently they could have spared the bug bus after all, in which case they could have fitted everyone on it. Why had they allowed the smaller bus to go, leaving behind several passengers, who were now being offered the whole bus to themselves? Presumably they could make more money this way, and if we took the big bus, they could fit some more people on who would pay the normal ticket price. We just wanted to go, and did not want to play their silly games!

It turned out quite well, apart from the extra cost, because our minibus overtook the small scheduled bus with the Dutch girls on it, and dropped us right at the border, which was just a short ferry crossing over the Mekong. It was another really hassle-free border crossing. It seems to be any crossing that involves a river is really straight-forward. Or maybe it has to be the Mekong! From Chang Khong on the Thai side of the border it was hassle-free to draw money and get the cheap “normal” bus to Chang Rai for only 70 Baht or about one pound forty, for a three hour journey. The bus was a nice change from all the VIP buses and first class we had been coerced onto so far: no freezing air-conditioning, just rotating fans over every second row, and instead of uncomfortable shaped reclining seat, which I hate, it was nice simple comfy bench seats, padded but not reclinable: a bus not a coach. The difference on this side of the border was clear very quickly. Thailand is much more developed than Laos. The houses are much bigger, more modern, and more substantial, with very few wooden ones on stilts, which is the norm in Laos. The roads are actually clear of livestock, whereas in Laos the road is always covered in dogs, pigs, chickens, cows, goats, and so on, even in towns. We met a couple of people in Laos who were scared to take tuktuks because it seemed every time they got in one the vehicle ran over a chicken. We didn't ever have such bad luck, apart from the calf getting killed by the vehicle our luggage was in in Luang Namtha. On the journey our bus was totally drenched by people throwing buckets of water all over it. We had to change sides on the bus, because the off-side wasn't as close to the pavement, so not so much water would come through the windows. Clearly Songkran (Thai New Year) was even more in full-swing than Lao Songkan.


When we arrived in Chang Rai a misreading of the guide book meant that I asked the tuktuk driver to take us to the wrong guesthouse, but having arrived there we decided to stay anyway. It was a bit out of the centre and a bit more expensive that we had anticipated, but it had a swimming pool and the guidebook said that the food in the guesthouse was good. I was keen to get some real Thai food into me, so after we checked in, we ordered some food. I ordered red curry which I remembered from my previous visit to Thailand as being searingly hot. I couldn't wait. When it arrived we were very disappointed. I couldn't understand it, but there didn't seem to be any chilli at all in the food. On my last visit to Thailand I was amazed how spicy all the food was. OK I deliberately ordered hot food, and in places that asked “you want for Thais or for farangs” I said Thais, but it was consistently incredibly hot. This was different, it was not. We'd had such high expectations of Thai food and our first meal was fairly tasteless. Lao food was nicer than this meal by a mile!


After our disappointing meal we headed off into town. It wasn't too far, but it was a mile or two. We stopped at a place with draft beer, which we soon realised was a Dutch place when we saw bitter ballen on the menu, so I ordered some. After only a few minutes, the two Dutch girls from the trek, Sia and Willemijn, walked past and we attracted their attention and called them over. They spent quite a while leafing through the extensive menu, saying “wow” and giggling at all the comfort food from home they have been missing. They had been travelling for a couple of months, and were taking a similar route to ours, except they were much more disciplined and didn't hang around anywhere too long. We had a few drinks with them and ended up going to a strange little rock bar called the Teepee Bar on the main street. After it was midnight Willemijn announced that it was now her 21st birthday so she was going to drink now. The Teepee bar is run by a rather strange character of a Thai guy, with very long hair and that night, leopard print spandex trousers (Joanne says they were velvet leggings, but I disagree). He really seemed to believe in 80s rock kitsch and the whole bar was decorated in a similar vein and played rock classics all night long. The next day we met a girl we'd previously met in Luang Phabang who told us she'd heard of the Teepee bar, and that they have a rabbit with dreadlocks somewhere up the stairs. We didn't see that, but we did see plenty of strange memorabilia. When the strange guy tried to shut his bar, Willemijn complained that it was her birthday and she hadn't drunk enough yet, which got the rest of the customers onside who started to heckle the owner to stay open later. The owner was getting a little bit upset that all his customers were trying to make him breach his licence, so his compromise was to give Willemijn two free drinks and then herd us all down the road to a later opening bar. We didn't get home until about three, and the next day Joanne and I agreed we were too old to be drinking with 21 year olds, or 20 year olds as Sia, Willemijn's cousin still was.

At least we got to sleep in late because, unlike Laos, Thailand does not have really loud cockerels absolutely everywhere throughout every city, just dying to start your hangover early for you. Another difference from Laos is that spirit houses are much more common in Thailand. Outside almost every building, whether someone's home, a commercial building, or an official building, there is something that usually looks a little bit like a bird table. Outside houses it's usually about the size of a large bird table, except that the little house on legs often looks more like a small temple, but sometimes it looks like a miniature copy of the house itself. The little building is usually surrounded by a patio, and on that or inside you will see little models of people dancing, sometimes elephants or other animals, and usually incense, some food, and glasses of clear liquid, rice spirit I believe. Outside commercial or official buildings these structures can be many times larger and the whole scene on the table can be much more grand. These are spirit houses and part of Thai religious belief unconnected to Buddhism. According to the Lonely Planet, the idea of a spirit house is to make a very attractive and comfortable dwelling for spirits near, but outside your house. This way, the spirits will prefer to stay there than in your own home (or business etc), where they would cause lots of trouble and bad things would happen. The incense, food, and drinks are regularly replaced (every day I think, before 11am apparently), to keep the spirits pleased with their surroundings. If you make renovations to your home, it is necessary to make improvements to the spirit house as well, otherwise they'll want to move in and take advantage of your new bathroom or whatever.

Determined to carry on the bit of effort I had made with Lao, I soon had my Thai phrase book out and was trying to relearn everything. Thai is very similar to Lao, and culturally Lao is really just a subset of Thai. The food is very similar, the demeanor is very similar, although Thais maybe seem a bit friendlier, probably because they are more used to tourists. The dialect of Thai they speak in the north is apparently indistinguishable from Vientiane Lao, but more generally Thai has only five tones where Lao has six, so it's easier to speak. Ponsa had told me that the languages are similar enough that they can all understand Thai, but he didn't think it works the other way around as Thais are not exposed to as much Lao. The one major problem with learning Thai properly would be the fact the written language is not phonetic: the language is apparently peppered with words lifted directly from Sanskrit and although the have changed pronunciation massively in Thai, they are still spelled using the original Sanskrit spelling, simply transliterated into Thai characters. It sounds worse than English!

Before we ventured out, I decided to take the precaution of putting my camera inside a plastic bag to protect it from water, since there had been quite a few people throwing water the day before. We hoped we could find some nice authentic Thai food to help clear our 21st birthday headaches but, after wandering around the city for a couple of hours, we had not come across a single Thai restaurant. All we could find were places boasting of their extensive (and also expensive) western menus. Eventually we ended up back at the same Dutch place we had started at the day before, because their menu said they had a real Thai chef and there were plenty of not too expensive Thai dishes on the menu. The food was actually quite good although not really very spicy. On our way back to the hotel a gigantic cloud of dragon flies started passing overhead. I'm not sure how closely I could estimate their numbers, but it must have been something like tens of millions. The cloud was thick enough that they disappeared vertically into little black dots, pretty close together, and it took about ten minutes for the main clump of the cloud to pass over. So impressive was this cloud that I wanted to take a photo, which was when I reached into the plastic bag and felt grit as well as my camera. I had used the plastic bag I had hastily put my muddy flipflops into when leaving Luang Namtha, to “protect” my camera. It was broken. The lens cover that had been a bit sticky since beer was spilled on it was now refusing to open at all! I'd broken my camera trying to protect it from Songkran.

We had arranged to meet up with the girls at the Dutch restaurant for Willemeijn's proper birthday, so we bought her a water pistol and a little cake. It was her birthday so she chose pizza, which was way out of our budget range, but it was her birthday so what the hell, we decided. My pizza was actually very nice seafood tom yum flavour, which is normally a soup, but worked very well on a pizza. We were relieved to find out that Willemeijn was feeling a bit worse for wear after the previous night, so she was laying off the alcohol. However after a couple of Coca Colas she decided to get stuck into the drinking again. This time we were joined by a French guy called Lambert, who seeemed to be trying to hit on the girls. He had cycled across much of Laos on a very poor looking bike, not at all suitable for long distance travel. This time we stayed out until about 5.30am. I was shocked how much the Sangsom now costs. This is a (maybe the) Thai spirit, not sure whether it's supposed to be a brandy or a whisky, but when I was last in Thailand it costs less for a half-bottle (300ml) of Sangsom than it did for one beer. I remember my guide book at the time said something about beer not really being part of Thai culture and the government trying to discourage western influence by taxation. In fact our Rough Guide from just last year says that beer and Sangsom cost about the same, but the typical price we found was that it now costs three times as much for a small bottle of Sangsom as it does for a beer. This is much more in line with the UK, but a huge price change in one year. What has happened to Thailand since I was last here? The food is no longer spicy and the spirits cost more than the beer!

permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 10, 2009 from Chiang Rai, Thailand
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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A superb Green Discovery trek

Louang Namtha, Laos


Our last evening in Luang Phabang ended with us getting a full refund for the laundry to compensate for the lost shirt. We felt a bit guilty as they had done a good job with the clothes they did return, but it still probably wasn't enough to cover the replacement shirt.

In the morning my flu-like symptoms had abated a bit, but I now had a rash spreading up my arm. Hurriedly I referred to the health section in the guide book where I discovered that a flu-like illness and a rash are symptomatic of dengue fever. Not being some sort of hypochondriac, I probably wouldn't have worried about this, but we had met several people already who had contracted dengue, and when we were in Cambodia the health services claimed to be dealing with an epidemic, although this may just have been a ploy to get more tourists to donate blood, since Khmers apparently refuse for religious reasons. As we were waiting for the bus, we saw some of the Mekong weed for sale, so bought it for the journey. It also started pouring down so Joanne bought a rain poncho. It wasn't looking very promising for the trek we had booked for the following day: me with Dengue Fever while the monsoon empties the skies on us.

This was another crazy bus journey and the weed was a real disappointment: we worked out that it was supposed to be grilled. The bus was in better condition than the one we'd taken to Luang Phabang, which we had doubted would make it up the last few hills, but this time there were large sections of road missing, apparently having fallen down the hill. But, as always in Asia, health and safety comes first, so just before the missing section of road there was a pile of rubble to prevent you from driving over the precipice, then rocks along the length of the missing section until a second pile of rubble indicated the end of the gulf. When we arrived in Luang Namtha, where our trek left from, we were transferred to a large tuktuk called a sawngthaew (which mean “two rows” after the two benches in the back, where the passengers sit), and driving towards town some people commented on the black smoke from a fire (or could it be clouds?) coming our direction. Next I think something karmic may have happened: the sawngthaew in front carrying everyone's bags knocked down a calf which had wandered into the road. Seconds later the heavens opened, and it didn't stay water for long: soon golf-ball sized hail stones were bouncing off the road and our vehicle. The driver stopped pretty quickly, as did all the other traffic around, and we sat in the back, wondering if the end had come. After a while it retuned to very heavy rain and the driver proceeded cautiously. He dropped us outside a hotel, but the rain was too heavy to work out where we were or where the hotels we wanted were, in fact my flipflops were nearly washed away when I got down from the back, so most of us just queued up to book into the hotel we were left at. The LP stated explicitly that they did not recommend any of the Chinese-owned hotels in town, as they are overpriced and poor quality, and here we were booking in to one, so I almost expected the rate to be hiked up to obscene levels considering our present predicament. In fact the hotel was very nice, and the price did not seem at all inflated. So there, Lonely Planet! Getting to our room I discovered my rash has spread over my chest and down my other arm, and I was still feeling quite ill, so I was now as convinced of my dengue as I was convinced by the apocalyptic downpour that monsoon had definitely arrived early. Given both of these, we seriously considered trying to pull of of the trek, until we discovered that it was now fully booked, which meant that the cost was now very reasonable per person. So we just crossed our fingers instead.

We got up quite early for the trek and I felt quite a bit better, and the skies looked fairly clear, so we decided not to try and get out of it, although their booking rules stated that a cold was not considered a good enough excuse.

Of course they might have seen it differently for dengue, or worried about me infecting the villagers with something if I showed them my rash, but I seemed to be passed the worst. Joanne had been worried that she would slow the rest of the group down, but it soon became clear that Joanne was about in the middle of the group in terms of speed, but there wasn't that much of a spread and the group kept up a good speed. The terrain was quite nice a varied with plenty of ascents, and the forest we were walking through was lovely thick forest, along a narrow footpath. The difference between this trek and Cambodia was obviously huge form the beginning: these guys knew what they were doing; they knew that nice forest and nice scenery were important; the “main” guide with the better English, Ponsa, was incredibly knowledgeable about the forest, the animals and plants in it, and about the tribes who live in it. We got no rain on the first day, although there were lots and lots of leeches. I didn't find them too bad, but most of the girls were squealing and panicking every time a leech was near them. I brushed a few off while they were still just crawling up me, looking for a good place to feed, but once I was too late and the beast had attached. Apparently insect repellent kills them and, yes, lighters can be used to remove them, but the simplest and most used removal technique on the trek was to pick a leaf, grab the leech and tug it off, the leaf acting as a barrier that prevents it from switching to your hand. Quite early on we also saw a poisonous (apparently) snake although it was very small and not at all scary-looking.

The trek was in the Nam Ha Nation Protected Area. Laos has loads of NPAs covering fourteen percent of the country and Provincial Protected Areas covering a further four percent, making it one of the most protected countries on the planet.

However they are not protected in the same way as national parks we might be used to: they were created in places that take in lots of forest sparsely occupied by various tribal villages, so the government could hardly tell these people to stop using the resources from the forest as they always had done. Instead they chose to treat the people as part of the conservation area, so that the tribal people are still allowed to hunt, fish, collect plants, cut down trees for timber or fuel, and carry on as they had done traditionally. The important distinction between this and illegal activity is that none of these activities can be carried out with a financial motive, so no commercial exploitation of the forests is allowed. Of course there is a problem with illegal logging, and some tribal people exploit the forest for more than subsistence, but the principal seems to me a good one. We did see some tree-chopping and one or two ugly areas of torched forest, which is apparently perfectly legal for the villagers to plant rice where the trees were. It did make me wonder about the future though, because even if the illegal activity can be contained, the forest is not an infinite resource. So if some tribes are very successful and the villages start spreading, there is still going to be a problem with lack of resources. I put this to Ponsa, who agreed and said he thought the hope is probably that enough people leave the villages for the cities to keep the villages from growing too large.

When it was time for our lunch stop, two villagers appeared from the jungle and helped Ponsa and the not-so-good-English-speaking guide (whose name I've forgotten) to prepare the food.

The food was absolutely fantastic, some prepared in advance, some prepared speedily on quickly built fires, served using products entirely gathered from the surrounding forest, so that our table cloth / plate was banana leaf, our chopsticks were bamboo, the prepared food was wrapped in banana leaves, and our restaurant was a bamboo shelter that had been built by the villagers. I asked Ponsa who maintained the paths and he said they were all maintained by the Akha people, whose village we were going to. Some of the bridges and paths seemed maintained more than someone living in the forest would need and when I asked about that he said that Green Discovery gives the villagers money, although he didn't say the money was explicitly for path maintenance, so maybe it's just an understanding. I gather most of the money goes to maintaining their school and that sort of thing, although when we arrived in the village I was struck by what an enormous amount of livestock they have, so I think they must be quite wealthy for forest-dwelling villagers, although Ponsa refused to describe them even as relatively wealthy. Our accommodation in the village was actually separate from the rest of the dwellings: there was one longhouse to sleep maybe twenty visitors. Always with their eye on ethics, Green Discovery had started out with “proper” homestays like we had in Cambodia, but this had apparently caused too many problems within the villages; either the money is distributed evenly, in which case someone is being inconvenienced with visitors for nothing extra, or else the money goes to just the houses accommodating the foreigners, which leads to envy. This was apparently the way they had found kept the most people happy, so it was now policy. After we got settled in and were shown the “shower” (the stream behind the house), we set out en masse to visit the villagers. The first thing I noticed was a group of smaller huts on stilts, round the outside of the village. Apparently this is where the teenagers live, so that they can get enough privacy with their girlfriend or boyfriend at night. What an excellent set-up! At first I felt a bit uneasy imposing on the villagers like that, but it soon became clear that they were delighted to have their photos taken, which was after all one of our primary purposes in walking around. As usual in Asia, the children were incredibly cute and a bit precocious and the men were very friendly. Here the women were not unfriendly, but they did seem to be really quite shy, most of them certainly not wanting to have their photos taken, although very keen to have their children photographed. On the way back to our hut, I was accosted by a group of men just back from hunting, who wanted me to sit and drink lao-lao with them. How could I say no? They seemed quite pleased that I liked the drink and even accepted another one, but tried hard to prevent me from leaving. Apparently, a little later, the young German guy in our group refused to drink with them and they told him “Scottish drank”. Nothing new there then!

Back in our longhouse, I noticed a sign that perhaps explained why the villagers were so keen to be photographed: I thought maybe it was just that they liked to see the images on the LCD screen, but here was a sign asking visitors to laminate and post photographs to the village, care of Green Discovery.

Of course the villagers have no cameras of their own, so how marvelous it must be for them to receive laminated photos of their children. We plan to do this soon, from Bangkok probably, but anyone reading this blog should feel free to have pictures of the Akha people laminated and posted to them. Again, our dinner was a joint effort between our two guides and two villagers, and was really delicious. After dinner some girls from the village were gathering outside, giggling and singing. I thought they had just come to gawk at the foreigners, which seemed fair enough after we had traipsed through their village with cameras. Soon they filed in and Ponsa, already prone, instructed us to lie face down, arms by our sides: a Lao massage! Joanne worried about the cost and asked Ponsa. It's included, he said. The massage was quite similar to the Thai massage I'd had several years earlier: lots of trying to pop the joints and wrenching bits of body around. I think the girls were still learning actually, as they were all only about fourteen or fifteen, and it certainly wasn't a match for the Thai massage I received from a powerful old Thai woman.


At night it rained heavily, but it had cleared up again by the morning and my flu symptoms had almost completely gone too, so, feeling much better, I was much less worried about the rash since it presumably wasn't dengue or meningitis, or any of the other worst-case options I was contemplating. Before we set off we were all presented with a “gift from the Akha people”, a charming little woven pouch which I've been using as a mobile phone holder since. Because of the rain, we were all anticipating even more leeches, but in fact most of us didn't see any all day. Again the trekking was fantastic, with just enough uphill to make me feel like I'd had a reasonable amount of exercise, along interesting tracks through beautiful forest. Again the food was fantastic. We told Ponsa he and the others should leave Green Discover and open up a restaurant called “jungle food”, keeping all the same food and method of serving.
After the trek was over I felt great, about as good as I had done since heading off on this trip. I don't think it was just the exercise, although that was undoubtedly a part of it, I think that it was just such a lovely experience that it left me with a gooey after glow. When I realised that this trek had cost us less, in the end, than the awful trek we did in Cambodia, we left quite a generous tip. They did a fantastic job, and I would not hesitate to recommend Green Discovery Laos to anybody. All the trekkers agreed to meet up for dinner after our showers, and everyone turned up apart from the two youngest, dutch girls: two German ladies who go on adventure holidays together every few years, leaving their husbands at home; a German girl working for an NGO in Phnom Penh and her younger brother, a somewhat nerdy computer programmer. We all agreed it had been an excellent trek and a good evenly matched group.




permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 8, 2009 from Louang Namtha, Laos
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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Food and Buddha in Luang Phabang

Luang Prabang, Laos


The bus journey to Luang Phabang was horrible for me. The road was at least as twisty as the road to Phonsavan and the lao-lao hangover would not abate. After far longer than expected we arrived and found a reasonably cheap hotel not far from the centre of town. As Luang Phabang is a UNESCO city we were expecting prices to be a bit higher and there certainly were options for spending more money. 

Not wanting to set our ambitions too high for the first day there, we just took a wander down to the night market to try and find some cheap food. There we bumped into the Australian guy [actually he is from New Zealand - ed (Joanne)] who had given me such terrible advice for the first Tubing flying fox, from which my voice had still not yet recovered completely and my entire chest was still covered with a fading yellow bruise. Clearly not ones to learn from my mistakes, we listened to him again when he told us of an "excellent" vegetarian buffet for only 5000 kip (less than 50p) at the end of the street. It was just awful, by far the worst food we'd eaten since Cambodia (in fact possibly China): it was extremely plain, almost completely flavourless, and not in least Lao. The bizarre thing is that the stall was quite busy and all around us were young people raving about how great it was. I just can't understand, when the Lao food is so interesting and delicious, why you would want to eat anything so bland. Then I realised that nearly all of the people raving about the food were underweight, almost to the point of malnourished, and it hit me: they were all vegetarians, and vegetarians are very easily pleased; as long as the food is vegetarian, they don't actually care what it tastes like. At least that was the only sense I could make of the situation. For all that vegetarian food can be delicious, and it's undoubtedly an ethically admirable position, food aimed specifically at vegetarians seems to be universally awful. The food was so disgusting that we left it almost untouched and went off to get food from a place that they sell meat as well as vegetables.


The following day we decided to follow the Lonely Planet walking tour to enjoy all of the wats for which Luang Phabang is so renowned. Sure enough the temples are very impressive, and the town certainly has a different class of visitor from anywhere we'd been in Laos so far: lots of smartly dressed middle-aged people, and there were lots of smarter bars and restaurants to entertain them. As we walked from temple to temple I decided that my dad would love this place; lots of lovely buildings to look at and lots of lovely restaurants to eat in, many with views over the Mekong River. We witnessed a lovely moment about halfway round the tour, when we decided to stray slightly from the route just to go right to the end of the peninsula the historical centre is on. The old, pretty part of Luang Phabang is at the junction between the Mekong and the Nam Khan, so we wanted to see how it ended. As we approached the end of the road, two young monks were walking very sombrely in front of us. The town has loads of monks, presumably in order to fill the many temples, and it seems most of them are young. Just as we reached the end of the road, the monks ahead of us reached the path leading down from the road, and as soon as they were slightly out of sight behind some long grasses growing next to the path, they started running and unfurling their long saffron robes, a complete contrast in their demeanour. We followed the path down a little, Joanne unsure whether we should follow them when they were clearly “off duty”, and saw that just before the intersection between the two rivers, in the smaller Nam Khan, there were loads of young monks splashing around, playing with footballs, and generally behaving like the kids they are, while the bank of the river was littered with saffron robes.


As I mentioned the town has more of the upmarket tourist feel than anywhere we'd been for a while, so of course we looked a bit scruffy wandering around the historical centre, but at lunch we really felt like this place was a bit posh for us. We investigated the Lonely Planet's recommendation for a mid-tour lunch stop, Tamarind, and discovered it wasn't too much over our budget and the food looked very nice. When the food came it was fantastic, worth every penny: loads of local specialities, which is of course my favourite, including Jeow Bawng, a dip made with chillies and dried buffalo skin; some dried Mekong weed, toasted with sesame seeds, tomato, and garlic; and some dried buffalo meat. Buffalo seems to be used instead of beef in much of Lao cuisine and we'd certainly seen enough buffaloes for that to make sense. I was a little disappointed that their description of the Jeow Bawng did not mention the buffalo skin and there was no sign of it, but I suppose UNESO-driver tourism needs to be sanitised a bit for all the posh people. When it came to pay the bill we really showed ourselves up. In Asia we have become accustomed to not tipping. Nobody seems to expect it and we can't really afford it anyway, but here when we left no tip, our waitress looked visibly shocked and upset. We left with our tails between our legs, but soon became indignant: why should a place that clearly sees more rich tourists already, benefit from our custom more than a better value place more used to serving backpackers? We decided we were right not to tip! Why should they get a tip just because they expect one? However, we resolved to start being a bit more generous in cheaper places when they really do deserve it (but don't expect it).


We finished off our walking tour by climbing up the hill in the middle of town: Phou Si, which has a couple of temples on it. Just at the bottom of the hill is Wat Pa Huak, which is one of the oldest temples in Luang Phabang. The temple is in quite a state of disrepair, but the murals inside are still in excellent condition and a totally different style of art from anything in the more modern temples: some of it is quite graphic and horrific, more like something Christian from the Middle Ages than the serene beauty that normally seems to be associated with Buddhism. On the way up the hill we were repeatedly harassed by old women trying to sell us little birds trapped in bamboo cages, which we were supposed to take to the top and set free “for good luck”. Joanne had read that the whole thing is a scam, and the little birds are trained to return to the women, who re-cage them for the following day. I wondered how that would be possible until I noticed that the cages of birds were sitting on top of a small mountain of grain. It must be a pretty easy choice for the birds to make once they are released: fly around for a while and enjoy some freedom then return home to unlimited food at no effort. From the top I was struck by how green the city is: from above it seems to be mostly coconut palms and temples. We finished our lovely day off having yet another meal on the Mekong, watching yet another sunset over it. On the way home we passed a stall selling scorpion wine and snake wine “for power”, which we'd read about in the guidebook but not yet seen. I declined to partake, remembering that the consumption thereof encourages trade in some endangered creatures. And the whole idea was pretty horrible anyway!

The following day I sat in the office of a tour company called Green Discovery that several people had recommended to us. They are more expensive than their competitors, but they have a major emphasis on an ethical approach and the treks and reputedly very good. They quite quickly guided me in the direction of the trek a couple people had already signed up for, which would make it cheaper for us. Without this incentive I'm not sure how I would have decided as they have quite an extensive range of options. Meanwhile Joanne collected the laundry we had dropped off the previous day. Shock, horror!! One of my shirts was not returned and in its place was some horrible t-shirt with a beer brand on it. Not that I am opposed to t-shirts like that, but after sending things home from Vientiane, my shirt was now one of the few really cool 100% cotton garments I had to wear. I had retained a t-shirt each from Laos and Vietnam which had turned out to be unwearable in hot weather, although they both (obviously falsely) claim to be 100% cotton, and as a result I was a bit low in cool tops. We went back to try and swap the t-shirt for my shirt, hoping that the t-shirt owner had realised the mistake and missed his Michelob (or whatever) shirt. The woman who did the washing claimed that it was all impossible because ours was the only washing she had done recently, but her daughter was a bit more diplomatic and suggested we should come to an arrangement “good for you and good for me” which is a bit of a catch phrase in the region, most often used by vendors when bartering. We agreed to return later to sort it out, hoping that Mr Redstripe was not yet on a bus to Thailand.


In the meantime we wanted to see Pak Ou Caves and a waterfall which seem to be the main attractions other than the town itself, so we hired a moped. The price was massively inflated over anything we'd paid previously but we had heard that it was not possible to hire bikes at all, which would have meant signing up for an even more expensive tuktuk tour, so we were happy(ish) to pay the exorbitant fee. Trying to learn from previous experience where I'd consistently overfilled the tank and returned it half-full, I made sure I only took the correct amount of fuel. When we reached the turn-off it seemed like I'd judged it quite well, but by the time we'd been bumping along the muddy path the turn-off was, for a few miles, dodging boulders and bulldozers, the fuel gauge started to look a bit low. By the time we arrived at the little village of Pak Ou, it was showing nearly empty. Most people see the caves by taking a boat trip up the river, so don't have to worry about how to cross the river like we did, since the village is on the other side from the caves. There are boats waiting to take you across, but they prices were again inflated. I skillfully managed to get the boatman to lower his fee, but then rather stupidly handed over the entire lot up-front. We were pretty convinced we were now going to have to find a different ferry to bring us back, so I decided that he definitely a tip if he hung around (in the new spirit of tipping where due). There are two natural caves, stuff full of “used” Buddhas, left by the villagers for centuries. The upper cave itself was a bit of disappointment inside, but the entrance was covered with a huge ornate wooden door. There were a lot of really poor looking children trying to sell trinkets and crisps to a rather small number of tourists. This was the first time we'd seen any sign of serious poverty since leaving Cambodia, so there is obviously still a problem in Laos, but maybe only in suburban areas. At first we thought the children should be in school, but then realised it was Sunday, so it probably isn't as bad as Cambodia. Anyway, the lower cave is much more impressive inside, with hundreds of different kinds of Buddha images scattered throughout. Our boatman had waited for us, which made me think the Lao people are very honest, and we did not encounter anything to contradict that the whole time we were there. Back in the village we managed to find someone selling petrol in plastic bottles, so bought a litre to take us as far as a petrol station. On the way back along the dirt road we stopped off at Ban Xang Hai (Jar Maker Village) where now they just fill the jars with lao-lao and rice wine. We ended up buying a small bottle of rice wine for more than I had bought the full litre of lao-lao from Phonsavan, and more than we could buy a bottle of lao-lao from a supermarket, just because we felt obligated after tasting so many samples (again declining the scorpion and snake wine). The rice wine did taste really nice, so we didn't feel too ripped-off!


The guy who rented the bike to us assured us that it was good value because we could see the caves and the waterfall in one day, but the time seemed to be getting on a bit, however I was determined so I really got into swooping around the corners of the twisty road up to the waterfall. We arrived only half an hour before the “closing” time. It wasn't quite what I was expecting: here was a park with a bear enclosure, woodland walks, and all sorts of distractions apart from the waterfall. I was expecting to get off the bike, see the waterfall and leave, but this one turned out to be layers and layers of cascade, each with a swimming pool of cobalt-blue water below. The park was absolutely gorgeous, but we were now so short of time, all we were able to do was rush up to the biggest falls, take some photos, go for a quick swim in the nicest pool, then rush back to the bike to zoom back in time to return it. It was a real shame, because it seemed like it would have been a nice place to relax and spend half a day, not half an hour. On the return journey we were accosted several times by groups of children throwing buckets of water over us. Songkan (Lao New Year) seemed to have arrived a week early! We were not expecting to be soaked until we arrived in Thailand. Luckily our cameras and phones escaped undamaged, but we realised we were going to have to be careful from then on. We got the bike back just in time, shorts still wet. On the way back to town I got really itchy all over, and by the time we arrived I was starting to feel really ill with almost flu-like symptoms.


That evening we found a very recently opened restaurant, Sunset Restaurant, overlooking the Mekong, where the owner was trying really hard to get customers to come in, and they were selling some of the local specialities I'm so fond of. The food was absolutely delicious again, what of it I could taste through my rapidly worsening flu, but this time much cheaper, so of course we left a generous tip.



permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 5, 2009 from Luang Prabang, Laos
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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The mysterious Plain of Jars

Phonsavan, Laos


The last deed in Vang Vieng was to have my shoes repair that had been destroyed by the rubbish trek in Cambodia. The job the guy in Vang Vieng did seemed to be really good, but I decided then that Asians now have absolutely no comprehension of the wealth of westerners. Almost the whole time in Asia people have treated us like cash machines; prices are often inflated for us, although in China and Vietnam they were prepared to drop their prices a lot (I believe more-or-less to local prices) but in Cambodia, especially, and also Laos the people seem to be too racist: whites pay more. I suppose they just think we have unending reserves of cash. This shoe repair was a perfect example of this: the first price the guy suggested for the repair was more than the original price I paid for the shoes brand new!They really think that we are infinitely wealthy and we pay a fortune for everything. Clearly they don't know about the modern realities of closing down sales and Primark! Sooner or later they'll realise that the West is getting poorer, while prices have been rising in the East, so the tourist industry will be badly hit... unless the Chinese replace all of the westerers, which seems a distinct possibility. In the end, I agreed to be extorted out of 60% of the original price of the shoes. He promised to do a good job and said if I didn't like it I didn't need to pay; presumably he would then sell my shoes to someone else instead. Maybe I should have told him to forget it, but it seemed to be the lowest he was prepared to go and I didn't think I'd be able to buy such a good pair of shoes as cheaply, although I hadn't checked any prices, so who knows? He did do a good job and, although I'd paid for over half my shoes twice now, I felt happy to have extended their lives and preserved resources.


We then spent the most of the day on an epic of a bus journey. The road was through very mountainous terrain, so wound left and right an awful lot, as well as up and down; all very very slowly, which I suppose I should be glad for, but I just wanted it to be over. A Japanese guy near the front of the bus took photos of the, admittedly very nice, scenery for the few bits he stopped his video camera from recording the entire trip. Apart from the hills we were also blessed with the sight of albino buffaloes, which seemed to become more common the higher we went: yellowish white hair over pink skin, which seemed very odd on such huge beasts, better suited to a mouse or something like that.


When we arrived in Phonsavan it seemed to be very cold, so I changed into what seemed necessary: long trousers, long sleeved top over my t-shirt, fleece over that, socks and newly repaired shoes. A search online revealed that the reason it felt so cold was that we were now enduring 26C. Criminally cold! There was almost nothing in the town and all the other tourists confirmed that they were also going on a tour of the Plain of Jars the next morning. Taking inspiration from the dubious source that is the Lonely Planet, we decided to seek dinner out in the place they describe as winning the prize for atmosphere, since it seemed to be sadly lacking in the town. They seemed to be upholding their side of the LP description when we arrived, but were far too drunk to make any food. We sat down next to the bemused guests at the guesthouse, and helped the proprietors and friends polish off their lao-lao, whilst listening to them crooning / playing guitar / playing an Casio keyboard from the 80s, before excusing ourselves in search of food.


In the morning we joined a small group of people on a minibus to visit the Plain of Jars. The Plain of Jars is actually the plains of jars, as there are several archeological sites. We were visiting the imaginatively names PoJ sites 1 to 3. Our guide told us that, once they had finished the UXO clearing work, he hoped that the area would become a UNESCO site and bring far more tourists and their money to the region. This whole region was utterly bombarded by (guess who!) the USA during "the Secret War" which ran for many years without the US public knowing a thing about it, despite (the guide book says) Laos being "the most bombed country in history", (almost) all by the USA. Searching online for specific reveals that it's "only" per capita that the USA made Laos the most bombed country in history, running sorties on average every eight minutes over nine years! Vietnam wins in absolute bombing apparently... and who was it that dropped those bombs again? It cost the US tax payer about $7 billion, but it's OK as, to pay for the clean-up and training for UXO-clearers the USA has contributed more than $10 million! Anyway, the Ho Chi Minh Trail, which kept the North Vietnamese run through this part of Laos, and also here the "Secret Army" (Hmong people playing the part of the CIA funded "contras" in this particular conflict) battled it out with Ho Chi Minh's forces. So most of the area is still considered unsafe for exploration. Even these sites they hope will be endorsed by UNESCO still have narrow "safe" paths marked out, beyond which you are not supposed to tread.


Anyway, the Plain of Jar are certainly mysterious, but many of the group felt that they were not worth the epic bus journey out of the way to Phonsavan (and the return journey most of the way we would all have to make). I liked it, but going to all three of the main sites was maybe over-kill. There are apparently a few theories for the purpose of the "jars", but I think the only serious one is that they are funerary urns, although they apparently found no organic material in them, which also means that the 2500 year-old date they give is a bit of a guess. The guide suggested that they may have been used to brew rice wine, which I think was a joke, but it's obvious nonsense anyway. I think collecting water was another suggestion, but I don't know why you would go to that much bother (they are each carved from one single piece of stone), nor why you would then have lids for them (which they all did originally). I'm pretty convinced of the burial theory, as I was reminded of my first year Celtic History and Institutions class at university where we were told of a proto-Celtic group known as the "Urn People" because they buried their dead in urns. Surely this is the same thing, although nobody in Laos seems to have heard of the Urn People. You heard it here first!


To break up the monotony of jars, between sites 1 and 2, we went to a village where they made rice whisky (lao-lao), which I found quite interesting, as I have a lingering interest in taking my home-brewing one step further. Disturbingly the guide told me that the don't throw away the first part of the distillate (the "heads") which as I understand is mostly methanol. I bought a litre of it for 10000 kip and hoped it was from somewhere near the middle of the batch. They just poured it into one of the bottles you buy cheap drinking water in, which I loved. During the tour we'd got talking to a fellow Scotsman from Falkirk then Dunfermline and he offered to go halfies on the whisky with me, although nobody else liked the sample we were given, and some people even refused it altogether. Unthinkable! It's actually really nice stuff: sweetish like sake, but much more potent (this one about 50% they reckoned). Between site 2 and 3 we went to see an old Russian tank given to the North Vietnamese then bombed by the US.


That night, some of the tour group met up for food, while others went to see a film about the history of UXOs in Laos at the Mines Advisory Group, but I didn't need any further convincing about the evil of the USA and I didn't want to be made angry, so Davie and I just got stuck into the lao-lao. Unfortunately we got rather too stuck into the lao-lao and between us, with the exception of one small glass to Joanne, we drank the entire thing: one litre of 50% hooch! The next day I had one of the worst hangovers of my life.



permalink written by  The Happy Couple on April 2, 2009 from Phonsavan, Laos
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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Tubing and Defying Death

Vang Vieng, Laos


We got a nice cheap local bus to Vang Vieng which, in contrast to all the nasty expensive "VIP" buses we had taken so far, dropped us where we wanted to be dropped, at the town, rather than at the bus station several kilometres outside of town. All bus stations in Asia seem to be located between two and fifteen kilometres outside town, a bit like Ryanair airports. We've not been able to come up with any sensible explanation other than to provide tuktuk and taxi drivers with business. Usually the last few kilometres after you get off a bus cost about one quarter of the bus fare which has just taken you several hundred kilometres over several hours. It's like having Buchanan Bus station in Kirkintilloch instead of the centre of Glasgow. Madness, but it seems to be the norm in Asia.


After marvelling at our convenient location, we noticed the fantastic scenery and very quickly afterwards noticed that the Lonely Planet is not kidding when it says that every restaurant and bar is playing friends continuously. Apparently Vang Vieng originally became a popular spot for travellers because of this fantastic karst scenery, not unlike the scenery we had seen in Halong Bay and Yangshuo, and it was a sporting activity centre: kayaking, rock climbing, caving, Tubing, all that sort of stuff. Now it seems that the primary reason most people come is for the Tubing. And to get wasted. They probably barely notice the scenery, but we planned to go kayaking, take a short climbing course, and, yes, go Tubing. Everyone said it was fun.


We found a nice hotel and set about settling in by visiting a hammock bar and sampling the local produce, including a bucket, which Joanne had sworn she was never going to touch again after Siem Reap (blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?CommentID=54219). After we got back to the hotel, I was a bit hungry, so decided to go out on to the street to find some food. Nearby there was a little barbecue stall, where there was only one thing left for sale. I wondered whether it was dog as the guide in our hotel room had said that there were places in town catering to local tastes e.g. dog. The woman at the stall didn't speak English so I decided it probably was dog until a Lao guy, who did speak English said "chicken". Actually I was a little disappointed. At least it was chicken on a stick, which we'd seen everywhere (usually more recognisable) but never bought. Just as I was leaving the stall there was a loud screeching sound, and I turned around to see a circle of people running to crowd around one place. I could just make out a moped wheel through the legs and realised it must have been a bike accident. After a few minutes of people looking very concerned indeed, a woman stood up, got on her bike and rode off, albeit a little wobbly. The crowd dispersed and I intercepted a couple of American girls to ask what had happened. Apparently a car had hit this woman off her bike, but it seemed pretty obvious when she came to that she was very drunk or "on something". So they reckoned it was her own fault.

The next morning was Tubing time. Stopping after only one bucket seemed to have kept the hangover at bay. We had taken plenty of advice on this, so we knew what we were doing and now had a fairly good idea of what was involved. One was to work ones way down the river on inflated tractor inner tubes, stopping off at bars to have a drink and sliding down various apparatus back into the water. The course is quite long, so we had been told start early, otherwise you have no chance of seeing the end. We had also been told not to actually get a tube, because there is a massive fine if you don't get it back in time (which NOBODY does, we'd been informed), also people without tubes steal them from the piles in the bars, and much of the time they are really just a hassle. The last piece of advice related to staying out of the hospital there. We had already seen more people than you would think possible walking (most of them) around Vang Vieng with bandages, often around the head, and considering the number we had seen before we got there, we were keen to minimise the risks. So we should only enter the water by walking carefully down to it or from one of the proscribed methods of entry, like a chute or flying fox, as these are above the deep bits in the water. Most injuries it seems had been sustained diving into the water from the edge, and as it was dry season the water was not very deep in places. Forewarned is forearmed.


We arrived at the tube hire place to discover that they also had dry bags for rent to keep all your valuables and money dry, although we'd been told the bars are used to wet money. Instead we bought a big dry bag to share, for not that much more, since we were planning diving when it could also be useful, and we thought it might be useful to protect against the monsoon which seemed to be threatening an early start. We had to pay for the ride up to the start of the course, whereas everyone else got it included. We reckoned we'd still be well ahead after they had paid their fines. So we arrived at a rather full outdoor bar. We felt really quite old at first, as first impressions we that it seemed a bit like a Club 18-30 camp. We got a couple of beers and watched the people zipping down the wire into the water. It seemed quite high. And a bit scary. Joanne said she wasn't going to do it, but I was determined to do them all. An Australian guy we had kept bumping into since he was on our dive boat in Sihanoukville, was at that bar and advised me to let go at the very end when I was momentarily stationary, otherwise I would have too much horizontal velocity and hit the water skew. This turned out to be terrible advice! I climbed the stairs to the platform and realised that it was as least as high as it had terrifyingly looked from the ground. But I threw myself off anyway, despite the fear I was feeling. I waited and waited until I was just at the very end and about to start sliding back, but this was the highest point after the start, and it meant I let go and hung in the air for a very long and scary time. So long that I think I looked down when I couldn't believe that I had not yet hit the water. Of course that was just before I did hit the water, which meant that my throat and chest were now slightly exposed to the surface. I felt a massive thump, then thought I wasn't going to be able to breathe when I came to the surface. Thankfully the advice about the depth had been good. My chest and throat were both stinging and I seemed to have lost my voice. I think my voice box got bruised when it was crushed by the force of the water. We swam to the next bar, Joanne using the dry bag as a float.

Before moving on to the second bar we got chatting to a couple of Canadian girls, Cindy and Jackie, who asked if we would take their stuff in our dry bag.

Their plan had been to steal someone else tube, but they had been thwarted by a child who grassed them to a security guy overlooking the tubes. You get a number written on your hand when you hire one, which gave them away. At the next bar, the flying fox was much lower than the first bar, so despite my croaky-voiced injury, I went for it again. This one was a breeze! I encouraged Joanne and Cindy to go for it, although neither of them had had any intention of doing it. Jackie, who was much younger than the three of us, appeared to have disappeared, snogging her way round as many men as she could. At this bar I started to notice that quite a lot of people had "witty", often smutty, things written on their backs; some people had "182nd day Tubing!" or "74th day Tubing!" or whatever written on their backs; quite a few guys had what can only be described as 70s porno moustaches, and quite a few more were wearing eye makeup, and some others dresses or pink hotpants; Tubing appears to have evolved its own little subculture, presumably inspired by the loss of brain cells repeating this activity so often would cause. After a second drink the two girls decided to go for it and climbed the ladder to jump. I was ready to record the whole thing, although there were quite a few heads in the way. I got the first bit, but Joanne did not appear again over the heads on the second half of the swing, where she should have dropped off. When she did swim to the side she was not happy: sore face and bleeding gums. She had let go from fear at the lowest point, but since this is also the fastest point, her face had smacked off the water hard. Cindy was unharmed and slightly elated.


For our second drink at the second bar, Joanne decided that beer was making her too full, so we should switch to buckets. Sensible! We moved onto the third bar before most of the crowd, our idea being that we could stay slightly ahead of the mob, leave when it got really crowded, and then we'd definitely make it to the end. I did the zip-slide again and on this one I was slightly alarmed when I was able to push off the bottom with my feet. I had been thinking about a somersault on that one, but I hadn't hit the bottom hard so I'm sure it would have been alright. I'm not quite sure what went wrong with our plan, but by the time we got to the fifth bar it was dark and we were miraculous. I vaguely remember a sixth bar and a mud-bath there, but we were only a couple of hundred metres down the river and the full course is meant to be a few kilometres. Maybe there is a big section with no bars, but it seems completely impossible to me. At the sixth (or may it was seventh) bar there was transport waiting to take everyone and their tubes (late) back to town. No tube was definitely the correct thing to do. Although we probably should have started earlier with a tube, sailed all the way down without stopping in a bar, just to see the nice river scenery, then gone back to the start after getting the tube deposit back without a fine, and then started what we did about the same time as we did. and maybe stuck to beer! The van dropped us near the bucket bar, for which we had been given free armbands entitling us to... yes a free bucket! How could we not? We collected out bucket and then moved to the rock bar, where Joanne passed out and Cindy "rocked out". At some point during the evening we realised that Cindy and Jackie were the two "American" girls I'd spoken to after the moped accident the night before. What a coincidence! And, yes, they were offended that I thought they were from the USA.


The next day, Joanne insisted on drinking beer in one of the awful "Friends" restaurants to get over her terrible hangover ("definitely never again buckets"), and I noticed that it's not quite true that all the restaurants are showing Friends constantly: about two are showing Family Guy constantly. That night back at our hotel, we got chatting to a nice Swedish guy called Jon, who I thought looked uncannily like my friend Colin from University. It was quite dark, and now I see the photos he's not that like, but there is a resemblance: Colin used to have hair too. Joanne's hangover the next day was even worse than from Tubing, and we spent the next couple of days in a drinking-hangover cycle, some of it with Cindy and Jackie, until we admitted we weren't going to get around to doing anything constructive here, and we had to cut our losses and run. Tubing had been fun, but this was killing us!



permalink written by  The Happy Couple on March 31, 2009 from Vang Vieng, Laos
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
tagged Buckets and Tubing

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