The Final Throes

The Disappointing Road Home

We woke early the next morning to watch people watch more Thai TV, this time pop songs. We steeled our stomachs as we looked at breakfast. Western stomachs are not prepared for fish stew at 6.30 in the morning. We did our best and then Tim ate a little bit more for the team.
After a bit more uncomfortable staring we jumped back on the bike for the last day of the loop. We’d been told the last section was quite disappointing in comparison but it turns out people are stupid.
The road continued to curve up and down through stunning scenery, past small villages and larger towns full of Coca Cola and four wheel drives. We eventually hit the highway home and picked up the pace. Tim was happy as we zoomed back towards the starting point and I joined him when I found another use for an inflatable neck pillow.
There was one more stop on the itinerary, a sacred pool 20km off the highway. We hadn’t been expecting more trials and tribulations on dusty roads but we embraced the adventure through strained smiles and tried to ignore our complaining arses. The way was the most troublesome yet with protruding boulders making way for slippery sand but the lanes were filled with white butterflies that led the way like we (I) was a modern day Snow White.
Disaster struck when we were only 1km from the lake, the mud finally got us. Something prescient made me decide to get off the bike before the gigantic expanse of slippery mud barring the way. I took the hastily constructed walkway at the side and willed Tim along. He didn’t get too far until the wheels were no longer turning and he was up to his shins in thick Laos mud. To make matters better a group of children turned up to stare at the stupid white man. As the sun beat down Tim dragged the bike backwards, stopping occasionally to pick up a sunken flip flop I tried not to laugh. I seemed to be the only one who found anything amusing, even the kids were staring in silence, finding no humour in the ridiculous antics of the foreigner. We eventually decided to abandon the bike and set out on foot. The walk seemed a lot longer than 1km in the midday sun as the caked mud on Tim’s legs began to set hard. The walk through green fields was quiet as anyone sensible was sleeping in the heat. We finally turned a corner and a brilliant blue mirage appeared.
The pool is said to have sacred properties and so we were only permitted to swim in the contributing river. It was deserted and cold. It was heaven and thankfully, looking at Tim’s face only a few minutes previously, well worth it.
The road back seemed shorter, now we knew it would eventually end. At the end we were thankful to get off the bike but pleased that the loop had lived up to our expectations.
We spent our final day in Laos walking round the town, very slowly, with the sensation that our legs were still vibrating. That evening we waited at the bus station for a bus rumoured to be heading into Vietnam. The timetabled time came and went and then eventually the reverse Tardis turned up. From the outside it seemed to be a normal coach but as we were ushered on, still unsure if it was actually the bus we wanted, the inside was illogically small filled as it was with bounty to be carried across the border; from rice to Red Bull. Luckily we were pushed into a seat and eventually the bus left. We stopped at irregular yet frequent stops to admit more and more people despite the ridiculous notion that there was no more room. I realised we were actually in the luxury seats as a poor boy took his spot on a lumpy rice bag in the aisle next to us. There was nothing for him to lean back on so he wavered round sleepily as the night crept on. Matters got worse for him as the next passenger got comfy and reclined luxuriantly so that his head was in the boy’s crotch.
At some point the journey was broken up by the subject of money. It began with some random shouting in Vietnamese, while everyone pretended not to understand Tim’s enquiries in their language – later he was able to converse quite comfortably. Different numbers of fingers were thrust into our faces after we gave them a little over what we’d been told was the fare. Eventually they backed off when we asked them to write down the price in the universal language of numbers. The pleasant negotiations ended there and I continued to wonder if we were on the right bus.
We stopped 10 minutes from the border at 2 in the morning to wait until the border opened at 7 in the morning, the thought to depart later obviously not occurring to anyone.
We had a very smooth border crossing the next morning after some limited sleep, accompanied as it was by tinny house music from different mobile phones. The border was one line of people dealt with by one man at a collapsible table while his colleagues watched the process. We weren’t able to work out the indiscriminate method of bribes as the amount seemed to vary wildly and some people weren’t even bothering. The money was tucked into Vietnamese passports as they tried to get back into their own country. We wondered if this would work in Heathrow; coming back from holiday the officers at passport control would make their demands: ‘Givvus a quid.’
We found the bus on the other side, its cargo eventually getting through the border. After more crates of Red Bull were loaded on we set off. I watched road signs closely to check we going in the right direction.
I was thoroughly surprised when we arrived at our destination. Hue is the old capital of Vietnam and thus has some of the richest cultural heritage in the country, famous for its food and architecture.
We fled the bus and our raucous companions and got two motorbike taxis to our hotel. We’d made sure to negotiate the price beforehand as people hanging out at bus stations are notorious thieves. We weren’t disappointed. After dropping us off at the wrong hotel 2km away that the drivers insisted was 5km we passed them the agreed amount anyway. This they weren’t happy with and shouted and screamed at us, demanding that they take us back to the bus station. They were delightful. Welcome back to Vietnam.
Hue is a beautiful city surrounding the central citadel, rich in history. We spent the day wandering the streets, battling against locals touting for tourist money. We loaded up on wine and bread and boarded a night train back to the city. 28 hours later with no delays we were released, our trip over and back to reality. Thankfully we weren’t subjected to another prison train, our debt to society had obviously been repaid.

Home Sweet Home

A Cave I Finally Liked

Khou Kham is a smaller town about 40km away from Kong Lo, the biggest tourist draw in the area. We slept in and spent the next 20 minutes trying to get breakfast at an unreasonable hour. Apparently the many restaurants were merely a facade and sleeping was more important. Nowhere more than anywhere else did I fully appreciate the Laos ethos, the customer can always wait if there is a nap to be had. I quite admired them. We set off down the road, prepared to be disappointed by yet another cave, on a road that knifed straight through the mountains.
When we arrived we saw the Israelis, pleased to note they were still in one piece. There were numerous signs as we entered the village offering homestays, which seemed like our last opportunity to experience the Laos way of life first hand. Pulling into the car park beside the cave a sleeping man suddenly leapt to his feet when he heard us mention homestay and he showed us to his sister’s house. We were invited to enter the house, whereupon everyone promptly left, leaving only the mother of the house and the giggling children. We smiled and nodded while lunch was prepared and then smiled and nodded while they watched us eat. Our host was unable to understand our list of Laos words so we had to manage with only hello, thank you and rice. We got on famously.
We escaped to get on a boat through the cave. Kong Lo is the longest cave in the world and it put my faith back in caves. We were led down to the entrance, kitted out with headlamps and life jackets, that adventure Tim donned with enthusiasm. Our little wooden boat came round the corner equipped with a puttering outboard motor. We climbed in and the light from the entrance dropped almost immediately. Soon the cave was pitch black and our little headlamps only made a tiny dent in the oppressive darkness surrounding us. We got an idea of the dimensions of the cave as the driver swept his light ahead. As we sped into the darkness, careering confidently round blind dark corners it was the first time I felt that the money I’d paid for the trip was well-earnt.
We stopped about halfway and were lead up a specially lit walkway to see some impressive examples of stalag-tites and mites by our little guide. Our driver was waiting on the other side, having hailed out boat up a little set of rapids. The lights were switched off halfway down the stairs and as I followed Tim down I found our little guide holding my hand. Trying not to cheat on Tim we ended up clasping hands like the queen and one of her adoring subjects, very strange. We charged on, the immensity of the cave in the darkness with the cool breeze almost convincing you that we were speeding down a river at night.
After twenty minutes, but far too soon, we arrived at the other end. We popped out the other side into lush greenery outside and bright sunshine. After the brief obligatory refreshment stop we headed back in. Unfortunately we’d caught up with a large group of Americans and our solitude was ruined. Thankfully our driver didn’t seem to like their company either and our return trip was a thrilling ride as he set out to over-take as many as he could. As we docked and said goodbye to our friendly guides I immediately wanted to do it again. As it was still reasonably early we whiled away sometime before heading back to the homestay.
As we climbed the stairs and positioned ourselves on the floor, the rest of the family left again. After a meal of bran broth and instant noodles we went for a walk. Tim found the football field and organised the rabble into a game, while I tried to set up a cheerleading squad with significantly less success. As it grew dark we returned and settled down to watching the family watching Thai TV. There were no cultural displays, like what Bruce Parry gets, but I feel maybe we were experiencing the true life of poor Laos people, Thai TV.

Just like Mario Kart

All gone to pot (holes)

We got up reasonably early and prepared ourselves for the next leg. We’d been warned that the next section was 60km of terrible road, leading deeper into the mountains. The road quickly degenerated from a road with small bumpy sections to a dirt track with exposed boulders split up by small portions of paved road. Now the world has head Chris Cluett is retiring all the roads have gone to pot(holes). Ha ha ha.
Anyway as the scenery around us grew increasingly luscious we careered round corners in delight, only stopped in our tracks by areas of thick sticky mud. Despite the burning sunshine large areas were pools of muddy water surrounded by trenches of slippy mud. No shoes were lost and we didn’t fall over but there were many close calls. As we slowly clocked up the kilometres 60km began to feel like a long way. At around the 50km mark we both started to tyre and were excited when the slices of paved road began to get more and more frequent.
We soared into Lak Sao, the next large town, ready for lunch. The town turned out to have few charms and after some arse massaging decided to push on to Khou Kham for our second night.
Thankfully the road was paved and the loop offered us up yet another driving experience. Lonely Planet described it as like playing a video game, which I guess is a reasonable enough analogy if the video game was produced by the Discovery Channel. The road twisted and turned , rose and fell dramatically as the mountains towered on either side. As Tim hummed ‘Get your motor running’ the sun finally came out and God seemed to be smiling at us.
We arrived in Khou Kham, tired and dirty, and found a lovely guesthouse with a magnificent view of the mountains. We sank back in our reclining chairs while we waited for our beers, admiring the view. When they arrived 30 minutes Tim used his classic reverse psychology technique of complaining, where he appeared very, very grateful. It was all so nice I was hardly annoyed at all.

Loop-De-Loop

Tha Khaek is a small town in the centre of the country, and most notable as the recommended start of the loop, a three or four day motorbike trek through the inner countryside. The hostel we stayed at is the epicentre of the trip and where helpful Mr Ku has set up his motorbike hire next door. He gave us a hand-drawn map and a quick rundown on how to break up our time, and we felt reasonably confident. Having left ourselves adequate time we planned for four days and, with my mother’s voice in my head, we even got insurance.
The first stretch of the loop was through a short stretch of caves along a wide concreted highway. The first was the infamous Buddha cave. The story goes that a strange visitor to the area climbed up to the cave to eat the bats that lived there and found the cave full of hundreds of golden statues of Buddha. Sounds impressive, it’s not. The locals have made the business of a visit much easier, building a huge set of steps to the mouth of the cave, which we were invited to climb once I’d been manhandled into a sarong by an old woman. At the top we ducked our heads and entered the small cave.
We were surprised by what we saw. There were no dazzling beams of light reflecting from hundreds of golden Buddhas in a peaceful spiritual sanctuary but a dim dark place with clusters of small Buddhas in an alcove at the back. No photographs were allowed and we felt quite uncomfortable pretending to admire the display while a small hunched man counted the tourist money with glee. We left quickly, getting back on the dusty road, heading for the next cave.
The next cave wasn’t one the normal tourist track and as such we missed it several times. We eventually found in after a short walk through the undergrowth. We scrambled over the rocks for a while until two Israeli men appeared looking at the rocks with trepidation. I thought at first they had a fear of heights but it turned out to worse when they told us they’d lost their motorbike key here. We looked back at the large drop and gave them sympathetic looks. No chance.
The next stop was a very strange affair that finally convinced me I was not a cave-lover. It was the largest on our route and as we should’ve guessed quite disappointing. The concreted path was lit by fairy lights, exactly as Buddha would’ve wanted. Just like Christmas every day, wait....
We left the caves behind us and sped up the highway. Just as we were getting bored the road started to rise and a smile spread across Tim’s face. We climbed up into the mountains and were finally given a view of the staggering scenery we’d been waiting for. About 20 minutes later the smooth surface of the road deteriorated dramatically, an exact line where the materials had run out. This was the starting line of the next two days of bumping off-road biking that caused us both some serious pain.
We admired the landscape, both the beauty and devastation that had been caused by a huge dam bursting and flooding the area a few years before. At regular intervals there were ordered sets of temporary houses, hastily constructed to accommodate the homeless from the area. The water had caused lots of the trees to develop a two-tone effect, brown on the bottom and white above the line, making the whole landscape quite eerie. We arrived in Tha Lang, a small gathering of huts and houses, which was to be our stop for the night. Considering some of the stories we’d heard we were pleasantly surprised at the comfort provided at our simple guesthouse, hot water even.
We were eating dinner sometime later when the Israeli men we’d met earlier came bouncing into view. They joined us and regaled us with a tale of their first day that made Tim and I feel like seasoned adventurers in comparison. They’d failed to find their key and had had to get a local man to rip out the electronics on the bike so it could be kick-started. A strange decision it seemed when you considered the relatively short distance back to the hostel. It made sense when they revealed this wasn’t actually the first day of their Loop but the second. The first had resulted in two crashes and a requisite return to base, something they weren’t going to do again. It seemed this kind of behaviour was indicative of their style of travelling as they told us another story about trekking across the Alps with no sleeping bags. I liked them instantly but was in no hurry to join forces, our trip was going perfectly smoothly so far though the next section of road was going to be anything but.